A/N: O hai, new chapter. Long again, and should be more exciting than the last ;) Thank you for sticking with me, and have fun ;)
Opening quote by J. P. Sartre.
Love, Thorns and Fire
VII.
The Confirmation
"I think of death only with tranquility, as an end. I refuse to let death hamper life. Death must enter life only to define it."
"See?" Gale hisses into my ear as he leads me along the corridor to our rooms, arm firmly wrapped around my waist.
"Yeah, guess you were right," I concede.
"But why the hell he didn't tell us anything?" says Gale, his voice rising. He must mean before, but still, he probably doesn't sound like the first and only tribute complaining about Haymitch's attitude to duty.
I lay my hand on his chest in an attempt to calm him, my fingers stumbling across the mysterious pendant from Madge hidden in his pocket. "Probably couldn't fit it into his drinking schedule," I remark, lightly pressing against the token.
Gale lays his hand over mine, but grits his teeth audibly. "Maybe. But no way I'm letting you get hurt just because-"
"I know you won't," I sigh. My head is spinning now, I can't let him go off on a rant anyway, and it wouldn't make sense before we know what exactly we're in for.
The door to my room is first in line, and I tug it open, dragging Gale along by the hand. "Stay with me to make sure?"
After all, Haymitch told us to stick together, and with that I can wholeheartedly agree.
Gale squeezes my hand. "Sure," he echoes.
The bed I'd hardly paid attention to before is large enough to fit Gale's whole family, plush and pristine-clean. Luxurious. The sight fills me with grating unease, though. It can't possibly be as old as the Hunger Games, and I wonder how many tributes have already slept there on their journey without a return. Gale must be thinking along the same lines and his grip on my hand tightens almost to the point of pain. A wave of terribly selfish relief rushes over me at the realization that I have him to share it with, that I won't be alone amid the ghosts I might soon join.
Reluctantly letting go of Gale's hand, I make a quick trip to the bathroom and give him a groggy half-smile as we pass each other on my way back. Then I lower myself onto the bed, kick off my shoes and sink into the treacherous comfort without as much as bothering to remove my clothes. My brain seems to be swimming in my tired head and I finally allow long-suppressed fatigue to take hold of my body. After all, we haven't given each other that much sleep last night, and both days have been draining for a variety of sweet and bitter reasons. Gale joins me in a minute and tugs the covers from under my body before lying down close to me and pulling them over us.
The bed is also incredibly soft and the sheets caress us with cool silky smoothness, but I'd exchange all that for the ragged blankets we'd slept in last night without a second's hesitation. So I shy away from the pleasant yet alien sensations and drape myself all over Gale instead, seeking familiar comfort in the living warmth and hard angles of his body.
He holds me wordlessly; one hand tangled in my messed-up hair, the other stroking my back in slow, innocent-yet-sensual motion. I can almost hear the wheels in his head turning, analyzing the situation and weaving vague plans. Silently hoping an opportunity to share them arises soon, I let him get lost in thought and allow myself to relax in his embrace while I still can. Gale gradually loses his own battle with fatigue and the generous nightcap from Haymitch, and his breath and heartbeat slow, lulling me to sleep.
I awake to glass-filtered sunrays on my face and a warm body against my back. Gale is spooned behind me - still asleep, I can tell by his deep regular breathing, but even subconsciously enjoying the sleeping arrangement we'd arrived upon in the course of the night. I burrow deeper into his embrace, pressing myself as close as possible.
It's not close enough, though.
Now I find it almost hard to believe we were making love for the first time just some thirty hours ago, alone and free under the friendly stars and eaves of our forest. The sky I looked at over his shoulder as we moved together was the same as ever, yet I feel as if something in me shifted when I fully opened myself to love and loss just as infinite. Perhaps I should regret it, but I can't bring myself to. I find only relief in the notion we'd claimed each other before anyone else had the chance to get us. The awareness of our connection soothed me even when we made no decisive move to confirm it, but now the desire stirs again, throbbing in every heartbeat. My head aches faintly and throat feels a little parched, but a little pleasure would make it pass, wouldn't it?
Gale, probably awakened by my squirming movement, shifts from behind me and coaxes me to roll onto my back. We hardly bother opening our eyes before joining our lips, eager to lose ourselves in a dream before rising into a nightmare. Right now, I don't care about being watched, and it doesn't even matter, I'm hidden halfway under the covers and halfway under Gale, and that feels safe enough. He has one arm under me, large palm cradling the back of my head, and his other hand wanders along my body, slipping under my dress and caressing my heated skin. I return his kisses with equal fervor, greedily unbuttoning his shirt to reach him.
For few precious moments, I let the rush of blood and sensation overwhelm me, but insidious sounds slowly penetrate the bubble, insistent knocking and clicking and clacking, followed by an indignantly screeched, "Tributes!"
The single word in Capitol accent seems to encompass and reproach every offense we've just committed against the 'title'. We both snap in the direction of the sound, collapsing side by side in the process.
Effie Trinket stands just few feet from the bed we're so indecently tangled on, already done up in her doll-like finery and observing us with hands on her hips, eyes flashing inscrutably from under a new set of plastic lashes.
"Just for your information, the Capitol doesn't reap their tributes for rolling around together. You should be ashamed." Her voice sounds a little tense, but that might be just morning accent. "There's a big, big day ahead of you! High time to make yourselves presentable," she adds with a pointed stare.
Neither of us has an answer for her, but after all, we'd hardly caught our breath yet. I feel my cheeks burn uncomfortably, and Gale's grip on me tightens.
True, our clothes are wrinkled after a night of uneasy sleep and half undone after the frantic activity of the last few minutes, but we are still reaped, so what's wrong with us being in the reaping attire? After all, it's not like either of us has never spent a much longer time in the same set of clothes. But such concept might well be beyond Effie's comprehension, as well as the fact that her tributes are people desperate to make the most of days bound to be their last.
"Don't stare at me like that," Effie admonishes us both. "You have a full hour to shower and to change. Don't you dare to be late for breakfast."
"Yeah, 'cause that would be a tragedy, right?" mutters Gale.
"A disgrace, young man," Effie corrects him. "And I'd advise you to look for fresh clothes in your own room."
When Gale makes no move to obey, she clicks her heel for emphasis. "Now!"
He leans back to me instead, with a grimace that would have made me laugh under normal circumstances. "See you in a bit," he breathes against my lips and presses on more kiss to them before rolling to the edge of the bed and standing up. I nod with a failed attempt at a smile and watch him slip on his shoes and stride out of the door.
When Effie follows and closes the door, I slowly draw my knees up to my chest and rest my head on them in a foolish little attempt to hide from everything. My pulse slowly calms down as I force the excitement and embarrassment to fade. Apart from the sense of loss and irritation at being interrupted, I do feel shame. Not at getting caught lip-locked and limb-tangled with the man I love, though I've always been reclusive about displays of affection. More at the reminder that we've entirely lost the little control of our lives we'd had, to the point of being watched all the time and ordered around to prepare for public display.
Whatever the purpose, I can't help but wonder how much of ourselves we'll be allowed to keep. Deep down inside, I sense the final answer will be nothing. But I know we'll be holding on as long as possible. I take few deep breaths, eyes tightly closed. We'll be holding on with all we have.
Time to collect myself.
I force my head up and get off the bed, padding barefoot to the wardrobe lining the compartment wall. I'm not even surprised when I open the door to reveal enough clothes to dress half the girls in our school. The abundance, even the beauty, fails to impress me, but the sheer wastefulness of the display does. I shift through the selection – all the sizes and materials and cuts and designs perhaps never to be worn, and to my relief find an unobtrusive pair of black pants and a forest-green top that look like they might fit. Good.
After grabbing the most practical looking set of underwear available, I carry my loot to the bathroom, and this time take a moment to wonder how can something like this function on a train, and how many houses in the Seam could be built for its value. But I'll never know, and how would wondering help anyone?
Luckily, I have the sink and the toilet already figured out, but then I find myself more than a little baffled in front of the shower. It doesn't take me long to decide not to put myself at the mercy of all the buttons and wash myself in the sink like I'm used to. Just as I turn to the door to fetch something to use as a washcloth, there's a faint knock.
"Yeah?" I say uncertainly. I hadn't noticed the tell-tale sound of high heels, so I allow myself to hope it's not Effie coming to instruct me about proper bathroom manners, or my lack thereof.
I shake my head, both relieved and perplexed, as the door opens and Gale steps in with some clothes under his arm, and an unapologetically cheerful grin on his face.
"You're back early," I comment, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
"Looks like I'm right on time," Gale counters and wraps one arm around my waist, making me stumble against him. "I couldn't let you face the horrors of a Capitol shower alone, could I?"
I muffle my burst of laughter against his shoulder. "How noble of you, Gale."
"Anything for you, Catnip." He presses his lips against mine before I can answer, hot, passionate kisses demanding me to forget what exactly the sentence can come to mean in our current circumstances.
Why dwell on death while we still live?
It's almost too easy to continue where we'd unwillingly left off a while ago, the desire rising and boiling over as soon as we clasp each other in a wanton embrace. We break apart only to breathe and shed clothes, I don't even know what feels more necessary. Thus, I'm slightly surprised when Gale really pushes me into the shower and releases me for long enough to slide the frosted glass panels closed, but I agree, the more walls separate us from everyone and everything else, the better. I allow myself to believe nobody is watching us here, after all, why would they? Judging by Effie's reaction, pairs of tributes usually don't get to celebrate last moments of life this way.
We both catch several loads of wildly colored and extravagantly smelling substances as our bodies inadvertently bump into buttons on the wall, and eventually have to disentangle to find actual water. Luckily, Gale gets the controls quickly enough and soon we are standing where the abundant stream from the showerhead dissolves into a steady, warm rain. Artificial, but still most welcome, washing everything else away.
Gale has shifted right behind me, his hard body pressed against my back as his hands roam my front, spreading scented foam over my torso. Moaning in delight, I lean into him and reach my arms as far back as possible, trailing my fingers along the smooth skin of his sides, fluttering over hipbones and reaching lower. He stifles a pleasured groan against my neck and proceeds to lavish hot, open-mouthed kisses there, one hand tilting my head to grant him better access to my skin, the other slipping between my legs. My body arches in response, hips meeting every movement of Gale's teasing fingers, head falling limply to his shoulder, hand flitting back and forth in a frantic attempt to give him the same pleasure.
Our mouths join in a brief kiss, deep and fiery, before Gale breaks it off and trails his lips to my ear. "I love you," he whispers, his voice low and rough with desire
Before I can draw breath to answer, he pushes me slightly forward, his palm trailing from my nape down my back to cup my ass, strong fingers digging into my flesh. My gasp of surprise melts into a moan of anticipation as Gale closes his hand over mine, coaxing me to guide him inside. I comply without hesitation and help him slide in, relishing the deep, aching sense of fullness, and the mounting pleasure as we begin to move together. Thrown off balance by the increasing speed, I fumble for one-handed purchase on the slippery wall, my palm squeaking on the wet tiles, the nails of my other hand digging into Gale's thigh in a silent don't you dare stop warning.
Louder and louder sounds squeeze their way from between my clenched teeth, but I don't care, the rustling water drowns most of them, and I don't care, nothing else matters but us finding release in each other. It's close already, we've both been too wound up to hold anything back and we don't have much time anyway. Gale's hands stop roaming my body and lock around my hips as he sends me over the edge with last few hard thrusts, drawing a scream that must be heard even beyond all the walls of our refuge.
Every muscle in my body seems to contract and then release in gradual spasms, leaving me pliant in his arms and unable to protest when he turns me around and presses my back against the wall, filling me with his fingers instead and prolonging the pleasure almost to the point of pain. Taking the cue, I wrap my hand around him, hard and throbbing and sticky with me, giving him the last few strokes that separated him from his own gratification.
Gale has his other hand tangled in my hair, tilting my face upwards to look at him, and I do, staring transfixed into the cloudy-gray heaven in his eyes, just inches away… or right here as my own roll back in delight still holding onto the image. Moments later, I feel his forehead rest against mine, wet hair plastering over my face, body sinking into my embrace. Hot breath mingles between our lips in ragged whispers of evotion as droplets of sweat and love and water mix on our skin.
My head spins with much more pleasant intoxication than the alcohol-induced one from last night, and my heart beating alongside Gale's feels strong, for a moment too strong to break at the notion that our bodies are probably doomed to a life span shorter than that of a liquor bottle owned by anyone but Haymitch. If anything, the thought of death seems to sharpen every sense and heighten the experience of life.
"So, what are we gonna do?" I whisper when we recuperate a little and Gale tugs me under the main stream of water to wash away the last remnants of foam and all traces of our frantic lovemaking.
Gale wraps me in his arms, bringing his lips close to my ear. "Stick together," he whispers and squeezes a light laugh out of me. "And we have to find out what's really going on," he adds more seriously, "but either way, we seem to have permission to raise hell."
I shiver a little even in the warmth of his embrace. I know he never thought it would happen this way, but I can tell he's warming up to the idea. After all, he's been dreaming about doing something against the Capitol all his life. The realization both scares and excites me.
"But we are still going to the Games," I mutter, trailing my fingers up and down his back in a calming motion.
"Obviously." He seems to deflate a little, holding onto me. "But if we show them up in the Games, everyone will see it."
"You think that's what Haymitch meant?"
"What else?" Gale replies. "The question is how. And how to get you out of it as unharmed as possible."
"Me!" I snort. I pull away slightly, slip my fingers into his hair and tug, bringing us nose to nose. "It's us, or I will hurt you. Get it?"
Gale gives me a wry smile. "That might well be the point," he says and pushes against my grip to plant a kiss on my forehead.
"Yeah," I sigh. A single look into his eyes suffices to know he has the same opinion on how that might reflect on the staying alive part in the end. But if we survived together long enough to be noticed and showed them we won't turn against each other no matter the cost…
"Even if we die, we won't die as their tributes," says Gale.
I nod determinedly. "That's something to hold onto. But if we are to survive at all, we should get going. We must be already late," I add, drawling the last word with a Capitol accent.
Gale winks and shrugs. "Worth it." But he does move away to let the water flow freely between our bodies, and then stops it and turns on a whirlwind of hot air that dries us in a minute.
"Convenient shit, really," he mutters through gritted teeth as we exit the shower. "They have this kind of high-tech, and we are starving and slaving away in mines that can blow up any moment-"
"Shut it," I hiss. There's nothing to drown the noise now, and I don't need him to bring up that kind of memories anyway. "Please," I add when he glares at me.
Gale shakes his head. "Sorry I'm not sorry."
"I know," I snap after a long-suffering sigh. And I know he knows I agree, so why bother and risk?
We pull the new clothes on in slightly tense silence, and I quickly finger-comb my hair. Gale comes up behind me as I re-braid it and presses a conciliatory kiss to my temple when I'm done. "What about those?" he asks softly, gesturing to our reaping clothes strewn carelessly on the bathroom floor.
I sigh as I pick up my dress, and then unclasp the mockingjay pin and attach it to my new top. "We can't exactly take them along," I say wistfully and run my hand along the soft fabric of my mother's dress. I wish I could keep it, as a reminder of her, of Prim, of home. But of course, that's not the kind of luxury I could afford here.
"Nope," Gale confirms and reaches into the pocket of the shirt that must have once belonged to his father. He retrieves his own token, along with the cookie from the baker. "Hey, and this?"
I smile wryly and pull out my own dandelion-adorned one. "Eat them?"
"Well, they sure won't take them away if we do," he says, unwraps his own cookie with the frosted katniss and pops it into his mouth. "Hmm, you taste better."
I try my best not to choke with cookie-crumbs and laughter.
Still munching, we make our way back to the room and settle for laying the empty clothes on my bed. Whatever fate they meet later, at least it feels more dignified than leaving them on the bathroom floor.
"Cookies before coming late for breakfast, Effie will be happy with us," I comment as we make our way along the corridor to the dining area.
"Well, she'll sure as hell survive it," retorts Gale.
We can't be that late, because Haymitch is still absent, and Effie indeed does survive; she just clucks her tongue disapprovingly and gestures to the generous spread on the breakfast table. "Quickly, eat up, we'll be in the Capitol before you know it!"
The notion threatens to rob me of my appetite, but I load my plate and force myself to ignore the tightness in my stomach. Gale doesn't let the circumstances daunt him at all and attacks the food as if he wanted to accomplish the virtually impossible task of not letting anything go to waste. Of course, we may as well use the little time we have to build up as much strength as possible. We also seem to be properly enjoying the hospitality of our captors for once, but Effie shows no signs of appreciation and alternates between staring at the door of the dining compartment and taking dainty, but obviously tense sips from her cup.
She seems to relax only when Haymitch shuffles in through the doorway, and quickly excuses herself. Our mentor looks sober for a change, but tired as if he hadn't slept at all. He proceeds to flop on a chair opposite us, frowns at the food and grabs a whole pot of coffee without bothering with a cup. All for liquid nutrition, obviously.
I have found my own – a cup something I immediately recognized as chocolate, even though I haven't had any in years and I'd never would have imagined making a drink out of it. But the result is wonderful, and I sip it slowly to savor the taste and to occupy the last available nooks in my already full stomach. I allow myself a moment to wish the weight there was the only thing keeping me from gathering everything we hadn't eaten and running home to share it with the kids. They couldn't have slept well, and a whole day's worth of meals at home can't compare to the feast we'd just had…
The creamy sweetness seems to turn into ashes in my mouth, making me choke. Gale immediately drops his fork onto his mostly empty plate and reaches over to rub my back. I release my death-grip on the innocent chocolate mug and gratefully pat his knee under the table. The brief glance we exchange suffices to let me know he understands and thinks the same, and that we can't afford to think that way now.
We need to concentrate on what lies ahead.
Keeping his arm around me, Gale turns to Haymitch who'd looked over at the sudden noise. "What now?" he asks, gruffly though I can tell he's trying to guard his tone.
"You've got a fun day ahead, kids," says Haymitch with a grimace. "You'll get all prettied up for the audience."
We open our mouths at once, ready to tell him what we think about that, but he gives us no chance. "Yeah, I know, you won't like it all. But don't you dare resist, whatever they do."
"Why should we let them-" starts Gale.
"It's not time to fight, not yet. You gotta get your deal of attention first. And the stylists are on your side. They'll help you there."
On our side. Imagining Capitol people whose job is to dress children for slaughter on our side feels nearly impossible.
"How will dolling us up help?" I snap. "It's never helped anyone before."
"You have to be unforgettable. For everyone in Panem," says Haymich with emphasis on the everyone. "They have to love you, sweetheart. Both of you. So much they wouldn't want to see you die."
The words do sound hopeful, but Haymitch's tone and somber expression confirm our suspicions: even if we do our best, we are more likely to end up as martyrs. As if there hadn't been enough of those already.
Haymitch watches us for a moment and nods. "So listen to your stylists." He raises his eyebrows. "They'll make you shine alright."
I'm about to argue that given the history of unassuming coal-inspired costumes I vaguely remember, shining is highly unlikely, when the compartment suddenly goes dark. Instinctively, I draw closer to Gale and feel his muscles tense.
"Boo," growls the darkness. "Welcome to the beast's lair, sweethearts."
We can tell it we are supposed to pass it off as a joke and force a laugh, but it feels uncomfortably true. We are passing a tunnel dug through the otherwise impenetrable mountain range that has reliably protected the Capitol from the first rebellion. Under the immeasurable tons of rock, the sense of entrapment is more pervasive and acute than ever before. Again, I can't help to think about our fathers, buried in the eternal darkness of the mines.
Is this how it feels?
But it can't be, because for us, there's still light at the end of the tunnel. Bright and colorful and perhaps even more ominous than the darkness, but still, light.
I can't help but rush to the window to have a look at the great Capitol we normally only see on the TV screen, and Gale follows in my wake.
"So this is it," he mutters, the few syllables dripping with resentment and grudging awe in equal measure.
I nod mutely, my eyes widening on their own accord.
The sight before us certainly is awe-inspiring. Buildings in every color imaginable tower incredibly high, making me feel incredibly small. In a bad way too. In our forest, I also feel small, but like a small independently moving part of a whole, all in my element and surviving in accordance with the laws of nature. Here everything feels hostile and artificial, ready to crush me if I resist and poison me if I comply.
The ornamentally paved streets between the buildings swarm with bizarre cars and even more bizarre people. We get better look as the train slows down on its way to the station, and crowds that had gathered there to greet it grin and wave and presumably roar in excitement.
Celebrating our impeding doom.
I feel Gale's arm around my waist, pressing me against him. I wish I could just hide in his embrace and never return a single glance from the spectators, but Haymitch's words echo in my head. They have to love you.
I lay one hand on Gale's, tangling my fingers with his, and raise the other to wave. Gale does the same, and soon blurred fingers begin to point to our window. My smile must be more like a pained grimace, but I dare to hope nobody can tell while the train is moving.
After few excruciating minutes, the crowd disappears as the walls of the station rise around the train. We let go, turning to glance at Haymitch. He gives us a nod that can pass for approving, and then gestures towards in the direction of the door.
Before we reach it, Gale offers me his hand and I tangle my fingers with his, steeling myself for our step into the predator's lair and quietly dreading the moment when we'll be separated and subjected to whatever 'fun' procedures the Capitol has in store for us before the Games even begin.
Next time we meet, we'll be already changed, at least outwardly.
Gale returns my desperate grip with reassuring strength and tilts his head down to me with a little smirk. The pin from Madge digs into my chest as I press myself against his side. The gold is bright against my forest green top, and with a bittersweet pang I remember my father singing to the mockingjays in the woods. All the songs that were forbidden inside the district, while teaching me everything I needed to survive. A part of him still lives in me, in everything I've ever learned from him, in every memory I cherish. I've shared all that with Gale, and I have him here, strong and alive by my side.
He leans down, his lips almost touching mine. "C'mon, Catnip. We can do this," he whispers.
"Together," I confirm before our lips connect for a second, a seal of our fierce, possessive, protective, and perhaps lethally stubborn love.
Moments later, we exit the train hand in hand, with our heads held high, full of determination that we'll show the Capitol there's something they can't possess, and we'll fight for it to the last breath.
Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed :)
