A/N: Lots of stuff for you guys to check out. I'm hosting a HG fanfic contest called Countdown to Mockingjay. The theme is post-Catching Fire fics. Go to my profile to get the link. Send in those entries! And I'm still looking for judges. The only requirements are that you're 18 or older and enthusiastic about HG fic.
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Many thanks to Medea Smyke for pre-reading!
This chapter is rated M for some brief sexual content.
Nerves
His lips move hungrily over my throat. I pant like an idiot trying to keep up with the heavy speed of my heart. I press myself to him shamelessly, my hands gripping the slick plane of his lower back. I want to draw him as close as possible. He responds in kind, matching me breath for breath. There's no anxiety, no trepidation. There's no time for it. Just him, me, and the rampant fire that flows from my stomach into my limbs. For once, his skin is cooler than mine.
Oh god…his skin. His head perks up. He smirks. Did I say that out loud? I shrug. Who the hell cares? He leans down again to kiss me a little more than chastely. My hands slide over his bare chest. The skin there is soft and smooth and oddly hairless. Why couldn't they have done that to my body and avoided the painful repetitive methods? I grimace, thinking the method used on Peeta may have been more painful. I should ask him about that one day.
A shaky laugh escapes my throat. How do I manage to get distracted when he's touching me? Peeta's hand, slightly rough and calloused from pushing the wheelchair around for weeks, cups my breast. I can't help but suck in a breath in surprise. He pulls back.
No. Don't. Close. I need you close.
My fingers run from the nape of his neck through his hair. He needs to get it cut. He's got more of a Seam look to him now, with his longer hair and bruises under his eyes. It doesn't fit him. I miss well-fed, muscled, healthy, and scar-less Peeta. It physically pains me to see him suffering. But for some bizarre reason, I want to kiss every one of the scars that litter his otherwise perfect skin in thankfulness. It's the scars that have brought Peeta to me.
I part my lips and he follows. My body is burning up and desperately seeking reprieve. I press myself to him again instinctively. My body has a much clearer idea of what it's looking for now, and my head is unclear enough to let my body take control. Peeta's fingers deftly sneak away from their place on my chest. His mouth is open as he kisses my neck. He leans back a little, so he's lying on his side. I start to protest again until I feel a tickle on my stomach. His hand moves across a slice of exposed skin. I glance down to see it hover over the stiff edge of my standard issue trousers. His thumb grazes over the button. My voice catches in my throat and makes a sound between a choke and a squeak. I can't even manage a syllable in the heat of the moment. He chuckles warmly and unsnaps the button.
"Peeta…," I breathe. I lay my hand over his, intending to urge him on. Instead, he takes my hand and pulls it against his chest. He leans back into me and places his cheek against mine. I can feel his breath against my ear when he whispers.
"Come back. Come back to me."
I wake up with an uncomfortable gasp, choking on my own breath. My breathing mimics the timing of my dream exactly. My chest is tight and my head feels peculiarly heavy, especially after sleeping. I lay my arm over my forehead. Strands of hair cling to my sweat-lined brow.
I've been plagued by nightmares for months but never in my life have I had a dream like that. A blending of reality and…what? Fantasy? I don't remember going to sleep. Nor do I remember making my way down to the sleeping quarters on the lower level.
Suddenly, my bed shakes and my arms immediately fling to the wall at the head of the bed and the one on the side. As if I could actually brace myself for some kind of crash. I wait a few seconds, preparing to feel my stomach bottom out as we head into a deadly tailspin, but nothing happens. My shoulder muscles loosen and I exhale loudly. I can't wait to have two feet on the ground again. I haven't gotten used to the constant turbulence yet. This, again, makes me wonder how I ended up asleep. Every time this tin can hits a bump in the air I tense up, not conducive to taking a nap. The hovercrafts from the Capitol never bothered me; however, they ran smoothly. This ancient piece of anti-gravity has seen its fair share of action and doesn't run like it used to. One of the pilots, appropriately nicknamed Wing, assures me it's reliable. I'll believe him after we've landed.
I rub my hands over my eyes a few times. My muscles finally relax after being keyed up by the dream and then panicked by the turbulence; nevertheless, my head is still groggy. I reach through the hazy memory the dream, attempting to grasp the images my subconscious concocted before they fade away. It was my last few moments with Peeta; maybe what they would have been if Peeta hadn't stopped what was happening. As much as I enjoyed the feel of his skin, it was right for him to stop us. We would have regretted something so quick and mindless. It wasn't my intention for anything to happen when I went back to our room. I couldn't even convince myself to wake him up. When we were together in his…our bed, begging each other to be brave, to have hope in this impossible situation, I didn't know what to do with the impulses my body was sending me. Since I was eleven years old my life has been food, water, sleep, live. Never love—that is, never…physical love. The fear was overwhelming and clouded all my judgment until I all desired was him with me in the closest way possible. Unfortunately, that kind of closeness makes it hard to appreciate the moment. Peeta brought us back into reality, harsh as it was…is.
It's too dim down here to know what time it is, but I have a feeling I've slept for too long. The comfort of this bed is a step up from the hospital bed, but the stupid hovercraft is far more cramped than the tunnels of 13. Who would have thought I'd miss those wide open spaces? It isn't even big enough for five people to sleep in. Haymitch insisted we take the smallest craft to avoid detection, but it seems to me that if anyone from the Capitol saw a twenty-five year old machine flying around, they'd be suspicious.
The bedroom amounts to two sets of bunk beds only eighteen inches apart and a bathroom so small you can't do much more than stand in it. The age of the plane is astoundingly apparent. I grew up in a house with two rooms, but this can-like atmosphere is claustrophobic. Feeling the need to escape, I rub the residual sleepiness from my eyes and stand up. I successfully avoid knocking my forehead against the top bunk, but my head is spinning when I'm standing fully. I have to lean against the wall to avoid falling over. Must have stood up too fast. Once the dizziness subsides, I conduct a quick search for my shoes. Someone put me to bed quite thoroughly. Fully dressed, I climb up a short ladder which leads to the kitchen on the top level of the hovercraft, proving putting me to bed even more impressive. How did anyone manage to carry me down a ladder without waking me?
I find Madge alone in the kitchenette, which is no bigger than the kitchen in my old house in the Seam. She sits at the booth-style table with a deck of cards. She's playing solitaire. I've noticed everyone has taken to an activity to deal with the mounting stress. Gale likes to pace. Wing likes to eat. I guess I've taken to passing out.
"Good-morning," Madge calls out kindly as she shuffles the deck of cards. I cross the room and take a seat next to her on the squeaky vinyl banquette that surrounds a semi-circular table.
"Is it morning?" I grumble. I glance through a string of small windows directly behind Madge's head. All I can see is blue sky.
"Well, a little after twelve," she says with a kind smile.
"Why did you let me sleep for so long?" I ask, but it wasn't long enough. My head still feels cloudy. I fold my arms and lay my head down on the cold table.
"Why not?" She shrugs. "There isn't anything to do."
We're heading out on a life or death mission and there's nothing to do? "There must be something," I reply through a yawn. Even as I say it I keep my head down.
"Yes, you can play a game of five card draw with me." She starts passing out the cards. I just stare at them as they land an inch from my face.
I'm undefeated at gin rummy.
I turn my neck so my face is hidden from Madge. I don't want her to see my skin flush or anything else that makes my weakness apparent. It's not even the same game and my mind is instantly flooded with images of Peeta. I want to reach into my pocket and pull out the note from him, but somehow I find the will to hold back. When did this happen? I used to thrive in my independence and now when I'm separated from Peeta for only a day I fall apart. Peeta called me strong and capable. I'm glad he's not here to see me like this. Miserable and scared out of my wits.
I feel my hair being pushed back and warm hand on my shoulder. "What is it?" Madge's angelic voice asks.
I turn my head to see her smiling sadly at me. She knows. Hell, even the idiots at the Capitol who fell for my fake love story could guess correctly. I want to tell Madge, one of my best friends, that I miss my husband, but I can't. She's the worst candidate to listen to my sorrows. Compared to her, my behavior is immature. Peeta and I may be separated, but we're both alive and relatively safe. Madge is alone and has been for months. Yet, she's expressed more resilience and bravery than anyone I know. "Nothing. I'm just remembering something."
"We'll get you back to him," she promises. She squeezes my shoulder and gives me a sisterly kiss on the cheek. She gathers up her cards and impassively looks them over. She's doing this to distract me. There isn't much point to playing poker with Madge. She never loses. "But for now, how many cards do you want?"
Reluctantly, I pick up the well-worn cards and look them over. Two sevens, the queen of diamonds, the ten of clubs, and the five of hearts. Not a bad hand. "Three," I reply. I discard everything but the sevens and she deals me three more. Nothing improves. She takes two for herself. "Where are we?"
"Somewhere between Thirteen and the Capitol," she says as she adjusts her cards. She doesn't offer an inkling as to the quality of her hand or to more details.
"Are we playing poker for information?" I complain.
"It'll be several hours still. Now, what have you got?"
I exhale, clearly irritated. I know I haven't been myself lately, but I don't like being babied either. I'm on this team. How could it possibly be helpful to keep me in the dark? I stare Madge down for a few seconds waiting for her to give up the information. The old Madge would have cracked with the first appearance of harshness in my eyes, but the Madge I'm looking over now doesn't let a single emotion pass over her face. It's the mastering of that skill that has gotten her where she is now, an officer in the rebellion. Losing her family affected her greatly, but she found a way to set her sadness aside and focus on new goals. If she had fallen into an overwhelming depression like I did, she would not have been allowed her to train with the soldiers. They would have sent her to work in the kitchens or the hospital wing, where I've been. The only reason I'm here is because I'm the Mockingjay. I sigh and let my hand show, backing down. She smiles when she sees my hand. Three jacks appear when she lowers her cards. I don't know how she does it. Good thing we're not playing for secrets. I'd have to tell her I got married. I'm not ready to share yet.
As I collect cards to start another round, familiar boisterous laughter floats from down the hall. Coincidently, it's Gale who enters the kitchen first with a typical grimace on his face. Wing, the source of the laughter, follows behind him looking typically cheerful. Undoubtedly, Gale has been the butt of one of Wing's jokes. He loves to tease Gale about his beard for some reason; calls him Wild Man. I think Gale refuses to shave it just to spite him. I see right through Gale though. He likes Wing better than he lets on.
Gale perks up when he sees me…or maybe when he sees us. It's hard to tell. "Oh, look who decided to get up," he teases as he gives me a nudge. He sits beside me while Wing bumps into Madge as he slides into the opposite end of the banquette.
"Oh, and what time did you wake up? Couldn't have been more than an hour ago," Madge fires back at him.
Gale smile instantly turns back into a frown. I can barely see the creases in his forehead just under his hair. Oh, Madge. Why do you do this to him? "I didn't sleep until two hours after you went to bed."
"I should have guessed. I think you stepped on my arm when you climbed into bed."
"I did not."
"I'll show you the bruise!"
Wow. It only took them five seconds to start going at it. I remain quiet because I don't know what they're talking about. How did I sleep through all this?
"What are we playing?" Wing asks, completely ignoring the bickering. Madge's voice practically turns musical when she responds.
"Five card draw. You want in?"
"Come on, Ace. Haven't you cleaned me out enough?" he whines. Madge's cheeks flush a light shade of pink. Wing has that effect on all the girls. Even without taking into account his overt friendliness, the size of his biceps sends most girls swooning. That and the fact that he gives every girl he meets a nickname. Maybe only the girls he's interested in. I haven't heard mine yet.
"Aren't you supposed to be flying this thing?" I snap at him. Something about his jovial attitude and noticeable flirting bothers me. It's not jealousy, more like irritation. It's unfair of me. Just because I'm unhappy doesn't mean everyone should be. Either way, his smile doesn't even twitch. My scowl has truly lost all effect.
"Garrett can handle it for a little while." He refers the second pilot/mechanic. I roll my eyes and begin to pass out the cards.
The games go by quickly. Eventually, we have to improvise with pieces of dried apricot for poker chips because playing for nothing is "just plain boring" according to Wing. Actually, the set-up is exactly what the poker games played in the training areas in 13 late at night are like. The people of Thirteen don't deal with any kind of currency, so stolen food stuffs are bet and lost. It's as illegal as anything that went down in the Hob. You get caught with stolen food in 13 and you may find yourself on the surface in the crater that was 13. As Wing mentioned, Madge always wins. She avoids punishment by quickly getting rid of all her contraband, bringing her winnings to the hospital wing to share with the patients. We let it slide because anyone recovering from illness or an injury could use more to eat. And even now, Madge's pile is significantly larger than everyone else's. Gale comes in second, I'm in third, and Wing, who lacks any kind of poker face, comes in last.
"I swear, Ace. You've got cards up your sleeves. Do you need to be frisked before we start playing a game?" He grabs her arm, raising it above her head, leaving the edges of her unzipped jacket unguarded. He draws open the coat and pretends to search for hidden cards, tickling her at the same time. The only hidden item I see is Madge's most prized possession these days, her gun. She giggles playfully and doesn't do much to fend him off. Gale clears his throat loudly. The two glance at him, taking stock of the sour look on his face. As a result, both the tickling and giggling abruptly cease.
"Yeah, it couldn't just be that you're a lousy poker player, huh Wing?" Gale says tersely. What is that look on Gale's face? Anger? Annoyance? And something else. It's hard to tell because Gale is so often angered and annoyed by Madge. She and Gale have never been friends, even back in Twelve, but now it's like they're in constant competition with each other. Neither one lets that go for a moment. At least, I haven't seen them behave any other way. Regardless, Madge's face is stained red now, perhaps from embarrassment. She busies herself by gathering up all the cards. Wing runs his hand through his short warm brown hair while letting a big, heartwarming laugh. "Just a bit of fun, Wild Man." Gale just stares at Madge's hands as she arranges the cards into a stack.
Suddenly, the hovercraft shakes again. What are we hitting? The tops of trees? It reminds me of where we are or where we are going at least. At first glance you'd think we are just having a good old time with friends, not flying into a warzone.
"Don't you think this is strange?" I ask sharply.
"What?" Madge asks.
"Sitting here like we're not about to—"
"Katniss, stop," Madge interrupts. "If you spend all your time thinking and talking about it you're going to go crazy. We're here to do a job. That's how you have to look at it. And right now we have some down time."
I look to Wing or Gale, especially Gale, to disagree with her, but neither man steps up. Madge has become a soldier through and through. Brave and strong and able to detach emotionally from what we're doing. I've gone in the complete opposite direction. Everything sends me in an emotional tailspin lately. And the idea of more killing of innocents scares the hell out of me. This must be why Madge is so careful with me. She doesn't think I can take it. Maybe I can't.
"Yeah, and Ace likes to take us for all we're worth," Wing says to break the tension. That's what he's best at.
"Can you at least tell me how much further we have to go?" I beg.
"We're getting closer. About two hours from our first rendezvous point," Gale explains. Thank God for Gale. He's the only person who treats me like I'm actually part of this mission. I notice Madge throws him a look of disapproval. Gale narrows his eyes back at her.
"That's where we ditch the hovercraft?" I ask.
"Yes."
"And everything is clear there still?"
"Yes, Katniss," Madge interrupts again before Gale can tell me more. "Please try and be calm."
"Yeah, you're going to drive us all nuts, Little Bird," Wing says with a grin. That's my nickname? That's hardly creative.
"And Wing might slip something in your granola again," Gale mutters under his breath. My scowl may not work anymore, but my hearing is just fine, courtesy of the Capitol.
"What? He what?" I glare at Wing. He's got his hands up in a defensive pose while Madge covers her eyes in exasperation. Suddenly the reason for my groggy head and full night of sleep comes into focus. "You gave me sleep syrup, didn't you?" I accuse.
"Just a touch."
"And you didn't stop him?" I look to both Madge and Gale. The proud smirk Gale had on his lips from tattling falters a little.
"You were a little on edge, Katniss," Madge offers as an excuse.
"Just some nerves, no big deal. You didn't miss anything," Wing says as he readjusts a leather cuff bracelet on his wrist and then plays with a large silver ring on his finger.
"Unbelievable."
"Don't be so put out." He moves the ring from his right hand onto his left. "You've done it before." He's referencing my use of sleep syrup against Peeta in the Games. That was a life or death situation. I didn't drug him because he was bugging me.
"Not remotely similar situations."
"You'll live, Little Bird. You had a better night's sleep than the rest of us."
"Yeah, great." He doesn't understand how dangerous forcing me to sleep is. My dream of Peeta is a blessing, I guess. It may have been a little jarring because it is so new to me, but it is preferable to the nightmares. Nightmares I could very soon be experiencing again without Peeta here. No wonder I'm so on edge. Awake or asleep my life is a nightmare.
Wing bites his lip and looks more uncomfortable than I've ever seen him, but he doesn't offer any apologies. He's used to making the girls laugh, not cry. "I'm going to go to the front and give Garrett a rest."
Making a break for it I see.
"I'll come with you," Madge offers. The two of them slip out from behind the table and walk toward the flight deck. I notice Gale is purposefully staring at the backs of his hands, but his eyes flicker towards Madge when she passes by, when he knows that she won't be able to tell he's looking at her. I take this moment to punch him in the shoulder. Hard.
"Ow!" He rubs up and down his arm several times.
"I can't believe you let him give me sleep syrup! How would you feel if someone knocked you out during a mission?"
"Depends on who is knocking me out."
"Don't do it again," I say sternly.
"I didn't do it the first time. You should be taking this out on Wing."
"And stop keeping things from me. It's annoying and just careless!" I shout, jumping to a new topic. Apparently, I'm not much for coherent arguing. I blame the sleep syrup.
"Again, that's not me. That's Madge. She thinks you're in too fragile a state of mind."
"Why would Haymitch send me on a mission if I'm too fragile?"
Gale shrugs his shoulders in response. I don't believe his ignorance. Gale knows everything about the rebellion and he'd certainly make it his business to know how I might be involved. And Haymitch wouldn't send me on a mission I'm not capable of completing. He made such a big deal about Finnick not being allowed to go, not to mention he used Finnick to make me feel guilty. I trained and studied for days for this mission. I left my husband behind because I had a larger purpose to fulfill. I'm supposed to be here.
I feel ready to stand up and give Madge a knock in the teeth. But before I do, I take stock of the contents spilled onto the table. Snacks and cards and bottles of fizzy water—the remnants of a rather pleasant hour or so. I think of Madge's kind smile and remember that her only real desire is to take care of me. So guess I can't blame her for protecting me. I wasn't in a very good place for months. While she was training alongside the other soldiers I was hiding in the hospital wing with the other hopeless cases. In fact, there are others like Madge who could have taken my spot if necessary. But Haymitch was adamant that I go along. Why? What's the point when there are others who are better practiced than I am?
Little Bird. Of course. I'm the Mockingjay. I'm the symbol.
"Haymitch just wants…the Mockingjay," I whisper calmly. "Am I supposed to do anything on this mission other show my face?"
Gale shakes his head. "This war is almost over. This is the final push, and yes, it would raise morale if people know you are alive. But Haymitch would be an idiot to think that's all you'll do. We know how smart you are. We trust you."
"If that's true you can start by telling me exactly what's going to happen at the rendezvous point."
Gale's lips form a tight line underneath his beard. He really should shave it. Beards aren't common in the Capitol. He takes several seconds to consider my demand. Funny. He's more scared of Madge than he is of me. "It's outside of District Three," he finally explains. "Three, Two, and One are the only districts that are completely under the Capitol's control. The problem has been getting in or getting people out. The Capitol has brought most of their defenses to those districts. Getting in is going to be the most dangerous part." He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck a few times. "Hopefully, from there we can catch a ride with a hovercraft that is scheduled to move into the Capitol with supplies for the hospital. We meet up with our contact and set up the device. If we have enough time, we get Cresta, and board a flight out of there before anything happens."
I roll my eyes at Gale. Everything he said are things I already know. I want details. "How large is the hospital?"
"Larger than I have any comprehension of."
I'll give him a break on that one. I was the one who spent time there. You'd think I'd know. But I suppose the size of the hospital isn't really the issue. I soften my voice a little. "If everything goes to plan, how many people are going to die?"
"That's the kind of thing Madge doesn't want us to think about," he says lowly.
"Fine," I concede. I'm not going to get anything else out of him right now. And maybe Madge is right. If we think about it we might talk ourselves out it. Can't have that.
However, one thing I've decided, I'm not going to be the weak link on this mission any longer. I've gone from being the most sought after victor to the protected and nearly useless foot soldier. I'm with people I love dearly, Madge and Gale. Even Garrett and Wing, though I don't know them as well. These people are my family and I protect my family.
You'll stay safe for me, right?
The words echo in my head. My stomach tightens up with nerves and guilt again. I promised Peeta I would try to stay safe. I also need to promise everyone here that I will fight bravely alongside them. I can't keep both promises.
"Do you think something is going on with them?" Gale asks suddenly. He shifts in his seat once, then takes a bottle of water and throws it back and forth in his hands. He deliberately avoids looking me in the eye.
"Huh?" I respond.
He opens the bottle and takes a long swig. He wipes him mouth with his sleeve. Nice, Gale. "With Wing and Madge?"
"I…I don't know," I stammer. I'm honestly surprised about the turn in conversation. But I can see where he got the idea. The behavior is normal for Wing; he flirts with anything that moves, but Madge is usually more closed off—a lot like Gale really. But why bring it up? He couldn't be…jealous. It wasn't until Peeta suggested that the right girl for Gale is the one he fights with most that I even considered Madge as a candidate. That is who he fights with most. "Why do you ask?" I hedge.
"It's inappropriate is all."
"What is? That Madge has a boyfriend?"
"She shouldn't be going on missions with someone she's involved with. It will emotionally compromise her."
I slap a hand to my forehead. "I'm sick of hearing about that emotionally compromised garbage," I snap. Given how gently everyone has been treating me, it's obvious I'm emotionally compromised and they sent me anyway. I'm beginning to think Haymitch made the whole thing up. It seems more likely he didn't let me go on the mission to save Peeta because he couldn't risk losing the Mockingjay. Then he used it against me again to make sure I'd go on this mission. He is seriously getting a knock in the head when I get back. "Are you honestly going to deny your relationship with me doesn't emotionally compromise you?"
"Well…," he begins, but he doesn't say anything else.
"Exactly. We've all been compromised by our pasts. Our emotional connections to one another are the driving reasons we're part of this war. If Madge can manage to find a little happiness after everything she's been though, she deserves it." I finish my speech confidently. Gale keeps his eyes off of me; his shoulders fall in defeat.
"Just doesn't seem like her type," he mumbles. Wing is tall, muscled, with hazel eyes, a kind smile, often seen without a shirt, and a tattoo of a hawk on his back. He is just about every girl's type. I don't say this to Gale though. It might bruise his sensitive male ego.
"Madge has many facets," I say instead.
"I've noticed."
Hm. I'm not sure what to make of Gale's comment. "Noticed" can have different connotations. Peeta mentioned to me once that he "noticed" girls other than me, but I took it as something every guy does. But Gale brought Madge up. He's the one asking about her. Maybe Peeta's instincts are correct. And if they are, Gale is sure doing a lot to cover up his affections. "You mean, when you're not bickering with her?"
"Madge and I do not bicker."
Now the boy is just delusional. "You two fight constantly."
"She just…gets under my skin sometimes."
"Why? Because she's better at shooting than you?"
"Hardly," he objects. "She isn't nearly as consistent as I am."
"Because she's the same rank as you?"
"I don't care about that."
He's not threatened by her status and he still thinks himself better skilled. That doesn't leave much for him to be bothered by. "Then it must be because you have nothing to hold against her anymore."
Gale's eyes snap to mine. His dark eyebrows shoot up under the hair that falls over his forehead. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"You've always had a problem with her or anyone like her. Anyone from town."
"They're so unaware of what they have, of what they don't have to go through." He reiterates a long-standing complaint that simply doesn't have merit any longer. There is no town. There is no District 12. The past has absolutely no reflection on what our future will be, whether we win this war or not. And most importantly, every person on this hovercraft is taking the same amount of risk with their lives.
"We're not in Twelve anymore. We're nowhere near it. Not to mention the two of you are on equal playing fields, perhaps less for her, considering she has no family to speak of, and it bothers you that she handles it so well," I accuse.
"I don't want to see Madge fall to pieces," he insists.
"You don't want to see her succeed but you don't want to see her fall apart either." Gale opens his mouth to respond, but no sound comes out. I have to give Madge credit. She has left the young revolutionary, who spent hour after hour ranting to the trees and woodland creatures, speechless. "You have to accept that your perception of her was wrong. You have to start seeing her for who she really is."
He huffs through his nose. He takes the bottle he was drinking from, which is now empty, and tosses it across the small room where it lands in a trashcan. "I can see she has a thing for Wing," he grunts.
Maybe she does. I keep the thought to myself. Again, I can't do that to Gale's ego. He'll just have to stew over my claims for a while and decide if he wants to start being nice to Madge. I have my own bone to pick with him anyway. "I was informed recently that you and Peeta have been speaking regularly for a couple weeks?"
Gale visibly stiffens and tries to fake a laugh. "Who told you that?"
"Who do you think?" We lock eyes for a few seconds. He's trying to feel out whether or not I'm bluffing. I seem to have found my old confidence because I don't back down. Finally, Gale folds his arms over the table and frowns.
"That little snitch."
"I can't believe you! Both of you. I've barely seen you share a civil word let alone spend time together."
"I don't know how it happened."
"He said that you shouted at him."
Gale has the audacity to laugh at my accusation—as if he's remembering a fond memory. "Oh…yeah."
"You told him I never want to get married?"
"He's your boyfriend. Don't you talk about this stuff?"
Boyfriend. I've completely stopped thinking of Peeta as my boyfriend, even though I haven't revealed my newly married status to anyone. I can't bring myself to tell Gale though, and not because I fear it might upset him. Well, maybe a little. It's just, my relationship was on display for everyone to dissect and judge for years. It still is. To be honest, I'm not ready to share. I want to keep this between my husband and me for a while. I want something to go without being judged. I know what I did is right. It makes me happy. Very little has made me happy as of late, including what Gale did to Peeta. "You said that to hurt his feelings."
"I'm sorry, okay? I wasn't in the best state of mind. And besides, I apologized for that a while back."
"Well, good," I finish lamely. I don't know why I'm so upset Peeta and Gale have been spending time together. I didn't think it would ever happen, but that doesn't mean I didn't want it to happen. Maybe it's so far out of my realm of logic that I just can't accept it as reality. "You talk about the rebellion with him?"
"He says you won't talk about it."
"I don't want him upset."
"You can't be serious. You're such a hypocrite."
"He's been through enough. I don't want him involved if he doesn't have to be."
"He can take it, Katniss. You don't have to treat him like he's made of glass. Isn't his involvement up to him anyway?"
"No, it's not. We're…," I pause, coming too close to saying the word married. "…together. And he's not well. He has made a lot of progress, but he's still sick. And telling him about the rebellion just makes him more desperate and when he's desperate he does stupid things."
"Huh," he grunts, leaning back against the banquette and placing his hands in his lap.
"What?"
"Nothing. You too really are meant for each other."
What have I ever done that was desperate…other than…everything I did in the Quell? I keep my mouth shut. I don't need these things pointed out to me right now.
"Peeta is smart. He's not going to do anything stupid," he assures me. "If you need to worry about anyone's influence right now, you might think about Odair. He's much worse of an influence than I am."
"Oh, god. Finnick," I groan. I can only imagine what Finnick will convince Peeta to do. I glance over at Gale, something new to worry over filling my stomach, when I catch him in a seldom seen grin. It's nice to see on Gale. I can't help but smile back.
"I never thought we'd get here, Catnip." His words encompass so much. I scoot over so I can lean my head on his shoulder. I hug his arm. On a personal level, we're friends again, we're family again. Gale is a part of my life after I believed he couldn't be as long as Peeta is in my life. On a greater scale, we're coming to the end of the war. Freedom is so close we can feel it. Just a little more time, one more mission, and we'll have it. All of Gale's dreams will come true.
It isn't until now, after learning of Gale's interest in Madge and thinking that he might be happy for me, that I feel like I can share my news with him. I lift my head up and tuck my hair behind my ears. Feeling jittery, I take his hand. I wish this could be as easy as showing him a wedding band.
"Gale, I have something to tell you. I—"
"We've got a call coming in from Three," a scratchy voice says above my head. Garrett is speaking through an intercom. "We've got clearance." Gale leans into me, but not to get closer. He pushes a button behind my head and speaks a little louder.
"Ten-four. We'll prepare for departure." Gale lets out a nervous breath. I do the same. Distractions are over with. This is where the mission begins.
