April 30, 2020

Note: apologies for grammatical errors

xi. year twelve: addendum

Madge invites her to dinner, on one of their little walks through the district.

Katniss agrees, adding, "but I have to bring strawberries." They fall into step together, Katniss cusping her wrist behind her back.

Madge's smile is sweet and a little too mischievous. She wears pants and a loose, grey T-shirt, looking like herself. "Always."

—

Knocking on the door, Katniss is witness to Thom, smiling with flour on his cheek as he opens the door. His grey eyes land on the berries, quickly inviting her in.

When she sits at the set table, she sees four spots, but doesn't quite process it. Madge is at the sink, cleaning, and Thom kisses her on the shoulder before making his way outside. A little whistle leaves Katniss' mouth teasingly: Madge blushes, seeping her hands into soapy waters.

Katniss' eyes follow Thom as he makes his way into their yard, and Gale—Gale—is in the backyard, chopping wood. His cheeks are puffed with effort, and sweat drips down his toned arms on each swing. When a chop hits roughly, a clean cut, she jolts into lucidity, and she almost flees on the spot, bolting up from her wooden chair.

"Please stay." Madge asks as she turns from the sink, wiping her hands dry.

("You can try." Prim had said.)

Katniss settles into the carved chair, unmoving and awkward as she folds her hands in front of her. When Gale carries logs in, distractedly chatting with Thom, he stills abruptly. A few pieces of kindling hit the hardwood floor with twitters and thwacks.

The look at each other, "hey, Gale." She supplies from the table, turning her head to acknowledge him. Her hands clutch each other on the surface.

("You can try.")

"Hey," Gale coughs out hoarsely. He bends to pick up the wood, walking passed her to the fire place on her left.

These are the only words they share all night: they talk to Thom, or to Madge, or to Thom and Madge, but never to one another. Their eyes can't help but follow each other though.

It doesn't matter how much she doesn't want to, she is still drawn to him when he speaks, when he moves. He tells Madge about Rory, how he went through a "no pants" phase when he was about nine, and even though Katniss was traumatized by Rory shaking his tiny butt around the house, she still laughs. When Gale looks over at her silent giggles, his shoulders lower and his eyes soften like they shouldn't, and when her eyes meet his, Gale flickers his gaze away.

She remembers Rory's phase very well. For a while afterward the little boy could barely look her in the eye. Live and learn: now, he always wears something to cover his ass.

She has the urge to joke about how, maybe, Rory got it from Gale, because surely, he had some phases too, but speaking to him is hard.

When it was about nine o'clock, Katniss rose from her chair, knees slightly buckling from sitting for so long. "Prim is expecting me. I gotta go." She steps to put her shoes on. "It was good seeing you guys." She doesn't look at Gale—at all—but her words are meant for him too, even if she doesn't want them to be.

"Are you sure you don't want that money, Katniss?" Madge rises to grab the bag that's always on the counter. Gale's eyes widen in recognition. Katniss cringes. Madge doesn't understand, but then she freezes as it dawns on her.

"That's where you got the money from." There's no accusation, just truth and a twinge of relief. Madge sets the money down.

Katniss looks at him, sitting peacefully next to Thom, who has also silenced, "and?" It's the reason he was whipped to oblivion. She hates the money, now, and hates herself for taking it. It was charity.

He stares, saying, "you lied about it." She still feels her cheeks burning with embarrassment but the scar is cold.

"Yeah, well I learned from the best." She's out the door before she can feel bad, her cheek aching. Katniss heard him rise to stand behind her, but he won't follow: she knows that.

("You can try." She's trying, but it's not only about forgiving him.)

He didn't lie. He's never lied, but she knew the words would hurt him, purely because of how false they were, and because he thinks she believes them.

(People she cares about get hurt. He has forty-two scars to prove it.)

She didn't expect him to run off and move on, though. She didn't expect him to do what she wanted him to.

—

Gale Hawthorne is dating Marie Grasper, as heard through the grapevine. Katniss freezes where she sits in the Hob. Greasy Sae looks sympathetic as she wipes down her counters, "a month or two, I reckon." Then, she's gone to her next customer.

Katniss is startled raw, achingly loud. The counter is solid as it watches her, whispers of hands and laughing flow through her ears, making her blush and squeeze her hands into her lap.

—

Katniss goes to their rock. "A month or two," Sae reckons: the girls, they never last more than a week (she hadn't). Katniss feels betrayed, relieved, disappointed and empty all at once, so she hunts. She knows it's a Sunday, and she knows he will be here, even though he doesn't mine anymore.

Habits are hard to break, even the Capitol designed ones.

She had been strategically avoiding Sundays on her hunting schedule. Now she's here. Her mother is dead. She should never want to see him again, but she misses him.

Feeling those words and saying those words are completely different challenges. Besides, she's half-certain the word "miss" doesn't describe what she feels.

Forgive him: she's trying. Protect him: she can't. If he just stays away from her, everything will work out perfectly, (but she can't stay away from him).

He doesn't come. Disappointment fills her as she runs the snare line, but she shows up the next Sunday without fail. Then, the next. One day, he's there, and apon seeing her, he skids around. She calls his name, and when he shifts to face her, she doesn't know what to say, again.

"You're dating Marie?" A bad start.

"You're dating Peeta?" A worse response.

"No." His eyes widen a fraction. She ignores it, moving on. "He left the District." Her arms cross as they always seem to do when she's vulnerable. "I always thought you guys looked cute."

Honestly, there is no pain behind her tone, curiosity mostly. Katniss hides everything without thinking, trying, and he still sees right through her. The trees feel grey and her heart is aching.

"Yeah." One word and a guarded gaze, that's what he's giving. He's ready for an attack.

Katniss kicks at a stick, mumbling, "hunt with me?" Stay away from me.

She wants to forgive him: she (misses) him.

He doesn't sit with her on the rock, but he hunts with her, or more like haunts her. Gale's never with her: he's always over Katniss' shoulder, even when she stops to wait for him. He checks the snares after she does. Worst of all, he doesn't correct her snares: Gale just wordlessly tinkers with it after she leaves, but she notices.

(He has forty-two lashes to prove it, so why can't she stay away from him?)

—

The traps fill quickly throughout the week, but he's only there sporadically: sometimes, he has to watch his siblings, or less favourably, he has a date. This week, he was there Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday.

They walk side by side. She can pretend it's all fine. After all, he isn't trailing behind her anymore.

She doesn't feel unbearable anger when she looks at him like she used to: resentment is still present some days, but Katniss is trying.

Her eyes don't narrow and burn when he takes off his familiar gloves. Instead, her gaze widens, almost dropping her arrow, when she sees how his fingers slightly shake with snare wire scars and a few too burns.

She realizes how much of him burned when the beep went off too. How much his hands are scarred with what he did, and just like Madge or even Katniss, this is war, and the things they did will beep in their minds forever.

Then, he puts his gloves back on and ambles the next snare, leaving Katniss with a bow in her hands and an epiphany on her mind.

She glances over her shoulder at Gale's a back as he breathes heavily and Katniss wonders if maybe he hears screams when he tries to close his eyes too.

Gale deserves more than he's taking from her. Like always. He let her be angry, never pushed for forgiveness. He gives her space.

Katniss sees his sins on his shoulders in how he carries them and, god, she wishes he'd forgive himself too. Because when he looks at her, she swears agony surrounds her reflection in his irises.

(oh katniss. you're doing the one thing you said you never would.)

—

They eat lunch together, the next Friday. Sae gives them a huge bowl, says they have to share. Katniss has no qualms, taking a bite. It's beef, and Katniss groans. Sae's soup has never had beef before, not when she's had it. Gale looks wary, but sips some of the broth.

She clanks his spoon when he blows on it to cool his bite, spilling beefy, thick broth in his lap, but before he can be even slightly angry, she's cackling at him. He rubs his greasy spoon on her cheek, but she keeps laughing: his lips quirk.

(He looks like he peed himself, and to Katniss, it's the funniest shit ever.)

—

Mopping the floors of the apothecary become cathartic for her. Cleaning, organizing and sweeping, they all let her think without wanting to rip her hair out.

Katniss wipes the windows of Primrose's little store, drenching the sleeves of her rolled up flannel shirt. Of course she thinks of sins and mistakes (always), which leads her to Gale. When she thinks of Gale, a pang goes through, head to toe. Mourning smiles leave her body like the soapy water that runs down the window as she wipes it away.

Only sadness is left in her, and clarity as she sees the other side. Through the window, people walk down the street, many she recognizes, but they seem so much happier. Most of them do: some will never be happy. Katniss doesn't want to be one of them.

Children scream their way to the new school, playing tag. A man reads on a bench: he wears glasses, something that was—until months ago—only a myth. Katniss used to think they were a fashion statement in the Capitol, but turns out, some people need them. Three lovely women are handing out flyers, offering jobs. Half the buildings are still being laid, brick by brick. It's bustling and busy.

When Katniss sees them, her hands squeeze the water from her cloth. Marie holds his hand tightly, pulling him from the florist to the well that survived the bombings.

He looks so happy, and Katniss realizes how much she wanted—wants that. Marie brings out a little purse, grabbing for a coin: Gale cringes when she drops it in, even when the blonde kisses his cheek. Old habits die hard: money is money. Katniss drops her cloth into her soapy bucket with a undignified huff, splashing her jeans.

Cleaning gives her clarity, and as she watches Gale and Marie through the newly crystal clean windows, a yearning seeps into her flannel shirt.

She wants to know where he used to stand, is it where she stands now? Ready, or maybe not ready, but willing to try. They... they don't live in the same district they used to. It's safe and warm and they can't just die tomorrow. His eyes catch her in the window as the skirt-clad blonde drags him away. He's eyes widen, and he stumbles lightly. Thrusting hers hands into suddy water, her faces tinges pink. When she tentatively lifts her gaze, Gale is gone, leaving a bustling street where children play soccer and adults laugh and yell with one another in harmony, and it's like he was never there.

Katniss bites her lip to keep from swearing. She wants him, scarred back and burnt hands and loyal smiles. She desires to give him an answer. What ifs fill her mind endlessly.

(he killed your mother.

i know.)

—

One day, like many other other days, they lie in the woods. It's quiet and usual and orthodox. Her braid mixes with the leaves as they fly in the wind.

"I forgive you." Three little words whisper from her lips as they lay in their rock. He turns his head toward lightly. "And I'm sorry."

He sits up on his elbows, next to her, listening to her words. Gale doesn't acknowledge what she says, but she sees his chin rise with the words, if only slightly. It's the sins, maybe.

"I got a job." He murmurs in response, tugging the cuffs of his leather jacket—because they don't do communicating, or simple answers—and suddenly, she's sitting up too. Frantic stares and wild thoughts fill her head: the mines. Almost sensing her distress, he continues. "No, it's in construction. We're building a hospital."

A hospital. No coal in sight. Rubbing the soles of her boots together, she feels a thread of shame over her panic. "It's nice to know you care, Katniss." He jokes, and her eyes narrow slightly, but she knows he sees the quirk in her lips. "My job means I won't be able to hunt as much. I just thought you should know."

She doesn't hide her disappointment from him. Her brows draw downward in understanding.

He does need the money. Primrose and Katniss' apothecary give them all they need and Katniss only has work three days a week. He doesn't quite have the luxury.

"I'm glad." And she is.

A little more time passes as they lie there, and just relaxing is awesome. She isn't counting the minutes they're wasting, isn't counting the empty stomachs they're failing to feed.

But the time ends. "Fuck." He whispers, and she looks at him, opening one eye, brow raised. "I had a date." He sits up, and she goes with him.

"Oh." Somehow she forgot about Marie. Somehow.

"I missed it." He says a little too nonchalantly as he steps over a familiar root on the way to the fence.

"Shame." She tries to mean it, she does. He's happy with Marie: he is. The rest of the walk is comfortable silence.

As they pull by his house, the blonde sits on the steps in a pretty purple dress. Marie's glare is waiting to latch onto her. Her blonde curls blind Katniss as Marie rises. "Are you serious, Gale? Her, again." Katniss turns to leave, stepping quickly.

(Down the cobble, the last thing she hears is, "are you ever gonna get over her?" She ducks her, pacing faster.)

—

Without realizing it, she's back to avoiding him. All she does is cause him problems anyway. When she stops showing up on Sundays again, she knows he won't question it.

But he does, the next Sunday morning, far too early. She hates the morning.

At 5 A.M., with bleary eyes and an oversized t-shirt that belonged to her father, she opens her door. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back, like a soldier (he was one: it was war). Like he's been practicing. What an idiot. Did he think she couldn't tell?

"Did you mean it?" He is asking of her forgiveness, cold fog clasping each word because winter is on its way.

It's been three weeks since then, "of course I did." His eyes widen as she shoulders the door in her ratty sleep clothes.

"Then why are you avoiding me," his voice is softens with a pause, "again?" He unlatches his grip on his wrists, shoulders falling forward and revealing his rolled up sleeves just below his elbows. The soldier in him wipes away.

For some reason, she gives a blunt answer. Maybe, it's because she's exhausted, and her eyes are blurring. Maybe, it's because of winter's chill. "I'm just tired of hurting you, Gale. I'm getting in the way of everything in your life. Your girlfriend, your job, your family." She pauses, as shocked with her words as him. "I thought... if I just, went away, you'd maybe just forget about me."

He's startled: his wrinkles scrunch in surprise. He's twenty, going on twenty-one: he shouldn't have wrinkles like he does. Katniss wants to wipe them away, along with his scars and traumas and tears.

His voice breaks her from wherever her mind goes when she thinks of him. It's a spot constantly occupied.

"Katniss, I could never just forget you." He takes a breath, staring at his dusty leather shoes. Making eye contact with her, he continues. "You don't get in the way of anything."

"Yes I do. Marie—"

"Marie dumped me."

Her eyes widen. "Exactly. That's my fault." Her voice cracks with morning husk.

"It really is." Gale smirks at her, and she glares. She knows her hair is a nest and she has dirt on her face, but he still looks at her with admiring eyes, maybe with a little tease, but that never really leaves him. "Now that we're over that, I was wondering if you want to go to dinner—" Katniss is about to whole-heartedly agree when he continues. "—with Madge and Thom?"

She still agrees, if slightly disappointed, but then she tells him to go away bluntly—which he laughs at—before falling back into bed.

(Why was he here so early? Some habits are hard to break. If he still gets up at four in the morning like they used to, Katniss is going to kick his ass.)

—

Him and Thom do that thing, the "man hug" Gale calls it, with a laugh. They eat loudly, smile fondly, drink a little too much, and actually speak to each other this time. They may speak in glances and fidgets, but that's how they always were.

A look from Katniss, "do you want another drink?"

Feeling brave, Gale winks, "you already know."

She glares, with a smile. "Fuck off."

He laughs out loud, causing Madge and Thom to stare at him in confusion. They will never understand Katniss and Gale, but they enjoy their company all the same.

They're all so relaxed, casually dressed and breathing.

Halfway through the night, Madge glows with an idea. "There's one thing I can thank the Capitol for!" She's gone around the house, and when she returns, she holds twelve red cups and a little orange orb. "It's a ping-pong ball, whatever that means." She hiccups a laugh, commanding Thom and Gale to move the wooden table away from the wall. "Haymitch showed me and Peeta this game once. Effie was awful at it. It's was probably the heels."

After the boys move the table, Katniss copies Madge across the table as she sets up a triangle of six cups and pours a quarter of vodka into each. "This is gonna be bad, Madge." Katniss states.

"I know!" She shouts, pouring the last cup. She hands the bottle to Katniss. The dry-humoured blonde is stubborn and bubbly when tipsy, but she explains the rules sufficiently well.

Each team gets two throws. If it bounces you can interfere with the shot; if it lands in a cup you drink. If a team gets both in, they get the pong-ping (whatever that means) balls back. If it bounces, and then lands in a cup, you drink two: Katniss reminds herself never to let that happen.

Katniss looks to Gale with a smiley glint in her eye, and bravely says with alcohol on her tongue. "As a master archer," Gale scoffs, "and my okay-archer of a partner," Scoffing again, he tugs her braid. "We're going to destroy you."

(She's a very competitive drunk.)

Thom laughs, "if you're so good, go first." They do: Katniss completely overthrows and Gale nicks the edge of the cup, smiling sheepishly. He teases, "at least the 'okay-archer' hit the cup." Katniss glares, crossing her arms.

(Somehow, Gale teases her more when he's drunk, and he's touchy.)

Madge sinks her first shot, "No fair! You've played before!" Katniss yelps, staring at the cup.

"Where'd your confidence go?" Thom challenges, attempting a distraction. He almost succeeds, sneakily bouncing it off the table for the double score while Katniss puffs her cheeks. Gale diligently snatches it, grinning at Thom's raised brow.

"Good effort, Thomas." He says, making Katniss laugh while she takes her shot. She almost snaps at Gale when it leaves her fingers—under thrown severely—but the orange ball lands it in a cup after it bounces.

The table is shocked silent, but it's broken when Gale whoops, picking her up in a hug. Before she can process it what he did and the warmth that tingles through her—touchy—she's on her feet, and he's taking his shot, missing for the second time abysmally.

Madge and Thom make both of theirs, earning the balls back, but then Madge misses and Thom sinks his. Katniss drinks one: Gale drinks two, "I have more body mass."

"I have more tolerance." Must everything be a challenge?

"Doubtful." He gulps the second cup through her playful glare.

They end up losing, but with only one cup left on the other side and—shit, they're drunk. Madge and Thom get a little too friendly, and so Katniss and Gale decide it's time to go home.

Her and Gale wave the residents of the house goodbye as they walk into the chilly night. Through the haze of alcohol, they don't feel the cold. Gale grasps her hand lightly as snow drizzles through the inky black sky.

They stumble home, pulling at each other, giddy and random and oh-so-very drunk. She hangs off his arm. Their steps lead them across the streets. Somewhere along the line, they wander through what used to be the centre point of the District: the square.

Crack.

She inhales quickly, padding her feet along the cobble path—his whipping. His fingers tighten around hers. Slowing down with recognition, they sober up with the crisp memories. Like that dreadful day, the snow sprinkles down, thick and chilly. Katniss feels her mockingjay pin press into her chest.

They pull along silently, and Katniss processes they've never really been out passed dark, at least not in these streets, where the bones are buried under cobblestone paths to join the miners who waited to greet them. She's blurry minded and shaking. Not even the alcohol can numb her tingling scars.

He pulls her to face him, little snowflakes land on his face, melting into freckles she's counted a hundred times. She's sure they're in her hair too. His fingers brush the scar on her cheek, and his other hand thumbs the one her palm.

"I'm sorry." His voice is a little slurred, but largely honest. They're really going to talk about this.

His hands rest on her face lightly, and though her feet are numb, she feels his toes kicking at hers. Katniss brushes the dark hair from his forehead, breathing out a white fog. "I am too, Gale."

Crack. Maybe one day, the sound will leave her mind.

She's pretty sure she kissed him last night, just after that, but she can't really remember.

(Yes she can.)

When they reached the steps of his little house, it's only resident leads her to the door. With the cold snow falling, she's definitely sure she kisses him again. His keys open the door, pushing her inside.

He picks her up by her knees, leads her to his bed. "Shit." He'd whispered and she clearly remembered him doing so. "Katniss, how drunk are you?"

"About as drunk as you." She kissed him and that was the end of his inner turmoil. She tugs his shirt over his head, and he thumbs the buttons in her jeans.

He finds the whipping scar on her inner thigh with his lips. "I'm so sorry," he chokes again, dragging his mouth along its rigged, white edges. She does the same to his scars, all forty-two.

"Stop apologizing..." she murmurs into his shoulder, even though she knows he's apologizing to himself, to free his back from the pillars he's carried since he was fourteen. "It's okay, I forgive you." She says it for him. "I forgive you."

When he pulls her underwear off, her fingers dig into his hair. Her thighs close around his head as she keens for him, over and over, biting her lip, locking her ankles. An embarrassingly high screech leaves her lips when his finger angle left just slightly inside her, but his thumb rubs her wrist soothingly in response while his other thumb abuses her clit. She comes a little roughly, struggling to catch her breath. He laughs softly

Dragging his lips up to hers by his hair, she whispers, "I definitely forgive you," and he laughs harder. She trails her mouth down his body, earnest to return the favour.

The button of his pants seems daunting; she's never done this before. His fingers trail her shoulders and he whispers, "you don't have to." Then, she does it, because she's competitive.

(Maybe, now that the war is over, maybe people she cares about won't get hurt.)

She's pretty sure they fucked last night and maybe it wasn't quite fucking. It felt like more, but she can't really remember.

—

It's a Monday, and he has to work. When she wakes up in the morning, he's gone with a little note left behind.

"I don't wanna be 'just friends' anymore Catnip." It's a scrawl, in his weird all-caps choice of printing. Bad grammar and runny ink, there are a few too many words crosses out to be accidental, but it's legible.

It shouldn't still scare her, but it does, just a little, but now it's a butterflies-in-your-stomach fear, not a what-if-he-dies-tomorrow fear, and that makes her heart jump in excitement. She sits up and rereads it, beginning to wonder when she became such a girl, rereading a simplistic and direct message.

As she gets dressed, she thinks, and thinks, and thinks. When she's done thinking, she writes on the bottom of the note, "Me too."

Then she leaves.

—

She's putting herbs on the shelves when the new bell at the front of the store chimes. She holds a crate in her arms and her fingers smell like plants when Gale plops in front of her. His hair is flattened by his construction helmet which he's thankfully removed from his head. He stinks of oil and sweat but his eyes absolutely glow.

"Is this serious?" It's a scared tone.

He holds the note in his hands, and—oh wow, he came right here when he saw it, didn't he? Further examination of his appearance, prove her thoughts. An unwashed face and—muddied boots.

On her floor, which she has to mop. She glares at his feet, refusing to give him an answer. "Oh, sorry!" He rushes out the door, but then, just outside the window he pushes the note against the window, and it's like they don't need words. Never did.

"Is this real?"

She nods curtly, unwilling to stare, because a customer with a cough comes in and Katniss has to call Primrose from the back.

In corner of her eye, she sees Gale rub his grimy hand—palm and all—on the window, printing a black streak across it. She's going to have to clean that too, but when she scowls at him over the elderly customer's head, he just smirks and does it again before running off.

What a prick.

(Sometimes, coming home is hard, but we all get there, eventually.)

—

They visit her mother's grave hand in hand, truly a weird first date. The stone is small, just to her kneecaps, and simple. They sit down, in front of it and she can see Gale's shoulders falter.

His eyes begin to water slowly. Making no noise, his elbows rest on his raised knees as he stares at the stone. She can feel her throat clog and—oh god, the tears are coming. Explosively they run down her cheeks. Neither of them make a sound as she falls to her knees next his already seated body.

"How many children did I—" kill. He can't say it. His hand reaches out to hers, desperately. "I'm sorry, Catnip." She realizes he hasn't called her that in forever, realizes as her eyes water, she isn't crying over her mother. She's crying over everything: in her relief, in her grief.

She grabs him by the nape of his neck, softly dragging him to her shoulder in a hug, but Gale just sprawls into her lap before he can get there, pushing his tears into her stomach. He whispers, "there's so much I could've done." So much.

(how many children did you kill? some, no oh wait, the report says 305. you checked last year, gale, fifteen times.)

"I should've—"

"Shhh.." A tear falls into his hair. That tear was for the fact that they survived, the reapings, the revolution, and another for her mother.

His anger and her fear—they almost ripped them apart—she sheds tears for that too. "Don't 'shhh'.. me." He sobs a laugh, wrapping his arms around her. His fingers brush the grass at her back.

In front of her mother's grave, cathartic tears seep into the green grass. She has collapsed completely and it's fine. To cry in someone's arm, to cry together, without shame, is something she'd never thought possible. Whenever she'd sobbed in his embrace before, it was to hide away from it, to cover up.

His nose pushes into her navel, "I'm so... sorry." The thickness in his throat is choking her. She can smell the salt of their tears.

"Shhhh...shhhhhh..." his laughter is broken and hiccuped, but he's laughing, with melancholy, but still. She smiles down at him, covering his mouth with her hand as he chuckles, exhausted. "I said... shhhhhhh." She shushes him so aggressively a little drop of spit lands on the side of his face. He just laughs harder, licking her palm, feeling the ridges of her scar.

His face goes solemn when his tongue tickles it edges, kissing her palm. And she thinks he looks like a child, small, like maybe Vick. His thumb presses into her thigh, where he knows her deepest scar resides.

"I'm sorry you went through that for me." It finally clicks that, of course, her scars are what he's always saddened over, her three scars.

She scratches his scalp, "the whipping?" He nods slightly carving his eyes away from her as her tears well up again. "Are you serious? You got whipped...forty-two times. If I hadn't given you that turkey—" she whispers.

"Then it would've been you." He cripples out from her shirt.

"It would've been better that way." He looks at her brokenly, tightening his arms. Gale glares at her.

He brushes his thumb on her cheek. "Katniss, every time I look at you I remember, I failed to protect you." His voice cracks lightly, and she knows he's talking about her mother too.

She pulls his face to hers, and she kisses him softly, pain-filled, praying to make the tears stop. They don't stop, they just blend together.

"We failed each other." It sounds harsh but it's acceptance.

His fingers wrap into her hair. Her scarred cheek bolts as her fingertips brush the two lashes always peaking from his shirt. Her lips push against his, and she really hopes he leaves his sins here, in the graveyard.

Katniss has felt starvation, and that kiss felt like eating an apple after days of only drinking water, convincing yourself it's enough. She swallows his soul, serves up her heart, and holds it out. It's broken and bleeding, and so are his hands when he hugs it, kissing it better, slowly.

(Eventually, we all get there.)

—

He says it sooner than she wants him to. "I love you." He says it like it's a fact, as his fingers twiddle the strings of her broken snare.

She tries to say it back; it's in her throat, truly. "I- I know," comes out instead. The woods are warm and she's so scared she wrecked what they have again, but he just smiles a little, kissing her cheek before he moves on to the next line.

Hollowness fills her, feeling like failure. As the trip ends and they embark to leave, she pushes him against a tree and he drops his game bag. His lips push against hers harshly as his thumb grazes her jaw.

He pushes her back, "Catnip?" She stares at him with puffy lips. "You don't have to do that because I told you I loved you."

She messed up, again. She can't get it right. "Ok." Her response is quiet and she looks down to the ground.

Lifting her chin with his knuckles, his eyes look for hers, and when they meet, they stare. He moves her hair from her face, brushing the scar. "Hey, it's alright."

It's not, not to her. Her cheeks burn with shame because she's so awkward and why did she do that? He doesn't seem disturbed though, pinching her elbow to point a rabbit. She quickly shoots it, missing the eye socket by three inches.

—

One day they both slowly realize she has practically moved in with him, and while cleaning at the apothecary, Katniss almost apologizes to Primrose for never being home, but then she sees Rory and realizes her sister probably didn't notice.

Katniss briefly wonders if her sister and Gale's brother getting together would be weird, but ultimately, she decided it was fine, adorable even, if she didn't overthink it.

Through the—is that a grease print? What a prick—window, Rory plants a gentle kiss on Prim's cheek, and Katniss can't wait to tell Gale. Since when did she start cataloguing things into the "tell Gale" bracket?

(The asshole already knew. Her mouth gapes and he just laughs at her, removing his hard hat to set on the hook Katniss hammered into the wall for him. He helps her clean and then they play some checkers and it's all so normal, quiet and it freaks her out, but she never wants it to go away.)

—

It takes months of him saying it; he never expected it back. He knew how she felt, knew what words she tried to put behind other words.

The closest she ever got was, "I missed you." That always makes him smile, makes him love her more, kiss her longer, lift her higher. The love she has is in what she does: she packs his lunches in the morning before she heads off to hunt. Katniss has his bow and quiver ready on their rock when she knows he's coming. She combs her fingers in his hair during the night.

Most startlingly she sings for him: she only sings to Prim, or to her parents' grave, only to people she loves.

He saw it, the guilt in her eyes, when he says it. "I love you." Gale tries to say it proudly now, making sure she knows he doesn't expect it back, that he knows she loves him too.

One day, it works: she realizes she doesn't need to feel guilty, but now she just longs to say it back.

He's in construction, rebuilding twelve, making a hospital for her mother.

She's hunted almost everyday. "It's not the same without you there." That's another one; she leaves it on a note, just for him.

She struggles to say it back, because it feels like a death sentence. She knows it's stupid, especially now. He doesn't work in the mines. The last thing she said to her father was, "I love you." To her, if she says it to Gale he won't come home.

—

(She jolts awake one night, with him right beside her, and he's up right away. Comforting words in her ear make her ask herself, what if the last thing she says to him isn't, "I love you"?)

xii. year one: there is no reaping.

He comes home from work, feeling happy, disgustingly happy, and on the table waits a note.

"hey its almost ur birthday?" The little colloquial paper says.

"Yep." He writes down next to it, grabbing his hunting jacket on the way out the door.

—

She's gone when he wakes up in the next morning, and as he makes his way to the kitchen, he pulls a shirt over his back. The chill of winter is coming, and first thing in the morning was always the worst time to feel it. Especially, after his scars start to throb with the chill.

He puts water to a boil, grabbing instant coffee from their highest cupboard, the cheapest kind, and sits at the table. Katniss hates coffee, and always hated mornings more, but back when they were teenagers, they didn't have a choice. Gale waits for the "shittiest coffee in existence" to start whistling, because some things never change.

For Katniss it did. The first day they went to the market together, she discovered a magical drink called hot chocolate. They have money, so even though she shyly overlooked it in spite of her desire, he grabbed it.

"Let us have this. Just once." Her words from two years ago sparked in her eyes and she s miled lightly at him.

When the kettle starts to whistle, he pours himself a mug of the "shittiest coffee in existence!" He can hear her grumble, see her face scrunch when she kisses him in the mornings, tasting it on his lips.

She stopped drinking coffee after getting to District 13, because they didn't need to get up so early anymore. She told him she hated it because of the bitterness.

(One Sunday morning, before she rolled out of bed, he gave her a cup of coffee instead of her chocolate treat. After it had already cooled she arrived at the table, bed-headed and grumpy.

She coughed it up roughly. His heavy laughter made her eyebrows twitch. She poured it on him; it was morning after all, and he learned in the woods when he about sixteen not to fuck with Katniss Everdeen before ten o'clock. He was stupid to taunt her, but still, the memory makes him chuckle.)

His back gets a sudden chill from the morning breeze in the window. Gale takes a sip of his fresh coffee, and it warms him. He is so going soft if he needs coffee to warm him in his heated house.

Gale can't believe he used to live in a house without electrical heat, can't remember a time without a fridge. Well, he can. It was a time of too much jerky. He doesn't know if that means he is going soft or he earned it. He can hear Daxon, an old mining buddy in his head, grumpily stating with a popping jaw, "Back in my day..."

Well, that's his boss now, so Gale better get used to it. He promises himself he's never saying, "back in my day..." to his grand-kids: they will never be told of the Hunger Games he prays, because they never need to know, and suddenly, his good mood is dampened. It's been almost a year since a reaping, but his heart still squeezes. He sits down at the table, sighing.

(He also does his best to ignore grand-kids. That's not happening, and honestly, if his siblings have them, he'll be satisfied.)

Even if he's going soft, at least that means Katniss is too. Gale knows having hot water and a shower makes her sigh sensually almost nightly.

His distracted reminiscing was interrupted when he saw the note on the table. "Just checking! Meet at ur moms house at 6 tonight. We r having cake!" Grammatical errors and all, he still smiles.

Posy is going to love this. He sips his shitty coffee.

—

He gets there fifteen minutes early, and is greeted by his brother and Primrose sneaking kisses on the front porch of his mother's new house.

It still screams dilapidated, because they aren't rich, but it's bigger, warmer than their old shack used to be. There are three bedrooms, and an attic for a makeshift fourth, but there's still only one bathroom.

Madge and Thom are in the living room, wrapped up in one another: Posy and Vick pester them and they look so much like parents.

Katniss is at the table with her back turned to him, and his mother is in the kitchen, combing through cupboards. He comes up behind Katniss, wrapping his arms around her waist. His lips tickle her ears: she squirms because her ears are sensitive. He knows. Gale thinks he hears his mother chuckle lightly.

He glances down at the cake as she sneaks her cheek onto his shoulder. "Happy 50th Birthday, Gale!" The cake says.

She starts giggling under her breath before he whispers, "you think this is funny? I'm only twenty-one, Catnip."

"You're old, Gale." But before she can turn to pester him with his age, he's tickling her sides, pulling her away from the cake. Her laughter keens and she's pushing off him: Posy—hearing her cries—runs into the kitchen like a knight in shining armour. Madge shouts after her.

She latches onto Gale's leg but fails to stop Gale's assault. His fingers wiggle into Katniss' side to a harsh degree when she grabs his fingers, pecking him on the lips to distract him. His mother gasps. It only works for a second—she savours her breath—before his fingers resume.

Thom laughs from the floor, "about fucking time!" Madge smacks him on the back of the head.

"There are kids!" He has the decency to look a little shameful, but he's always been blunt like that, in the kind and bravest of ways. Katniss remembers when he called her pretty, just because, and she's sure he calls Madge beautiful daily. Katniss flushes in realization when she processes Thom's exclamation.

They forgot to tell everyone—("also, we live together! Did we forget to mention that? Our bad.")—but when Katniss glances at his mother, Hazelle doesn't even look surprised. Gale's fingers resume, finding Katniss' armpit. Posy jumps up to grab his forearm, squealing.

"Haha...Gale, stop—please," his frantic movements slow with her breathing. She lifts the hair on his forehead to look him in the eyes as she leans back into the counter.

(This is her chance: it would be so easy, but she just blinks at him, mouth empty of words, again.)

He moves to pick up Posy and makes his way over to chat with his mother, leaving her in her shock. Katniss blinks rapidly, turning to cut the cake with a tiny little frown on her face. Just say it.

(Thom pushes Madge back. "What? It's true! He was in love with her for years!" Katniss flushes, back turned to anyone who'd tease her (just Gale). "You forget we were best friends or something?" Katniss almost laughs as she cuts cake into squares. No, Thom, Madge was kind of busy sneering at Gale and his entourage of the female species to notice you.)

The table is set: there is a spot for her mother, but it doesn't feel empty. It's like the spot both families have for their fathers, like the one's Madge has for her parents, and like the one Thom has for his brother who died in a mining accident.

No one will sit there and no one will mention it.

—

When Gale reaches his mother, he hands her Posy, but the little heathen rips from her grasp. Running off, she screams, "Vick!"

He watches her go, with adoring eyes, far too fatherly. He was only a boy: Hazelle's lips still squint when she thinks of it, all the responsibility she couldn't prevent, falling on his shoulders, shoulders that just wanted to grow.

"You did good, Gale." She tells him, and he looks at her. "I'm so proud of you."

He widens his eyes, and suddenly he's looking over his shoulder at the girl Hazelle was always thankful existed. Katniss Everdeen kept her boy sane through it all, and Hazelle always feared her Reaping as much as her son's, because where Katniss went, Gale went.

If Katniss was reaped into those games and didn't come home, neither would her son.

He whispers, "she doesn't have a mother to tell her she's proud of her, because of me, Mom."

"Gale..." her hands reach for his shoulder, but Katniss beats her to it.

Chastisement after chastisement leave the short Everdeen's lips.

"I told you to stop apologizing!" Hazelle's eyes widen and she almost chuckles. She's a lovely girl. "It's your birthday, Gale. I'd really love it if you could have one where you weren't sad! You're getting the '50th' on your slice." Katniss turns back to the cake, but before he shuffles over to join her, Hazelle grabs his wrist and Katniss tilts her head at her in question.

"I'm proud of both of you." Katniss' eyes go wide and she looks down at the cake. Her cheeks flare.

Before Gale can respond, Katniss yells with adoration, "Posy! Vick! Come have cake!" Then, a little bit of trademark Katniss snark is added to the tone. "Rory get off my sister, and come eat your dumbass brother's cake!"

"You didn't have to call me a dumbass, you know." Gale murmurs with a grin, leaning against the counter.

"Yes, she did." Madge says, snatching two plates for her and Thom. Gale takes a moment to glare at her a little. Katniss laughs at the both of them. It's been years and they still hold the most minuscule animosity, but then they all laugh, because fuck animosity.

Katniss slides him a piece of cake, a blue '50th' taunting him in frosting. Gale rolls his eyes. Just before the chaos of children rush into the kitchen, Katniss rises to her toes, brushing her hand along the scars on the nape of his neck, and presses her lips to his ear.

She whispers, "Happy Birthday, Gale." Her eyes lower in conflict, and before Posy can attach herself to Katniss' leg again, she pecks his lips. The words leave her with effort. "I love you, so much."

Gale's eyes widen before the corners of his mouth quirk in an excited, child-like manner. As Posy grabs Katniss, he pushes his thumb into the cake, smudging the blue five, and brings it to his lips cheekily. Their family grabs their plates, unaware of Katniss' confession; an arrogant, idiotic smirk grows on his face. She itches to smother it with cake, and kiss it away after.

He leans down to her ear, whispering past stray strands of hair, "I know." She smiles at him haughtily, punching at his shoulder as everyone she loves laughs around crumbling cake.

(Scars aren't meant to be loved, but people who wear them are, and now that the war is over—well, I'll let you decide.)

xiii. year two: she's finally done counting.

~fin.

It's over! With a helluvah long final chapter imo. My writing style is very vague—if I had to pick a word—so the length of this chapter shocks me. My head just goes everywhere.

Heslen: I didn't even think of Alma Coin outside the end of mockingjay lol, but I did think of why it was Mrs. Everdeen instead of Prim. Katniss isn't the Mockingjay right? So Coin has no reason to use Prim against her, ig, (and I couldn't kill her XD.) I hope you like this ending. Personally, I'm oddly satisfied with this whole thing. I've never written something like this, this length, this anything, but it happened and the words kept coming.

Lsquare: I think Katniss finally sorted out her feelings lol. More Madge and Thom for you!

Guest: thanks for reviewing!

This story is over and I'm glad I wrote it! Love to everyone who reviewed, see you around. Have a great day!