21April 6, 2020; day ? of quarantine
Summary: In a world where Primrose's name was never picked, Katniss and Gale struggle to define who they are. The revolution still happens and they have to survive their way through it. AU / canon-divergence / pre-games
This story is practically completely written, but most likely miserably paced 3 enjoy!
Author's notes: see bottom
i. year six
In Katniss' sixth year at school, she sat alone during her lunch hour, at an old rotting table, among the rest. It was oak, and cold. Her eyes used to trace the swirls. Silent and content, her fingers would follow the lines, thick, thin, thick. The bell rang.
The day is coming when any bell, even the the shrill of the school's, will ring and burn her ears, filling her lungs with coal.
In that same year, while learning about coal and it's properties, the mines exploded. Her breathing is ragged, standing outside the crippled entrance. She feels a boy next to her, ready to collapse.
(stay above the ground, do not fall to it. never let the weeds tendril through your soul and pull you to its surface.)
The boy crumples to his knees: it's the only time—even after she comes to know him—that she feels taller.
Her father became the ashes she chokes on at even a mention of his name, but she will never absorb into the caverns, unlike her mother, unlike the boy.
(but the boy's fall was different than her mother's, because he rose from those ashes.)
—
It's her sixth year in school, but her first year in a reaping. She isn't picked. The bowl was enough of an ocean for Katniss to sink to the bottom. She wants to be the heaviest anchor, but not even an anchor of lead could hold back the Capitol.
(Poor little mockingjay, unhatched and waiting.)
—
It takes a piece of burned bread to make her eyes harden.
Throwing a bow over her shoulders, arrows into her quiver, the branches of heavy trees watch her. Her first trip, she comes home with nothing, but on her second, a squirrel hangs from her belt.
On her third, she finds a snare.
In Katniss' seventh year, she meets a grey-eyed boy with a guarded gaze and shoulders meant for coal. She's seen him before, when his knees picked up dirt in its old denim blue, but now he stands taller than her.
—
The day Katniss became Catnip was an unwelcomed one. (It was filled with cocky eyebrows, arrogant smiles, and complicated snares.) Katniss was not someone who liked to be mocked.
She may not have welcomed the name, but she did welcome the company, and only because they brought in more food, together.
This boy is arrogant, rude, stuck-in-his ways. This boy's worst weaknesses stem from his every strength: confident, honest, persistent.
It has to be this way, not that way. "You're doing it wrong." He chastises when her fingers stretch a snare wire. He is right, but it pisses her off.
(It's so hot, her skin breaks into freckles, but Katniss likes them, they fit in with her scars, and in a world where nothing can truly be yours, the marks on your body define you and are yours to keep.)
She sits with the boy on a rock, staring at him warily, in the summer heat where everything blisters.
ii. year seven
When school starts up again after a too short break for summer, Katniss itches for the forest. School was annoying and detrimental. Less time in the forest meant less food, and you can't skip class too much or else peacekeepers show up at your door.
She's in the seventh year of schooling and her lunches are later than Gale's, she noticed. The senior classes, ninth years and up, have earlier lunches. The halls are too crowded if it's all the same schedule. District 12 can't afford multiple schools, to keep the hall population low, so crazy schedules it is.
She doesn't know what they are, her and Gale, as of now.
—
One day, when her lunch hour starts, and his ends, she gets her answer.
She is an acquaintance. Looked over, and walked by.
She shuffles to the auditorium at the bell, and is almost always the first of her age to get there, as she she never stops to chat. She had never actually acknowledged him until their meeting in the woods, but she'd heard whispers of Gale Hawthorne.
They'd been hunting together a couple of months before she started to notice his presence at lunch. Sitting down, she examined his table. Many popular people sat there, she noted, though she couldn't name half of them, and all Seam. Of course, the Town and the Seam didn't really mix. Except one, a girl with blonde twirls, smiling saucily at Gale.
Katniss had heard of the many girls of Gale Hawthorne: this must be one of them.
The high-schoolers all began to tardy to their classes, leaving Katniss staring at Gale. He turns toward her and they almost make eye contact, so she waves.
He looks right past her.
Her hand sits awkwardly in the air, misplaced and queasy. She is sitting alone, and the empty seats around her suddenly feel very pressing.
—
The next morning, when they're hunting, brisk air cools on her fingers. She doesn't even mention the embarrassing exchange. Untying the rabbit from his snare, she's thankful he doesn't either, but that's the thing, isn't it?
He never even noticed: the rabbit falls into her lap at the realization, but only stills for a second before being thrown over her shoulder by its ears.
She doesn't want him to wave at her anyway.
(she's such a little liar.)
—
Later that year, a girl sat down at her table. Blonde, blue eyed, and notably pretty. She unpacks spotty strawberries: they're old, but she nibbles around the frayed edges.
It was nice to have a friend, if she could be called that. They've never talked.
—
Gale keeps the creepers off her back, "like a real gentleman." As he calls himself. Her rolled eyes were enough to make him smirk proudly.
Though, Darius slips by, because he's joking. Darius is always joking until she's about fifteen; then, he's just mostly-joking.
Gale treats her like a child and reasonably so: she's twelve and small, and he's fourteen and overgrown. He's not condescending of course, but he acts as though she is smaller than him. She is, and he's bigger than her. It really is a big deal. Katniss rolls her eyes again.
Gentleman, more like entitled idiot, but that's her opinion: other girls see gentleman. Well, not Madge, she tends to sneer. Katniss likes Madge.
—
They have a saved spot in Sae's corner. It's where he taught her how to bargain.
He gulps the soup. "Stay stoic. Your good at it, you'll be fine." She scowls at Gale, and his hand wipes his face. "Ah. Right there, don't do that. Don't let them know they're pissing you off. You have no idea what you're doing, but just pretend you do." She puffs her cheeks and he laughs at her, because once again, she's transparent.
She watches him do it a couple times, squirrel for salt, raccoon for—alcohol, two bottles. She raises a brow at him, perturbed, cheeks puffed again. "Really, Gale?"
He shrugs his shoulders, "It's for your mother, Catnip." Her eyes fractionally , she wonders if maybe he's a thoughtful, entitled idiot.
An idiot who thinks he's better than her because he's a whole two years older, a real gentleman.
His amount of trading success stings her cheeks red with embarrassment though.
—
It may be for her mother, but he still takes a playful sip on the way to her house, thick game bag hidden subtly under his arm. Some peacekeepers aren't as forgiving as Cray and Darius, but it's not like they need to be super careful.
Nothing drastic has happen in the district for thirty years. Katniss remembers her father telling her about the whippings, and as she kicks stones from her path, she stares at her toes, frowning with the memory of her dad.
"Wanna sip?" He asks, good at distracting, slushing a bottle in her face. Her eyes harden, a 'no' is on her tongue but Gale's eyes hold condescending challenge.
"Sure." His surprise does not hide well as she grabs the bottle. "Careful, Gale. Don't let them know they're pissing you off." She mocks him, bringing the alcohol to her mouth. It's a cold liquid, pulling the heat from her lips. As she swallows, the cold becomes a burn and it urges her to croak and cough, but she manages a slight wince in her eyes.
His eyes widen and she realizes she's only twelve, but she has a rush of pride at the fact. Gale smirks at her, taking the bottle from Katniss' grasp. He puts the lid on it and chuckles. "A little alcoholic in the making." Little, he says, always little. She glares at him.
"Just call me Haymitch Abernathy." Then, he really does laugh, and for once, looks at her like her joke was funny instead of her high-pitched voice.
—
She will learn, she decides, and she does.
Within the next couple of days, she exceeds his expectations, once again. His small smile holds pride when she walks out of the bakery with a full loaf of bread hugged to her chest.
It's a smile, not a smirk.
The little twelve-year-old traded two squirrels for a loaf of bread. There isn't a word for his level of impressed, so he just smiles at her: her stoic stare back doesn't shake his teeth. When she breaks the bread in half to give him some, a respect for her grows in his eyes. One that shows her value.
He never looks at her like she's a kid again. Katniss is Katniss, maybe Catnip, depending on her mood. He is Gale, and with half a loaf of warm bakery bread wrapped up in his grasp, Gale can see this partnership thing working out.
She'll make her money back for every shitty trade, one loaf at a time.
—
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