burnwithus | (the boys are too refined)

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gwaine

(the boys are too refined)

Things are different these days, now that Gale's gone and the treehouse is empty. But life goes on, and in her own way, Katniss is beginning to see that as well. She revives a bit more each day, albeit gradually. Some nights, the nightmares are more brief than others. Some days, it isn't a struggle to get out of bed. Her body recovers too, bit by bit. Not enough to be noticeable, but after months and months - nearly a year now, she reflects on it from time to time.

Except that morning, she woke up to many things that were noticeable. Pushing the blankets back, Katniss realized that her burn scars were much more faded than they usually were. And she felt...different. Taller, stronger, although no less tired. One quick look in the mirror revealed something entirely different: herself, but older. The same braid, the same scrubbed face and grey eyes, but-- it was strange. It must be something done by the island. She throws clothes on haphazardly before grabbing her bow and rucksack, heading out to see if this isn't just something happening to her.

Peeta. She should check on him, shouldn't she?

Moving quickly despite her legs being longer than her remembering them being, she passes by a woman she doesn't quite recognize, and doesn't give it any thought. Katniss is antisocial. She knows very few people on the island, although...one would think she would at least recognize people's faces.

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Now, things are strange, but they're not so strange that Gwaine wouldn't know his little Kit when he sees her, but she's not looking so little at all anymore. He lets out a low whistle as he pauses on the path, on his way to the showers to further explore what the island has been so good to give him. "Look at you, all grown up. I like it."

She hadn't paid much attention to the woman before, only glancing at her face for recognition. But now she notices the clothes, which were so obviously a man's. Katniss should know, given how she chose to dress when the box was kind to her. The whistling...well, that in itself is familiar. So are the clothes, which were of a style that most men on the island didn't adopt.

It still takes another few moments for the penny to really drop, though. And when she figures it out, she stares and does nothing else for a few moments.

"Gwaine."

Gwaine approaches easily, the same fluidity in his steps even if they now belong to a woman and not a man. He takes his time looking her over, wishing that he's his proper self to really appreciate this, but he'll have to make do. "That is my name, would you like to wear it out?"

Being stared at is never something she's enjoyed, even less so after the Games made her famous. In District 12, she kept her head down in the hopes of slipping by unnoticed - and in the case of hunting being illegal, that was especially essential. He steps forward and Katniss steps back, defensiveness in every line of her body, arms crossed against her chest in a surly manner that matches her expression. An older face, but the expression is clearly the same. "Stop that," her voice hadn't changed much, either, and Katniss shifts, ready to push him back if he got any closer.

Besides, Gwaine being the way he was, he'd probably want to spend more time staring at himself, all things considered.

"Oh, come on," he sputters, taking another step closer as if trying to make up for the ground she's put between them. "I'm not going to hurt you, I thought you knew me by now. I like to have fun, but it's harmless," he insists, studying her face critically, as though it's a danger that ought to be assessed.

It's nothing personal, Gwaine. Not that she doesn't trust him explicitly, but that there are very few people that she trusts. That number could be counted on one hand, and she wanted to keep it that way. Earning her trust was a long, arduous task, and he hadn't quite completed it.

Katniss stands stiffly under his gaze, head tipped up as if trying to keep it high. "It's not a big deal. I'm older, you're a girl. Why should I care?"

He comes closer, leaning in and giving her a look of dire scrutiny that refuses to alleviate. After all, he wants to know why she is this way, why she rebukes him and yet seems to still offer friendship. "My little Kit isn't so little," he observes, fondly. "Katniss, for once, will you just relax and take my teasing for what it is? Teasing."

If she's going to be honest, Katniss isn't quite sure why she does so, either. Is it because he looked like Gale? Even with the mass of conflicting feelings the thought of her old best friend brought, he was something of a constant in her life and always had been. He still was, in a way. And that thought was unsettling enough in itself.

Her arms are thrown into the air in exasperation, a huff leaving her lips. "Fine. I'm relaxed, do you see?"

The nickname thing, too, reminds her of Gale. Most things seem to, these days. Though she's not quite sure what to think about that at this point. "I'm perfectly relaxed."

A lie. A bad one, to boot. She's never been quite good at doing this.

He tips his head to the side and gives Katniss a look that says he very much doubts that, but is willing to put it aside as he cups his breasts and lifts them up to inspect them. "Well, you might be fine, but I'm not. Look what I've woken up with and they're ruining the clothes I do have. I need your help."

For a moment, she really doesn't know how to react to that. For a moment, she's motionless except for the fact that her face is slowly turning red, dark under olive skin. A year ago she would be been absolutely mortified, but now...well, it's less bad than it would have been. She actually recovers quite quickly, despite the flush in her face, shooting him a death glare that could kill. "If you're going to do that, do it somewhere else."

Wrinkling her nose, she turns and begins to walk away, boots tromping over the grass just to make a point.

Gwaine rolls his eyes and follows her as quickly as he can, still finding the new places of balance in this body and trying to make the best of this unfamiliar territory. "Why," he shouts after her, "are you always like this! Why are you always so cruel to someone who only wants to show you kindness?"

Cruel? The allegation makes her spin around angrily, hands balled at her sides. Katniss might be older, physically, but she was no more mature than she was yesterday. And her moods were fragile enough as it was already that this was one thing she didn't want to deal with. "Why are you always so-- persistent! I'm not very nice to you. I'm not very nice to anyone. Most people get the message."

"Because I don't have many friends and even if you're deliberately cruel, it's better than people who are trying to kill me because I've been put in a bloody arena for sport," he snaps, shaking his head. "Fine. You want to be alone, you want to be lonely and suffer, then maybe I'll do the same."

It feels strange to be in a snit like this, in this body, it really and truly does.

She doesn't know how they got like this so fast, yelling at each other within seconds. This too, feels like something that would happen with Gale, although that thought is snapped right out of her with his next words. Katniss, who had turned away from him, now finally shifted backwards head tilted and trying not to shake. "What did you just say?"

That can't be right. She must have heard wrong. Even if arena was hardly something used in normal conversation.

Gwaine shakes his head, angry that he has to talk about this, even angrier that it has to happen like this. "You think you're the only one who lived with difficulties? Try being kicked out of kingdoms," he suggests. "Try hating the nobility that took your father away from you. Try waking up in a concrete pit and made to be a jackass' champion."

Out of all of the many encounters Katniss has had with Gwaine, he had never gotten angry. In fact, his happy-go-lucky attitude and constant teasing had aggravated her to no end. This was an entirely different side of him, and the fact that he was currently a woman didn't take away from that. She doesn't back down, though. She grits her teeth and stands her ground. "Champion?" It sounds too much like Victor. Like Tribute. "What do you mean?"

"I got drunk in the wrong tavern, before I got here," he mumbles his explanation, giving her a look that says he doesn't want to continue talking to her for very much longer. "When I woke up, I was in a pit. Jarl, slave-trader, had me fight to the death as his champion."

She's silent for a long time after that. If he wants to leave, she's not going to stop him. The similarities are jarring and more than she wants to remember right now. Katniss' expression is oddly blank, too forced to be anything else, like she's trying hard not to show more emotion than necessary.

Gwaine studies her and gives up about a minute into this odd staring contest. He runs his hand through his hair, picking out bits of straw form visiting the stables. "I really do need clothes," he says, demurely. "Even if you aren't going to help."

Her own clothes still fit, probably because of how baggy she kept them as her normal self. Apparently growing was not in her future, because her pants were the same length; as disappointing as that was. Apparently a childhood of malnutrition really did have lasting effects and had probably stunted her growth for life. Oh well. Katniss doesn't care much at all; avoids mirrors entirely so she can avoid looking at herself.

But Gwaine looks to be about her size. Taller, definitely, but did that really matter? Biting back a colossal sigh, her gaze softens after a moment. "Fine. If you come back to my room, I can get you some."

Gwaine manages a hint of a smile, something that's gone as quick as it's come, and he crosses his arms over his torso. "You do look beautiful," he says quietly. "I hope you know that, as much as you're disinclined to think otherwise."

It's a ridiculous thing to say to a girl who is used to burn scars all over her skin, but it's harder to shrug off this time than usual. Maybe it's because this is the first time she's seen Gwaine serious about anything. Either way, Katniss doesn't quite believe it, but doesn't tell him that. Instead, she starts walking again, certain that he'll follow, this time. Her room isn't far, and she has a few extra sets of clothes there to save her trips to the box every now and again.

He follows because he's got nowhere else to go and he did mean it when he said that she's as good as the closest thing he has to a good friend on these shores. "Thanks, Katniss," he says, giving her the honour of her actual name -- just this once.

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(the boys are too refined)

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