After finally getting someone to agree with me, I oddly didn't feel as relieved as I probably should have. Instead, the biting cold of the wind only seemed to add to my escalating anxiety about how I could possibly pull this off. It's one this to have a commitment to an uprising; it's quite another to try and figure out how one could actually start one and make it succeed. And currently my ideas on the matter were a canvas as white as the blizzard that was bearing down upon us-none at all.
When I asked Haymitch if he had any ideas, instead of telling me he ordered me back to my house as he continued down what was a path under several inches of snow towards town, telling me he'd inform me of things when he knew things. Naturally I wasn't very pleased to be bossed around, especially by a drunk. And even though I wouldn't listen to my old mentor most of the time anyway, he has a point. Besides, the exhaustion from before is settling in again and Gale is still at home, hopefully still unconscious if there is any mercy in this world for him as wounded as he is.
So I trudge on home. Though it couldn't have been more than a quarter mile away from where I parted with Haymitch, it took a long time to get here. I doubt I'll be leaving the house for a few days with this snow, but that's alright with me-nothing much is going to happen for the uprising in this weather. Actually, nothing much is going to happen at all. More likely than not the District will be at a standstill for the time being. It's not good for those who rely on the meager sums that miners make, but at least they'll get a few days rest. It's a sort of grim benefit, but a benefit nonetheless. I could certainly use some rest too, and as I open the door to my thankfully warm Victor's Village house I can practically hear my bed calling to me.
"Where have you been?" a voice questions me with surprise, and I have to hold back a groan when I recognize the voice.
"Making sure Haymitch was alright." I tell him, but even though it's a half lie and somewhat out of character for me, he doesn't pick up on it. Then again, the boy in front of me hardly knows me as well as the one currently lying on my kitchen table that would have caught it before the words even tumbled out of my mouth.
"You should have been sleeping." He shakes his head at me, clearly not knowing why it was so important to go see Haymitch in this weather but not asking me for further detail. Maybe he feels like he's not entitled to anymore, or that it had something to do with Gale. Suddenly I feel bad about that, because I know if we're going to have an uprising that Peeta will be very useful to it. For one, people will listen to him and all his beautiful persuasive words, and two, they like him better than me. Who wouldn't?
"I couldn't." I admit, chickening out for now on telling him the truth. Besides, we're back inside the house now where I'm certain the Capitol is listening in, and I don't have any intention of letting them in on my little secret until I want them to know. Or at least I'm back inside-Peeta looks like he's leaving. "Where are you going?"
"Home."
It takes me aback, because clearly he wasn't too happy about me being in that blizzard just now. Besides, no one minds him being here and he'll be all alone at home. The guilt creeps up on me as soon as I figure it out. It's not because anyone here would mind-it's because he would. It's because of me.
Suddenly I can see that sad expression again that I woke up to just hours ago even though it's not currently there, and try to help it. "Peeta, you don't have to go."
The look he gives me is one of doubt in response, and yet it hides under a strange determination to leave as well. I sigh inwardly. Well, I never was the one good at talking. And there isn't any way I could assure him of…I suppose behaving myself even though that's probably not the correct term around Gale. Besides, he probably wouldn't believe me anyway even if I tried to say as much.
"I do." He says eventually in return, and makes his way past me to open the door. "I'll…be back later." He promises before the biting cold wind stops coming and all that's left is the warmth of the house filling in with the door now closed.
Well that's great. I'm never going to get Peeta to help us with the uprising if he can't even look at me. Somehow I'll have to convince him to aid us, because I certainly would fail at the talking part. I'd definitely never get the townies on board with the plan, and as much as I don't usually like them other than strictly trading, we might need their skills for weapons or other things. And Peeta could do that a million times easier and better than I being a townie himself.
Something to work on, but one thing at a time. I find my feet taking me straight to the kitchen as if they knew it's where I need to be, and suddenly my mind is all consumed with the thoughts of the boy laying on the table. My eyes find him before anyone in the room, and I don't know if I should be happy he's still asleep or not. The room stenches of blood and medical things that I normally flee from, and yet I don't have the urge now. Maybe it's because it's Gale, and I can't leave him. Maybe it's because I'm over my fear.
That would be useful, but I doubt it. Even so, I better get used to blood if there's going to be a rebellion, because I'm under no impression everyone is going to make it out of an uprising alive or uninjured.
"Katniss, you're up!" Prim interrupts my musing about injuries and rebellions, and I blink a few times before my vision sets upon her, stirring up some kind of slush mixture in a large pot.
"Um, yeah." I answer, not really knowing what to say. She doesn't seem to realize that I've been outside, which means that my red cheeks have softened to a normal skintone already and as long as she does see my soaked coat in the hallway she never will. But before I can come up with some excuse as to why I'm up my vision automatically goes to Gale still lying on my kitchen table, my own whip mark on my cheek courtesy of Thread resonating with a stinging burn even as I just glance at his back with the old bandages from last night where he hasn't stirred since I left earlier.
"He's going to live." Prim says quietly as I blink and look to her, realizing she caught me staring. I don't know whether to be embarrassed or just let it go, so I choose silence for now. "The first night was the indicator, mother told me so."
"Oh." Is all I deem to answer. It's a strange kind of relief that washes me, as if I was so upset and in pain at my own wound and his that it didn't even cross my mind that he could have possibly died after we got him away from Thread. All I could think about was him getting better, not dying. Now it's as if that panic is mixing with the relief-it's an odd feeling.
And then the last part of her assessment reaches my brain-my mother said so. Say what you will about my mother and how she hasn't really been a parent to me since Dad died, but she does know what she's doing. This is her element, and she excels well. I should have appreciated that long before now, but I suppose she's never done something like this before that hit me so personally up to this point. I'll never not be grateful that she's saving him, and the guilt at all the horrible things I said to her last night consumes me. I haven't ever really cussed before, and some of those words I called her or said to her I didn't even realize I could string into a correct sentence, let alone multiple ones. She certainly didn't deserve it. Guess that means I'm going to apologize later when I see her.
Great. More words. Though I suppose I'll have to get good at them if Peeta doesn't end up helping us with the uprising.
Fat chance of that. You could make me eat a dictionary and I'd still be as horrible with words as I am at this healing business my little sister seems to be born to do.
"Whatever that stuff the mayor's daughter brought is definitely helping him. It's like a miracle drug." Prim comments as she continues to stir the pot of whatever it is that's in there with a little relieved smile. But I can't bring myself to smile, because that only reminds me of the irrational anger I had at Madge last night, and she certainly deserves a thank you for it. More words. Kill me now.
"Good." I nod, sludging over to where Gale is, opting to take the kitchen chair closest to his head and where Prim is sitting, sighing. Just looking at the table is making me tired again, but it has to be close to lunchtime by now; no use going back to sleep until later.
So instead of sleeping, I sit by the table and daydream of better days. The uprising that I just got Haymitch to agree to help me with that could stop so much-all of Snow's tyranny, the unfairness in the District, the reaping…and selfishly, my wedding that the Capitol is oh so insistent on throwing me that I want no part of. I can just imagine Snow coming here himself to try and stop it, the satisfying sound and sight when my arrow hits him right in the eye like all of my prey. It's a sort of sickening daydream for a sixteen year old girl, and yet it's one of the only ones that could possibly bring a smile to my face today. Maybe the Hunger Games did make me crazy in a dark sort of way. Or maybe there's just too much blood in this room and it's affecting my brain. I should get out, but I can't seem to leave.
And so while Prim is out of the room eating lunch and reading a book while whatever she was stirring sits there settling in the fridge, I venture to at first just touch Gale's fingers as they lay their still, and then absentmindedly rubbing his calloused knuckles from the hard work of the mines as he stays dead to the world, breathing easy with sleep. He must be under those drugs again, I'm assuming either Prim or my mother gave him another dose unless it's the same one from last night.
But that's alright, I don't know what I'd say to him if he woke up anyway. Actually, I know what I'd want to tell him-about the uprising, how sorry I am for everything, about…well, I don't know. Could it have really been just yesterday afternoon that we were in the cabin by the lake where everything went so wrong? It seems like a million years ago to me. If only I was better at talking and showing how I really feel or…I don't know, say what I should say instead of I know. Prim has already assured me that he's going to live, and yet I can't help but feel that idiotic answer will haunt me for the rest of my life, even if I could somehow manage to explain how I feel about him. I don't even know the words to describe it because there are no words. Or maybe there's just too many.
Thinking about that makes my head spin and I'm already in pain with this wicked mark gracing my face, so instead of telling him about the uprising and that he'll get his wish for having one I tell him in my head, as if he could hear me in his dreams. It seems silly, but we never needed words anyway-something I appreciate much more now than I ever did before-so why not pretend he can understand me while he sleeps? It's at least something I can do to get this urge to tell him out of my system, at least for now. I'm sure Snow is having a field day with rewatching or listening to my yelling at my mother or how I've been acting about the situation in the last twenty hours or so, no need to give him any indication that I'm going to fight back.
And fight back I will. I'm not entirely sure how much he knows, but I'm pretty sure Haymitch is more involved with rebellion stuff if it even exists in District 12 than he lets on. I mean why else would he not let me come today? Certainly if he was just going to get booze or the surprising actual food I could have come with him. Is he meeting with people that can help us? People in the mines that can get others that are worn and angered with the elevated security and the lack of Cray? Or is he making sure they aren't too mad at me or worried about Thread to do anything?
They have to care. They just have to. This isn't just about me or Snow or even a stupid wedding. It's about…doing something to help everyone.
The more I think about it, the better I feel about having an uprising. I honestly don't even care if I die in the process if those I love don't. They could live without me anyway, especially in a new world. Even if we just managed to break off from the Capitol life would be better for them.
And yet I can't just sit here anymore. Even if there's a blizzard outside roaring and I have this pull to stay right here, I need to do something. Where is Haymitch anyway? The Hob?
I can always go find out. If I'm going to help with this uprising, I'm going to do all I can.
Resolved, I hear my mother I believe talking to Prim in the living room so I don't have much time. There's no way she'd let me just leave in this storm even if she couldn't really tell me what to do anymore. And though I don't want to leave Gale, I should probably go check on Hazelle and the kids anyway. Yeah, that will be my excuse.
Leaning down, I lean down to where my mouth is close to Gale's form that's still slumbering as peacefully as he ever could under the medicine, his thick black hair tickling my cheek. In a whisper so quiet I'm certain even the listening devices the Capitol has couldn't hear me, I tell him, "I'm fixing this. Promise."
And then I flee as silent as the hunter I am, exiting the back door to the hallway just as my mother and Prim are coming in the other way, slipping past the wall before they can see or hear me. It's just a matter of grabbing my still slightly wet coat and quietly opening and closing the door with the wind howling and I'm practically racing towards the Hob in the white death of winter, going towards what has to be my destiny.
