Katniss' Plan Pt.1

  (Gale's POV)


  It's the first Sunday since Katniss has returned from her victory tour with . . . Peeta. Argh! Even thinking the name makes me want to punch something.
  Or someone.
  I shouldn't be thinking like this. I know that. I know I'm not being fair. But it's just so hard. Especially after what happened last week. When Peeta actually went on one knee and proposed to her. And she actually said yes. How could she? How can she?
  The only answer I can come with is that she really does love him. That it wasn't all an act. I mean, the Hunger Games are over right? What other explanation could there be?
  It makes me unbelievably sad and mad to see Katniss in love with someone else. But right now, I can't fully feel it. Feel the sadness crashing down on me. And the anger burning in my body. Like it has so many times before. Often, both on the same time.
  But right now it's not over taking me at all. The reason for that is my confusion. I'm completely confused about how she acted all these months. When the camera's and the Capitol people were gone. Not just because she went out hunting with me whenever she could and acted like nothing had happened, nothing had changed.
  But also because of how distant she was toward him. Toward Peeta. They weren't even friends. They only held hands, and laughed, and kissed, in front of the cameras. For as far as I knew (and heard from other people) they hardly even ever saw each other after they got home. That doesn't seem like two people who are in love.
  Not that they looked like that in the first place. Or, I guess I should say; not that she looked like that in the first place. 'Cause he definitely looked like that. Peeta's in love with Katniss. Anyone can see that. But her act to return that love was poorly and unconvincing, especially to the people who know her. It was just that: an act.
  So why would she say yes? Why would she agree to spend the rest of her life with someone she doesn't love? Why? What reason could there possibly be?
  I guess I'm about to find out. Because when I walk through the woods that first Sunday, I can see Katniss has left some things for me.
  I've got my bow slung over my shoulder and a dead turkey I encountered is hanging on my belt. When I arrive at our usual meeting place and I see what she left for me: a leather bag, a flask, and a pair of fur-lined cloves. Clearly from the Capitol. Next to it, in the snow, lays an arrow made of twigs pointing in a particular direction. The way I should walk. The way she was going. But should I follow her? Or not?
  First, I turn back. I walk away from what Katniss left for me with every intention to leave the woods and so, refuse to meet her. Like I did with the dinner at the mayor's house. And with the Harvest Festival.
  But really, how long do I think I can avoid her? Better get it over with now, when it's just the two of us, in our familiar woods. Rather than something public and awkward. And as I'm walking back to the meeting place, to the things she left for me, another question pups into my mind. Similar to the other one, but also so much different: How long do I think I want to avoid her?
  As I pick up the stuff and head into the direction the arrow is pointing, I realize what the answer is: Not a second longer.
  First I'm walking. With strong and steady steps. But after I've taken my time to see what's in the flask and the leather bag – tea and food – and decided against taking anything from it, I pick up my pace. Fast. By the time I've reached the place Katniss is waiting for me, I'm practically flying through the trees to get to her.
  I can't see her yet, but I know she's there. In the little abandoned house where I see smoke coming from the chimney. I force myself to slow down as I watch the grey clouds of smoke floating higher and higher up in the air, until they disappear.
  My hands ball up in fist and I hear my teeth grit against each other. It's only now that I realize she's really here. Yes, only a minute ago I was running through the woods toward her. Because I wanted to see her as soon as possible. But that was just the idea of her. Of meeting my friend – my best-friend – in the woods, on Sunday, like I always did. The idea of how it used to be.
  But now, as I realize she'll be before me in a matter of seconds. As I can picture her familiar face in my mind. I can't help the hate and sadness I feel washing over me. Hate for her betrayal, and sadness for the hurt she caused me. It's instant and intense. It's all consuming. So when I step into the little house and see Katniss waiting for me by the fire, I know she can see it all on my face. I try my hardest best to make my anger be the most dominant emotion to show in my features. But I know, regrettably, that she'll be able to see the hurt there, too. I'm not able to mask it entirely as I wish I could.
  I stand in the doorway, not able to make myself go any further. I have the leather bag in my hands that I strung shut again – it will look unopened to her – along with the flask I didn't drink from, and the Capitol gloves I didn't put on.
  We're both silent for a long moment. Both of us trying to guess what's on the other ones mind. On which she's probably doing a better job than I am. I have no idea why she wants to meet me here, what she plans to tell me. Or maybe she won't say anything. About her engagement, I mean. Maybe she'll pretend like nothing happened, like nothing changed.
  Just like we did after I kissed her.
  But this time I won't let her. Just as much as I won't let myself.
  Luckily, I don't have to take any measured steps to make this true, because she's already talking.
  ''President Snow personally threatened to have you killed,'' she says.
  I guess putting all my energy in trying to utterly control my features since the second I saw her, focusing on showing her only what I want her to see, does amount to something. If not able to conceal the hurt she caused me: I now am able to conceal the shock I feel. The only way I react – just on the surface of coarse – is by slightly raising my eyebrows. ''Anyone else?'' I ask her, succeeding in showing no emotion at all through my voice either.
  I'm really getting the hang of this!
  ''Well, he didn't actually give me a copy of the list. But it's a good guess it includes both our families,'' she says, starting to sound a little agitated. Sounding more like I know her. Not the foolish, bubbly girl she pretends to be for the Capitol. No, the real Katniss, as only I know her best.
  This familiarity makes me feel comfortable enough to walk over to the hearth and let myself warm up by the fire. ''Unless what?'' I ask.
  ''Unless nothing, now,'' she says.
  Well, I guess now that's all cleared up! I want to snap at her. And push her to tell me what she means. But I remind myself those things won't get me very far. Just like with hunting; patience is the best way right now. The fastest. ''Well, thanks for the heads-up,'' I say, in a calm voice. I might be able to keep myself from snapping at her, or pushing her. But I'm definitely not able to keep myself from joking around a bit.
  But she can't laugh about it. Neither can I, for that matter.
Katniss seems more angry than amused when she turns her eyes away from the fire. Back to me. But then, as she sees the look in my eyes, she actually does laugh.
  No dry comments for her. No, it's the look in my eyes that get's her laughing!
  ''I do have a plan, you know,'' she says.
  ''Yeah, I bet it's a stunner,'' I say, warily, I've certainly given up on making sense of her right now. So I turn my attention back to what is in my hands. The bag with food and the flask with tea aren't so bad. Especially the food, my family will be very happy with it. Their stomachs in particular. But the gloves, that's something I could never accept from her. ''Here, I don't want your fiancé's old gloves,'' I say as I toss them to the side, right into her lap.
  ''He's not my fiancé. That's just part of the act. And these aren't his gloves. They were Cinna's,'' she says.
  So . . . it is still an 'act' . . . No. I can't believe that.
  ''Give them back, then,'' I say as I pull on the gloves and flex my fingers. I nod in approval. ''At least I'll die in comfort.''
  ''That's optimistic. Of course, you don't know what's happened,'' she says.
  Ah, finally she's up for talking. Hopefully. ''Let's have it,'' I tell her.
  And yes, she is up for talking.  She starts telling everything about what happened in the Capitol and the Districts. Starting with the night she and Peeta were crowned, after they won the Hunger Games. She tells me about the uneasiness she's felt ever since that night. President Snow's visit to her house, the murders in District 11, the tension in the crowds, the last-ditch effort of the engagement, the president's indication that it hadn't been enough, her certainty that she'll have to pay.
  The whole time she's talking, I don't say anything to interrupt her. I only listen and occupy myself with turning the food from the leather bag into a meal for us. I toast the bread and cheese, core the apples, and place the chestnuts in the fire to roast.
  I'm done when she starts talking about her last days in the Capitol. I focus a little more than I should on the part where she explains the reasons behind her engagement. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm focusing a lot more than I should on that part. Not having even really heard everything she told me before that.
  It was only an act. Just like it was in the arena. On her part anyway. Which is all that matters to me. It was no more than a ploy to keep her and everyone around her save. Katniss would do anything and everything for her family. I know that better than anyone. So it's not hard for me to believe she would give her whole future away, just to keep her mother and sister save. Just to keep me safe, too. And my family. I can't help but focus on that as well.
  But I make up for it after that: for not paying fully attention, when I was busy with the food. As soon as she explains the engagement I force myself to concentrate extra hard on everything she says. Every detail she tells me I take in and mull over in my head.
  When she pauses to take a drink from the flask I react to her story for the first time. ''Well, you really made a mess of things,'' I say. Very satisfied with the way I'm able to hide my relieve. Which is now washing over me like warm, calming water and makes all my other emotions less prominent. A sense she probably wouldn't even be able to place if she'd heard it in my voice.
  ''I'm not even done,'' she says.
  ''I've heard enough for the moment,'' I tell her. Taking in every single detail is exhausting. ''Let's skip ahead to this plan of yours.''
  Katniss takes a deep breath. ''We run away.''
  Well, there she has me. I'm not able to suppress my utter surprise to this one. ''What?'' I ask, clearly taken off guard. But there's something else bubbling up inside me. Something that's rising quickly. A very warm feeling. Is this what they call happiness?
  ''We take to the woods and make a run for it,'' she says. The feeling's rising and rising, but it's clear she can't see it on my face yet. She thinks she has to convince me. She couldn't be more wrong.
  ''You said yourself you thought that we could do it! That morning of the reaping. You said – '' she continues, her temper rising. Just as mine is, but in a completely different way.
  I don't even feel myself stepping forward. Feel myself walk toward her. One second were a yard apart. And the next I'm standing right in front of her. I lift her from the ground, into my arms. First she's asking me to run away with her, and now she's in my arms! By my own doing, but still.
  Yes, this is happiness. I'm laughing. I'm laughing because I'm so happy. And she . . .  she's laughing with me! But she's also protesting, ''Hey!'' she calls out. And I realize I'm squashing her. So I put her down, back on the ground on her own two feet. But I don't release my hold on her. Never.
  Okay, now I'm getting melodramatic. But as I think about it, I realize I couldn't have care less right now. ''Okay, let's run away,'' I say, not even trying to hide my happiness and my burning enthusiasm in the slightest bit.
  ''Really? You don't think I'm mad? You'll go with me?'' she asks, doubtfully. What? Does she think I'm acting this? That I don't mean it? Well, then I'll tell her!
  ''I do think you're mad and I'll still go with you,'' I say, and I see she's starting to except it. ''We can do it. I know we can. Let's get out of here and never come back!''
  ''You're sure?'' she asks, still doubting, a little. ''Because it's going to be hard, with the kids and all. I don't want to get five miles into the woods and have you – ''
  ''I'm sure,'' I interrupt her. ''I'm completely, entirely, one hundred percent sure.'' I tilt my forehead down to rest against hers and pull her closer. And closer. And still, I want to be closer to her. I feel so warm. So unbelievably happy. Everything is forgotten . . .  she choses me.
  ''I love you,'' I whisper softly.
  And she's gone. And with her, the warmth, the happiness.
  I feel her turning rigid. I can see her muscles tense up. The air between us – only a second ago so warm – growing cold.