A/N: I'm still alive, and still intending to write this, I promise. Hopefully, you wonderful readers can find it in yourselves to forgive my untimely updates. I must admit, the story is in my head, but I'm finding It harder to write than expected. If you can find it in your gentle hearts to review, I still love to hear your feedback.
"In dreams, I meet you in long conversation
We both wake in lonely beds in different cities
And time is taking its sweet time erasing you
And you've got your demons, and darling they all look like me" – taylor swift, "sad beautiful tragic"
The more she rubs her hands together, the stickier her palms become. His blood and her sweat. The way they mix and linger on her skin with tacky resilience is infuriating. And unnerving. Prophetic crosses her mind and Katniss snorts at her own paranoia.
In all actuality, her salt and his protein really was just simple chemistry. Though, that thought leaves her stomach twisting with a different kind of sick feeling.
Eventually she stops trying to rinse her hands clean and just ends up standing under a hot stream of water. The heat prickles against her skin, almost unpleasantly so, but she welcomes the distraction.
"Katniss? You home?"
She hears the front door shut heavily behind Peeta. If the shower water wasn't beating down on her full bore, she knows she'd hear his keys tinkle when he hangs them on the hooks near the entrance. She takes a deep steadying breath and is surprised when her voice doesn't tremble.
"Up here!"
She hears his feet run up the stairs and the gentle knock on the door frame even though she's fairly certain she left the door wide open.
Five years of living together and Peeta still insists on being the perfect gentleman.
"Come in, Peeta."
"How long have you been in here?"
Katniss sighs and shuts off the water. Out of habit, she wrings out her braid before pushing back the shower curtain.
"Uh," Peeta stutters when he sees her. Katniss almost thinks she should blush except Peeta's next words instantly remind her why that wouldn't make sense. "You took a shower with your clothes on?"
Glancing down at herself, Katniss shrugs as if showering with her clothes on isn't the least bit unusual. In her rush to clean his blood from her hands, she thinks how the thought to undress hadn't even crossed her mind. But to explain that to Peeta would only raise questions she didn't particularly care to answer, no or… ever.
"They were pretty gross too," she answers nonchalantly.
"Katniss."
The way he sighs her name, exasperated, makes her flinch.
Please don't make me talk about earlier, she thinks. Please don't make me…
"Look, about earlier this afternoon…"
Now, she sighs, angry.
"I don't want to talk about this, Peeta," she snaps. She pushes past him, her shoulder bumping his own hard. Grabbing a towel, she roughly untangles her braid. The triple ends fling water about the small bathroom as she pulls viciously at her hair. A hand gently stills her own. She looks up to worried blue eyes.
"If not now, Katniss, then when?" Peeta asks. "It's been five years."
His sad intent stare makes her chest constrict with guilt. The weight of the last five years feels oppressively heavy on her narrow shoulders. Katniss swallows hard, the emotions of the day plugging in her throat. Frustration and anger break through first and Katniss wields them like a shield.
"You think I don't know that? I have relieved Prim's death every day for the past five years! I know exactly how long it has been!"
"But you still haven't moved past any of it," Peeta says, his voice rising. "You can't keep going on like this, Katniss! You can't keep running away like you did today!"
Katniss flinches, his words stinging though she knew he spoke the truth. The backs of her eyes burn and her chest refuses to expand to let her breathe and the blood pounds in her ears. Peeta tries to comfort her, but she backs away. If he touches her, she'll break apart into a million shattered pieces.
For a moment, they both stand there, letting the pain throw its temper tantrum, letting the words die in the corners. Peeta starts to speak again, then thinks better of it and leaves the bathroom.
Katniss sinks onto the floor, her clothes cling to her, their dampness settling coldly against her skin. She shivers, but doesn't move to take anything off. Peeta is back before she has time to think. He bends to his knees in front of her, his hand cupped around something she can't see.
"You know I would do anything, anything, to bring Prim back for you. But I can only do so much," Peeta says. He reaches out to grasp her hand, pressing the hidden object into her palm. Though she resists, he doesn't let go immediately. "The rest is up to you."
He releases her, and at first, Katniss only scowls at him. Finally, her curiosity gets the best of her and she looks down to see the golden locket Peeta gave during the Quarter Quell. She doesn't want to open it and see the three faces that only remind her of what the Capitol stole, but her hands don't seem to obey. The locket springs apart and Katniss stares.
Numbly, her eyes hold the beautiful pale blue of Prim's, the blonde locks of her hair, the soft curve of her smile. She chokes on a sob, and sees an older and sadder reflection in her mother. It's been five years since Katniss has spoken to her too.
Lastly, she looks at her former friend and her brow scrunches at the word. No, she thinks, not friend. Her relationship with Gale was far more complicated than that. Friend was such a simple label, and she and Gale were never simple. His expression in the photo is strong, determined even. Not at all, like the broken man she had seen in the meadow. Not for the first time, Katniss thinks she may be staring into a mirror. She shuts her eyes and presses her lips together as the grief rolls back in, fresh and raw. Tears fall from her cheeks and she feels Peeta slide himself next to her.
"Hazelle says Gale is here to oversee the Rebuild," Peeta says, softly. "She thinks he's going to be here for a while."
She lets Peeta's arm slide around her and doesn't even try to stop the tears from coming.
"You have to find a way to forgive him, Katniss," he continues. "If not for his sake, then for your own."
Peeta presses a kiss to the top of her head, and his fingers brush away the wetness on her left cheek.
"Please just try."
Not trusting her voice, all Katniss can do is stare at the locket and nod. There is still blood in the corners of her nails.
Gale's home-coming is almost as dramatic as Katniss'.
"Where in heaven's name did you go?" Hazelle cries, when he steps into the kitchen.
"Hi, Ma," he says in response.
Though much shorter than her eldest son, Hazelle still can make Gale feel like he's looking up at her even when he's looking down. She waves a towel at him accusingly, while stirring a large pot with her other. He watches her cover the stew, but not before his nose breathes in the familiar scent of pepper, parsley, and something more robust than rabbit.
"Rory comes home to find your bags on the porch and you nowhere in sight," she says, coming to stand before him. Her eyes wander frantically over his tall frame, working their way from the bottom up, before widening when she sees the blood on his shirt and the fresh cut on his neck. "Gale Hawthorne, what happened?!"
Gale fends her off when she tries to dab at the wound with her no-doubt unclean towel, and tells her the truth.
"Katniss shot me," he says simply.
Hazelle's eyes widen once again, her mouth sputtering with questions. "But… How, why? What?"
"I was feeling overwhelmed," Gale admits, purposely omitting the tiny little detail of his drunkenness upon arrival to the district. "So I went to the woods and ran into Katniss. And then she shot me."
"Did you talk to her?"
Gale snorts and rolls his eyes. Of course, his mother would ask something so inane.
"She made it very clear she didn't want to talk when she aimed her bow at me, Ma," Gale scoffs. He turns away, his hands searching for a glass, and filling it with chilled water from the refrigerator. He's momentarily glad to see that she had installed his gift to her after all.
"Well, at least she missed," Hazelle says.
"Katniss doesn't miss," Gale mutters. He throws back the water in three quick gulps, its iciness a refreshingly sharp contrast after the sweltering heat of the summer afternoon.
Hazelle frowns, and Gale is instantly aware that she had chosen not to voice the similar disturbing thought. Katniss' eyes flash dangerously in his mind. The acid tone and how she practically spat the words at him. The resignation and momentarily welcomed relief he felt when she had pointed her bow at him. He doesn't like how unnerved he still feels over the whole incident. So in typical Gale fashion, he brushes it off with humor.
"I'm sorry, I won't ever leave my bags abandoned on your porch again," Gale says, opening his arms for a truce.
Hazelle walks into them. When she squeezes him tight, he knows she's forgiven his error. If only humor worked the same on Katniss, he thinks.
Posy and Vick burst into the kitchen a second later, and Gale bends down to scoop them up in his arms. For the first time today, his mouth cracks into a truly genuine smile. Posy breaks away first, straightening to her full height. She's up past his waist now and her long dark hair hangs halfway down her back, though he's glad to see the innocent sparkle still in her gray eyes.
"Gale I've missed you," she squeals.
"I've missed you too, squirt," he says, reaching out to gently pinch her nose. She wrinkles it at him, and giggles in delight.
"You always do that," she says, mock-scowling.
"Because you always let me," he teases.
"Are you here for good?"
Gale turns to face the deep voice and is startled to see its owner in Vick. His brother has grown rapidly too. Gale can tell by the way his shirt hangs on his lanky frame, but his shoulders have broadened, and his face is less round. Gale thinks it's hard to believe that Vick is almost sixteen.
"Not for good," Gale says, honestly, then quickly adds when Posy's face falls, "But for a while."
Posy beams up at him, but Vick fixes him with a near-level cautious look. Before Gale can reflect on that observation, Rory enters the kitchen. He's almost as tall as Gale, and if Gale didn't know any better, he would swear he was looking into a mirror. Rory's dark hair is sticking in various directions, still damp from his shower, but Gale catches the dust and dirt staining in the crevices of his younger brother's hands. No wonder Rory is almost as muscled as him. Mining thickens sinew in no time.
Gale's heart suddenly aches at the sight, a flood of déjà vu when he was underfed and overworked, his own hands cracked and rough from his pick and shovel. Despite his best efforts, Rory still works buried in the earth. He thinks he should try to talk to Rory about his career choice before he leaves.
Rory regards him warily and mumbles a greeting that doesn't sound very welcoming. In the few rare times that Gale had come to visit, Rory initially had been openly hostile only segueing into borderline indifference and avoidance as the years passed. As if Gale hadn't already lost his best friend during the war, it seems he had lost a sibling as well.
Once again, Catnip, Gale smirks, yet another way we are alike.
"Well don't just stand there," Hazelle says, pulling Gale from his train of thought. "Get yourself to the table."
Gale walks to the table, feeling slightly chagrined, and as he pulls up a chair, thinks how strange eating dinner with his entire family feels. But as his siblings dig in to what Gale is relieved to see is in fact actual beef stew, he also rationalizes his discomfort with the time spent away and the events of the day.
His neck burns when he swallows.
The following morning promises to be just as hot as the previous day, but that doesn't deter Katniss from keeping her unspoken promise to Peeta. So she finds herself down at the remnants of the old Hob, trying to dig through the rubble and pain, striving to find a solid foundation to rebuild upon.
She can feel the skin in the groove of her thumb chafing and rubbing against the grain of her shovel's handle with each load she dumps into the wheelbarrow at her side. There's dust and grime, charred wood and some unidentified objects she probably doesn't want to name. The backs of her arms burn and sweat drips into her eyes so often she's lulled herself into a pattern. Shovel, heave. Shovel, heave. Swipe. Shove, heave. Shovel, heave. Swipe.
It's brutal work under the blazing sun, but Katniss welcomes the pain. Her mind stays occupied, and she is ever grateful for that.
She's not sure how long she's been sifting through the ashes of the old Hob when she hears…
"If you're going to work so hard, I can at least put you on the payroll," Gale says. He flips through some papers on his clipboard.
Her eyes wander the flush of heat on his tan skin, inevitably falling to the angry red slice on his throat. Now that it's no longer oozing, she can see the wound is not very deep, but she thinks it still might leave a scar. Her mind races, thinking she should bring him some willow bark, or at the very least, check and make sure Hazelle has some in stock. Then, Katniss scowls wondering why she even cares if Gale's precious neck is marred for eternity.
His gray eyes are watching her intently, and she feels a hot flash of anger burn away the guilt.
"No," Katniss says sharply. "I don't want the money."
"It's not Capitol money, Katniss," Gale says.
She doesn't like the way his eyes plead with her to just accept the offer. Even more, she doesn't like the way she almost is compelled to give in.
"I said no!" Her voice rings sharply around the work yard and a few nearby volunteers look over at them.
Gale sighs. It's not like he hadn't expected her rejection, but he feels like he's bashing his head into a brick wall. The dull throb behind his eyes pounds endlessly.
"What are you doing here then, Katniss?" he asks. He can't help the exacerbation that adds a little bite. Is she just trying to make him miserable? Is this some kind of retribution he's going to have to deal with throughout his stay?
She fixes him with something worse than reproach, before her features melt into a look of non-expression. He feels his heart twist in his chest, and recognizes the mask that slides across her face. She's hiding from him.
"The sooner this Rebuild is over, the sooner you can leave."
She says the words without emotion, but they cut deep nevertheless. Gale refuses to wince in front of her. She stares at him, seeing but unseeing, and Gale senses yet another impasse.
Sighing loudly, he reaches for her abandoned helmet, chucking it at her roughly.
"Wear your helmet, Everdeen."
The hard plastic stings Katniss' palms when she catches it, her carefully constructed indifference cracking in surprise at his sudden burst of emotion. When she looks up, she thinks she might apologize for being so mulish, but Gale is already halfway across the yard. His name sticks in her throat, and she's glad no one can hear the strangled noise that attempts to call out to him.
Instead, she swallows awkwardly, places the helmet on her head, and returns to shoveling.
~Fin