i apologize for my absence. there are plenty of excuses in the world, but what it really boils down to is pure laziness. so, while i can't make any promises, i can most certainly try to keep a better rhythm going with this story.

-ws

I stood motionless in the rain, heaving. I'd used up all my air screaming into the thunder, all of my patience crying into the rain. I ground my teeth together, tasting the dirt. My face and clothes were stained with mud, my fingernails were bleeding from moving the unwilling earth. At my feet rested the destroyed primrose bushes Peeta had planted in remembrance of the young woman my actions killed.

I woke a few hours later to the sound of pots and pans. A quick survey of my surroundings showed I was still on Peeta's couch, wrapped in a blanket and leaning against a stack of pillows no doubt made to resemble a human's presence. The smell of eggs and bacon made its way in through the kitchen, and my stomach directed me onward before my feet even knew what was happening. This resulted in a rather graceless roll from the couch, a thud from my head meeting the floor, and a string of hissed curses as I struggled against the cocoon of blanket around me. Peeta was at my side in seconds, lifting my head and helping unwrap the blanket.

"Are you alright?" He mindlessly poked at the red spot on my forehead, thus receiving a swift swat on the wrist.

"I was..." I said, tenderly caressing the now even more irritated portion of my face.

He chuckled as he stood. "How many times have you faced death? And a mere blanket betters you?" I scowled, standing before he could offer me a hand. His outstretched palm, though, didn't disappear once I'd gained my footing. And it was oh, so tempting. I must've stared at it too long, though, because with a sigh he let it fall to his side. "I have breakfast."

We sat at his kitchen table silently for quite a while, eating as though the other was just another piece of furniture. My mind wandered to Sae and the note I'd left, to Haymitch and becoming the Mockingjay, and back to Peeta. I glanced up to see his eyes on me as if he'd followed my train of thought word for word. Neither of us said anything about the tour, but we both knew the other was thinking of nothing else.

"Looks like a storm's brewing." He said, finally, his gaze easing toward the window.

Tell me about it. You, Gale, the tour...and I've only just gotten past the nightmares. "Hmm."

I went to the forest. Not to the rendezvous, but to the small clearing I'd shared with my father all those years ago. I twirled one of my bootlaces between my fingers while I waited, hoping that he'd show up. I used to do this every once in a while, wake up early before a hunt and sit at the clearing, waiting for my father. It didn't make me feel better about losing him, it wasn't a way to cope. But those hours spent watching the trees and hoping he'd one day come walking towards me with open arms were the most peaceful I could remember.

I didn't move much, just spent the time listening to the grass under potential game and the trees as they protested the sudden urgency in the wind. My ears went on alert. Footfall. The Games were over, the war had ended, but my guard could not be let down. People were still enraged by my actions, and I'm more than certain some wanted me dead. I loaded my bow and faced the approaching sound.

"I'm not armed." He said plainly.

I relaxed. "So loud for a hunter. I hardly recognized you."

Gale approached me, hands up despite my downward arrow. I slung my bow over my shoulder and replaced the arrow in the quiver. He let his hands fall. This action made me uneasy. Why was he suddenly so defensive with me? I could never think of shooting him.

His motion slowed, but he didn't stop walking toward me. His eyes locked on mine and I started to feel uncomfortable, but I remained rooted where I stood. "Did you follow me?" I asked. No response. "How long have you been out there?" Still nothing. "Seriously, Gale, what's going—"

He grabbed my chin and pulled my face to his, locking me in a kiss even more powerful than the one we'd shared months prior. When I objected rather lamely he refused my release, at which point I found myself lost in the moment. My arms wound around his neck, his around my waist. The passion in the moment was overwhelming. Then, rather suddenly, he pulled back and away. He turned and began walking briskly back the way he came.

I stood in pure shock for a moment before I spluttered his name. "Gale?" My voice cracked, as if to beg him to come back. He stopped, and when he spoke I could here the smile in his voice.

"See you at dinner."

He won this round.

The entire hunt was an out of body experience. I watched Katniss snare rabbits and squirrels, and watched her stalk a deer only to lose it to the sound of thunder. I watched her walk back to where the fence once was, and I watched as she smiled almost giddily on her walk home.

When I took control of my body again, about half way back to the Victor's Village, the weight began to set in. My heart ached in a way a medicinal remedy would not cure. Half of it belonged to my best friend, who captured my deepest emotions and passions, and the other half belonged to the man who felt like my partner...my companion. These men both meant so much in different ways...how could they expect me to choose? Wouldn't it just be best if we remained friends, and lived our lives simply? I shook my head. How stupid could I be to think that our lives would ever be simple? We were tangled in each others' lives...in each others' worlds.

The world as I knew it, however, would soon come to a screeching hault.

The rain felt as though it were cutting into my face as I ran the rest of the way home. I was greeted with a wide-open front door, the hallway light streaming into the rain and muck outside. Gale was in my living room. His arrival was a bit more announced than Haymitch's had been, with tracks of mud streaking through the open front door to the open living room door. A vase had met his rage, apparently, and lay shattered on hallyway the floor, the wilted rose it held crumbling into the runner. I could hear raised voices through the hallway. I knew exactly why he was there, and it had nothing to do with our dinner plans.

"You drunk old bastard!" Something crashed.

Apparently Haymitch had stopped by, as well.

"Mangy little creature!" A loud thud.

At any other time I'd have shouted at the both of them for inviting themselves in while I was out, but considering Gale had thrown the word "tour" around a good four times before I even made it halfway down the hall, I figured I'd let it pass. Instead I entered the living room and let my game bag slam to the floor rather forcefully, announcing my arrival.

"Enough!" The two stopped mid-motion. Gale set down what looked like a coaster and Haymitch set his flask down on the bookshelf. Neither had any intention of taking responsibility for the overturned coffee table, I was sure.

Gale shot a horrible glare in my direction, but ignored me otherwise. "Really, though, Haymitch. You honestly expect Katniss to tour? After what happened last time?"

"Last time was different."

"That doesn't matter! People still want her dead! People still don't trust her!" His emphasis spoke volumes.

"Well those people will be kept under close surveillance! Did you really think we'd go about this half-assed? We know what kind of danger we're facing." I hadn't even noticed him pick his flask back up, but he tossed his head back and guzzled. From the sound of it, he'd drained it.

"You don't know anything, old man. You'd throw her safety to the wind if it meant another fifteen minutes of fame for yourself."

"Gale, enough!" He stared at me, wide-eyed. "Your anger is getting the best of you." I reasoned, trying to return my voice to some kind of calm.

"So now you're standing up for him? The man who wants to send you into the recovering districts, where people still debate whether or not you should be executed? Where people plot of doing you in themselves?"

"It's not all my idea, boy," Haymitch said through a hiccup. "Paylor wants the districts to know the Mockingjay is still-"

"Forget the damn Mockingjay!" The coaster hit Haymitch square in the gut.

I'd had enough. The events of the afternoon felt like years ago, the Gale from the forest seemed to have vanished. How could he expect to gain any ground like this? Throwing things at my mentor, ignoring me like it was my decision to take off on this awful tour?

"There's really not much of a choice, Gale!" I shouted. I realized instantly that these were the wrong words. This conversation was not about the tour at all. On the surface it may have been. On the surface Gale may have been legitimately concerned for my safety. But that wasn't the case at all.

His face was horrifying. He shook his head and moved toward the door, only stopping beside me for a moment to say,

"Well then I'd hate to influence your decision."

And with that he was gone.

The weather roared around me. I stood motionless in the rain, heaving. I'd used up all my air screaming into the thunder, all of my patience crying into the rain. I ground my teeth together, tasting the dirt. My face and clothes were stained with mud, my fingernails were bleeding from moving the unwilling earth. My audience of two stood some feet away, having given up all efforts to stop me. Haymitch, swaying from the wind and the drink, stained from trying to pull me away from the flower bed, and Peeta. He'd heard me screaming in between rolls of thunder and come to help, only to find me tearing apart the gift he'd given me. Every time he'd tried to stop me, or pull me away from the flowers I'd lashed out at him, screaming and howling at a loss for words. I clawed at the ground for close to an hour, soaked through with rain and rage. Finally, after a moment of standing still, he approached me again with far more caution. His arms opened, ready to take me into an embrace.

I put my hand up, never turning to meet his gaze.

"Just leave."

I walked into my house without another word and locked the front door.

i know it's short and it's messy. but once again laziness has played a role. hopefully this can hold you over until i get back into a writing groove.

-ws