Chapter 17
A/N: I don't think I can apologize enough for the unexpected lengthy hiatus this story underwent. Unfortunately, life and writer's block collaborated to prevent me from updating for a while. I was so frustrated because of the lack of ideas for the necessary scene that starts this chapter. Every time I sat down to try to write it, it just came out wrong. To be honest, I'm not sure I am entirely satisfied with this version, but its at least passable. I know my readers deserve better than that, and I promise to make up for it in the following chapters. I have a good idea where this story is going now and hope to continue updating. That being said, I will warn any reader that has bravely and graciously ventured back to story that updates will be less frequent than usual. I do hope to post in greater length though, so hopefully that will make it a little easier to stomach. So glad to be back writing and thanks for all your patience and kind words!
The gift basket in my hands begins to shake, the cellophane crinkling with the movement. When the rattle awakens from the increased ferocity of my unsteady hands, Gale silently takes the basket from me and guides me toward a seat at the kitchen table. I slump more than sit, the weight of my body suddenly leaden and cumbersome.
I think someone has asked a question, but the voice sounds muffled and barely registers in my fogged head.
Then I feel their eyes on me. The kitchen comes into focus with startling clarity.
"I'm sorry, what?" I ask.
"I asked, is it true?" my mother says again. Her eyes are a piercing blue and my face heats instantly. My mouth gapes, and once again, I am thinking how hard can it be to answer such a simple question. But I don't have too.
"Yes," Gale says. I meet his eyes and he gives me a tense smile. "It is."
Even though Gale has confirmed the worst, my mother's stare never wavers from me, not once. Only when Gale slides into the seat next to me and folds his fingers into mine does her focus shift to him. She considers the two of us for a moment. I think I see her lips almost twist into a smile before she presses them firmly together. It makes her look even more menacing and I avert my eyes, feeling shame color my cheeks.
Hazelle is the first to move as she finds a seat on the other side of Gale. The movement dissipates the building tension like a gentle breeze ushering along oppressive summer heat when it settles for too long.
"Well congratulations!" She smiles at us and Gale looks away slightly embarrassed. She glances to my mother who has set a kettle on the stove and is now rummaging through the cabinets reserved for herbs and other medicines. "How far along are you?"
The slight pause in my mother's motions tells me that this question is one she was going to ask as well.
"Almost four, I think."
Hazelle nods, smiling encouragingly, and I begin to feel relieved that at least one of the baby's grandmothers is excited for its arrival.
My mother returns with the steaming pot and mugs that she sets before each of us. Hazelle helps herself to some tea, pouring some each for Gale and me, but my attention is back on my mother. She unwraps a package that I've seen her hand out to some of the other women in the Seam from time to time. Inside are smaller packets labeled with her careful penmanship.
"You need to drink these daily," she instructs, carefully unwrapping one of the small packets and emptying the contents in my tea. I watch the smashed leaves of some herbs I probably collected for her swirl on the surface. The aroma wafting up with the steam smells less than appealing. My face must reflect my thoughts because my mother repeats, "Every day, Katniss." Then softer, "It will help with the morning sickness."
I nod obediently and feel compelled to try the herbal brew. The hot liquid is bitter on my tongue but manageable enough to swallow.
"It's not bad," I say.
My mother smiles, as does Hazelle, though Gale doesn't look convinced. He leans close and inadvertently inhales a whiff, scrunching his nose at the smell.
"Better you than me, Catnip."
I punch his arm in my irritation, and he cowers along to my game. Intensely aware of our mothers' watchful gaze, we suddenly turn to them. They share a conspiratorial smile and I feel some of the fear still clinging inside my chest start to melt.
"Oh, I… I just…" Then my mother is hugging me tightly, and I let myself feel the happiness and warmth of her embrace. When she steps back, there are happy tears in her eyes. She swipes at them and then clasps her hands in front of her like she used to when my father had done something to surprise her.
"We should celebrate!"
I feel like I've slept forever but even still, my stomach feels full with the celebration my mother had in mind. She'd pulled out all the stops and everyone ate until we were groaning in sated pain. I vaguely recall falling asleep on Gale's shoulder, the warmth of his body on my left, the warmth of the fire seeping through on my right. He must have carried me up after I had fallen asleep.
My eyes open to Gale's back, sitting on the edge of the bed, the slight movement of his shirt across his shoulders the only indication that he's tying his boots. I turn my head, the barest hint of sunlight stretching its way between the crack in the curtains. Hunting is always best before dawn. I know that.
Yet, I don't want him to leave. But, I also don't want to leave the warmth of the covers. Stretching my fingertips, I'm just able to touch the taut muscle beneath his shirt. He turns to look at me, a crooked smile twisting his mouth when he sees me watching him through bleary eyes.
"Hey," Gale says.
"Where are you going?" I mumble, my voice thick with sleep. He leans over and gently kisses my forehead.
"I have to get something," he says, "I'll be back."
His vagueness pulls me upright, though I still have to rub my eyes to keep them from closing involuntarily. I want to stay under the covers, but I want to know what Gale's been doing so early even more. It's not for lack of trust, but he and Haymitch clearly have something planned, and I don't want to carry around the shadow of paranoia anymore.
"Can I come with you?" I ask.
Gale slips into his heavier hunting jacket and considers me momentarily. By the way his eyes glance towards the door and then back again, I imagine he's going to refuse. But then the steely gray softens with another larger smile.
"Well that depends," he teases. "How fast can you get dressed?"
It doesn't take me long to realize that whatever Gale's been doing, it's not hunting. He doesn't even stop by the old hollowed oak to retrieve our bows after we've slipped under the fence. Doesn't even pause to check a single snare though the path we take weaves us across our snare line. Despite the relative gloom of the early morning woods, my feet recognize the trail after a few more minutes following Gale.
"What do you need at the cabin?" I ask him.
I don't bother to keep my voice down. It's not like we could shoot something even if we startled it into view.
"I don't need anything at the cabin."
He holds a pine branch aside and lets me pass him before letting it go. The evergreen whips back and forth, a shower of needles adding to the forest floor.
"Then why are we going there?" I say, stopping and turning to face him.
"You'll see," he smirks down at me, ruffling my hair as pushes past me.
I scowl at his back. I've never been fond of his cryptic games when he has a secret and he knows that I'm dying to know it. I used to nag him incessantly to reveal whatever he was hiding, but he only became more and more vague. More and more infuriating.
"Come on, Catnip," he calls back over his shoulder. "The faster we get there, the sooner you get your answer."
"Gale," I say, hurrying a little to make up for his long strides. "Why can't you just tell me?"
"Where would the fun in that be?"
"I don't like surprises."
"Who says it's a surprise?"
"You didn't have to," I say. "You only act like this when it is."
He stops outside the cabin door, carefully orienting himself to block my entrance.
"You could tell me thank you now, or…" He leans into me like he wants a kiss, but I pull back slightly, though it's impossible to keep up my annoyance when his fingers curl against my arms, the solid weight of him surrounding me.
"Just open the door, Gale," I command, as he trails a string of kisses along my jaw. My breath hitches and it comes out a lot breathier and less forceful than I want.
He laughs at my failed anger and pushes the door aside, gesturing grandly for me to enter. I roll my eyes but can't help the smile that pulls at my mouth. A smile that quickly dwindles into a gasp of pleasant shock when I see what he's done.
Our entire stockpile of supplies has been carefully arranged into separate packs that sit neatly along the hearth. The larger of the packs have sleeping bags rolled and strapped to them. The smaller ones are no less stuffed full but when I pick one up, I can tell that they've been smartly loaded with the lighter supplies. No doubt, these four are meant for Prim, Vick, Rory, and Posy. I move on to examine the bigger packs, unclipping the flap and sifting through its contents. The mess that was strewn about Haymitch's spare room has somehow orderly repackaged itself inside each bag. How long must that have taken him? Not only to pack everything but to bring it all out here?
I turn to look at Gale who in turn is watching me. He looks almost shy in the way his eyebrows pull together anxiously, the crease in his forehead deepening.
I could tell him thank you, or I could…
I don't mean for our mouths to connect with such force, but my momentum propels me into his arms and I like the way he grunts against my lips. I pull back, but stay close so that I can still smell the sharp mint on his breath from chewing leaves as we walked. His dark eyes beg me to kiss him again, and I do, a quick brush against his mouth, the chaste thank you I meant to give.
"You're welcome," Gale whispers huskily. I fail miserably at controlling the tremor that rolls down my spine. "But that wasn't even your surprise."
I search his eyes, back and forth and back again.
"Come on," he laughs, grabbing my hand and pulling me back out into the early morning.
Gale leads me to our place. Except, as we approach, I can see two figures already there. Their presence makes me uneasy, and I pause letting Gale ahead of me. His strides are long and easy, no apprehension whatsoever in his movement, so I follow albeit cautiously. The closer I get, the more features I can resolve, and I smile when I realize it's Peeta and Haymitch, not Peacekeepers or complete strangers, though inside something twists heavily in my heart.
It strikes me that the harsh warmth spreading throughout me may be a possessive jealousy that our spot is no longer just our spot.
In fact, our spot has been transformed into a functional archery station. Targets sit at various distances down the sloping valley. The ledge where Gale and I shared so many meager breakfasts and secrets holds several bows, two of which I recognize as our hunting bows. This explains why Gale didn't even stop by the hollowed oak for our weapons – they were already here.
I hardly know what to say as Gale crouches down to retrieve one of the bows. It glints subtly in the dawning light and he hands it to me, along with a matching sheath filled with arrows.
Gingerly, almost as if I'm afraid of being bitten, I wrap my fingers around the riser. Despite its hefty appearance, the bow is surprisingly light but familiar. I examine the limbs, gauge the tension of the bow string, and suddenly I understand the recognition in my fingertips. Save the color, this bow is crafted exactly like the silver bow I used in the Games. I glance up at Gale, though he's already managed to read the question about to spring off my lips.
"Same exact one," he says. "Though I thought the brown would be better for hunting than the silver."
"But how…" I stutter. "When did…?"
"I had some help with the details," Gale answers, gesturing towards Haymitch. "Apparently there's a black market within the Hob."
"Still his idea," Haymitch says. "Only wanted the best for you." He rolls his eyes as if the romanticism is lost on him, but the gleam in them tells me otherwise. That, or he's just satisfied he can make Gale flush.
I am at a total loss for words. It explains the coal smell on Gale's clothes, why he kept disappearing and I could tell he wasn't hunting, the looks he and Haymitch would exchange. Suddenly, it's a lot to swallow and I round on the only person who hasn't explained his presence.
"You were in on it too?"
Peeta shrugs a non-answer. Then without warning, he grabs the bow I hadn't realized he was holding and fires an arrow at the nearest target. It doesn't strike the center circle, but as the arrow's tail vibrates mockingly from its flight, I feel my mouth slacken with astonishment.
Peeta shot an arrow. Peeta shot an arrow… Peeta hit a target!
"I know I'm not a dead ringer like you, but at least I can make them think twice if they decide to follow us," Peeta grins.
"I… I don't…" I shake my head, trying to loosen the grip surprise has cast over me. "I don't even know what to say."
"You never were too good at talking, sweetheart," Haymitch says, though his tone is light-hearted despite his insulting words. "How about I see the two of you in action?" He gestures wildly to Gale and me.
When I look to Gale, he's already grinning and moving to cover my left side. He waits for me to nock my arrow and then with the most imperceptible nod, we turn and fire at criss-crossing targets across the field in one fluid motion.
Our arrows zip lethally through the lifting morning fog, the simultaneous impact coalescing into a single sound. I've hit the center of the target straight on. Gale's arrow wavers just as deadly, even if it is just slightly off center.
Haymitch whistles an admiring note.
"Now that would have them lining up to be your sponsors!"
The satisfied smiles on our faces are impossible to suppress.
I haven't had a chance to practice just for the sake of practice since the Games. And then, training was always marred by the terrible fact that I was practicing not just to save my own life, but to possibly take others. I forgot how much I missed the anticipation of the shot, the tranquil moment of control that descends before I release the arrow, the thrill of seeing it fly true into the heart of each target.
Haymitch stands watch as Gale and I show off a few more tricks we learned after hunting together for so long. Peeta shoots a few more arrows too. With some gentle guidance, he's able to zero in on the targets with more consistency. When we break for a rest, I think that having three armed runners will definitely ease the burden I had just expected to share with Gale.
"Now, you remember your compass heading?" Haymitch prods.
I listen closely as I slather some cheese on a slice of bread Peeta hands me.
"Eight degrees east of north," he says.
Gale nods his agreement.
"Good," Haymitch says. "And don't forget it. Effie says they're increasing Peacekeepers for the Quell announcement. They'll be here in two days, so I'd get going tomorrow if you can."
I all but choke on my breakfast, looking between them with what can only be horrified shock on my face. Gale presses his lips together, tight enough that his mouth becomes nothing but a dark line. He's actively seeking and avoiding my questioning gaze because he knows what I am silently screaming at him.
We have less than 24 hours to convince my mother, Hazelle, Prim, Rory, Vick, and Posy to disappear with us into a forbidden forest to find a district that supposedly was destroyed almost a century ago with only myself, Gale and Peeta as navigation and security.
I don't include Haymitch. We didn't pack booze so I highly doubt he'll be of much help in either department when withdrawal catches up to him.
Without a word, I spin on my heel, striding away.
"Where are you going?" Haymitch calls after me.
"Home!" I call over my shoulder. "To pack!"
Though I don't hear his footsteps, I can feel Gale following behind me.
~Fin