A/N: Hey everyone! Very pleased to notice that people out there find this nonsense worth following ;) Soo, just for you (and for my own morbid curiosity, of course...), I found time to write another, unplanned, chapter. The end of this one was actually ment to be the start of the last chapter, but i redid it all a bit. It means this is a tad long, and maybe a bit dravel-ish. After this, it's definitely last chapter-time though.
I realise that somewhere along the line, I started naming the chapters after songs that I have on repeat while I'm writing this story. The title to this is a line in a song by swedish artist Britta Persson, and it's so good i think you should all hear it. Ok, now it's way past bedtime... Hope you like this, and feel free to comment! xx
I wake with a start. There's a sharp, rustling noise echoing in my ears. Confused, I raise my head a little from the hard surface it's resting on. The side of my face that isn't throbbing with pain feels compressed from lying on it, and my neck is stiff and sore. I realise I must have fallen asleep sitting by the kitchen table once again, and the noise that woke me was Gale snoring right into my ear. If I turn my head just a little to the side, my nose touches his cheek. A new wave of guilt sweeps through me when I think about why he's here. I can't help but feel like it's my fault that new Peacekeepers have swarmed the town, even though his being caught with a dead turkey had nothing to do with me. I still haven't left his side more than necessary in three days.
From an inch away, I watch his eyes flutter and slowly open, sleepy but clearer than I've seen them since he got taken into my mothers care. The morphling must have worn off. He blinks a few more times at my close proximity, before his eyes gain full focus on mine. The one side of his face visible turn up in a quick smile, a greeting. I return the gesture, and lift my hand that isn't tangled in his to stroke a few strands of his dark hair out of the way.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, partly because mother left me in charge for the night.
His brows furrow, as if thinking of an answer is an effort.
"Like hell," he confesses at last, his word all jumbled up. "But awake, actually." He makes a face, and I realise that awake also means in pain. And we're all out of drugs, except the snowpack that is still sitting all across his back.
"You think you could eat?" I'm remembering all the correct medic stuff now.
He thinks about that for a while, and then nods. I drag my face off the tabletop, the bones in my neck protesting out loud, and move over to the stove to fill a cup of the light soup we all had for dinner last night. Or earlier, really. It's still dark out, the silence telling me morning has not yet come. On second thoughts, I get myself a cup as well. Turning around to face the table, I see Gale has propped himself up on his elbows a little, and I frown.
"You're supposed to lie still," I remind him, putting the cups down well out of his way.
"I'm fine," he mutters. "Think I wanna sit up for a bit, it's getting really stiff here."
Stupid, stubborn boy. But he really looks uncomfortable, awkwardly leaning on his forearms, so I decide to help him despite my better knowing.
"You let me feed you soup just fine before," I mutter as I puzzle over how to get him down into a chair. He just gives me a quizzical look. Guess he doesn't remember that.
"Now just try not to move too much," I tell him, and go sit on the table by his head. It's lucky we're good at cooperating, I think, as I take hold of his arms to support his upper body, and he automatically puts his arms around my shoulders to make it easier. He makes a terrible face, but grits his teeth against the pain, and we manage to get him into a sort of upright position with me standing to hold up his weight. He has his head leaning on my shoulder, not able to hold it upright with pain. I'm very careful not to touch the criss-cross of angry red marks all over his back. With another effort, I sort of slide his heavy frame down into a chair. He's able to sit the wrong way around, with his chest against the back support. I take a seat next to him, both of us panting from the exertion.
"Thanks," he says, once the acute soreness seems to pass. I reach over to get us the cups of soup, and we eat in silence. Gale is leaned heavily over his, his upper arms on the table and his hands shaking as they grip the mug. I watch in anguish. Really, I hate seeing him this weak. When he finishes, he drops his head down on his arms to rest. I scoot over, mirroring the position, reaching out my hand to stroke his hair again. I can't seem to resist these days.
"You kissed me," he states suddenly, his eyes narrowed at me. My eyes widen in return.
"You remember that?"
"I was drugged, Catnip. Not dead," he responds, offering a very tired smile.
I blush, but try to cover it up.
"Almost though," I comment quietly. His hand reaches up to touch my face lightly, where I know it's swollen and red, to match his back.
"What did you do?" He looks worried, which is outrageous, really.
"Nothing, until it was almost too late," I whisper. "That seems to be my thing lately."
He doesn't comment this, so I suppose he agrees. We fall silent, and just sit there, heads resting on our folded arms and faces inches apart, steadily holding each other's gazes. I notice a possessive tint to my thoughts, a warning sign that passes before I have time to consider it.
Then, all in one motion, our faces shift even closer, and I don't know who kisses who this time. The feeling of his feverishly warm, soft lips on mine once again is pure relief, makes me draw in a deep breath that fills all my senses with him. The kitchen is so silent and the situation is so diffuse that it's easy to imagine, with my eyes closed, that we're somewhere else, somewhere peaceful and full of life, instead to destruction. My lips move against his on their own accord, not breaking contact this time. Neither does he hesitate to go along with the initiative. For a long while, I'm caught in the slow, seductive motion that is our first proper kiss. It's completely absorbing, engaging every fibre of my being in enthusiastic warmth. I find myself moving closer, pressing my body as close to his as I dare, and thrilling when a strange noise rumbles up his throat and he moves his hand down to grip my waist.
He's the one to break away, if only slightly. I open my eyes dazedly to find him watching me from almost no distance. His breath is still tickling my lips. Hungrily, I move to kiss him again, but this time he doesn't respond like I want him to. I pull back in confusion. His eyes are shielded but soft, questioning.
"Don't you have something to tell me?" he says quietly. I swallow, draw a shaky breath to clear some haze from my brain. I can't very well pretend like I don't know what he means.
"I…" I struggle to find words, so much harder for me to admit to than to simply feel. "I… like your hair," I blurt out, feeling my cheeks erupt in flames.
"I'm not that easy, Catnip," he says with a wry smile, but his eyes are more guarded now, and I know what this means. Of course, I couldn't expect him to let me off the hook this time, too. If I want to keep kissing him, I'm going to have to make up my mind, is the message.
I draw in another gulp of air; going to really try this time, not let three small words render me speechless yet again.
That's when the front door squeaks open, and heavy steps enter the house, stomping off snow in the hallway. The smell of fresh bread seeps in, and I freeze in guilty alarm. My eyes are still glued to Gale's, and in them I see a challenge, daring me not to break contact but to let the world see, if I'm so sure I've made up my mind. It's a test, and it's one that I fail.
Peeta enters the kitchen, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise when he sees us both sitting at the kitchen table, close, but now distinctly side by side.
"Do you want to get some sleep, Katniss?" he asks, making sure to keep his voice free of anything but concern.
I glance sideways at Gale, whose face is in a deep, ironic scowl and who won't look at me. Sighting, I accept the offer of some time to myself, knowing it's for all our best.
Gale goes home two days later, leaving a heap of things unsaid between us and a house that feels emptier than ever. That marks the start of things in District 12 going from bad to worse.
Winter came with full force, bringing with it a severe frost that still had nothing on the cold iron grip that the Capitol now have our district in. Since coming back from the Victory Tour, I've gone through so many different stages of hope, denial and resolution that I feel disorientated, wondering where this leaves me. Well, it leaves me somewhere in between I guess, in a limbo of fear for those I love, fear of my impending future; and fiery defiance, with all my hatred for those who make me fear. I lie in bed a month later, my ankle and tailbone aching from my little stunt with the fence last night, and my head spinning confusedly with heavy drugs.
Denial. I think back to that first day back from the Tour, when Gale actually found the courage to say he loves me but my stubborn sense of restlessness wouldn't let me accept it. I am pretty sure I have ruined an important little piece of our friendship, and whatever more has been between us since last summer, by dismissing his statement with a bleak I know. Why couldn't he share the insides of my head then, just like so many times before, to see that it wasn't the right time? I simply didn't have room for those words in my life, when the same feigned emotion was about to ruin everything. They would kill him for even thinking it. In my head, love is definitely worth dying for, but it applies to my life only. Unfortunately, this is where he and I seem to disagree.
Hope. Then everything was turned on its head, since apparently it took him being whipped within an inch of his life for me to see that running away would solve nothing. That he way right that day when he declared me a coward in the woods, had already seen through me, while I was still blind. Over those slow, strange days he spent helplessly injured on my kitchen table with me constantly hovering, jumping at his every need, things became clear even for me, though. If I can't find room in my heart for love, how can I hope for a better world, the way he clearly does? Stroking his face, relaxed in sleep, I could find both love and hope easily enough, but the time wouldn't come for me to express them before the blizzard blew over and he went back home. I wish I had told him, found my own strength of words. Instead, I can only resolve to stand by his side through the fire of an uprising sure to come.
And resolution, because they can put me in a million wedding dresses, and make me twirl for the cameras all they want, but they can't own my heart. It already belongs to someone, however feebly.
Even if I could figure out some way to escape – maybe get a rope up to that maple-tree branch and climb out – there'd be no escaping with my family and friends now. I told Gale I would stay and fight, anyway.
Thinking about my best friend- turned not so much my friend -gives me pause. Since I have so much free time just laying about my room with nothing but my thoughts for company, I can't really push him out of my mind. It's been clear ever since I came back from the Victory Tour that our friendship is slowly but surely sinking. Not surprising really, when I said I'll think of something but came home promised to someone else. I just can't stand it. I had thought that maybe he'd forgive me, at least a little bit, after the whipping the other week. After all, he must have realised I had seen the error of my ways. That I chose him when I decided to stay and fight. But still, whenever I see him for a short moment, he won't ease up that severe face he wears all the time now. Perhaps it's even reserved especially for me.
On the other hand, I know I'm being unfair. He does have a whole family to keep from starvation, and all the worries of ordinary people to deal with. Work, most of all. When I think of him down in the mines, wasting his cleverness on hacking for coal miles beneath the surface of the earth, I feel like I can't breathe. The whole thing is just so unfair that I think I might explode with anger. All the hunger out there, the fear and the cold. Anger is a good thing though, because it strengthens my resolve. And if I can't start a revolt, or run away, I might as well show the people of district twelve, and Gale, that I'm on their side.
At first light a few days later, I'm up and moving with new purpose. I have finally judged my foot to be healed enough for walking, but convinced my mother would disagree. As a consequence, I'm careful not to make a sound on my way down the staircase and into the kitchen, sneaking down a few supplies in a textile shopping bag before disappearing out the door. Outside, it's cold and dreary, heaps of ashen snow lying about. They're probably too full of chemical waste to melt despite the frost gone. The fresh air feels good to me though, and I start off towards the other end of the district as fast as my twisted ankle will carry me.
At Gale's, I stop for a moment at the scraggly fence surrounding the housing area, to prepare myself mentally for the argument that is sure to follow. I'm right on time. The front door creaks open to reveal a tall figure, hidden in shadows at this early hour. Gale is dressed to the teeth against the cold; several layers of clothes making his miners uniform look bulky and tight. He spots me standing a few feet away, and his face goes as frowny as ever.
"What are you doing here?" is his greeting to me, but this I was expecting.
"I'm walking you to work," I say unwavering, as if nothing could be more normal. I stand my ground as he glowers at he disapprovingly.
"It's not like I have a whole lot of other things to do. Besides, I brought you breakfast." I gesture to the bag in my left hand, holding a piece of good sturdy bread and a wedge of cheese.
"I already ate, Katniss," he says, almost spitting out the words. I sigh, my eyes narrowing.
"Like you could ever eat enough. Stop being so stubborn and come on now, or you're going to be late." Down on the dirt road leading through the Seam, I can see a trickle of men and women in worn uniforms make their way towards the mineshafts.
He stands his ground though, not moving an inch, just staring me down. I realise there's hurt in his eyes, too. With a deep sigh, I swing myself through the little gate and move to stand directly in front of him. Apparently it is going to take pleading getting in to his good graces again. I swallow my pride, for the moment.
"Listen, Gale," I say, my voice quiet. "I never get to see you anymore. Whatever's happened, you're still my best friend. And I miss you, alright? So if the only time I'll get to spend with you is fifteen minutes of a miserable walk in the mornings, so be it." This is quite a speech for me, and I can tell by his slightly softened face that he's appeased by it. He even looks a tad smug.
"So," I finish with slight irritation, "just hand me your damn arm, will you."
He stares at me blankly then, so I simply crook my free arm through his left one, and pull him along, my side pressed against his. I can feel his body heat radiating through the fabric of his clothes, and tuck my bare hand in closer under his upper arm.
"Mad as a hatter," I hear him mutter under his breath, but my uncharacteristic behaviour has paid off. I can feel his chest rumbling faintly with laughter. He even gives me a proper grin as he swings up the gate to let me pass first.
"Ladies first, then!" We both snigger at the absurd remark, and I think I may be temporarily forgiven. On the road, we join up in the procession of workers all heading the same way. Morning after morning, year after year, lives on end they have gone down this same road, and it's evident that time takes it toll deep in the underground. On the older workers, dirt has settled deep in the lines of their faces. Their backs are bent, their skin thin, bones standing out at odd angles. The atmosphere is tense, boots falling rhythmically on the ground and breath stirring up white clouds in the air. A few people still haven't lost their spirit, quietly talking or even making jokes. The occasional sound of high-pitched laughter seems oddly out of place here.
I take this in, never having thought much about it before. As a girl, I would walk my father to work in the mornings before school, but back then he was one of those to break the silence, doing his best to improve the mood of his fellow workers. I can't remember ever noticing the gravity of the situation. Now I look up at Gale, imagining him still here in ten, twenty years, his vivaciousness long gone. I squeeze his arm tighter, and maybe he understands, because he smiles down at me reassuringly.
"What happened to your foot, Catnip?"
"Tripped on some ice," I say, shrugging. He just raises one eyebrow. "Well, over an icy fence, actually," I correct, and I know he understands what I can't spell out loud with all the new regulations in town.
"You have a good walk, over that fence?" There's longing in his voice.
"Oh, like you wouldn't believe," I reply, my time to be smug now. He can tell I have something exciting to tell him, but that will have to wait.
People are throwing strange glances at us from all around. I realise we look helplessly out of place, me in my above-standard winter jacket and Gale with an extra bound to his stride, like he's proud to show me off to the world. Smiling at each other with an energy that the majority of them just can't muster. Oh well, let them stare, I think. I haven't felt so much like myself in months, us defying the rules together. And maybe I'm imagining, but it seems a little bit of our energy is spreading to those walking beside us. When I finally persuade Gale to eat a second breakfast, he shares some of it with an older man whom he knows by name. I remind myself to bring more next time.
"So now you're feeding me, and picking me up for work? Any more privileges to expect?" He jiggles his eyebrows ridiculously.
I bump my hip to his side in mock offence, but to our side, a young man Gale's age, who I recognize from school, is laughing too.
"Yeah," he joins in, "hey, Everdeen, whose fiancée are you again?"
Crap. Back to reality, then. I feel Gale tensing up, but I won't let a stupid remark, in all honesty just meant as a joke, get the better of me. With a wry smile, I retort, "Why, you wish I was yours?" The guy grins shamelessly back at me, and even Gale has to snort out loud. Did I just make fun of my own phoney engagement?
At the railing that marks the beginning of the mine entries, I release his arm, knowing I'm not allowed any further. He pauses for a minute, smiling down at me. If I had thought my heart dead, I know for sure it isn't as his grin warms my insides.
"Good to see you again," he says simply.
"See you tomorrow," I just say, turning to walk back home.
The morning after that, I keep my promise. But later that day, all hell brakes lose, as the third Quarter Quell is announced.