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AU: Gale takes the fall for Finnick in the Capitol. Peeta’s POV
Before Katniss could stop him, he’s pushing her into my arms and slipping something into my hand. I fold my fingers around whatever it is as I try to keep my hold on Katniss, “take care of her,” he says in a low voice. His hand softly caresses her cheek for a moment as he then jumps into the tunnel, to save Finnick, someone he hardly knows. Katniss is now screaming at the top of her lungs, begging for him to come back, but he is long gone. Finnick crawls out of the tunnel with half of his arm missing and although his wounds are deep, they aren’t fatal. The mutts have gone silent, along with Gale’s screams. Katniss breaks free from my arms and runs into the tunnel to tend to Gale. I let her go knowing that the mutts are gone, but I follow after her. I know what she is about to see will break her into more pieces then anything to do with this rebellion has. When I finally reach her she’s sobbing on Gale’s chest and squeezing his hand. The pool of blood underneath him makes me aware that there is no saving him. Take care of her, I repeat in my head. I open my hand to see what Gale gave me. A bracelet designed to look like a snare. Gale Hawthorne, the bravest man I’ve ever known, gave his life to save someone he hardly knew, and left the girl he loved in my hands. He really is a soldier.
Anon asked: write Peeta’s death from Katniss POV when they’re old?
The sunset stains the room orange. It’s a time of day that’s grown sweet over the years; the hour that we will sit and drink tea on the back porch, or watch the children (and then the grandchildren) play in the warmth of the sinking sun. The golden light sits in the lines on his face, and sets his white hair ablaze. For a moment, he could be blonde again.
But his eyes are tired, weary. I sit on the edge of the bed and take his hand between my own. His eyes beg me to stay, and so I do. I remember, in the grips of delirium and fear, asking him to stay. So many years ago, in the dark times. And now, I’ll stay for him. I’ve been here for sixty years. Now is not the time for spending sunsets apart.
Peeta’s eyes fix on me, and for a second, he looks as though he’ll cry. I realise that he doesn’t want to leave. But forces pull him onward, and for the first time in so many years, he walks on ahead of me.
His eyes close one last time, and tears sting at the back of my eyes. I try to fill the last few moments, store them in my memory, but they’re gone like smoke through my fingers, and his chest is still. It’s like we’re hurtling back through time. Our daughter’s first cry, the sound of the flames at our toasting, the screech of train tracks, the smell of rain outside the cave.
I stay with him for a while, because if I move, then I’ll have to carry on. I can’t live in the past forever.
I let go of his hand, which is growing colder by the second. The steadiness that he brings to my life slowly easing away. He walks on ahead, but slowly. One day, perhaps I will catch up.
