the next will never come (part 5/?, hunger games, r)
the next will never come
"It means I'm done. It means I'm free. It means I'll live."
katniss/peeta, katniss/gale, au, r. katniss makes it through her final reaping. part 5 of ?
On the way home, I’m so caught up in my own head that I’m just a few yards from the house before I notice the little crowd around my front door - impressive, given how outlandish they look. Two of them, hauling what must be television cameras, are dressed in simple black and gray, but the other two appear to have every color of the rainbow covered between them, from their impossibly voluminous hair to their treacherously pointy shoes.
These people are from the Capitol. And their presence at my house can’t mean anything good.
Before they notice me coming I veer sharply to the left, ducking behind a neighbor’s house so I can enter my own through the back undetected. I slip inside quietly. Prim is seated on the couch, pale and trembling, sandwiched between my mother and Gale.
“Where have you been?” Gale demands, standing.
Prim and my mother have every right to be angry with me, but I don’t know why Gale is here in the first place, let alone scolding me. “I thought I had to work today,” I snap. “I couldn’t come back while the viewing was mandatory.”
“Oh right, at the bakery. Where you conveniently neglected to tell me you were working.”
“It’s only been three days. I was going to. And keep your voice down,” I hiss, moving into his spot on the sofa beside Prim. I clasp her hands in my own. “There are people outside, Prim, from the Capitol. Did you talk to them?”
Prim shakes her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “They wanted to ask me questions about Astrid,” she says hoarsely. “But Gale was here, and he told them to go away.”
I look up at Gale. He’s looking out the window, arms folded defensively across his chest. I feel myself soften. Maybe he can get a little self-righteous, but he cares almost as deeply about Prim as I do. “Thanks,” I tell him quietly. He nods.
I turn back to Prim. “I think we might just have to wait them out. There’s four people out there.”
“There were nearly a dozen this morning, so it shouldn’t be too long before these guys give up,” Gale says.
“Good.” I wrap my arms around Prim, pulling her in for a tight hug. “You okay? I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“I’m okay,” she says, voice muffled against my shoulder. “She’s alive.”
“She is,” I agree, nodding. And she’ll come back to you, I want to say, but I can’t bring myself to lie.
My mother clears her throat from where she’s still seated on the couch. “I’ve got a few patients to check in with this afternoon,” she says, standing. “Prim, why don’t you get some rest?”
Prim moves to follow her but I lay a hand on my sister’s wrist, stilling her. “Are you sure that’s what’s best for Prim right now?” I’m skeptical. “Maybe she needs to be around people.”
“Katniss, it’s fine,” Prim says quietly, pulling away. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I’m tired, really.”
I hate to admit it, but Mother is probably right - Prim looks drained, and some sleep would do her good. “You sure?” She nods. “Okay. But you can talk to me anytime, little duck. I’m always here for you.”
“I know. Thank you.” She walks towards our bedroom on shaky legs, shutting the door gently behind her.
Mother gathers her bag in silence. She pauses by the back door and meets my eyes. “Be good,” she says evenly, and leaves.
Gale and I are left alone, the air tense between us.
“So you’re working in the bakery now. With Peeta Mellark,” Gale finally says. I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, I am. And you should be happy that I managed to find a job at all.” My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I didn’t eat this morning before I dashed off to the bakery. I turn and walk into the kitchen, and he follows.
“And you’re wearing his clothes now, too?”
I’d completely forgotten: I’m still wearing the wrestling t-shirt, Peeta’s name stamped across the back. My cheeks flush at the implication. “My shirt was sweaty,” I say defensively, grabbing a jar of leftover rabbit stew from the refrigerator. “He gave me this one to wear instead. It was nice of him.”
“Yeah, real nice of him to brand you,” Gale mutters.
I can’t believe how jealous he is - as if I’d ever run off and shack up with Peeta, a boy I barely know, when I’m not even sure I want that with Gale, whom I’ve known and trusted for years.
“You don’t even know Peeta,” I say dismissively, pouring the stew into a pot over the stove. I’m not sure why I’m defending him. To be honest, I don’t know much about Peeta either - just that he has a knack for doing things that keep me alive: giving me bread, giving me a job, giving me a place to watch the Games while Peacekeepers patrol the streets.
“I know that for years he’s been staring at you when you weren’t looking.”
My hand stills over the pot for a moment, but I quickly resume stirring. “That’s ridiculous,” I say firmly.
“He has a crush on you,” Gale presses on. “And he gave you that job so he could get closer to you.”
I set the spoon down gently, and turn to face Gale. He raises his eyebrows, challenging me to deny it.
“Peeta’s dad gave me the job, because I was the first person he met who wanted it,” I tell him. “Look. I know that we have…things…to figure out. But my job at the bakery has nothing to do with that.”
Gale stares at me, eyes narrowed, for a long moment. Then a sheepish smile cracks over his face and he buries it in his hands, shaking his head. “Catnip,” he groans. “You’re killing me.”
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my own face in response. “Shut up. You’re fine.” I turn off the stove burner and spoon the warm stew evenly into two bowls.
Gale accepts his bowl gratefully and we sit at the kitchen table, eating in quiet companionship. I could eat lunch with Gale every day for the rest of my life, I think. It’s everything else that I’m not so sure about.
---
Gale goes home after he helps me clean up from lunch. The reporters from the Capitol are gone by the time he leaves, but I’m afraid they might come back, so I leave the window curtains shut.
Prim is resting in our room and Mother is out seeing a patient, so I put the television on mute and settle onto the couch with my father’s plant book. Years ago, he compiled his knowledge about all the plants found in our forest into written notes, and illustrated them so that we’d always have a reference for edible and poisonous plants. When he died, it was literally a lifesaver, as I used it to help me feed what was left of our family. Nowadays I flip through it when I’m sad or stressed, the familiar curve of his handwritten notes as soothing as an aloe balm.
When I reach the entry for dandelion, I pause, tracing my finger around the edge of the drawing. Dandelions were the first plant I gathered to eat after Peeta’s bread brought me back to life; I suppose they’ll always remind me of him, if only in the back of my mind.
Gale’s words flood my head again: He’s been staring at you for years. He has a crush on you. It can’t be true, can it? Is Gale just so stuck on the thought of us that he’s constructing rivalries in his head?
But…in a strange, unsettling way, it makes sense. Peeta must realize by now that I can’t repay him for all the favors he’s done me. Unless - incomprehensibly - the thing he wants in return is me.
I shut the book on my lap. I’m going to see Peeta every day now, for better or worse, and this is the last thing I need clouding my mind right now. Besides, I’m making a lot of assumptions here - if Peeta actually liked me, he would have said more than two words to me in the last decade. I place the plant book back on the shelf and pad towards the bedroom, where Prim is.
She’s awake, lying atop the covers, her hands fiddling with a woven leather bracelet. Her eyes are still swollen and bloodshot from crying. I sit beside her and lean against the headboard, crossing my legs beneath me. I say nothing, waiting for her to speak first.
“Astrid gave me this when we were in the Justice Building,” she finally says, weaving the bracelet between her fingers. “Her older brother made it for her.” Her fingers clench into a fist, the leather stretching taut over her knuckles.
“It’s nice,” I say quietly. I rack my brain for any idea of who Astrid’s brother is, but no one comes to mind. I’m almost certain she was from a Merchant family.
“I should’ve had something for her, so she could have a token,” Prim says miserably. “And instead she gave me this.”
I take hold of her hand and squeeze it gently, unsure what to say.
“I’m sorry I never told you.” She pulls her hand away and wipes at the wet tracks running down her cheeks. “I thought - I didn’t want anyone to know. It was our secret,” she breathes out shakily.
I scoot closer to her and reach my arm around her shoulders. She rests her head against my shoulder, tears dripping slowly onto my shirt.
“You don’t have to hide anything from me,” I say softly. “I love you, no matter what.”
Prim closes her eyes. “I never even told her I love her,” she whispers.
I rest my chin atop her head. Part of me can’t even believe we’re having this conversation - that Prim, my little duck, is so grown up, and feeling so much pain. “Do you love her?”
“I don’t know.” She pulls back and looks up at me. Her blue eyes are wide and innocent, betraying how young she really is. “How do you know?”
If you give up when she dies - that’s love. A sick feeling rolls around my stomach.
“I don’t know, Prim,” I sigh. “I guess you just…feel it.”
“But I feel so awful,” she chokes out, fresh tears brimming in her eyes. “I didn’t know I could ever feel this bad.”
“I know,” I say, but I don’t. I can’t even begin to imagine what Prim is feeling. I hope I never do.
---
We keep the television on all through dinner, like the upstanding citizens we strive to be. Prim hardly touches her food, twisting in her seat to stare at the screen every few minutes, just in case. The cameras never show Astrid, which I take as a positive sign. If you’re offscreen, you’re probably too boring for the Capitol, and that’s almost always a good thing.
After dinner I fill the kitchen sink with soap and warm water and wash Peeta’s wrestling shirt. I’m already nervous about returning to the bakery tomorrow morning. Watching the Games with Peeta was an odd experience - up until now, it’s something I’ve only done in the company of my family and the Hawthornes.
There’s a cool breeze outside as I pin the damp shirt to the clothesline in the backyard. The sky is dappled in orange and pink as the sun sets behind the mountains in the distance, and a handful of fireflies blink bright in the tall grass. Evenings in District 12 are often beautiful during this time of year, but they’re difficult to appreciate, because in the back of my mind there are always the Games. Always, always the Games.
I don’t hear my mother’s footsteps until she’s almost reached my side. I think she’s come out to bring in yesterday’s wash, but she stands beside me and follows my gaze towards the sunset before turning towards me, opening her mouth to speak.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out before she can say anything. She looks surprised, but lets me continue.
“I shouldn’t…I don’t know what Prim’s going through,” I admit, looking down at my feet. “You know better than anyone, maybe. It’s not fair for me to blame you for - what I’m afraid will happen.”
Mother says nothing, just steps forward and encloses me in a hug. I raise my own arms around her stiffly. We almost never embrace, and when we do I’m always struck by how thin and fragile she feels - she’s never had the warm, reassuring presence that most children crave in a parent. My father filled that role in our family.
When we break apart she smiles sadly, smoothing a stray hair back behind my ear. “Prim will be okay,” she says. “She’s strong. She’s like you.”
Stronger, I think. Prim might not know whether she loves Astrid - but she’s opened herself up enough to another person to accept the possibility. She’s healed from the loss of our father, and moved forward. I know I should do the same, but it’s been seven years and the thought of relying on another person that way still paralyzes me.
Mother moves forward to collect the dry clothes from the clothesline. She pauses at the blue shirt I’d hung just a few minutes before. “What’s this?”
Heat rises in my cheeks as I think again of Gale’s reaction to the shirt this morning. “I was sweaty when I got to the bakery today, so Peeta lent it to me.” She nods, eyebrows slightly raised. “It’s not a big deal,” I add defensively, but she only shrugs and turns back to the bedsheets rustling in the wind.
“I’m going to bed early,” I mutter. “Goodnight.” I stride back into the house and into my bedroom, collapsing into bed. If I ever have to run all the way to work in the heat again, I’m bringing my own change of clothes next time.
As always, thank you for your comments! :) You are all awesome and I love hearing your thoughts.
Just a couple little things to note:
1. I made a Tumblr for my fic! (to finally catch up with the other 95% of fandom who already have them.) It's at imloveleee.tumblr.com. I haven't got everything set up yet but I think it'll be fun.
2. I'll do my best to get the next update done by Sunday, but it might be a couple days late. I was on vacation all this week and I'll probably be putting in some long hours at work this week to make up for it...sigh.
3. I hope Gale isn't coming across as a total dick here. I find him difficult to write because I don't think he's a jerk, but I do think he's hot-headed, plus by this point he's got to be more than a little fed up with Katniss' total emotional incompetence.