hunger games fic: i found a beating heart half-buried in the woods
i found a beating heart half-buried in the woods. gale/katniss. pg13. This is a betrayal worst than most.
It didn’t take him long to find her, hunched low behind a branch. It’s been five years and Gale could feel it, the woods whispering around him like a secret. It all felt like some big joke at his expanse. His foot snapped a twig.
He thought, you traitor and she spun around, braid whipping over her shoulder. Her bow was pointed right at him. The pads of her fingers pressed tight against the wood and her fingers gleamed back white. The arrow looked sharp even in the half-light of morning.
“Katniss,” he sighed, hands in the air like a surrender. He almost expected her to shoot. The word was there at the back of his mouth. He felt lifetimes younger for even thinking it.
Her fingers shook on the string.
“Catnip,” he tried again, voice soft, and she finally lowered her weapon.
“You’re the only thing I know is in my future,” he thought.
“You’re the only girl I ever want to love,” he never said.
Sometimes he forgets that.
They tell him he won the war. They are a blob of people, kind-faced and happy, their skin flushed with excitement and pride. Gale tries to focus on a single face but they pass in a blur, too quick, and the days slip by like water through his hands.
Gale is covered in bandages, his skin puckering, yellowing, mottled. They say he’s a hero.
It hurts to walk, his whole body aches with the effort of it. He can only think of Katniss in the woods, her quiet steps, her footprint next to his. He would be a disgrace to her now, this broken mangled body that can’t move in silence. He’s sure of it.
Johanna cries when she thinks he’s not listening.
The first time they were in the woods she was beautiful-
Wait. That’s wrong.
The first time they were in the woods she was small and too young, too hungry for beautiful. She was small and boyish, her hips straight in her clothes. He threw his shoulders back and towered over this small thing. She spit at his feet and killed three rabbits.
He didn’t love her then. Remember that. There was a time when he didn’t love her. Gale reaches for those moments now but he’s having more and more difficulty finding them.
“What are you doing here Gale?”
He can taste disappointment in his mouth, spread thick along his throat. It’s almost easier to love Katniss from afar. Up close it’s overwhelming, something that crawls into his brain, something that physically traps him. It’s been years, and yet.
Haymitch told him once, the fluorescent light over Gale’s hospital bed flickering, “I don’t think you can come back from this.”
Gale’s mouth opened and close, too dry to talk, and Haymitch poured scotch down it until Gale choked. Haymitch tried to laugh but it failed, warbling off into a hacking cough.
Gale said, “Thanks for nothing, then.”
This is a secret.
Once upon a time in the woods, Gale swallowed Katniss’ moans with his own mouth. He took them greedily, his hands grabbing whatever he could feel, the moss beneath them damp. The birds chirped loudly and it felt like protection, like a gift. Katniss arched underneath him. Their fingernails were dirty but neither one cared.
After, twigs in her hair, she smiled at him.
“Not bad, Hawthorne,” she laughed, a smudge of dirt along her chin.
“Wish I could say the same,” he teased and she punched him in the arm.
He went back and there was no moss, just Katniss with her weapons and the woods took her side.
So this is now. This is a Katniss who points arrows at his heart and a Gale who can no longer walk in the woods.
Her breathing is shallow, frantic. Gale almost wishes he never came.
The sun filters in through the leaves, staining the air golden.
She said, “Jesus, Gale."
She said, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Funny how that hurts the most.
It didn’t take him long to find her, hunched low behind a branch. It’s been five years and Gale could feel it, the woods whispering around him like a secret. It all felt like some big joke at his expanse. His foot snapped a twig.
He thought, you traitor and she spun around, braid whipping over her shoulder. Her bow was pointed right at him. The pads of her fingers pressed tight against the wood and her fingers gleamed back white. The arrow looked sharp even in the half-light of morning.
“Katniss,” he sighed, hands in the air like a surrender. He almost expected her to shoot. The word was there at the back of his mouth. He felt lifetimes younger for even thinking it.
Her fingers shook on the string.
“Catnip,” he tried again, voice soft, and she finally lowered her weapon.
“You’re the only thing I know is in my future,” he thought.
“You’re the only girl I ever want to love,” he never said.
Sometimes he forgets that.
They tell him he won the war. They are a blob of people, kind-faced and happy, their skin flushed with excitement and pride. Gale tries to focus on a single face but they pass in a blur, too quick, and the days slip by like water through his hands.
Gale is covered in bandages, his skin puckering, yellowing, mottled. They say he’s a hero.
It hurts to walk, his whole body aches with the effort of it. He can only think of Katniss in the woods, her quiet steps, her footprint next to his. He would be a disgrace to her now, this broken mangled body that can’t move in silence. He’s sure of it.
Johanna cries when she thinks he’s not listening.
The first time they were in the woods she was beautiful-
Wait. That’s wrong.
The first time they were in the woods she was small and too young, too hungry for beautiful. She was small and boyish, her hips straight in her clothes. He threw his shoulders back and towered over this small thing. She spit at his feet and killed three rabbits.
He didn’t love her then. Remember that. There was a time when he didn’t love her. Gale reaches for those moments now but he’s having more and more difficulty finding them.
“What are you doing here Gale?”
He can taste disappointment in his mouth, spread thick along his throat. It’s almost easier to love Katniss from afar. Up close it’s overwhelming, something that crawls into his brain, something that physically traps him. It’s been years, and yet.
Haymitch told him once, the fluorescent light over Gale’s hospital bed flickering, “I don’t think you can come back from this.”
Gale’s mouth opened and close, too dry to talk, and Haymitch poured scotch down it until Gale choked. Haymitch tried to laugh but it failed, warbling off into a hacking cough.
Gale said, “Thanks for nothing, then.”
This is a secret.
Once upon a time in the woods, Gale swallowed Katniss’ moans with his own mouth. He took them greedily, his hands grabbing whatever he could feel, the moss beneath them damp. The birds chirped loudly and it felt like protection, like a gift. Katniss arched underneath him. Their fingernails were dirty but neither one cared.
After, twigs in her hair, she smiled at him.
“Not bad, Hawthorne,” she laughed, a smudge of dirt along her chin.
“Wish I could say the same,” he teased and she punched him in the arm.
He went back and there was no moss, just Katniss with her weapons and the woods took her side.
So this is now. This is a Katniss who points arrows at his heart and a Gale who can no longer walk in the woods.
Her breathing is shallow, frantic. Gale almost wishes he never came.
The sun filters in through the leaves, staining the air golden.
She said, “Jesus, Gale."
She said, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Funny how that hurts the most.