Neither of us speaks for a long time, a time that stretches into absurdity. The truth weighs us down more and more as the silence stretches on. I shrug my shoulders away from Gale's hands, and then slide down the Cornucopia. Gale follows shortly after, landing next to me with a thump.
We land by the weapons we'd discarded in thinking that this turmoil was over. Gale bends down to pick up his knife, but not even for a moment do I think he's about to use it to kill me. I'm prepared to intervene if he opts to stab himself in the eye or something, but he doesn't. He merely stows the knife in his boot. After, we walk from the Cornucopia.
"Well . . ." Gale tails off.
I don't know what to say either. I'd just come to the terms to the fact that letting him die isn't something I'm prepared to do, for my sake and Prim's. To think I'd let all of us down.
Wait, no. No. I'm still not letting him die.
"We talked about this, Catnip," Gale says without looking at me. "You're the one of us that lives."
"I never agreed to that," I remind him.
"Well, I'm not letting you die here," he says matter-of-factly. "There seems to not be an alternative."
I thrust my arm out to him suddenly, gripping by the arm, stopping us from walking. "Wait!"
"What is it?"
"Nightlock!"
"Nightlock?"
I drive my hands into my pockets, feeling into the corners.
And I come up empty-handed.
The nightlock must have fallen out by now.
I gaze into the forests. How long can I look for nightlock before the Capitol gets bored and intervenes, picks the winner itself with a round of fireballs? Or realizes what I'm about to do and burns all the nightlock away? Not enough time. Not enough time.
I mutter something bitter and nonsensical under my breath, pulling my hands out of my pocket despondently.
In my head, an elaborate plan had been forming. Make them think we were both going to kill ourselves. Give them an ultimatum. Two winners or none at all. No one to parade around the country as a symbol of their generosity. But . . .
No nightlock.
"Never mind."
Gale looks visibly disappointed as he looks at me. I do not like seeing Gale dejected.
Suddenly, he squares his jaw, standing up a bit straighter. I think for a moment that maybe he's developed a plan, but when he doesn't speak, I let it go. Maybe I should stop getting my hopes up.
Gale turns his body so that we stand face-to-face. The way he looks at me, his gaze lingering over my lips, lets me know what he's about to do.
And this time, I let him. I let him kiss me.
He seizes me by the face and pulls my lips roughly to his. What begins as something rough and spur-of-the-moment, becomes something languid and drawn out, something that, in other circumstances, I might enjoy.
I don't care whether or not I'm good at this. I harbor no insecurities that I might normally have in these kind of situations. One of us could die any moment. I am going to have this kiss. They will not take this from me.
It finally hits me, for certain, that I forgive Gale. I was stupid for not forgiving him, for leaving him like I did. We could've had more of these moments, we could've had moments together we will never get back now, but my bitterness ruined that. And maybe I would be mad at myself, but relinquishing a grudge against him leaves me too exhausted to consider manifesting a new one against myself.
Gale pulls me closer to him, and I move my mouth with his.
We should've done this sooner, I think to myself. I think that for several emotionally charged reasons: we've been this close for so long, we have limited time left, etc. But I standout reason is, despite the circumstances, this is actually rather nice.
I realize, however, what Gale is trying to do.
We keep this kiss going for a markedly long time, not just because we like how it feels. This is a plea to the Gamemakers. This is a cry for sympathy.
Look how long we took to do this.
Look how much hope we had.
Look how much we . . . love each other.
Don't take that away from us.
The kiss is to show them that. The kiss is a petition, an imploration.
I can imagine the more emotional viewers in tears right now. Surely someone somewhere is demanding the revoked rule of two winners be restored.
But of course, the viewers are also on the edge of their seat, wondering who it is that will kill. That anticipation could be the death of us.
It's a long time before Gale and I give up. Gale pulls away, keeping his face close to mine. His face is set in a scowl as the silence of the arena bears down upon us.
He tries one more time to appeal to the hearts of the nation.
"I love you," he tells me, his voice a bit shaky. I've never heard his voice shake.
I can imagine the swooning crowds, the tearful green-haired, purple-skinned audiences. But no one comes over the speakers to announce us both the winners. It still isn't enough.
After I say it, I realize it's another appeal to the Gamemakers to let us live, but that's not what I intend it as. It's just something honest that I want him to know.
"I love you, too."
I do love him. I've loved him in several ways, ways I never thought myself capable of. I've loved him like a close friend, I've loved him the way the Haymitch wanted the audience to think I could, and I've loved him bitterly when I felt betrayed by him, like when Rue died. I didn't realize it was just another form of love at the time, but since we've met, I've never stopped loving him.
But apparently, the Gamemakers are not romantics.
No announcements.
No restorations of old rules.
But Gale is smiling. His smile is a sad thing, but he's just so glad that I love him. I've taken for granted how much he loves me.
Gale moves back beside me, and he puts a hand on each of my arms, a rather odd position, I think. His gaze fixes determinedly on the forests in front of us.
"Walk with me?" he requests.
"Sure," I reply immediately, though my voice is small.
I'm not sure what he's trying. I'm not even sure he's trying anything. Maybe he legitimately just wishes to walk beside me for whatever time is left.
Because it's decided neither of us is killing the other. The Capitol can choose which of us is a better poster-child.
Gale walks us closer to the forest, hands still planted on my arms.
"Try to walk like me, okay?" he orders. "Exactly like me."
I match my footsteps with his, unsure that this is how sentimentality is supposed to be expressed.
"Where are we going?"
"Just walk," he says, not unkindly, but firmly, wanting no more questions.
We reach the edge of the forest, and I'm about to step in. We don't speak to each other, and Gale keeps his gaze fixed on the ground. I keep my steps in time with his, our feet crunching leaves at almost precisely the same moments.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
I wonder how different the world will be without one of us in it.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
I imagine myself a body in the ground, or a pile of ashes, and Gale being carted off as a poster-child for the Capitol. I almost laugh at the thought. If they expect Gale to cooperate, they're in for a surprise.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Prim would probably turn to him for comfort. Prim will be fine. Prim would be fine without Gale, even if it would take more time to become so. Prim is strong.
I am satisfied with life. I am satisfied with death.
Crunch, crunch—
"Wait!" a voice booms over the arena.
Gale tightens his hold on me, stopping me immediately. He exhales heavily, as if having been tuned into a nerve-racking situation I wasn't aware of. I squint at him, confused, not daring to allow the hope inside me to grow an inch more.
The voice over the arena, Seneca's, is nervous and shaky, but resolute. "We present to you the winners of the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne."
I don't move an inch, feeling if I did, I'd break the fragile binds holding together this seemingly impossible situation.
Why? Why now?
Gale, while definitely pleased, seems much less confused than I am.
Ship sounds resound overhead, and the wind of a lowering ship stirs the leaves around our feet. The leaves scatter and tumble away, revealing the ground beneath.
Revealing the trap beneath.
A huge, metal, claw-like brace like the one that Gale set that killed Rue, only bigger, sits in front of us, nearly brushing my toes with how close it is. It's big enough to kill a bear, easily big enough to kill two skinny District 12 kids.
Our steps were in sync so that's we'd step into it at the same time, to give off the impression that we were both going to die.
But the Gamemakers still wanted their winner.
Gale found a way to make us an all-or-nothing deal.
We win.
We win.
Gale and I win.