a/n; sorry i didn't get to review reply to some of you. ffnet is being bitchy right now, and i wanted to get this chap out way earlier today. -_- but i thank you all, nonetheless!

chapter eleven - hurt

'where she walks, no flowers bloom
he's the one i see right through
she's the absinthe on my lips,
the splinter in my fingertips,
but who could do without you?' - birds of a feather, the civil wars

They don't talk for most of the trip back to his apartment. Once they get a taxi, she doesn't mind, watching the flickering lights outside the car window, enjoying the soft warmth in her stomach from her simple drink earlier and the cool cushions comforting her back. The hum from the car's engine adds to her heaviness, and she feels a dazed kind of sleepiness hitting her eyes with each passing streetlight.

Once they get out at the corner of his apartment, it surprises her how leaden her legs are as they trudge up the steps. By the time Gale unlocks the door and walks in, she stumbles over the threshold and into his back.

He looks over his shoulder at her.

"Didn't take you for being such a lightweight."

She frowns and steps away from him quickly. "I'm not."

He smirks at her. "One drink and you're barely standing."

"I'm tired!" she says loudly. "And I had more than one."

He raises a brow. "Really?"

She crosses her arms. "Bolts let me drink his, too."

"Whoa, two drinks!" he says. "I don't know if I could drink that much."

She narrows her eyes. "When did you become such a comedian?"

"Years of practice," he says, giving her a forced, cheeky grin. "But anyway, what do you want for dinner?" He turns to the kitchen. "Didn't realize it was so late."

She watches him disappear through the doorway. "I'm not that hungry."

He grunts. "Don't start that again."

"But I'm not."

He pokes his head back out, giving her a leveled look. "Were you being honest when you said you wanted to go train with us tomorrow morning?"

"Yes…"

"Then you're going to eat. So what do you want?"

They somehow decide on turkey sandwiches, though she can't remember ever mentioning anything about turkey.

She sits on the couch as he fixes them, leaning her head slowly on the armrest. It doesn't take long for her breathing to even out, and her eyes to go back to being as heavy as they were in the car. The coldness of the leather is a blessing through her clothes, and it's a perfect balance…

When Gale comes back into the room carrying the meager sandwiches on plates, he stops in front of the couch. She's fast asleep, with her legs tucked in near her chest and her braid hanging off the edge of the couch and into his carpet.

It reminds him of the first time he saw her, back in District 12. He can't believe that was a week ago.

But at least, he thinks, her face doesn't look as tight and restless as it had been before. Maybe it's a good sign.

It takes him a good five minutes to bring himself to wake her up. She looks too peaceful, but if all it takes is a couple of drinks to get her to look like this, then he makes up his mind to take her to bars more often.

"Wake up, sleeping beauty," he says softly, nudging at her shoulder. She mumbles and moves away from him.

"I mean it," he says, pushing her a little harder. After a few long seconds, her eyes crack open slowly, eyebrows crinkling.

"What time is it?"

Gale shakes his head. "Eight-thirty."

Her eyes open a little wider and her voice is accusing. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"At night, Katniss. You've been asleep for five minutes."

She sits up, rubbing her forehead. "…oh," she says quietly.

He laughs at her a little, though he feels sad watching her continuous struggle with sleeping. He's sure she's just like him, sleeping forty-five minutes out of eight hours every night. He's learned how to live with it, but he knows that she hasn't.

He decides not to ask her about it, pushing her plate closer to her from the coffee table instead. He'll go one small step at a time.

"Just eat a few bites and you can head to bed."

She leans over and grabs the plate, going to groggily stand. "I'm going to eat in my room."

He figures that she feels more comfortable in the quiet space of her bedroom – since she's been eating and wholly living in there the past days. He pushes away the desire to persuade her to stay, if only to be able to watch and make sure she eats. But he thinks arguing with her while she's half-asleep is a bad idea.

So he lets her go to her room silently, and he eats alone.

Gale goes to the same place in dreams. The environment changes, with thickets and logs or dried weeds and a cracked bench in the middle of District 12. But he always starts at the entrance, like he's beginning on a journey all over again to somewhere that he's not sure about.

He walks and walks to that bench or that log, taking however long it does or however long it's supposed to. Lanes change and diverge, but they all lead to the middle, always faithful to his path.

When he finally takes his seat at the bench, Prim's always there, waiting patiently for him with her goat cheese from Lady and a fresh slice of baked bread. They're both so sharp in their aromas that he can taste them – truly – on his tongue and through his nose without even needing to touch them.

"Hey, Gale," she says, holding her presents.

"Hey, Prim," he says. He looks down at her and rubs at her head. "How you holding up?"

"Alright," she says, scuffing her worn shoes on the dirt beneath her feet. "Mom's still not acting right. Katniss told her to stay focused, but I don't think she takes any of that to heart."

Gale stares down at her, and he feels his face contort into a frown. He hates seeing Prim so lost without Katniss. She's always been dependent, in her way, sliding by with her meager offerings of smiles and shine toward everyone. But that usually didn't last, and Gale knew it might be coming to an end for her soon. If something happened…if Katniss died…

Gale reaches over to his belt, taking off his catch of the day. It's always there – either squirrel or rabbit or whatever else he can scrounge up – and it'll always be her portion. He will always provide for her, and it's not just for Katniss. It's because she's Prim, and he's known her for as long as he can remember, acquaintances first by shy smiles and small gifts of cheese, then friends by the bond that forms from being there – giving and receiving and sometimes, staying right there, right beside them when they need you most.

Then they're in Prim's house, huddling around the TV, watching how Katniss's life unfolds on the national broadcast. Whether she's in a tree or running from flaming balls hurdling at her entire body or fleeing from a boy with a knife or maybe not even that – maybe she's running for her life from someone's bare hands – whatever the case, Prim always seems to curl into his ribs, fingers acting like sewing needles, threading through his shirt and staying there until it gets very, very late and she falls asleep all tight and tense and twitching with something worse – with the horror of her imagination.

Gale has dreams where Katniss is hanging from a tree, all bloody and bruised and rotting – Prim's can't be any better. But he goes against his better judgment and hopes that she can see something a little less bleak.

They'll walk down to the Hob, every once in a while. She sometimes grasps at his pants leg, out of habit when there are large crowds gathering around them. Sometimes, he takes her hand and she grips it like a lifeline.

He'll never take her to the forest, though she asks and asks and asks. She's so persistent that he's close to giving in each time, but he'll shake her loose and set her on her way back home, making sure she knows that he needs to go alone. Because it's dangerous, and he doesn't want anything to happen to her. What would Katniss say when she comes back if she found scratches on Prim?

That's usually the question that gets her. What would Katniss say?

And they're sitting on the bench again, right in the middle of the District. But Prim's becoming this shadow, with fangs and parasites crawling out of her mouth.

"What would Katniss say, Gale? What would she say?" Prim asks. "She's in your house. She's in the other room. What would she say?"

Gale's confused. "What do you mean? What would she say, Prim?" He asks questions like nothing's wrong with her, like it's a feasible question in the midst of everything else.

But the worst thing is that he has to know what Katniss would say.

Prim stares up at him with beady, blue eyes. She stares and stares and stares, and the bread is gone, along with the cheese, and there aren't any catches hanging off of his belt.

"Prim," he says, his voice rising. He reaches out and grips her arms, only to watch them fall to the ground, breaking into thousands of pieces, and spinning away like black sand. "What would she say?"

She smiles with her ugly face. She says, "You shouldn't go to the forest, Gale. It's dangerous. You'll get hurt. What would she say?"

"Prim!" he shouts, and his voice is getting more hysterical. He's not sure why. He feels himself sweating, and he's so hot, and his heart's beating through his ribcage. "Prim, stop, what do you mean – "

But she starts breaking wherever he touches her – her shoulders and pieces of her stomach. He shakes her a little, and her legs wobble off into nothing. Then all that's left is a head, lying on the bench, asking the same question over and over.

Gale stands up and grabs at his temples, her voice piercing his skull like a bullet, whistling through it like jelly, scalping him, one time, then two times, then three. He falls to his knees onto the dirt, and he starts screaming, but he can't hear himself over her screaming and her voice and her questions.

Then Gale wakes up. Sometimes it's four-thirty, sometimes it's two. Usually, he doesn't look at the clock. He chooses to stare up at the ceiling for a while, watching the one shade of darkness paint shapes onto the wall. He stews in his sweat until he can't take it, then he goes to the bathroom to rinse his face with cold water. Sometimes he changes out of his clothes into new ones, but he's learned that it'll just happen again, and again, so he throws his pants to the floor, and his shirt if he's wearing one, and he'll lay there until he has to get up and start the day.

It used to be frightening. He'd see night terrors after those nightmares – things would be moving around him in his room, but he wouldn't be able to distinguish what they were from the shadows. It's not as bad anymore. It's routine now, just like most other things he does, and that makes it bearable and okay. The worst thing that he feels after waking up is a certain kind of numbness – an apathy that creeps into him like an automatic mechanism to protect himself from his thoughts.

He's not grateful for it, but it works. And if it works, he's not one to complain about it.

When five o'clock rolls around, he swings out of his bed, throws on his workout shorts and t-shirt and shoes, before going out of his room to check on Katniss. He pushes the door in slowly, making sure not to let it squeak, not sure why he's being so careful if his whole intention is waking her up, anyway. But he keeps it up, going to her side and looking down at her. And she's really sleeping. Her breath is deep and balanced, loud enough to fill the silence of the whole room.

He hates that he promised to wake her. He almost talks himself out of his duty, almost turning out of the room to let her keep sleeping, until he makes himself think about the consequences. And though she'll just hate him more if he doesn't wake her, would it really add on to how much she already hates him?

He figures it wouldn't, but he shakes her before he can think about it more.

"Katniss, wake up."

She doesn't budge. He shakes her a little harder. "Katniss."

She moans, shifting around, and sleepily asking, "Peeta?"

He sighs. "Yeah, Peeta. Now, get up."

She blinks a few times, her eyes slowly focusing around Gale's form. She frowns at him when she realizes who he is. "Oh, sorry."

He tries to smile at her. "Do you want to still get up? You don't have to, you know – "

"Yes, I do," she says, though it takes her a bit to pull the covers off her. "I'm just…"

"Tired," he answers for her. "Yeah. Listen, I think you should probably stay – "

"No!" she says forcefully, though it's softened by her sleep slurs. "I'm going."

She pushes herself up on shocked legs, but he's surprised that she can still carry herself without stumbling around.

"Let me get dressed. I'll be fast."

He looks at her for a few more seconds before backing off and leaving the room, figuring that she can be her own worst enemy instead of him, for at least a few minutes.

"She made it!" Anton calls out once they arrive. All of the squad, sans Paylor, is gathered around each other in the field.

Katniss was a little surprised when Gale told her that they'd walk to get there, it being only a few minutes away from his apartment. They walked in the opposite direction of downtown, ending up in a fenced off field that contained some trees that made a trail around the plot. There are barracks just off the site of the field, housing the workers and temporary workers that are employed by Paylor. There are lights as well, turned on because of the darkness of the morning.

Gale used a card to get the fence door to open, sliding it through a lock and signaling a green light to shine for a second. Gale said it was because it was technically a government owned property, and they had to secure it, even though it was just a field.

"You thought I wasn't?" Katniss asks, both her and Gale stopping a few feet in front of the squad.

"We were just excited," Jack responds, floating over to Katniss's side. "You're kind of like one of those things all of us hears about but never sees."

Katniss raises a questioning eyebrow, stepping a foot away from him. "Like what?"

"Like…" he thinks, pondering the air in front of him. "A dinosaur."

"Stop being stupid, Jack," Johanna says, though she's smiling. "You act like you've never seen a girl before."

"I know you know you think it's true," he answers back quickly, and Gale shoves him further away from her.

"Where's Paylor, anyway?" Gale says, changing the subject and glancing around. "She's usually the first one here."

Bolts gives a bump of his head toward the direction behind Gale. "Speak of the devil."

Katniss looks up to see Paylor crossing the field, jogging over to them wearing shorts and a ragged looking t-shirt, her hair dangling over her shoulders.

Anton bows as she nears. "O, the mighty one has arrived."

"Sorry I'm late," she says, stopping to pull her hair back quickly with a hair tie, ignoring Anton. "Alarm clock didn't go off."

She looks – well, looked – a lot younger with her hair down. How old is she, again? Katniss thinks. Thirties? Forties?

"Katniss is joining us!" Jack preens a second later, grasping her shoulders. "That cool, Paylor?"

Paylor glances over to her, surprise clearly labeling her features. "Katniss?" She turns her stare to Gale. "This is all your doing, isn't it?"

He crosses his arms. "Actually," he starts.

"It was mine!" Jack says jubilantly, shaking Katniss.

Paylor's eyes narrow, looking her over. She doesn't seem the least impressed. "You think you can make five miles?"

Katniss swallows inaudibly. She used to make five miles easy. Now, though…? She's not so sure.

"Of course," she says, anyway, trying to make herself taller.

But Paylor sees right through her. She turns to Gale. "Stay with her and make sure she doesn't hurt herself." Then she claps her hands together and tells everyone to set off, starting a light jog down the field and heading down the thin, dirt path. The rest of the squad follows after her, though Jack trails behind, glancing at Katniss's irritated face. He gives her a smile and calls out that he'll see her on the other side.

She sighs, hoping that'll be true.

Gale starts out slow for her, and he tells her they can take breaks whenever she needs them. The pace they're going makes them lose sight of the others after a small amount of time, though Gale doesn't seem particularly worried about it, leading a few, lazy inches ahead of her in the semi-darkness. The light from the lamps filter through the leaves and trees, though it makes the atmosphere a bit hazy.

The first mile passes better than she anticipates, her breathing becoming only slightly ragged. By the end of the second, she's winded enough to think about having to breathe, and once they break through the last step of the third mile, she starts stumbling and has to stop, her stomach feeling nauseous and her limbs shaky and weak.

Gale stops beside her, and she hates how he doesn't seem the least affected by the run, his chest leisurely inhaling as if they had gone on a pleasant stroll.

"Hey, let's sit down for a second," he says, going toward a tree and sitting, leaning his back against it.

"No," she huffs, glaring down at him. "I'm fine."

"Trust me," he says, putting his head against the bark. "You're not doing yourself any favors by making yourself stand up. Just relax for a few minutes and you'll feel a lot better."

She stubbornly stands for a minute longer until the attraction of sitting down is too much. She loudly falls back into the grass, stretching her arms out to her sides and closing her eyes. The air, when not pounding into her throat, is cool and calming and not as sharp as it seemed to be when they were running. She groans and presses the back of her hand to her forehead, feeling her veins pulsing through her skull. She can feel her blood move through her whole body, from her calves to her gums. Even her teeth pound from the force, and it's embarrassing how much three miles of running affects her now. She used to run all day in the forest catching game, learning her way around, and sometimes getting lost. Maybe she took being in shape for granted. Then again, she hasn't cared about her health, specifically, for a long time.

But feeling her blood all over – it's a rush. Her limbs tingle and her sides burn while her heart stutters quick and rhythmically. Her throat's parched and she swallows reflexively, trying to regain control. But she finds that she kind of likes it. She likes the way it all feels, all these things adding up and making her head feel feather-light and weightless. It feels like it has wings and could fly away any moment.

When she opens her eyes again, Gale's watching her with an unreadable expression on his face, his mouth turned into a pondering line. His eyes seem to glow in the shadows of the trees, the light filtering through the trees from the outside making them more pronounced.

"What?" she manages to ask.

He turns his head away from her after a second, glancing further down the path. "Nothing," he says. Then he stands up, wiping off his shorts distractedly. "Think you're ready to finish?"

Once they get back to the open field, everyone has already started gathering and setting out their equipment from one of the barracks. Most of it consists of different types of weights – kettle bells, weighted bars, and free weights.

The sight almost makes Katniss fall over in fatigue.

"Today's weightlifting," Gale answers once he sees the look on her face. "It's really not that bad. I'll pick out the weights you should use."

She stares at his back dubiously as he makes his way over to the group, going through the selections and putting weights and bars to the side for her. She slowly follows him, and once Jack sees her, he hollers and asks her how she's doing. She makes some kind of noise and he laughs at her, pushing her shoulder and telling her how he knew she'd make it.

Anton grins over to her once she stands by all the weights Gale gives her.

"We're not gonna kill you, you know," he calls over.

Johanna snorts. "Yeah. It's not going to be like that boot camp shit we went through during the war."

Katniss thinks back to her run she just finished and running back with Johanna, and thinks that all of them are liars.

"Alright," she answers, anyway.

Yet, surprisingly, the lifting isn't bad at all – except for the squats and the lunges and arm work and who is she kidding - it's awful.

Katniss's arms shake as she throws the bar down into the grass, the force causing it to bounce before settling in a small dent in the dirt. She crumples to the ground, leaning her elbows on her knees and breathing is as much air as she can.

She's pretty sure they're all laughing at her, though she can only barely hear the snickering above her. And she doesn't dare look up. She knows that if she does, someone will die.

Jack is the first one to make his way over to her, predictably, reaching out to touch her shoulder and say something consoling, but Katniss hisses out a few words before he can say anything.

"Don't even think about it, Jack."

Her voice comes out extremely acidic, and she can sense him recoil. Then she hears a few snorts.

"The Mockingjay has spoken, Jack," Bolts says in the background. "I'd think it'd be best to leave her alone."

She hears them move around her after a while of sitting there, until she finally hears a pair of shoes stand right by her. She guesses it's Gale, just by the fact that he might be the only one brave enough to actually talk to her.

She peeks out of the cavern in between her legs, glancing up at his figure. He's got a deliberate smirk on his face, and she glares, hoping to melt it away or decapitate his head all together.

"What?" she grunts.

His smirk widens as he holds out his hand. "Peace offering?" He shakes the bottle. "It'll make you feel better."

She eyes the bottle of what looks like orange juice, and her throat convulsively swallows. She reaches out and yanks it from him, taking a few much needed gulps before saying, "I won't guarantee peace, but thanks, I guess."

He shrugs. "I'll take it." He takes a seat next to her, and it's then that she looks around and sees all the equipment put away back into the side barrack. The rest of the group is slowly filtering out of the door to the barrack, and she can faintly hear their voices. "So, I guess you won't want to come back, huh?"

She blinks over to him, narrowing her eyes. "Of course I'm coming back."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really," she says, a dignified edge entering her voice. "It'll only get easier if I keep coming back."

His eyes change at her conviction, shining a little bit at her. "Jack and Anton will be happy to hear that."

She drinks half the bottle and immediately regrets it, a hand impulsively going to hold her stomach. "So you're not happy about it?"

He gives her another unreadable look, and she absently wonders why she asked.

He ends up shrugging and says, "I never said that." And that's all he gives for an answer. Katniss grimaces at him and slowly finishes her juice.

It doesn't take long for the squad to start leaving. Johanna is the first one to walk away from them, making her way to the gate. Gale notices this, and stands up, telling Katniss he'll be right back, and jogs over to reach her before she leaves. Katniss watches in semi-interest as Gale gets her attention, then leads her away toward the beginning of the forest.

Katniss doesn't have long to wonder about what they might be doing. Jack and Anton come over and pull her up from the ground, chatting about how she'll have to come back on Thursday and show them how to use a bow and how they need to meet up at the bar again tonight, among other things. But she's too distracted by looking at the forest to completely take in what they're saying.

"Gale…" Johanna starts, looking at him hard. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says quickly. "Just…you think we went too hard on her?"

She gives him an incredulous look. "Are you kidding? That was the easiest workout in months."

"You know what I mean."

She rolls her eyes at him. "Don't go soft just because of her."

He glares. "I'm not. I just don't want to scare her off."

"Where would she go?" She throws up her hands. "Back to doing nothing in 12? I highly doubt that."

"She has Peeta, you know," he says.

"Then why's she here anyway?" she asks, leaning forward. "Isn't he supposed to be some kind of saint, now? Taking care of her and making sure nothing harmful comes her way?"

Gale sighs, then explains to her the gist of what happened back on his trip home, leaving out the unnecessary parts including Peeta. Johanna seems to contemplate this intently, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at his words.

"Obviously, she can't just leave."

"The decision is ultimately up to her."

"No," Johanna says, shaking her head furiously. "You can't believe she'd just up and leave when she's supposed to be…what is it? 'Finding herself'?" she says, using quotations. "Besides, I'm pretty sure she's starting to trust you a little."

Gale snorts.

"I'm serious," she grounds out. "People can trust one another but not like them. I trust you, and I don't like you that much. Perfect example."

"But that's different," he sighs down at her.

"How?" she says, punctuating her word with a pull of her head. "I have to see you almost every day, even if I don't want to, and sometimes I have to go with you out to other Districts or on little clean-up missions without being able to give my input or telling Paylor what I want." She jabs a finger at his chest hard enough to make him place a foot behind him for balance. "She hardly listens. She barely gives a damn. She only cares that we get the job done, and that's how I see it now, too. Even if you don't like who you're doing it with. Isn't that the same between you two? Just some prolonged mission, learning how to deal with each other, and then getting it finished as quick as you can?"

Her points are sharp and refreshing, and they don't disappoint. Gale's pretty sure that's why he likes Johanna so much – her advice might not be intended, but it's always blunt and to the point. It's why he respects her. He can go to her, ask a stupid question, and she'll be able to put him in his place no matter what the cost. Besides, it takes a lot to hurt his feelings nowadays.

"Yeah…sure," he says, crossing his arms. "It's…exactly like that. But – "

She sighs loudly. "But what?" Her eyes change as fast as she said the words, mouth quirking down and her brows furrowing. "Don't tell me she's not over her little sister."

Gale sneers at the way she says it. "No. She's not."

"Boo-fucking-hoo," she drawls, muttering it with contempt. "What? And she still blames you for it?"

Gale's sneer becomes more pronounced. "Wouldn't you? Don't you still hate Snow even though he's dead?"

Her face changes, and she starts getting angry. "Now that's completely different."

Gale scoffs. "No, it's not. It's exactly the same."

"No," she almost shouts, placing her face closer to his. "It's not. Snow made me do things for him – and then he killed everyone that was ever close to me, even though I did every fucking thing he told me to. He deceived me and made me believe that I could save them. But it turned out that their only crime was being close to me," she snarls. "He made them die because I existed. Because he could. What have you done to her?" She jabs at his chest again, hard enough to leave a bruise. "Be her friend? Love her? What a crime against humanity!" she says, throwing her head back and laughing darkly, causing a flock of birds to dart out of the trees. "And she can't even see past what? Her grief? Her resolution that she can blame you because you live while Prim doesn't?"

Gale hates that he's making her remember those terrible things in her past. She's only talked about it to him once, and probably even less to anyone else. But he has to use it – maybe just for peace of mind. And that's exactly what she does – telling him the things he knows he feels, somewhere, six feet under the guilt that has been plaguing the foremost space on his mind.

"Besides, all you did was create a bomb. Just one bomb. There were thousands more of them in a shed somewhere underground, and Coin just happened to pick out yours because of the design. Maybe because it looked cooler than the rest."

He steps forward, looking down at her. "It was a mistake to have made that," he says quietly. "And I know I can't do anything about it but regret. But – "

But Katniss will never believe it. She will always connect seeing him to death, and there's nothing he can do to break that connection.

Maybe he just needs someone to tell him that, point-blank, close enough to rip through a bullet-proof vest. Then he'll be able to move on. That's all he needs.

Just a reality check, and he'll be able to let it go and not care about it so much.

"But it happened, and dwelling on it won't change a single thing," Johanna finishes for him. She steps back. "You know, I was starting to think that you were fine. I thought you weren't bothered anymore." She seems a little disappointed, and it surprisingly stings. All her barbs never do anything, but a slight deviation from those bitter, hateful words, and she's got him all tangled up in sadness.

"How long is it supposed to take to get over it?" she asks, cynically, crossing her arms and looking off to the side.

Gale's always known she was never able to get over it. That goes without saying. Her personality tells everyone everything there is to know about her, if one looked at her long enough, with all her jabs and anger to protect herself. And Gale wishes he could show her that he did get over it, just so she could try to get over it herself. Or, at least, try to make the haunting go away.

But the fact is that she'll continue on, disappointed, and he'll go on partially broken.

So he laughs and says, "You tell me, Johanna."

They're both quiet a long time, lost in different thoughts. Gale looks at her, watching as her face keeps a grimace on her lips, kicking a stray rock away from her toward the trunk of a nearby tree, and thinks about what she said.

"Well," she says, after a long pause, giving a shrug. "At least I can beat you up when I need to."

She starts to walk past him, but he stops her by grabbing her arm.

"Hey…" he says, making eye contact with her. "I'm sorry. For having you talk about…" He shakes his head. "I just needed that."

She smirks at him. "Of course you did. Big baby."

At this, his eyes glint and he brings her into him for a hug, knowing it'll be like torture to her. She grunts and struggles against him, pushing her elbows into his abdomen, and he wheezes out a small laugh.

"Damn it, Gale, let me go."

"You know, it's not very ladylike to be so vulgar – "

"Oh, I'll show you ladylike…" she mutters, before she gives one last struggle and he relents, letting her out of his grasp.

She tries to fix her mussed up hair, still slightly damp from her sweat. She tamps it down with her palm, looking irritated, walking around the few trees they talked behind, finding her way out to the open again. Gale follows her, a crooked smile on his face.

"Maybe you should show Anton your ladylike manners instead of me," he says.

She groans. "Ugh, not you, too. I started to trust you. I swear to God, if I hear one more comment about me and Anton…"

Katniss wonders if it was a good idea, following them into the trees.

Paylor had called Anton and Jack away to talk to them about some squad job she had for them to do that day, much to their displeasure. And being alone, staring at the trees, the curiosity Gale and Johanna left behind was too great to pass up. So she found a spot where she heard their voices and deftly, though shakily, climbed a tree, laying against a branch, and listened.

But now they're gone, and she's staring at the myriads of wilting leaves surrounding her, not quite sure what to think.

It's not like she never thought about what Gale had felt about it – the bomb, specifically, or the death of Prim. But she had been angry at the world for a long time, and she ended up not caring about what he thought. And then years passed, and she didn't think about him as much as she used to. She didn't care what he did or where he was. Her thoughts were usually only occupied with Peeta or Prim or the forest. She guesses she became neutral about him, over time.

But seeing him again, just a few feet away from her that day, reminded her of all the buried anger she still had, dwelling inside her. Not seeing him had compressed what she had felt – but his sudden appearance had brought it all rushing to the surface. It was instantaneous, uncontrollable.

It calmed down over the week that he was in 12 – and it hadn't festered like she thought it would, having to be near him all the time for who knew how long.

It's…kind of stagnant. There's still friction between them, but it isn't the most prominent thing that she feels. She feels uncomfortable, sure, out of place, but when she repels all the feelings, it isn't so bad.

Once she sees that they're out of earshot, she jumps down from the tree, her legs screaming their surrender as her feet impact with the ground. She bites her tongue and fights the sensation off, leaning back and sitting on the ground and massaging her thighs with her forefinger and thumb.

She's going to be so sore tomorrow.

A minute later, she hears a rustle to the left of her and looks up to see Gale slipping through the trees.

"There you are," he says, his scowl fading into a look of relief. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she says, pushing herself back onto her wobbly legs. Her massaging didn't seem to do very good.

He notices her trying to find better balance on her feet, but he stays where he is. "What were you doing in here, anyway?"

"Um…" she says, wracking her brain to find something that doesn't seem too much like a lie. "I just wanted to relax in here before we left."

He opens his mouth, then closes it, walking a few steps closer to her. "Sure you can walk?"

She stands a little straighter at his words. "Yes, I can walk." She strides forward several steps before she stumbles over a bundle of brush on the ground, losing her footing and heading face first to the dirt of the trail.

Gale grips her wrist before anything terrible happens, pulling her back to a stable footing.

"Are you positive?" he asks, and there's a ghost of a smile on his lips.

She scowls harshly at him, yanking her arm back to her side. Without saying a word, she walks ahead of him, face turned toward the ground and scanning it with her eyes, making sure there's no fatal dent or pothole that might be the death of her.

She tries to ignore the feeling swelling up in her skin, the lingering heat on her wrist from his hand. It slowly dissipates through the rest of her arm, leaving the rest of her body chilly. And cold, and hollow.

And she knows, right then, that maybe she's always hated herself more than she hates him. He's only a scapegoat, and perhaps he's always been someone to readily place the blame on because -

Because Prim is gone – because she couldn't protect her. Because she wasn't there, for her. Because she put Panem first and Prim second.

And she won't ever forgive herself for that.

a/n; i'll try my best from my memory for the anonymous! i'm sorry if i miss you. but know that i love you!~

anon: OMG. it WAS you. what a slut. you just want them to have SEX.
;D

Lina: thank you so much! hope you liked this one. :)