Note: don't be bothered by the change in point of view. I just like it better in third person. Sorry for my pathological indecisiveness. Enjoy.
Dreams come slow, and they go so fast
- Let Her Go, Passenger
{chapter two}
He can hear the footsteps and see the faint glow of the bedside lamp, through a thick haze of sleep and the rocky, disoriented aftereffect of too much alcohol. In fact, he's very close to waking when the door opens, a girl enters, and the door closes.
She sits down by him and sets a small bouquet of buttercups down on the bedside table. Then, she simply stares at his sleeping face, admiring the long eyelashes, tousled dark hair, marvelling the steady rise and fall of his chest, lamenting the purple shadows beneath his eyes and the damp paleness to his skin.
The man lying on the bed really is him, then, at least in the flesh. It's evident in the warm olive tone of his skin underneath that sickly pallor, and in the faint whiff of pine and mint that still lingers on his body. This is who she has longed and hoped and prayed for for such a long time. Night after night he had been in her dreams, leaving her to wake drenched in loneliness and longing, and finally he is here. Centimetres away from her touch. The man in the flesh.
Katniss Everdeen searches him for the boy she fell in love with, then, when she finds no trace of him, she searches herself for the girl he fell in love with.
She doesn't find any trace of her, either, so she gets up and makes for the door on silent feet so as not to wake him. What is there to stay for, anyway? Both the boy and the girl are long gone, and with them went their bond. Then –
"Don't go."
Katniss whirls around, bracing herself for an attack - still wary after the two arenas. Then she sees a change in the man on the bed, and her shoulders relax, then they stiffen.
His eyes are open, and she can see their mesmerizing grey colour. She turns to avoid them. She can't let herself be hypnotized again.
"Don't go," he repeats, more forcefully, when she tries to leave again. "Please, please, don't leave me here all alone."
"I have to go," she says hastily, yanking the door open. "I don't know how to deal with you – not after not seeing you for so long. Sorry..."
The door slams shut with the force of haste and fear, and Gale Hawthorne's tensed body collapses back onto the bed with defeat. His heart wrenches with a familiar agony he's felt so many times before.
It's too late, he realizes, for him to regain what he has lost. And it devastates him the way a tsunami would devastate its victims' homes – sweeping everything away until there's nothing left but desolation.
His eyes flicker toward the window. The curtains are drawn back and the glass is propped free of the frame, allowing a tiny breath of breeze to sneak in. It touches his face and he closes his eyes. He remembers all the times that have gone by, when they were just a boy and a girl hunting to feed their families, and for the very first time in his life, he thinks that he would give up this freedom they have now, just to have back that love that they once shared.
He knows that turning back the clock is impossible, and he knows that their loss is irreversible. But here, in his shadowy dreamland, fixing it is well within his capabilities. He's doing it now.
He is finally getting her back, and the happiness that comes with it is much, much more than anything he's ever known.
Katniss wraps her fingers around the mug of tea she is given.
"How is he, Katniss?" Hazelle asks her, wiping her hands on her apron. "Is he any better? Did you speak with him?"
"He is better," Katniss says softly. "He woke up, and he saw me. He recognized me, and he asked me not to go."
The older woman sits down opposite her, hopeful that her son might already be on the path to healing. "What did you do? Did he say anything else?"
Katniss looks down at the tea. She can see the mist coming off from its hot surface.
"I walked out as quickly as I could. I just – I was scared...of...who he is now. I wondered if he is still the same as he was when I last saw him, or if he had changed completely. I guess it was the same as waiting for a stranger to wake up – a stranger that knows me, even though I don't know him."
"He feels the same way about you," Hazelle answers. "He just didn't run away."
Katniss looks back down at her mug. There is an awkward silence.
"So, is he asleep now?"
"I...I think so."
"Then go and wake him in a few hours. I'll leave a place at the table for him."
"All right."
She gets up and pulls on her hunting jacket. Her fingers close around her bow.
"Going hunting?"
"Yeah. I'll be back for dinner."
Katniss opens the door and disappears out in the sunlight, finding that it is already tinted the slightest shade of orange. There probably won't be any time for real hunting, but maybe she can bring home a rabbit or two. It's not like it matters anyway. Hunting isn't her real motive for going out.
She walks callously over the place where the fence once stood, glad that it was long gone. There's nothing left now to show that it existed.
Except for the memories, and the hungover young man back home.
She is out there for a long time. She walks and walks aimlessly, thoughtlessly, her feet leading her in a straight line that keeps going forward and never ends. Once she nearly trips over the stack of pretty stones and wooden cross that marks Buttercup's tomb (the foul creature died several months before).
Finally, she reaches a circle of bushes. Her eyes – grey and misty with tears – sweep over the area. It flowers, and its beauty is so tragic, its meaning so exploited, that she falls to her knees and cries. Her lips part and let loose a torrent of horrible screaming – high and horrific with desperation.
The flowers – all purple, yellow and white.
The rues. So innocent and tiny and sweet.
And lastly, the ring of evening primroses – sweet, caring and protective, guarding her against all dangers even though she failed to do the same.
Thankfully, no humans are in her vicinity while she screams and sobs. No other hearts are broken that evening.