Chapter 29: Together
A/n: This chapter's events were inspired by the Appalachian storm of 1950, which caused record snowfall and low temperatures across 22 states and claimed the lives of over 350 people.
When I awake, Gale's arms are still wrapped around me. He's still asleep, breathing deeply and lying on top of my hair.
We had made love last night, over and over again, until our bodies were drenched with sweat and both of us were delirious from exhaustion. It had taken until the third time – sucking on his fingers as I'd straddled him – for me to realize that it really wasn't a dream.
"Real or not real?" I'd asked breathlessly just to make sure, holding his palm up to my lips and kissing it.
"Real, real," Gale had groaned, driving up into me.
Afterwards, sleep had come easily. We'd ignored the cabin door, which had clumsily been kicked closed at some point but had never been properly latched shut. The wind must've picked up again while we slept, because it's wide open now and I'm now staring out onto a blank canvas of spiraling snowflakes.
The cold woke me up.
It's unseasonably early for a snowfall this heavy and for temperatures to be this low. Then again, the stream had been flooding pretty badly yesterday as well, and I'd never seen it like that before, either.
I shiver in Gale's embrace and I realize no amount of fire created between our bodies, physically, will be able to refine us, to erase the damage this war has done. I graze my fingertips over a tight, red scar on his upper arm that wasn't there before, and I know that even more lie beneath his skin. As do scars of my own.
I dread it, but we'll have to talk, and soon.
I reluctantly pry myself away from his sleeping form just long enough to shut the door and stoke the embers of the fire, adding more kindling and wood. Crouching in front of the flames as they crackle back to life, I hear Gale stir behind me. I've decided that the most important thing, before anything else, is to tell him about our families. I just don't know how to say it.
"That's what brought me back here," Gale yawns, startling me out of my thoughts.
"Hmm?"
"The smoke. From the chimney. I saw it and knew you were here." He stretches his legs and turns the blanket down. "It'd only ever be you. Come back to bed. It's cold."
I crawl in next to Gale and gratefully accept his offer of the blanket and body heat, wedging my icy feet in between his legs. He moans and tucks the blanket around my shoulders, pulling me close. I can feel that he's hard yet again, but neither of us have the energy to do anything about it.
"I found my way back from the farmhouse," I explain. "Peeta and I found it on an old map. We had a hovercraft-"
I stop abruptly. I had just been about to start on District Thirteen and Haymitch and Coin when I'd remembered my resolution. I have to tell Gale about his family first. No stalling, no secrets, not like before. I swallow hard and nuzzle into his chest, trying to find the words and preparing myself mentally for the grief that will follow.
"Gale?"
"Shhh," he says, combing his fingers through my hair. It's even longer than before.
"But I need to tell you something," I choke, drawing a shuddery breath. "I saw District Twelve. Our… our families- your family..."
"I know," he says quietly, cutting me off.
"But you don't," I protest. When I look up, I see that his eyes are filled with tears. He continues to absentmindedly sift my hair through his fingers as he stares off into space.
"Yes," he finally says. "I do."
And he does. He's figured it out before I've had the chance to say much of anything, just as always. I kiss away his tears and hold him close for a long while, tucking my head back underneath his chin and hoping he feels comforted by everything I'm not saying.
It's just us out here. We're all we've got now. Gale's words are more true now than ever.
"Did you bury him? …Or her?" I suddenly ask. Our baby.
Gale nods slowly above me. He knows what I'm asking.
"Under the tree. Near the hammock."
"Good," I whisper after a long silence. It's the spot I would've chosen, too.
Suddenly, Gale scoots down a bit and meets my eye. He looks pained.
"I'm sorry," he pleads softly. "Katniss, I'm so sorry for-"
But this time, it's my turn to cut him off.
"Don't do that," I tell him, then press my lips to his, refusing to let him blame himself anymore - for my sickness, for the miscarriage, for any of it. I know what that's like all too well.
I gently maneuver him onto his back and then begin to kiss my way down his chest, as if his guilt is a venom that I can suck out of his skin. I drag my tongue over his nipples and he exhales, cupping the back of my head. I want to make him feel good, feel loved. But before I can move my mouth any lower, Gale stops me.
"And Peeta," he says in a strangled voice, betraying the question that has been on his mind, "Peeta... he- took care of you?"
I nod and kiss his stomach, but I know he feels ashamed to ask. For someone as passionate and capable as Gale, it must've frustrated him to go against his Seam sensibilities and have to ask for help after we'd done just fine for nearly two years.
Then I remember something, something only Peeta, of all people, had been able to tell me.
"He said you must've loved me a lot."
Gale smiles a little.
"I do," he answers, quietly. "I do love you a lot."
With that he releases me, and I slide further down his abdomen, taking him into my mouth.
Gale and I spend the rest of the day communicating what needs to be said in our own, broken sort of way. Partly words, partly action, and partly just knowing.
That night the temperature plummets, so Gale and I layer on all the clothing we own. We no longer have the patchwork quilt that had been salvaged from the farmhouse - I'd been wrapped in it when I was picked up by the Rebels, and it's now somewhere back in District Thirteen - but I'm certain that even before we had two blankets, it had never been this cold.
We pile extra wood on the fire to heat the cabin, but the icy wind still whistles through the cracks in the walls and ceiling. It's so cold that we can see our breath on the air, even indoors.
Gale and I cling to each other underneath our sole blanket, but our bed feels like a block of ice and seems to leach away our body heat more than anything. We shove the pine-filled pallet closer to the fire and set it on top of the deer skin rug, risking the chance of it all catching on fire just so we can feel a little warmth. But it doesn't do much to help, in the end, since freezing gusts of air keep forcing their way down the little chimney.
"It'll let up by morning," Gale reassures me through chattering teeth. He forces me to take the spot closest to the fire and then presses himself against my back. "We can get more wood from the pile outside afterwards. I just wasn't expecting a storm like this."
He seems to be faring better than I am. Maybe I've just gotten used to the consistent temperature of the underground living compartments in District Thirteen. Or maybe it's just that Gale's brave. Every time the walls creak and lurch, I'm reminded of my nightmare about the cabin caving in and burying us alive. At one point there's a deafening, terrifying crash, so loud that it shakes the ground beneath us. My first thought is bomb, but Gale presses his face into my hair when I yelp and reassures me that it was just a tree collapsing with the force of the wind. It's still frightening, though, how near it came to crushing us.
I barely sleep.
When what I guess to be morning rolls around, the fire is nearly out and it's so cold that frost covers the interior walls of the cabin. Gale discovers that snow has drifted up against the door and ice has sealed it shut. We pile all the remaining wood and kindling we have onto the fire. Then we resort to removing all of our clothing except for the oversized sweater Peeta had given me, which Gale then puts on and I squeeze myself up the front of, so we're pressed skin to skin. Apparently, it's best that way to share body heat. We layer all our remaining clothes over the blanket on top of us, and for a while it seems to feel warmer.
The ice storm still hasn't let up.
Gale and I have been without a fire for at least a few hours. At first it was painfully cold, but now I barely notice it.
We're playing a game where we list hot things in order to pass the time and ward off our sleepiness.
"Summertime," I say. The first, obvious choice.
A pause.
"Greasy Sae's soup," Gale returns.
We both laugh a little, through tight jaws and chattering teeth.
"Lamb stew," I counter after a long pause. The one thing I liked about the Capitol.
"Toast," he answers.
"... Mint tea. With honey."
"Mmm... Corn on the cob."
"Yum," I sigh, closing my eyes and burrowing even closer to Gale. When was the last time we'd eaten? I can't get my brain to tell me, but I'm not hungry anymore. We've been shivering for so long that I barely notice it now.
"Thick blankets," I finally whisper.
The breaks between our answers are getting longer and longer as we grow drowsy.
"... Those gloves. With the fur lining."
"… A… um, a sunburn."
Silence.
"Gale? Your turn."
"Um... Hunting boots," he mumbles.
Another silence.
"...That bedroom. In the- the farmhouse," I say. It had been humid that day. We'd only made the air hotter with our lovemaking.
There's a long pause, and I think Gale has fallen asleep. I was going to ask him something about… something. There was a question, but I can't remember it now.
What did I need to say to him?
Something about Peeta coming back. A hovercraft? A promise? Something. My brain is in a fog, and I can't figure it out.
It doesn't matter. Gale's here. We're together. Everything's okay.
"Hey, Catnip," he says weakly, after a while. "Remember that sunset we- we watched? From the cliffs?"
His lips look a little blue. I kiss them shakily and keep mine hovering near his, even as I tremble.
My cheeks are numb. I can't feel my toes.
"Yeah," I answer, recalling the orange and pink and purple, the treetops and clouds and sky that stretched on to forever.
We'd watched the sun go down, cradled in each other's arms, just as we are now.
"Yeah, Gale. I remember."
