What next? Do I cry? Do I scream? Do I slam the door in his face and pray that he goes away? Or do I just throw myself to him and let him catch me, as he always has done?
He doesn't tell me, and I don't decide. So we stand, staring at each other for an uncomfortably long period of time.
Gale Hawthorne is standing on my doorstep.
After the most agonizing few moments of my life, my eyes slowly adjust to this odd and unfamiliar thing before me as if he were a sunspot on my vision. With unsteady steps and a voice so feeble it may as well be imaginary, I move to press myself against the wall.
The hallway is wide and uninhabited.
"You can… you can come in, Gale."
His expression visibly softens as he crosses the threshold.
I lead him to the kitchen where we sit silently, with two steaming cups of tea between us. The afternoon light that filters through the window casts a warm glow — and deep shadow — across Gale's face. It is now that I can finally examine him, see him for what time has bestowed him with. Like Peeta, his distress and despair runs deep; every line on his face has long since been there. I doubt he smiles often, if at all; he hides it well behind a five o'clock shadow that I don't doubt was grown through conscious effort. But his eyes…those eyes. Gale's eyes are just as vibrant as ever they were, glistening and grey and positively smouldering against the soft, dark pallor of his face. They're agonizing to behold because I know the pain in them is want of me. But, still… there's something there that I have never expressed, let alone experienced.
I feel guilty just for looking at him.
Finally, as our tea grows ever colder and our moods ever more sallow, Gale breaks the silence. "So. You and Peeta, then?" There's a touch of resentment in his otherwise complacent tone. I do my best to ignore it.
"Yes. Me and Peeta."
"How's that going, then?"
"Fine." I answer a little too quickly for my liking, and it has not gone unnoticed. Gale's brow quirks upward, and the hard line of his frown twitches subtly in what I can only guess is satisfaction. Before he can comment, I redirect the conversation. "I found your snare this morning."
He nods, placing the rim of his cup to his lips. "I found yours too," he says, taking a drink. He swishes his tea around in his mouth, swallowing laboriously. "I got all caught up in it."
And then… it happens. Something I thought would never happen, save in my brief and fleeting moments of solitude. A warmth spreads slowly through my cheeks, the nerves in my face singing as Gale receives the first smile — the firstreal smile — that anyone has ever conjured beyond the bounds of our woods. It's striking, spurring, and something warm and burning tightens within the confines of my ribcage. As I bring my tea to my lips, I realize that it is happiness, belonging.
Gale must obviously see it in me as well; for he offers me a smile that means just as much as my own. He visibly relaxes, just a little, and somehow the kitchen seems less tense and freezing. "That's, uh.." he nods at me, his tone casual. "That's a pretty dress…"
"Why are you here, Gale?"
He blanches, blinks, taken aback by the bluntness of my statement. Gale exhales deeply, his eyes wandering across the grain of the table. "Not much for the small talk, are you?"
"No. I'm really not." Just looking at him now, with nothing to restrain my tongue, spurs me. I am blinded by my fury and my irritation, the shock of seeing Gale here in my kitchen. My chest seizes painfully, as my mind begins to feed my voice of it's own accord. "I want to know why you're here. Why you think it's okay to just turn up on my doorstep after years and years of not speaking and expect me to just welcome you back into my life, no questions asked. Why you suddenly care again after I've finally found some sort of normal that doesn't include you… why you're just… there, again."
The look on Gale's face confirms my own tenacity; I am just as shocked as he is. Quickly I push myself from the table, anxious to get away from what I've just lain between us, but he's up as soon as I am and suddenly he's close — desperately close. His strong, calloused hands brush my arms, and my breath seizes as I realize that Gale Hawthorne is touching me for the first time in over ten years.
"Katniss…" he breathes. He smells of cologne, but underneath it the rich and familiar aroma of wood-smoke remains. "I never — ever — stopped caring."
His eyes are earnest, although I can't meet them. I hear the desperation in Gale's voice, his desire for me to recognize his sincerity; he wants me to care. And I want me to care. So when I finally do let my eyes lock with his, I see they are wide and glassy as if he is afraid. Never have I seen Gale so vulnerable; and he must have realized that I have seen it, because the moment when I feel I connect with him he lowers his gaze, and wills the hurt away. Back to wherever it came from.
"I missed you," I say simply.
Gale smiles a little, and his hands drop to his sides. I rub my arms where he had gripped me; they suddenly seem a little cold for having lost him. Then I realize: all of me has been cold since having lost him. I've lived all these years, going through the motions, as if existing was a remedy for losing one of the few people to have seen me as I am, and to have loved me genuinely. I had always thought that Prim was the only person who could have accepted me for what I was; to have seen the good in a girl who would be as callous and cold as I have been. But Gale's touch had always warmed me, reaffirmed that in essence I was once good. He is the last surviving remnant of the days when I was truly happy.
God, I've missed him.
So I reach for him, and I pull Gale into the most awkward embrace I could have ever given. And by my standards, it's akin to holding a burning rag, dripping with acid. But in a nice way. "Why are you here?" I whisper.
"Oh, you know…" Gale's arms snake around me gingerly, as if by touching me I could melt, or shatter. His voice is soothing. "Work… job, thing. But I'd missed the place. The family. This."
"This?"
His arms draw a little tighter around me; I feel his palm stretch against the small of my back, his fingers cradle my hair. Gale nods, his voice dropping almost as low as mine. "Yeah… this."
I don't know what this is. A reunion? A friendship? It's indistinguishable. All I know is that it's something, and that I like it. Then I remember — Peeta. Slowly, I uncoil myself from Gale. "It's getting late. I have some things to do…"
"Peeta?" he utters dryly.
My eyes widen.
"I didn't mean — wow," Gale covers his mouth, and glances around incredulously. I can't help the smile that creeps across my lips, nor the laugh that follows it. "Stop it," he flounders in an attempt to be stern, but I can see the amusement creeping across his own features. It feels so natural to be this way again with him.
"I know what you meant," I laugh, drawing my arms across my chest. "And, yes. He'll be back soon. I don't know how he'd take to you standing in his kitchen."
"Yours," Gale says. "Your kitchen, too. And if I'm not welcome, that's fine." He backs away, the faintest glimmer of hurt in his eyes, turning to make towards the hall.
Instantly I reach out to touch him, to stop him from leaving, but I know better. "At least… can I see you again before you leave? Properly, I mean."
Gale nods. "What did you have in mind?"
"Hunting," I say, almost instantly. "Let's go hunting tomorrow morning. Check the snare line."
"Same place?"
"Same time."
"I'll see you there."
Smiling warmly, Gale engulfs me in another hug. He holds me at arm's length, glancing over my face, into my eyes, as if he can't believe that time has even passed between us; or it has passed in the way it has. For all I hated him, for all I couldn't bear to think about him without my heart aching, he is not so much a mystery anymore. He never has been. Our friendship may have been dormant, but it had never disappeared; the connection between us has always been strong enough to withstand even the most cruel turns of fate that the Capitol has thrown at us. We have always been simple.
Except, of course, we haven't. And I'm reminded of that when Gale leans in, and kisses me.