Firelight

"So, down to breakfast, then?' Peeta smiles brightly up at him, his blonde hair fanning out across the pillow, blue eyes slightly clouded with sleep.

Gale nods, and drags himself off the sheets so that Peeta can get out of bed. He's always bright like this in the morning, almost painfully so, like a flash of light bouncing of a piece of cut glass. Gale sometimes thinks Peeta knows why he stayed; why he keeps such a close watch on him; why he holds his hand tightly when they walk around the markets, like a child that might run away if not kept close. At these times Gale feels like he has to be bright too, as if they are both actors running through a script that neither of them believes in.

"I wonder what's arrived for breakfast today." Gale splashes some water on his face and pulls on a jersey. It's not warm enough in the mornings yet not to need one.

He hopes the tone of his voice was cheerful enough, and didn't catch on the words. Gale still finds it hard to accept that food is delivered to them on a regular basis. He spent so much of his life being the sole provider, bringing home illegal spoils from the woods to ensure that his family did not go hungry. He feels like he is taking advantage of the service that people are doing to Peeta. This is meant to be his punishment. Why should they make it easy for him?

"I hope it's some of that new season stone fruit," Peeta's response breaks Gale's train of thought; "did you hear that there's a massive harvest of plums this year? It seems they grow better in District 5 than they did in District 11."

Peeta's knowledge of the activities in the other districts surprises Gale for a second, then he remembers that Verbena sometimes likes to turn on their seldom-used television while she cleans.

"Have you been watching the news again? Anything else interesting happening?"

Gale asks, but doesn't really expect Peeta to volunteer anything. The mental torture inflicted by the Capitol during the war means that he can't remember much about people he once knew, so the majority of the news programs being broadcast across Panem mean nothing to him.

Fixing that is part of Gale's job.

Breakfast turns out to be plums, just like Peeta predicted. Served with some bread that Peeta baked yesterday and butter from the cows that live out behind the houses in what used to be the Victor's Village, it is a far more luxurious breakfast than Gale enjoyed at any time before the war. Except maybe before that Reaping that changed everything.

"The benefits of living with a baker," he smiles, holding up a slice of bread as a salute to the master baker himself. He quickly lowers it and chastises himself. He does not live with Peeta. He is only here to look after him, to keep him safe. What she wanted.

Peeta smiles back, unaware of the mental war that is raging inside Gale's head. He puts a plum in his mouth and chews slowly, spitting out the clean stone at the end.

"Since the living room is out of bounds," he grins playfully, "where are we going to have our 'lesson' today?"

Ah, the lessons. Peeta's acceptance of the need to rake through his memory still surprises Gale, even after months of the same routine. He doesn't think he would be quite so sanguine about having his memories twisted and warped so that all he remembered as good turned to bad, let alone having to re-live all his most private experiences in order to sort out the false memories from the truth. Then again, Gale thinks, Peeta probably wouldn't do a lot of things that Gale has done in his life. Sacrifice children, for one.

He shakes his head. Dwelling on memories of Prim and the war never leads anywhere worth going to.

"I don't know," he looks out the window, "The meadow is probably nice enough if there wasn't much dew last night." He picks up their plates and carries them to the sink, brushing the crumbs out the open window for the birds.

"How about the forest?" Peeta suggests, and Gale turns to look at him suspiciously. He stares back, eyes wide and guileless, and his smile hesitant. Is he suggesting this because he knows the forest was their special place, where Gale could be alone with the real Katniss? No. Peeta just thinks the wooded area that borders District 12 is a nice place to be on an early spring day.

"Sure, why not. Grab your things and we'll go."

Peeta ambles upstairs to his room and Gale goes to his. He ignores the bed, freshly made ever since that first night when he found Peeta crying out in terror while he slept. He thinks about her and how they must have slept curled together to protect each other against the world, for him to reach out like that in his sleep. A tight feeling starts to rise in his chest, and Gale pushes it down. Don't think about her. Think about Peeta, and how he needs repairing. Think about his kindness, and his generosity, and all the things that made her fall in love with him. A warm feeling replaces the tightening in his chest, until a thump from downstairs sends him hurrying out of his room.

Peeta is standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking at a large book with thick, yellowed pages that is now lying on the floor.

He smiles sheepishly up at him, "Guess my arms just couldn't hold it."

Gale picks up the book and puts it in his own pack, "No problem, who knows what that venom is still doing to your system." He smiles like it is no big deal and leads Peeta out into the sunlight and the path that runs in front of the houses that make up the old Victor's Village. Inside, he is mentally filing this information away, right next to 'Peeta still has night terrors'; 'The Tracker Jacker venom still sometimes affects his muscles.'

Peeta doesn't show any more signs of pain or spasm all the way to the edge of the town, where the remains of the fence that used to hold them all captive still sit rusting into the ground.

In the forest now, Gale lets his hunter's instincts take over for a second. Are there any animals near by? Any pairs of eyes looking out on them from a bush? No. Everything is silent, probably scared away by Peeta's loud footfalls behind him. At least Gale knows he could never lose Peeta in here. The moss on the trees and leaves composting on the ground send out a wet aroma as they walk, and the treetops rustle, blown by a breeze that does not make its way down to the forest floor.

Soon they come to a clearing in the trees, and Gale realizes this is where he has been walking to without even meaning to. In fact, he isn't even sure he wants to be here. It was mainly just reflex that guided his footfalls through the trees.

A flat rock sits among the bushes, slightly raised and giving a good view of the surrounding area. Gale stops. This was their rock, and he feels somehow that he shouldn't have brought Peeta here. It feels wrong. One look at Peeta tells him that this is probably correct.

He has his eyes closed, and beads of sweat are starting to form across his upper lip and at his brow. He clenches his fists at his side and rolls his head around, as if trying to stretch away some invisible demon clinging to his back. When he opens his eyes, Gale realizes that he can breathe again.

Peeta always looks like that when he is fighting against the false memories implanted in him during his time as a prisoner in the Capitol.

"This was your place, wasn't it?" His tone is hushed, would be almost reverent, if Gale couldn't hear the strain in his voice and he tries to keep it level, "I mean, you and her."