February 4th, 2012
A/N: Thanks for all the encouraging reviews! I tried my best to update as soon as possible! I've been anxiously looking forward to writing this chapter and I know some of you have been patiently awaiting one of the following moments... ;) As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!
The next time I wake the room is tinged a pale dusty purple. I can just barely make out the soft orange tint peeking around the silhouettes of the houses across the street, the sun still a little shy to the day. Craning my head backwards does not help me see the clock on the mantle, but I can guess that it's only been a few more hours since I last woke Gale.
He is dead to the world now. I'm not sure he's moved much, if at all. The weight of his head on my chest is heavy, as is his arm across my middle. Pinned mostly beneath his body, my right shoulder feels non-existent, and though I can appreciate a faint sense of movement in the tips of my fingers when I flex them, I'm irrationally overcome with the idea that my arm has completely ghosted away. Gale shifts in his sleep as my fingers inadvertently tickle his side, so at least I know they still work, even if I can't feel them.
He sighs deeply, settling into a more comfortable position. I watch our breathing for a moment, mesmerized by the easy tandem that comes so naturally, before I wake him again. This time, I feel guilty for interrupting, though I know it has to be done.
"Gale," I say softly, running my free hand through his hair. I sit up as much as I can beneath him, gently shaking his shoulder. "Gale…"
He grumbles, and I smile, imagining the choice words his subconscious is trying to get out. Eventually my persistence pays off because he raises his head and fixes me with groggy gray eyes.
"Sorry," I say. "I had to."
It's hard to tell whether Gale heard me as he struggles to pull himself wholly into reality, hovering on the last edges of his dream. After another minute, a sleepy smile breaks through the fogginess.
"Hey," I say, returning his smile.
"Hey, Catnip."
The huskiness in his voice sends a shiver down my spine that I completely fail to stifle. Gale's face scrunches with concern.
"Are you cold?"
I shake my head. Definitely not cold.
"How're you feeling?" I ask.
"Tired," Gale says. His response is a little too quick which makes me believe there's still syrup in his system. Gale's not one to willingly admit any kind of weakness, no matter how merited it is. I think of our conversation in the middle of the night, but push it out of my mind before the guilt can get a grasp on me.
"Your head?"
"Same."
My thumb strokes his cheek sympathetically. His eyelids droop in the stillness that follows. I don't want to disturb him again, so I quickly slide out from under him, replacing a real pillow where I was being used as a makeshift one.
"Where are you going?" Gale asks.
I adjust the blanket so that it settles more snugly around him, kneeling down by his face.
"Just to start breakfast. Don't worry. Go back to sleep."
I press a kiss to his forehead. By the time I stand, Gale's already drifted away. Satisfied that he's at ease for a few more hours, I head to the kitchen and start prepping. My mother usually heads up the cooking when we have company, but I can only imagine the day she had yesterday, with all the mine victims, so she probably could use a head start.
I begin boiling water for tea and cutting potatoes for hash browns. As I work, my mind recalls Gale contentedly asleep across me, and I think of what it would be like to wake up every morning to that image. The thought leads to a scene of domestic life, with a house where two dark-haired children play in the yard, Gale and I watching happily from the front porch. I almost slice my finger off when that daydream reminds me I have yet to tell him.
There's really no easy way to break news of that nature, no matter the circumstances, but I bite my lip until my skin smarts from the constant worrying. I'm so entrenched into finding the right words that I practically jump into the sink when my mother wishes me a good morning.
"I didn't mean to frighten you," she says, laughter in her eyes. She starts gathering wild onions and market bought peppers from the fridge. "How's Gale?"
"Asleep," I say. "I woke him twice and other than soreness, he seemed fine." Then I add, "I gave him sleep syrup."
It feels like a confession, and for the first time, it crosses my mind that maybe I shouldn't have given it to him. That maybe sleep syrup and concussions were not meant to be mixed.
"That was smart of you," my mother says, dispelling the growing anxiety in me in an instant. "He's going to need to rest. How are you doing?"
I know she does not mean it in an accusatory way, but my current train of thought still swirls around me needing to tell Gale about our predicament, so the collision of the impending conversation and her question meld momentarily. I stare at her like a deer catching the zing of my arrow just a second too late, afraid that she somehow overheard my inner monologue.
"Ummm, fine," I stammer. My chopping slips into an erratic telling rhythm, but if she notices, she doesn't comment.
"Make sure you get rested too," my mother says. She adds the eggs she's whisked together with the onions and peppers to a frying pan. "It was a long day yesterday for everyone."
I nod, thinking only of running and babies. A knock on the kitchen door stops me from a complete panic, and I wipe my clammy hands on my pants so I can turn the knob, standing aside to let Peeta in. Great, just what I needed, I think bitterly. Running. And babies. And Peeta.
It's not fair of me to be angry with Peeta, especially when he unwraps a warm loaf of raisin bread that he brought back from his family's bakery. He places a smaller bag next to me, not bothering to tell me what's inside. He doesn't have to. I can already smell the sharp tang of cheesebuns. My stomach somersaults.
"Thanks," I manage to say.
I let my mother fill in Peeta when he asks about Gale. Did I imagine Peeta's face falling slightly when my mother tells him Gale's asleep in the living room? No, that's ridiculous. Peeta is too kind-hearted to utter a curse, let alone wish a mining accident on someone. I set my jaw and think I must be going insane with all the wild thoughts coursing through my head.
It doesn't take long for the smells of scrambled eggs, hash browns, and raisin bread to waft through the house and pull inhabitants from the beds. Rory and Vick practically explode into the kitchen with Posy and Prim following several steps behind. Hazelle appears after another minute, and I know it's only because she checked on Gale as she went by.
"How'd you both do last night, Katniss?" she asks, scooping up Posy who wants to watch the water boiling.
"Good," I say, avoiding Peeta's perplexed stare. I feel rude with such a short answer so I add, "Other than sore, he seemed fine when I woke him. I think he's just exhausted."
No sooner do the words leave my mouth when Gale walks into the kitchen. Posy shrieks to be let down, and Rory and Vick are immediately bouncing at their brother's side. Though I can tell he's thrilled to see his siblings, I can also see Gale fighting to reach a chair quickly. I abandon the potatoes to help him.
"Was it loud?"
"What happened?"
"How'd you get out?"
"GALE!"
"Rory! Vick!" Hazelle says. Her voice is stern but not loud. I admire the authority in it because her two youngest sons fall silent with impressive speed. "Go wash up for breakfast, please." The two boys bolt for the bathroom, the chagrin disappearing from their faces in the ensuing battle to reach the sink first.
Shaking her head, Hazelle finishes tossing the hash browns and brings them to the table. My mother scrapes the eggs into a serving dish as we all find our seats. She sets them on the table, just as Rory and Vick return. Their eyes gleam with questions, but they mind their mother's orders and leave Gale alone.
Despite the fact that my stomach growls loudly – illicting giggles from Prim and Posy – I only spoon a small helping of hash browns and eggs on my plate. Having not eaten for most of yesterday, I am ravenous, but I don't want to overdue it. My stomach is still untrustworthy in the morning. Gale notices the lack of food on my plate and gives me a quizzical look, though he doesn't say anything.
The first few minutes of most meals are silent aside from clinking utensils. It's a learned habit from the Seam. Meals are so coveted that it's hard to talk when your stomach is practically jumping through your mouth to get at the food faster. Peeta is the only one who isn't used to the quiet.
"I'm really glad you're all right, Gale," Peeta says. Coming from anyone else, the comment might sound forced or less than genuine. Mocking, even. Coming from Peeta it seems natural. Gale stops and the two regard each other, before Gale says a soft thank you.
I can feel the tension between the two, an uneasy truce, but a quick glance around the table doesn't reveal anyone else detecting it. Maybe, I'm just paranoid.
"Me too!" Posy seconds. Her mop of red curls bounces with her enthusiasm. Gale pokes her nose lightly and she squeals with glee. I had a knowing grin behind my mug.
The conversation that follows is light and easy. Hazelle and my mother discuss meal plans for the next few days, and I am thrilled that Hazelle's made the executive decision to heed my invitation. Our younger siblings argue over what game to play first, what games to play at all, and finally try to convince Gale, Peeta and me to join. My mother nixes Gale's participation immediately.
I sigh with relief when the first wave of nausea hits. Casually laying down my fork, I reach for my tea, hoping that it'll pass if I stick to liquids. My mug is almost to my lips when the aroma of mint flips my stomach into a fit.
"Excuse me," I say, sliding my chair out and heading for the bathroom. I wait until I'm completely out of view before breaking into a run. My socked feet let me tread the stairs lightly, my panic not echoing down to the diners below. I'm almost not quick enough.
My knees hit the tiled floor heavily, my forearms finding the cool toilet seat, bracing against the violent spasm that sends my breakfast back up. Then I'm retching again and again, until there's nothing left of my meager meal. Even then, I dry heave. My insides feel like fire and my legs feel like jelly. Too weak to sit up, I just stare into the toilet, trying not to actually see the contents swirling in front of me, my forehead resting on my arm, my body occasionally shuddering.
It'll pass, I think, closing my eyes. It'll pass. Please let it pass.
Someone gathers the hair that's fallen around my face making me start. Gale reaches around me to flush the toilet. Figures I didn't hear him at all.
I'm still not convinced the morning sickness is finished with me so I stay hugging the seat for a few minutes. Gale is patient, soothingly rubbing my back with one hand, holding my hair with the other. Only after the hunger starts to return do I believe it's over and lean back against the wall. Gale retrieves a damp cloth and sits next to me, sponging my face and neck with cool relief.
"How long have you been sick, Catnip?" he asks, his eyes studying me intently.
"I'm not sick," I say.
He frowns, clearly not amused that I'm lying to him, opening his mouth to argue, but I cut him off.
"I'm pregnant."
The cloth falls away from my neck. Gale's mouth closes and opens and closes as he tries to find words. There are none. Instead, he pulls me close into a hug, crushing me to his chest. I think his strong reaction to comfort me is a little strange. I mean I've been dealing with this news for the better part of two days now, so clearly I'm okay. Someone's sobbing and it takes a second to realize that it's me.
Maybe it's the full weight of that statement finally breaking through my hardened composure. Maybe it's the horror at possibly having lost Gale to the mines finally catching up with me. Maybe it's some combination of the two. All I know is the floodgates are open and I'm helpless to rein it in.
Gale rocks me, his arms tense, his mouth pressed against the top of my head. I know the shock he's in. The fear. The disbelief. I do not expect him to say anything.
But he does. Though it's not what I expect.
"When you kissed Peeta, I quit watching," Gale says.
I don't move, confused, waiting for him to continue.
"I quit watching and stormed out because it hurt too much. Because I was the one who was supposed to kiss you."
His embrace loosens and I pull back to meet his gray eyes with my own.
"Not him." Gale shakes his head.
"But Prim came after me, and she was furious with me for leaving. She yelled at me, saying I had no right to walk out on you, saying that it wasn't what you wanted either."
"I've never heard her angry," I say softly.
Gale fixes me with a pointed stare, his half smile turning up the corner of his mouth.
"Well, it's terrifying," he says. "She said that you had promised to come back to us, and that when you did, I'd see it was all a lie. But when you came back, I had to promise her that I would never walk out on you again."
Gale's hands find my cheeks, his thumbs wiping away my tear tracks.
"So I'm not going anywhere, Katniss. I'll be right here."
His eyes hold me in place more effectively than his hands ever could.
"Okay?"
I nod, burying myself against him, letting Gale's strength hold me together.
"Plus, she's really terrifying…" he adds.
I look at him dubiously before we dissolve into laughter.
For a moment, it doesn't matter that we're fighting the Capitol. Planning an escape. Going to have a child. For a moment, it just matters that Gale is holding me as much as I am holding him. The two of us have always had each others' backs; this will be no different.
~Fin