Chapter Text
’I don’t need your help! I don’t know how else to say it. We are fine. You can go home. What are you doing here anyway?’
’This is my home.’ There’s such flatness in his voice, it’s so emotionless, that I stop, and look at him. Gale stands straight in front of me, tense, his expression reserved, his gray eyes hard.
We've argued about this a million times since he got back from the Game, and we're getting nowhere. He's my best friend, yes, but I don't need his help. I can take care of my family, and I don't need charity.
’It wouldn't be charity,' he argues with me, as if he's reading my thoughts, as we head back towards my home. 'You're the reason my mother and Rory and Posy and Vick didn't starve while I was away. I owe you.'
I snort contemptuously, but there’s something to it. Still, I wouldn’t accept anything from his mother; Hazelle has been more of a mother to me than my own in recent years. And I wouldn’t accept anything from Gale because I’d feel like he’d expect something from me in return that I couldn’t give.
’We're fine,’ I repeat, stubbornly. My back tenses; as we pass people, they stare at Gale with distrustful eyes. They're right; the boy shouldn't be here, he should be in the Victors Village, but still. He's my best friend, and I feel sorry for him. It's no wonder he's having a hard time adjusting to his new home.
’Can I help you with something?’ I growl as I notice Coltson Black, one of my classmates, watching us with undisguised curiosity as we walk past. The boy lowers his head in shame, and I feel a momentary sense of satisfaction.
’Thanks’ Gale mutters, and as I look at him, he is smiling faintly. I flash him a smile, and for a moment everything is like before, until he speaks.
'This winter is going to be hard, Katniss, it's already showing. What are you going to do?'
’What I always do,’ I say curtly. He knows exactly what will happen. I will try, and survive. Why does he asking then? He thinks there's an easy way to survive now; accept his help. Just because I don't agree with him doesn't mean my solution - hunting, trading - is worse than his. That's exactly what he did before the Games. He still has a bag full of squirrels hanging over his shoulder, for Panem's sake!
’So, you'd rather risk starving to death just so you can get food through your own 'honest' work?’ he asks, and it's like a slap in the face. It suggests that I'm putting my pride before Prim's survival.
I give him a sharp look.
'At least I don't stab anyone in the back!' Gale stops as if I had hit him, and in a way I did. His face is dead pale, at once, and his right hand is clenched into a fist at his side. There's a reason why the people of the District are distrustful and cold towards Gale.
Of course, some would say it's because he's a Victor, but that's not true. People in District 12 think that Haymitch Abernathy - our other living Victor - drinks too much, but they don't despise him like they do Gale.
It is because Gale Hawthorne - my best friend, my hunting partner, the boy who strains to keep me alive - killed his district partner in the Game.
The girl’s name was Ena Garton, and thank fuck, I didn’t know her personally. She was a short, malnourished, dark-skinned little thing, and oddly enough, with blue eyes for her colours, the only thing that made her stand out from the many Seam girls around here. Anyone with a brain knew that Gale, who was stronger, more fit, good with a bow, and excellent at setting snares, have better chances.
Still - Haymitch may be nothing but an old drunk, but he did what he could with Ena. The Sapphire from the Mine - that was the nickname given to Ena in the Capitol, and from interviews it was clear that her Mentor tried everything to keep her alive. Gale had better luck in that regard. His persona was Orion, the ancient god associated with the hunt, but Ena only had her interesting eyes, and visibly kind, shy personality.
At first I thought they both had some chance. The new stylist, Cinna, did such a good job with both of them that Cesar asked him to stand up and bow at the end of the interviews.
With Gale, he draw the attention to the fact that he is big and handsome, and during the Parade he wore lion skin, with a sword in one hand, a bow on his back, and a club in the other hand. Ena, in contrast, was elegant, in a shimmering, understated dress that shone in a thousand shades of blue.
A living Sapphire.
The audience went so crazy for the two of them that they even started chanting Haymitch's name, who at one point stood up and waved with the faintest smile on his face. I remember him wearing a pale blue suit, a navy blue tie with a silver lion brooch on it. He was an ally to both of his kids.
’I didn't stab her in the back,’ Gale whispers, pale. ’I cut her throat.’
Suddenly I can't see my best friend anymore, I'm staring at the face of a stranger.
’Because thats much better?! I hiss in disgust. ’The only thing we all do in an Arena is not harming our district partner. We only attack if its only the two of us left, which never happens!’
’Don’t talk like you know how it feels to be in the Arena!’
’Don’t talk like there isn’t a shred of honor left in you!’
’You talk like the Carriers do.’
’You would know, I guess.’
We suddenly fall silent and realize that we've had a full-blown, screaming argument on the street. So much for not giving people a reason to stare at Gale.
"The show's over!" Gale snaps when he notices one of the women still watching us. The woman quickens her steps and rushes past us.
We start walking again. You would know, I guess, I told Gale, and that was a low blow, but still deserved. Gale did ally himself with the Carrier Pack after all. And when one of his own snares trapped Ena, hanging her upside down by her leg from a tree - the boy didn't help her. No, he didn't rebel against the others, but at the command of Cato - a brutally strong, blond boy - he cut Ena's throat to prove his loyalty.
They may call Gale ’Orion’ in the Capitol, but when they talk about him in the District, they wishper the word, pariah. I can hear it; I have ears. Gale sighs deeply.
"What would you have done?" he asks quietly.
’Help her. Or run.’
’So, be a coward?’ The boy grimaces.
"I'd rather be a coward than a traitor," I retort without thinking. The other swallows hard and suddenly I feel a surge of guilt.
’Sorry’
’No, you are right’ He shrugs. 'It's a shame to whine about this.'
He is right. We're not arguing about Ena anyway. Or about what is appropriate' to do in the Arena. Our arguments are always about the things he wants to give and the things I don't want to accept. About how should we live, what does this include. About the question if there is even a ’we’ anymore. Whether there ever was.
’Would you accept a job?" Gale asks as we arrive at my house.
‘What kind of job?’ I ask as we enter. ‘We’re here!’ I shout to my mother and Primrose.
‘I’m in the kitchen!’ my mother calls back, so we head there.
"Haymitch needs someone to take care of him," Gale replies, and the honesty in his voice surprises me. It doesn't seem to me that he likes his Mentor, although of course, that could just be the surface.
I chuckle dryly.
'I'm not the motherly type, and he would hate me anyway,' I remark.
’Who would hate you?’ asks my mother, as she looks up. She stands at the kitchen counter, sorting out herbs, her blonde hair tied back in a tight bun.
’Haymitch’ Gale tells her before I can say anything. 'The old goat really needs someone to clean and cook for him and generally keep him alive.’
To my surprise, my mother smiles faintly.
"He could never hate you, Katniss," she says with surprising quietness. My mother wasn't there for me when I needed her most; logically I know it wasn't her fault she was sick but... still. It always surprises me when she's gentle with me, but this time it feels good.
‘Why?’ I ask, frowning.
’He was your father's best friend before his Game,' my mother replies. 'He and I were friends too. But... the Game changes you, and we couldn't help him after his Game. But he would never hurt you. You would remind him too much of Burdie, and maybe a little of me too.’
My heart starts beating faster than usual, like every time when I learn something about my father that I didn't know before. He and Haymitch were friends, and he and Mom tried to help him after the Game. I store the information in my brain like it's made of gold. I nod slowly.
The Game changes you. Maybe I am in exactly the same situation as Dad was, when Haymitch won his Game. Our best friend, a Victor – changed. But still our best friend.
I look at Gale, who stands silently, tense, watching my face. I know this posture - when the hunter doesn't want to scare off the prey.
Do you think I get scared that easily?
But then I come to a decision.
"Okay," I say simply, and Gale smiles so wide I think the corner of his mouth hurts.
*
The first morning I go to Haymitch’s to clean, it starts to snow. I wrap myself in my dad’s old hunting jacket and sling my bag over my shoulder, which contains two thermoses of my mom’s famous flower tea; one for me, one for Haymitch
’Don't let him scare you,' Gale says the day before, for the fifth time in an hour. 'If he behaves really badly, remind him that I'm paying you, not him, so he can't fire you.’
I grimace, because it's a fact I don't like at all, but I remind myself that I work for the money, and Gale only wants the best for me.
"Don't worry about me," I say quietly instead of anything else.
As I step out the door, the snow falls in large flakes, and I have to brace myself against the wind as I begin the long walk to Victors Village. By the time I reach the right door, I feel like my bones are frozen, and I suddenly think with gratitude of the tea in my bag. I hope the thermos kept the heat in.
I knock and wait, but there is no answer.
I knock again. Take a breath. Then again.
I wait. Nothing. Stillness; wind. I strain against the door; it moves, but it hits something. There must be piles of rubbish in its way. Damn old goat! Where is he?
I push the door open, it creaks and obeys, but something catches it again. The thick, strange sound it makes fills me with unpleasant anxiety.
What the…?
I enter with difficulty; my hunting instincts are raging, fear overwhelms me as I look down at the ground in front of me.
Haymitch Abernathy lies motionless, deathly pale on the ground.