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Oh. Hunger games. Not mine.
It happens on a brisk autumn day, one that makes her feel sure winter's coming and causes her to wonder, as she very rarely does, how long it's been since the war ended. She's sitting in the kitchen, waiting for eggs to cook, excited because the trains almost never bring eggs and because she has enough to bring to Haymitch. There's a knock at the door, loud and solid. She laughs, wandering over to answer it, already rolling her eyes at their mentor.
"Haymitch, you saw Peeta leave," she yells through the door. "And we're more careful now, about the table and what we do on it. You don't have to—"
She swings open the door and finds her tirade cut short by a very unexpected visitor. One of the only people she thinks she still might be capable of loving.
"Gale? What the hell are you doing here?" she asks, in shock. He smirks.
"I'll answer if you tell me what you and Peeta do on the table that has Haymitch so worked up?"
She blushes and stammers and he tugs on the end of her braid. Then she's in his arms, and this feels so familiar. Not romantic: she's made her choice (as if the choosing itself were ever the hard part; it's the needing him that's hard). But she isn't sure she wants to be in his arms. Not because of Peeta. Because of Prim.
She sees someone chattering with Delly over his shoulder and squints.
"Is that Johanna?"
"Oh, yeah, she came with me to…to…" It's the blush that gives him away, not his stuttering out an excuse for her being there. Katniss watches as Johanna teases Delly about something (probably monogamy, knowing Johanna), and she raises her eyebrows at Gale.
"Oh," is the only thing she can think of to say, since she never pictured them together, but she thinks she might be proud of him for moving on. She's not sure how she feels about anything right now: mostly, she feels numb, removed from the situation, as if she's sitting in a tree somewhere watching herself go through the motions.
She remembers her eggs, dashes into the kitchen just in time to save them, and then yells for him to join her. Johanna runs in long enough to punch her on the shoulder and ask where Haymitch is. Then she's off, leaving Gale and Katniss alone with the eggs.
"You moving back?" she asks as they eat. She's trying to keep her tone light, but there's nothing but heaviness in the air. There's always been a lot unspoken between them, but it's never been quite this uncomfortable. He shakes his head.
"No, but they've asked that the fence be pulled down, around the Meadow? So that everyone can gather."
The fence. Around her Meadow. Pulled down. She doesn't feel anything at first. She just feels numb. Because really, when they poured dead bodies into it, was it still her Meadow? Maybe it doesn't matter if there's a fence around it. But she felt like the fence was grounding her, reminding her where she was allowed to be and where she wasn't allowed to be. She might not be sane enough to stay out of town if there's no fence. She doesn't want to go into town, doesn't want to set foot in that graveyard. But if her Meadow is a graveyard itself, does it really matter if there's a fence around it? Is she insane for wanting to stay out of town but stay in the woods? Is that on a list of insanity symptoms: the insistence on staying in one graveyard in order to stay out of a different one?
She's gone still, so he reaches across the table for her hand. She pulls away.
"I'm in command of the team pulling it down. You can be there. We'll say good-bye. And it won't be for a couple days, anyways."
She nods, a puppet on a string. Is she still insane? She's angry, and hurt, and she isn't sure she wants Gale here. But they're tearing down the fence whether she agrees or not. And if she says good-bye to her woods with anyone, it should be with Gale…shouldn't it? What about Prim? What about Peeta? Oh, shit. Peeta. How is he going to feel that Gale's here?
As if on cue, Gale finishes his eggs and says, "So where can I put my bag? You don't mind us staying here, do you?"
She shakes her head, and then leads him to her mother's old room, which is on the main floor. She's not sure she could handle them on the same floor as her and Peeta. And she's almost sure that he isn't aware Peeta lives here.
"Do you wanna hunt first and then visit Greasy Sae?" he asks, tugging on her braid again. She doesn't answer, unsure of what he'll say when he learns the exact mode of survival she's chosen.
They hunt, even though she's already gone hunting, and he's impressed by her snares. They shuffle around all the things they should talk about, and discuss his job, her snares, what to make with the goose she shot, and so on until afternoon has come and they're in their old spot, laid out on their backs. Then she sighs, turns to him with guilt on her face, and she whispers, "I chose Peeta."
He chuckles, staring up at the sky.
"Yeah, I kind of noticed," he tells her sarcastically, and she allows a smile to spread across her face. She used to only smile in the woods, or so Gale said, but now she smiles so often: waking up with Peeta's lips on her neck, when she's skinning rabbits to take for Greasy Sae's soup or finding herbs for Peeta's bread, when Peeta comes home covered in flour…
"Are you mad?" He smiles, shakes his head.
"I picked someone else, too," he reminds her. She nods. She has no idea what to say about that. And she has no idea what he and Johanna are. She somehow can't see them as a couple, but maybe they are. Maybe they'll get married and have seven children. She's almost giggling at the thought, and he stares at her. She really needs to figure out how to get her tattered mind to focus on the present, at least when she's with anyone who's not Peeta or Haymitch.
"Sorry," she mutters. "I'm not laughing at you."
"Sounded like you were," he teases, smiling, but she sees the unease behind his smile. Things are awkward, she realizes. And not just for all of the obvious reasons. Something between them has shifted; the ease with which they hunted and talked has disappeared. This surprises her, in a way, because if she was supposed to choose between them, shouldn't there be more of a competition? She feels so awkward with Gale, so out of place, so…insane. It's nothing like what she feels with Peeta: comfort and understanding mixed with lust that she still can't control. She certainly did the choosing part right…
She realizes she's been silent for too long, so in order to make conversation, she blurts out the first thing on her mind.
"I heard you two talking, you know."
"Who?" he asks, confused. She always forgets that other people don't follow her unspoken thoughts the way Peeta does.
"Johanna and I?" She rolls her eyes.
"Yes, I was in 2, under your window, and forgot to mention it." He throws a blackberry at her, which she picks off her shirt and eats.
"You and Peeta, when we were in the Capitol. I heard you talking about me."
He nods, remembering. She's silent for a moment, allowing him the space he needs to revisit that night (a night she never leaves), before delving back in.
"You were saying that neither of you knew what to do with me," she reminds him, and he chuckles, "and then you said…you said that if I had to choose between you, I would—"
"-pick whoever you think you can't survive without."
So, he remembers. She smiles, sinking back onto her elbows. Though she hadn't realized it until now, she needed validation of this statement: that it was real, that it was just as important as she thought it was. And Gale remembering, months and months later, has vindicated her.
"Why are you bringing this up?" he asks, throwing another blackberry but aiming this one at her mouth.
"You've made your choice." She nods; she has.
"It's the right one, by the way," Gale mutters, not looking at her now. "He's…he's good for you." She nods: he is.
"He is," she agrees. "I didn't think I'd ever get you to admit that."
"It's just the truth," he mutters. He's uncomfortable, she can tell. She starts to change the subject but he takes a deep breath and starts speaking all in a rush.
"Catnip, he gave up everything for you. He was tortured, he wanted to die for you, he…he claimed that he knocked you up in front of his own mother so you'd have a better chance of survival."
She giggles, can tell he's trying to lighten the mood with this last example. He pushes onward, though.
"He's…right for you, in a way I never was, never could be. We're both full of fire—raging, destructive, intense. He's what you need—brave and joyful, humble but captivating. I never could've…never could've fulfilled you, or made you happy the way he does."
He lets out a big breath, his cheeks on fire, and she can see he's wanted to say this for a long time. She smiles, grabs his hand now that it's clear on both sides that there's nothing romantic.
"Thanks," she whispers. He nods.
They're silent for a few minutes, before he asks again, "Why'd you bring this up? I mean…what's going on, that you need to revisit that night?" She sighs, sits up, trying to be ready for this conversation.
"I can't stop revisiting that night," she confesses. "I can't stop thinking about those words. I can't stop wondering what I'll do with them."
He's mystified: she's not making any sense.
"I mean, you're right, I've clearly made my choice, and yes, I made the right choice but…but…" She's stuttering now, not sure she can get this out. "You said whoever I can't survive without." He nods.
"I can survive without either of you," she tells him, and then her eyes well up.
"I mean, Prim died and I'm still here, so clearly I can survive without anyone."
He looks at her sharply. They've avoided the subject of Prim's death thus far. She wasn't sure they were ever going to talk about it, hadn't intended to bring it up. But now that she has, they can't ignore it. It's as though there was a bubble growing between them, invisible but suffocating, prepared to completely take over their friendship and now she's burst it. There's going to be a whole lot of pain and anger before they can ever avoid this topic again. He sighs, looks at her. She's not going to start this conversation. She's not the one who…
"It was my bomb," he mutters. "It was…Coin took the prototype, used it without our permission."
"How did Beetee feel about that?" she asks, careful to keep her voice level. She can't get mad at him. This goes so much deeper than anger.
He sighs again, and when she looks at him now, she sees neither the young man she met in the woods nor the angry, determined soldier she'd known in 13. He is broken, and though he is older than she is, she sees a sad, wounded child. Not a Victor but a victim, a little boy reaped when he was too young and too weak to fight.
"Beetee attempted suicide the day after we found out," he whispers, and she stares at him.
She suddenly sees the hollows under his eyes as something far more sinister than she'd imagined. Perhaps he's not merely exhausted from his prestigious job. She wonders if he stays up at night, fights off flashbacks with a combination of alcohol, coffee, and sheer stubbornness. He's battling demons, just as she and Peeta are. He probably sees as many ghosts as she does.
"He was unsuccessful," Gale explains, and she hears the word as if it's a knife. That's what the doctors would have told him. His attempt to take his life was unsuccessful. But she doesn't begrudge Beetee this. Didn't she want to do the same thing?
She looks at him, waits until he's looking into her eyes.
"What did you do the day after you found out?"
When he sighs, he's suddenly a much older man. But, to his credit, he doesn't cry.
"I thought about it," he admits. "I think we all did. You did. Jo did. I'm sure Peeta has once or twice. It's…it wouldn't be enough. I don't think death would be punishment enough for what I did."
"Killing all those kids," she whispers.
"Killing Prim," he responds. "Catnip, I killed your sister."
And now she's crying, and she can tell he wants to comfort her but doesn't know how. She doesn't want his arms anyways.
"You told me you were playing by the same rules Snow had when he hijacked Peeta," she whispers through her tears. "Gale…those are the wrong rules. Those are rules for Games that end in death and destruction and hopelessness. The rules Snow played by, the Games he played: those Games never go away. You play them forever. They are relentless in their pursuit of causing pain, of provoking insanity, of turning you into someone else—"
"That's what they did to me!" he bursts out, and she sees a familiar pain in his eyes: it's the same pain she sees in Peeta's after an episode, the same pain she's sure is in her eyes after a nightmare.
"They turned me into someone else! I was so determined to be noble and honourable. And instead, I turned into…well, I turned into a pawn in their damn Games."
"We're all pieces in their Games," she says, sighing. She's still in awe of Peeta's wisdom, his understanding of all the Games they would go on to play and how he'd told her about it before any of them started. She hadn't understood then, but she understands now. Trying not to be a piece in their Games…that's what keeps her up at night.
"I think they'll always own a piece of us," she admits. "Some part of us will always be a piece in their Games."
"I don't know how to do this," he explains, and now she can clearly hear how broken he is. He doesn't know how to live, has no idea how to keep on surviving.
"I…I can't live with the guilt. I can't live with the pain of knowing I caused—"
"I killed children in cold blood," she reminds him, cutting him off because he's not the only one who should feel guilty.
"In the Games, in the Quell. So did Peeta, Haymitch—hell, Gale, Johanna was even worse than the rest of us!"
"I know!" he cries, "but it isn't…it doesn't—you don't sleep at night, ever. Haymitch drinks until he can't see straight. Peeta used to argue with himself about things that weren't even real! And Johanna, Jo—"
He sighs. And then there's silence, no birds to break it, no animals for them to hunt.
Finally, he speaks.
"Do you think…do you think you could ever forgive me?"
I split this into two parts because I didn't want to keep you waiting forever. Sorry for the little cliffy. I'll update as soon as I can.
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