Chapter Text
“If you don't get what you want, it's a sign either that you did not seriously want it, or that you tried to bargain over the price” - Rudyard Kipling
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He knew right away that it was a mistake. As the train pulled into the station, Peeta was overwhelmed by the hard grayness of the District. While Twelve tended towards being dingy and covered with coal dust, it was at least ringed by the woods. Three was big, or at least bigger than Twelve, and all he could see were factories and skyscrapers stretching, it seemed, to the horizon. Everything was fast, and bright, and there were too many lights on even at night. It looked like a District made up of the mechanical parts that the Capitol had thrown away.
Regardless, he was here, and he didn’t know anyone from Three (except for Beetee, but last he’d heard he was in Two building weapons), so it seemed like a good place to hide out for a bit while he made some decisions.
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He took up residence in one of the nicer slums at the edge of the city, a semi-decent apartment on the seventeenth floor of a tenement that housed mostly middle and lower-middle management. Three was weird; their society was a labyrinth of technological and administrative rituals that twisted and folded back in on itself without ever seeming to lead anywhere. People were always talking about rules and regulations, or earnestly discussing new advancements, and Peeta just didn’t get it.
At least there was a little garden in the middle of the apartment complex. He missed seeing green.
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His time in Three had so far been little more than several months of loneliness and boredom, so Peeta was almost relieved when someone knocked at his door. Though he was loathe to admit it, he’d grown accustomed to their cat-and-mouse game, and had been wondering how long it would take Haymitch to find him this time. Grinning a little to himself as he opened the door, he mentally prepared to spar with Haymitch.
“Hey, Peeta.”
He slammed the door closed. It was most definitely not Haymitch. Ignoring the continued knocking, Peeta silently turned off all the lights, drew the blinds on the windows, shut himself in his darkened room, and sat on the bed waiting for the voices in his head to stop their keening.
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Peeta had already been up for several hours, sitting on his couch and staring at the door, when the knocking resumed promptly at 8:00 am the next morning. Haymitch he could deal with. He’d even been prepared for the possibility of Mrs. Everdeen popping up. But this?
Gale?
He rose, sighing heavily and stretching the kinks out of his shoulders as he approached the door. He felt like he needed a drink, and thought with grim humor that he missed Haymitch even more now, since he would have certainly had a flask on him. Taking one last breath, he opened the door.
“Peeta.”
“Gale.”
Gale looked...old. Or at least older. He technically only had a couple years on he and Katniss, but somehow the last couple of years seemed to have aged him exponentially. He looked tired, and a little bent, and Peeta was ashamed at the deep satisfaction this gave him.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Come in.”
They did a little shuffling dance, these two men, as they moved around each other, careful not to encroach upon the other’s space, but also careful to fill their own space so that there was no question of ownership. Gale sank down into the very spot on the couch that Peeta had just vacated, and gave a tired sigh as he stretched out his long legs. Peeta remained standing.
“How’ve you been?” he asked, and Peeta was almost shocked by the gentleness behind the question. But then again, he had to remind himself, Gale had never been a bad guy. Not really.
After all, Katniss must have loved him for a reason.
Peeta bit the inside of his cheek, tearing it a little, willing the pain to jar him back from the brink, where the venom always waited for any small chance to emerge and drag him down into darkness. Ignoring the other man, he screwed his eyes shut, counting backwards from a hundred, as Dr. Aurelius had taught him, and pacing his breath. To his credit, Gale was careful to make no movements or sounds, patiently waiting as Peeta fought for control.
After a few moments, Peeta slowly opened his eyes, giving Gale a nod to indicate that he was through it. “I’ve been better,” he said wryly. “How are you?”
"I’m doing ok, actually. Living in Two now, with Beetee. Brought Mom and the kids up with me. They don’t love it, but Twelve was such a mess after the War that there really wasn’t anywhere to put them.” Peeta grunted in understanding. “It’s better now--Twelve--and they’re rebuilding like crazy. You can barely recognize anything, except for Victor’s Village. We still go visit pretty often. I mean...it’s still home.”
Silence.
“So. Do you think you’ll ever go back? To Twelve, I mean?”
“I don’t know,” Peeta answered honestly, slightly embarrassed by how plaintive he sounded. “One day, I guess. I mean, I have to. Don’t I?”
“Listen, Peeta.” Gale started with surprising earnestness, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “You don’t have to, ok? You don’t ever have to do anything that you don’t want to. Those bastards took enough from all of us, and you more than just about anyone else. So you do what you need to do, and nothing else. I want you to remember that.” He inhaled deeply, as if bracing himself. “I want you to remember that, because I’m about to ask you for something.”
“I don’t understand.”
Gale rose, exhaling noisily as he started pacing around the tiny living room. “I’m not one to mince words, so let me just come out and tell you what I’m here for.” He stopped in front of Peeta, though he made sure to keep a respectful distance. “Katniss. She asked me to talk to you. She’s better now than she’s been for a long time. She’s really worked hard at it. But she needs to see you, to talk to you, to hash out what happened between you guys.”
“I can’t--”
“I’m just asking, man. No one’s going to force you. But let me at least tell you what’s going on. Katniss and I--" Peeta flinched. "--it was bad. For a long time. But like I said, she’s really worked hard at getting better."
And so Gale told him. About Katniss. About what Haymitch had hinted at, the first time: how she had collapsed in on herself, not actively refusing food or drink or medical care, not really, just not seeking it. If Sae or Mrs. Everdeen would bring her food, she'd eat. If they didn't, she wouldn't, instead spending the long days staring at the wall, blaming herself for every death she'd been unable to prevent. Haymitch had eventually hauled her back to the Capitol--literally, according to Gale--and it was, in a word, bad. She had managed to escape from the healing center, and had been found several days later on the roof of the old Tribute apartments, flowers woven into her hair and clutching a makeshift bow while alternately crying for Prim or her father. Or for Peeta.
He froze. The world stopped, and Peeta felt himself reeling from the suddenness of it. What did this mean? What could all this possibly mean?
“I’m not--I can’t--I’m not going back to Twelve,” Peeta stuttered.
“No, Peeta,” Gale said softly, reaching out to place a hand on Peeta’s shoulder. “We wouldn’t ask that. Katniss wouldn’t ask that. She wants to meet you halfway, so to speak. She’s not in Twelve. She’s here.”
He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t have moved to save his life.
“I need you to leave.”
Gale withdrew his hand, and he looked...awkward...standing too close, fingers twitching at his sides. “I--ok. But think about it. Please. We’ll be here for another few days, at the old Victors Village.” He walked briskly towards the door, pausing as he turned the knob. “I’m glad you’re doing better Peeta,” Gale said softly, turning back to look at Peeta’s rigid form. “And I’m sorry for anything we ever did that may have hurt you.” He opened the door without another word and slipped out, closing it gently so that all Peeta heard was the soft click of the lock sliding into place.
Peeta stood there, fists clenched at his sides, despair and fury roaring through him in a deluge. He stood there until the light changed from the soft brightness of early morning to the deeper gold of afternoon; until his false leg shook with the effort and threatened to fail. He was tired of this, all of this, the constant negotiation that was his life: trading obedience for affection, safety for food, one poison for another. He bargains with sleep: one hour , he begs in despair, as the night grow lighter and fears that dawn is soon to come, grant me one hour of rest . He bargains with his mind, begging for respite, for quiet, for a moment of peace.
And now, in the greatest of ironies, she sends Gale-- Gale! --to parlay on her behalf. As if the ongoing humiliation of his continued pathetic existence wasn’t enough, she sends the man she chose over him to ask for his help.
Without a word, he walked stiffly to his small bedroom, picked up his satchel, and left everything behind.
:::
Twenty minutes later, he was at the train station. He had a few days head start, and wasn’t about to waste it. He wished he could go back to Nine, to the kind farmers and folk who had taken him in and pretended he was one of them. He sorely wished he could go back to Seven and be with Johanna. She’d probably yell at him, but he’d give his good leg for her affectionate exasperation right now. But now was no time to rest. It seemed like there was never time to rest.
Once again, he approached the ticket booth. The attendant took in his rumpled clothing and haggard appearance and pursed his lips. “May I help you?”
“First train out, please,” Peeta answered wearily.
“A train for District Eight is boarding right now. You should be able to make it if you don’t...have much to check in….” he trailed off delicately as he gave Peeta’s half-empty satchel a pointed look.
“Perfect,” Peeta said with a tired smile. “I’d like a ticket, please.”