katniss everdeen (
burnwithus) wrote2011-01-06 09:44 am
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(gale) we're half-awake in a fake empire
It's hours before Gale finally wakes up, even with all the care it took to treat and bandage up his back. It gives me many, many moments to wonder why I'm still sitting in this chair. To wonder if I can talk to him at all, even though I thought I never would again. Gale Hawthorne gave me the last arrow I ever shot in Panem, and I was supposed to die after that.
That was the plan. It didn't work.
Now where does that leave us? My mind sifts through the details and the memories, trying to create some kind of order out of the chaos. Gale was whipped after I told him Eight rebelled. He doesn't know about the Quell, or the war, or the rebellion that he helped plan.
He doesn't know about Prim.
A flash of anger fires through me, tenses my muscles all at once. He should know! I want to scream. He should know, even though this Gale has never even seen a bomb in his life. Even though this Gale thrives best in forests with clean air and running water and wouldn't dream of living in an underground bunker.
It's petty, but I've never been forgiving. Peeta's the one who sees the good in people, or tries to. I see what's there.
But that isn't fair. It would be as if the husband of the Capitol woman I shot came and found me before the Quell. Before the world changed. I wouldn't understand why I would do such a thing. I'd think that it wasn't possible.
No amount of cruelty is impossible when it comes to humans.
I bury my face in my hands and take a moment to breathe, tears slipping out of my closed eyes. Gale can't see me - he's unconscious. There's no one else around. He looks younger and more peaceful asleep, like he wouldn't be capable of the deadly things I know he is.
There was never anyone as good as Gale when it came to snares. It was the quarry that changed.
That was the plan. It didn't work.
Now where does that leave us? My mind sifts through the details and the memories, trying to create some kind of order out of the chaos. Gale was whipped after I told him Eight rebelled. He doesn't know about the Quell, or the war, or the rebellion that he helped plan.
He doesn't know about Prim.
A flash of anger fires through me, tenses my muscles all at once. He should know! I want to scream. He should know, even though this Gale has never even seen a bomb in his life. Even though this Gale thrives best in forests with clean air and running water and wouldn't dream of living in an underground bunker.
It's petty, but I've never been forgiving. Peeta's the one who sees the good in people, or tries to. I see what's there.
But that isn't fair. It would be as if the husband of the Capitol woman I shot came and found me before the Quell. Before the world changed. I wouldn't understand why I would do such a thing. I'd think that it wasn't possible.
No amount of cruelty is impossible when it comes to humans.
I bury my face in my hands and take a moment to breathe, tears slipping out of my closed eyes. Gale can't see me - he's unconscious. There's no one else around. He looks younger and more peaceful asleep, like he wouldn't be capable of the deadly things I know he is.
There was never anyone as good as Gale when it came to snares. It was the quarry that changed.
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"Hello, Catnip," he says, his throat tight and dry.
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"Hello, Gale," I tell him, sounding thin and weary and overly polite. He'll know something's wrong immediately and it seems cruel to add that on to a list of his injuries, but I can't pretend otherwise. I've always been good at hiding my emotions, but never around Gale.
He always could see right through me, as frustrating as it was.
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"How..." he frowns. "Where..?" He clears his throat, tries for a whole question. "What's going on, Katniss?"
He knows that she'd always tell him the truth.
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Maybe it's better that way. It's too late for me - I've already crossed the point of no return. I'll never be happy again. But it isn't for Gale and Peeta. As much as I hate to admit it, the island is the closest thing to safe that any one of us have ever experienced. Even if I don't believe it and expect to hear explosions and the tromping of boots at any moment. I've seen too much to ever believe that good things stay the way they are.
They call it a blank slate for a reason.
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Without thinking about it, he reaches out with one hand. He can't quite reach her where she's sitting.
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Part of me needs to leave. I can't be near him without seeing that scene, over and over again. But he's part of the past that wasn't always perfect but was at least simpler.
I don't speak. There's nothing to say.
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"Where's your Mom?" he asks. He's bandaged; there's only one place you'd go in the Seam to get that. There's only one place Katniss would ever have brought him. "The kids aren't here, are they?"
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I remember that I wanted him to shoot me. If my plan went awry, if I failed to swallow the pill. One good, clean shot and everything would end. I know he wouldn't fail me like I failed him.
"It's...hard to explain," I begin. "It's an island."
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"...What?"
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"It's..." Peeta should be doing this, not me. Peeta would know exactly which words to say. The most I can do is attempt to make sense. I'm the worst person for this job. "I don't know how we got here. But it isn't even in Panem."
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"At least you're here, Catnip."
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Instead, I kick back my chair and walk towards a table that holds a jug of water and some cups. It's easier to have something to do in order to take my mind off things. Going through the motions of living to see if life will eventually mean something. It hasn't yet, and I'm not holding my breath.
I pour him a glass and hand it over. His throat is so scratchy that it isn't hard to guess what he wants, especially since I've known him for so long. Even talking was no longer necessary after awhile. Better than scaring away the animals. We learned to communicate through signals.
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"How many was it?" he asks, his voice still feeling raw. "I lost count after twenty."
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The sentence had been fifty, he remembers that much. He takes another swallow of water and feels his empty stomach roll. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the pillow. "My Mom didn't see?"
It's really important to him, somehow, that his mother was nowhere near it.
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Prim. My voice catches in my throat for a second before I clear it.
"She saw eventually. Vick, Rory and Posey didn't, though."
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"What?" he asks her.
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"Sometimes the island takes people from different times. It's been a year longer for me." that's vague and he won't understand it. Frustrated, I try again.
"I'm from the future."
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"Katniss," he says. "Come here where I can see you."
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It's some form of proof, or at least it will be in Gale's eyes.
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Suddenly, everything hurts.
"You're from a year ahead of me?" he asks again, wants more water but doesn't dare drink it. "You need to tell me what happened, Katniss."
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How am I supposed to tell him? I keep my eyes trained on him the whole time. I ask him not to push it.
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"I want to know why you don't want to tell me." e reaches out as though he's going to touch her scared arm. "What happened?"
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It didn't work. And with her died all my hope of ever believing in humanity as a race. It feels wrong to adopt such a bitter viewpoint, because it's the opposite of everything she was, and I know what Prim would have wanted for me. But she isn't here, and all that's left for me is to try.
I threw the Nightlock away. I could have taken the easy way out, but I didn't - because of her. Because I know she would have wanted me to live. "The rebels won. Not me."
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There was a war. We won.
"So why are you so mad at me?" he asks.
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I've done terrible things. I shot an unarmed civilian, a Capitol woman. I lied to my squadron in order pursue my own agenda and as a result, half of them died. I voted yes to another Hunger Games. I've killed enough people that there's a list. These are the things I've done for various reasons, but Gale-
Gale's ruthless. He's practical. The amount of lives lost is secondary to completing a strategic objective. If given the choice, I'm sure he would turn around and do the same thing again. If it would help his cause. The cause that I was supposed to believe in too. When did I stop?
I close my eyes and take deep breaths, filtering these thoughts. It feels terrible to be thinking them about someone I've known this long. But it hardly matters.
I'll always be thinking them.
I can never erase them.
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"Changed me how?"
He's not sure that he wants to know, but he has to ask.
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"You became a soldier. We all did. But you were a strategist. You made...bombs." my mind, my legs - everything is telling me to just run. Before I completely fall apart.
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He doesn't...he can't think past the ache in his heart and the throb in his back and he can't look at her because all he can think about is her scars and bombs. He swallows and nods.
"I don't..." He looks at her through her hair. "Don't tell me anymore right now, Catnip."
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I nod, and hate myself a little bit more.
"Do you need anything?"
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"I'm fine."
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Things that I shouldn't forget, even though I want to. Because if I forget, there will be nobody left to remember.
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He can feel the unpleasant sensation of blood seeping through bandages, sticky and hot. He shifts his weight in the bed and still doesn't look at her. It's easier if he doesn't.
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The last time Gale was hurt I was sewing stitches into his shoulder. I sewed Jason up, too. But I'm not my mother, and I'm sick of having blood on my hands.
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"That wasn't me," he says to her, quietly. "I only just got you back. You...gloves. You tried to give me gloves. That's the last thing I remember."
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If I could go back in time, I wonder if I would change things. I wonder if my actions would have made a difference. Or would the Capitol's cruelty gotten through in the end anyways?
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"How's it look?" he asks, trying to force his voice light, trying to amke it sound like it always has between them.
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"Somebody'll be here. I'm fine."
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But there's a weight in my chest that I need to get rid of and the forest is the only place I can breathe these days.