#I tried to put something from our threads on gale's side

[mccnrxse]

𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐞 × 𝐀𝐤𝐬𝐞𝐥 — @oathfcrged

[alpydk]

A Prayer for Gale

A little blurb (500+ words) that I felt like writing (couldn't find a witty retort @auroraesmeraldarose) - I don't know why but my Tav's pray for Gale. I've never thought about it before. I'm not religious, Nana hates the gods, and yet this seems...instinctual, like why wouldn't you do anything you could to save him and protect him? Anyway, made me emotional... So have a blurb.

Tav sat under the gnarled oak as the sun rose over what was left of Reithwin Town. The campsite lay not far from his location, the tents quiet as their inhabitants slept off the exhaustion of the previous night. The shadow curse had been lifted and a tentative breeze made its way between torn banners. A gentle flicker of the lantern lights that had been dimmed for so long brought a life back to the world around him. He clenched his hands in front of him, dirt and dried blood still present from the battle the night before, one that would scar not only his body, but his mind for years to come.  

“I thank you for one more moment where he is at my side. He is so pure, a star in the blackened night sky and one I hope to see shine all the brighter.”

The words were whispered, an anxiousness to say them out loud and yet not be heard by his travelling companions. Tav was no cleric, no paladin following the oath of the gods; no, he was just someone grateful to have found love. He would fight with swords and magic, would try to persuade even the most ruthless of enemies to give up their ways, but he also knew that sometimes fate was out of his control. Life could be snuffed out in an instance, a candle flame put out without hesitation, his love taken from him without mercy. And so, to prevent this, he would do anything, even if that meant praying.

“I ask for his hope, that it does not falter. That he finds his way through the darkness, and he returns home, his heart free to live again. I pray he finds happiness, that poetry flows from his parted lips once more, that he knows what it is to love without restraint...”

Tav thought of their night together, of the orb stabilised, but its markings a constant reminder of the sword that hung by a thread. He did not want to think of the battles ahead as the words spilled out, of the tadpole that devoured him, of what his love had spoken of not so long before they’d tried to leap from the precipice: a goddess’ request and one ultimate penance. Should that unfortunate time come, they would go together; that much Tav had decided, loneliness no longer the burden either of them should have to carry. He sighed, glancing up at the heavens, a deep longing to be heard, if only for what he was to say last.  

“Please protect him from what is to come. Keep him safe from harm, and should the worst come to pass, should our stars be blotted out by darkened fortunes, guide his soul to astral seas where he can finally find peace.”

There was no knowing if any of the gods heard his words that day, or if they would hear them on any of the other mornings to follow. But Tav never stopped praying for Gale. The hope that those words would mean something one day, even if it was just to be guidance over astral seas.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s S2 R&S - Inevitable

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from an R&S (不可抗力) which has not been released in English servers!🍒

This R&S features S2 Gavin!

It is incredibly important to read Ch 9 Part One before embarking on this!

[ Chapter One ]

At midnight, a young man makes a turn at a secluded alley, walking into a small hotel that’s still open for business.

He walks around the main hall, and straight into the innermost booth. The sound of shuffling in the night is continuous, and the dealer holds a cigarette in his mouth, drawing a card.

A hand suddenly approaches, and the muzzle of a gun covers his temple.

"How long will it take for you to finish this round?" Gavin’s voice is calm, fingers exerting more pressure on the trigger.

The others are so frightened that they rush out. With no way out, the man suddenly whips out a knife and swings it at Gavin. Gavin grabs his wrist, the other hand reaching for the handcuffs.

All of a sudden, a voice rings in his head: Don’t get hurt, and don't ignore the consequences. If he were to do this, it seems someone would be very sad. He doesn’t seem to want to make that person sad either.

In that second of distraction, the knife glinting with a cold light in the man’s hand slices the area between Gavin’s thumb and index finger. The thoughts in his mind accumulate amidst the pain. Gavin gathers some strength in his palm, a raging gale rolling up the battered tables and chairs. The man’s gaze turns frightened...

-

Three minutes later, the man, who was puffed up with pride earlier, is firmly handcuffed and kneeling on the ground, begging for mercy.

Gavin pushes the person out of the booth, and the colleague responsible for providing assistance steps forward, escorting the person into the police car.

In the main hall, the little girl who was clapping her hands and singing the birthday song earlier has burst into tears, shocked by the sight before her. Her mother comforts her. "Don't be afraid, darling. This is the Special Police Uncle who catches bad men and is here to protect us.

After glancing at him, the little girl cries even more fiercely.

Gavin nods to the girl’s mother apologetically, then walks towards the claw machine at the entrance of the hotel. After a short while, he returns, hugging the largest doll in his arms.

"Happy birthday.”

He hands a huge cartoon doll to the little girl, then turns and walks out the door.

-

An hour of interrogations is enough to leave one exhausted. Tang Chao stretches, holding a tidied statement while heading towards Gavin’s office.

It’s late at night, and the lights are still on. Tang Chao knocks thrice but receives no response. He tries pushing the door open, and is shocked to find that Gavin, who is seated behind the desk, is neither dealing with a case nor official business. Instead, he’s in a daze.

Gavin leans against the chair, his gaze fixed on the computer screen for a long time, brows furrowed deeply. Tang Chao walks over and glances at the screen - it’s a report regarding the arrest of the producer from [MC’s Company Name] not too long ago. He reaches out, waving his hand in front of Gavin. He asks, "How many fingers?”

When Gavin glares back coldly, Tang Chao feels relieved. However, seeing the scab wound on his hand, he’s confused again - what could be so important that he’d forget to tend to his wound?

He places the tidied statement on the table, then drags Gavin to the infirmary. "Even a body forged in iron can’t be compared to you.”

Fortunately, the wound isn’t deep, and can be healed in a few days. But Tang Chao’s intuition tells him that Gavin is a little different from usual. This time, the offender wasn’t considered dangerous, and could be easily subdued by Gavin’s skills. How did he get hurt this easily?

Before Tang Chao can ask a few more questions, Gavin has already vanished without a trace.

-

[ Chapter Two ]

At four o'clock in the morning, the clerk at the 24-hour convenience store yawns, overcome with boredom as he stares at the TV commercial on the wall to pass the time. A cheerful electronic sound rings. The automatic doors slide open, and a young man walks in. 

The clerk perks himself up, and is about to say "Welcome" when he realises that the customer in front of him looks very familiar.

This man lives in an apartment in the vicinity, and visits this convenience store frequently. Sometimes, he drives past in a smart-looking motorcycle. When someone tries to hit on him occasionally, he always rejects them coldly. It’s a pity that whenever he visits, he either buys instant noodles or instant bento... looks like it’s the same this time.

When the clerk sees him heading towards the convenience food shelf, he sighs in his heart: Young people these days don’t take care of their health at all.

Gavin leans down, his gaze flitting across the neatly arranged food on the shelf, absentmindedly differentiating the expiration dates marked on the packets. 

Shiitake mushroom flavoured instant noodles aren’t tasty. The stray cats at the entrance of STF prefer meat, not anchovies. Don’t get hurt, don’t get mired in danger alone, don’t leave without saying a word.

Such thoughts once again surge forth. From a certain point in time, many unfamiliar experiences have been intruding into his life. It’s as though he’s sharing another memory, these disordered fragments of memories twisting into a long, thin thread, holding onto his wrist, tugging at him secretly from time to time. 

Gavin returns to his senses, subconsciously drawing back the hand that was reaching for the convenience food, and picks the brand at the side which contains more vegetables.

When checking out, Gavin notices that there are rows of potted succulents next to the cash register. 

"This is a public welfare activity jointly launched by our store and the Loveland City Environmental Protection Association. For every plant sold, we will donate the same amount of funds to the environmental protection charity.”

Seeing how unresponsive the young customer in front of him is, the clerk is tactful as he continues scanning the remaining products, "Nine dollars in total.”

The receipt is printed, and the clerk hands it to him along with the bento. The young man suddenly points at the small potted plant that had just emerged from the soil. 

"Add this too.”

-

Back home, Gavin throws his jacket into the washing machine, sets the time for washing and drying, then heads into the bathroom to take a shower. 

A strong gush of water flows from the shower, and white mist quickly fills the entire space. The stinging pain from the wound sobers him up quite a lot, and he subconsciously thinks: The wound should be tended to quickly, and “she” can’t know about it.

Realising what he’s thinking, Gavin is once again stunned-

Who’s “she”?

And why is he so concerned about how that person feels?

Stepping out of the bathroom, the washing machine makes a "ding" sound. Gavin wipes his head and walks over to take a look, only to realise that he had put bleach instead of laundry detergent. He stares at the washing machine in silence for a while, then reaches out to unplug the power, retrieving the ruined jacket.

After all of this, Gavin suddenly remembers the small potted plant he just bought. The clerk said that if it is placed in a location with sufficient sunlight, there would be new shoots in a week, and that it’s very easy to grow. 

Gavin places it on the balcony, then picks up the phone and begins to search "How many times must succulents be watered in a day". Whether it’s a mere illusion, that sense of deja vu once again surfaces.

"What in the world am I doing...?" He mutters to himself, tossing his phone aside a little irritatedly. He returns to the bedroom, lying on the bed and closing his eyes, waiting for sleep. 

In the depths of this autumn night that no one knows about, the rain outside the window patters against the leaves gently, and there is a very, very light stirring in his heart.

Gavin opens his eyes, looking at the ceiling which is illuminated by car lights. Suddenly, an unnamed emotion surges in his heart - he feels that the memories he has never been able to grasp weren’t “forgotten”. Rather, they are “losses” which render him powerless.

-

[ Chapter Three ]

On a rare, idle weekend, Tang Chao calls a group of friends from the STF together for hotpot. Right after ordering the hotpot base, Lu Yi’s conscience suddenly bugs him, and he asks if he should call Captain Gavin over. 

Thinking about how rarely Gavin gets to rest and how he definitely wouldn’t be willing to see this group of people, Tang Chao knowingly shakes his head. However, his mouth has a different idea. “I’ll call him then.”

On the other side, a few special police officers are comforting Xiao Zheng from the Publicity Department who was hurt emotionally. Xiao Zheng fell out of love last week, and has been feeling extremely fragile and sensitive these few days. Hearing the bitter love songs in the shop, his eyes immediately redden.

Tang Chao taps open his contacts list, silently recalling the odd behaviour of Gavin recently. He isn’t interested in being a busybody, but his instincts tell him that Gavin has something on his mind, and it’s a change obviously brought about by that girl’s appearance. But whenever Tang Chao wants to inquire about it, the words get halted by Gavin’s killer glare. 

Thinking about this, Tang Chao glances at Xiao Zheng sympathetically, and comes to a definite conclusion - if Captain Gavin were to continually suppress his emotions without releasing them, it’d result in an illness.

Tang Chao asks the waiter to serve two dozen beers, then dials Gavin’s phone.

"Good evening Captain Gavin. Have you eaten?" 

"I don’t mean to annoy you, but Captain Eli invited us to have butter hotpot. You coming? 

"Don't be in such a hurry to refuse. I’ve got something to talk to you about. Yes, it’s happening right now... it’s of utmost urgency.” Tang Chao shoots a grin towards an astonished Eli. Then, he continues fabricating a tale. "I don’t want to run laps. There’s a genuine matter.

Half an hour later, Gavin frowns as he walks into the hotpot restaurant. Seeing this, a few young special police officers immediately set down their chopsticks and stand up straight in a row. The only thing they haven’t done is to salute at Gavin. 

Tang Chao grins, asking the waiter to bring an additional pair of tableware over. “Captain Gavin, you’re here.” 

Gavin glances at Tang Chao and says in a cool voice, "What’s the urgent matter?"

“Xiao Zheng fell out love, so he asked you over to console him with us.”

“...”

Xiao Zheng frantically waves his hands in surprise, stammering a retort. Tang Chao pushes him back onto his seat and signals for him not to speak. 

"Don't be sad, the chances of people ending up together is always unpredictable." Tang Chao pats Xiao Zheng on the shoulder. "Besides, who doesn’t have someone in their heart? Don’t you agree, Captain Gavin?" 

These words are akin to a sudden clap of thunder on a calm sea. Xiao Zheng immediately forgets to cry. Eli immediately straights up, and the others hurriedly set down their chopsticks, whipping their heads over to look at Gavin like meerkats.

Gavin remains expressionless, though the hissing sound emanating from his body is even cooler than the ice cubes in the beer.

Since they’re in public, Tang Chao knows that it wouldn’t be convenient for Gavin to give him a beating. As such, he’s incredibly composed, and continues with his questions without a fear of death. “Captain Gavin, why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Why do you think this has anything to do with her?”

“I already saw the photograph back in the training days. Is she the lady from before when you roared “Tang Chao, put your hands away”?

[Note] These are references to R&S [Tempering] and Ch 2 Part One!

"...Tang Chao!”

“I'm here, I'm here." Tang Chao fills Gavin’s glass with beer. "Captain Gavin, I actually realised that you haven't been in the best state recently, but you don't like speaking your mind. I’m showing my concern." 

“It’s said that you speak the truth after drinking, and today’s beer should be enough. Whatever you want to say, whatever’s suppressed in your heart, just release them all happily. Right, Captain Eli?”

After three rounds of drinking, Tang Chao fails to get Gavin drunk, but ends up drinking too much himself. Once again, he complains about Gavin's "Death Training" back in the days of special training. In the end, Gavin foots the bill. 

Eli steps forward and pats him on the shoulder, saying, "Did something happen recently?" Gavin shakes his head in resignation. "You really believed him? His mouth is like a runaway train.”

Eli looks at Gavin and sighs. "I know you don’t need anyone to worry about you.”

"But that kid Tang Chao said one thing right. If one keeps suppressing their feelings, they’ll be suppressing problems.”

-

[ Chapter Four ]

On the way back, Gavin sees withered leaves on the branches along the street, and only then remembers the small succulent he had bought not long ago. 

Back home, the potted plant on the balcony shrinks alone in the corner. Originally thinking that the plant he had left “free range” for so many days would meet a premature end, it turned out to be alive despite having a few withered leaves. Gavin finds this a little unbelievable, and he becomes more meticulous in watering it.

-

The next morning, Tang Chao opens the door to Gavin’s office and apologises solemnly. "Captain Gavin, I'm sorry. I promise that I’ll never inquire about your personal life in the future, let alone make arbitrary conjectures about your feelings.”

Without looking up at Tang Chao, Gavin only tosses out a sentence. "Before next Monday, re-check all the case data in the Archive Room.”

The Archive Room is on the third basement floor. The dust is very dense and the materials are very thick. Tang Chao wails immediately, leaving dejectedly.

Gavin picks up the document Tang Chao had just placed on his desk. It is a sealed report for the seizure of "small syringe" production plants, which records in detail the batches and output of pharmaceutical companies which participated in the production.

Reaching the final part of the report, Gavin is silent for a moment. At the end of the report, there is a line of small characters - "Ten boxes of drug samples are suspected to have gone missing." 

Without putting much thought into it, a face with a beaming smile locks onto his mind.

“...I won't investigate you this time." He sighs, putting the report back into the drawer. 

After ferreting the mole out of STF, Gray Rhino seems to have erased all traces of the "small syringes". But Gavin knows they wouldn’t withdraw easily from competing for "CORE" - naturally, neither will Black Swan.

Gavin is clear that the current peace will not last for long. Before the girl stands against him on the opposite side, what he has to do is be one step ahead, obtaining more crucial information as soon as possible.

The phone beeps, notifying him of a new e-mail. Gavin is pulled back from his thoughts, and his eyes fall on the unknown email that popped up.

"Congratulations on your successful registration in the Hunter Game" - the sender’s address is encrypted, and there is no doubt that no information can found.

Gavin's thoughts gradually settle. His hands are clasped lightly on the table, his gaze falling on the words "Hunter Game", his gaze turning sharp and determined. 

That place definitely has something they’re looking for.

-

[ Chapter Five ]

In the STF Intensive Care Unit, a dripping sound accompanies the plastic tube. Gavin sleeps very peacefully, and he feels like he had a lot of dreams in his dazed state. They aren’t nightmares which wake him up with a start, but dreams which make him willing to remain asleep.

However, it seems he can only remember the final dream from the long series of dreams. When he’s roused awake by the sound of footsteps in the corridor, what lingers before his eyes is a blurry yet familiar face. Gavin sits up on the hospital bed, the pain from the no-longer-effective anaesthesia making him more awake. 

Despite not telling Tang Chao and Eli about his participation in the Hunter Game, they aren’t suspicious. They’ve grown accustomed to Gavin’s aloof nature, and as such, assumed that he went on a secret mission.

During his absence over the past few days, there was a new development in the Evolver assassination incident - a new victim has appeared. 

Gavin is very clear that if the cases were to be allowed to ferment, the higher-ups from “that side” would intervene in the matter. They have to take immediate action.  

“There’s one more tricky thing." Tang Chao sits at the edge of his desk. "For the latest assassination case, we encountered a witness with a special situation. We might have to ask an Evolver who can read memories for help."

Tang Chao blinks and asks, "But I don't know any Evolvers with this ability. Do you know any, Captain Gavin?”

-

According to theory, aside from work purposes, they should be keeping a distance from each other. But according to the girl, the reason why they’ve come out for an idle stroll is, for one, to relax. Two, to search for inspiration to solve the case.

The lead from the only witness to the Evolver assassination was cut short. Gavin isn’t affected much, since he knows that this matter isn’t simple. In contrast, the girl is especially bothered by it, and feels apologetic for not being able to help. 

On the bustling street in the afternoon, Gavin returns to his senses, taking the oden which the girl hands over with a smile. 

When walking by her side, Gavin realises that he’s barely thinking about the things that are bothering him. He naturally picks up her conversation topics, as if they had wandered aimlessly on the street side by side before. 

Does she feel the same way? In his heart, Gavin shakes his head in self-mockery, wanting to forget these thoughts which confuse him.

Walking out of the food street, rain patters down. The pedestrians on the street crowd together suddenly, rushing towards the station. Gavin holds up an umbrella, planning to send her back. 

The yellow wintersweet flowers exude a subtle fragrance in the rain. The smell, colour, and the scent of the person next to him seem to be magnified, forming a memory of the present moment. 

Perhaps, even before he noticed it himself, while he has been deliberately neglecting the complex emotions in his heart, they have been also been growing in a place where he cannot see. When she calls his name, when she accidentally touches his hand, it’s as though some things from a very long time ago are coming back to life in his mind--

Someone had once called his name using such a tone.

Someone had once held his hand in this way.

Someone... was once his strength.

The emotions which he conceals deeply, whether they are good or bad, were once held gently. 

A scorching wave of heat suddenly rushes into his chest.

The traffic lights change, and the crowd waiting at the side of the street slowly surge towards the middle of the road. The surrounding pedestrians squeeze past each other, bumping into his shoulder from time to time. 

Gavin lifts his head abruptly, watching the side profile of the girl as she’s in the rain. It’s as though there’s an intriguing overlap. It’s as though a very long time ago, his heart had leapt this fiercely for her.

The girl suddenly turns around, looking in his direction and waving at him. Putting away her umbrella, she points to a mother-daughter duo hiding from the rain underneath the bus stop. She asks for his opinion through her gaze. Without much thought, Gavin removes his jacket, brisk walking towards her in the rain.

Raindrops patter down, and the water beneath his feet leave splashes in their wake. Akin to rain, they land on his body. It’s as though he gets slightly more drenched with each step. At this moment, Gavin realises that on days when memories are muddied, he has grasped a thin thread since a long time ago.

The jacket supports a narrow world, and wind and rain occasionally blow in. 

If their reunion was meant to verify their directions, no matter what the future holds, what he has to do now is to run forward with her, together.

[Note] Please don’t ask me about the Hunter Game! I haven’t had the chance to read the earlier chapters in detail so I don’t know the specifics 😅

💙 More S2 content: here

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[everlarkficexchange]

A Simple Choice

Written by: @justajjfan​​​

Beta’d by: @sunsetsrmydreams​​​

Prompt 83: Katniss is whipped instead of Gale in Catching Fire, Peeta’s the one who’s there to take care of her after. [submitted by anonymous].

Prompt 116: Peeta braids Katniss’ hair to soothe her. [submitted by anonymous] 

Rating: Mature 

Warning: Mention of whipping. Use of coarse language.

A/N: Here’s the next instalment as promised. Sending my thanks and gratitude to @everlarkficexchange​ ; @javistg​ and @xerxia31​ for posting my really late submission and to @sunsetsrmydreams​ for always being there for me.  

~~~

Chapter 3

The gate of the Victor’s Village is just ahead and as I get closer, Katniss starts to stir from her semi-conscious state and tries weakly to pull away from me. I hold her a little tighter, trying to avoid touching her wounds and whisper she’s safe, but she continues to struggle and cries out in pain from her sudden movements.

My steps quicken as Katniss keeps trying to free herself from my arms and when I tell her, “we’re almost there,” she mutters the one name that pierces my heart like a sharp blade.   

“Gale?”

This is the second time I’ve heard his name today but hearing it from Katniss cuts deep and it hurts me more than it should. But I try not to let it show in my voice and bite the inside of my cheek before speaking.

“No…it’s Peeta.”

Katniss mutters something unintelligible but stops fighting me and her tense body relaxes a little as she buries her face in my neck, taking in a deep breath and letting it out as a soft whimper.

There’s no time for my hurt emotions to resurface and when I feel her tears moisten my skin, I try my best to console her.

“Shshshsh, I know you want to be with Gale right now, but you’ll have to put up with me for a little while. It will be okay,” I promise to her. Katniss shakes her head and wraps her arms around my neck, clinging to me even tighter.

Climbing the steps of my house, I fumble with the front door handle and manage to get us safely inside before slamming the door shut with my foot. Standing in the hallway, unsure of what to do next, I try to decide which room I should take her but when Katniss starts to whimper in pain again, my legs move responsively and I’m taking double steps upstairs towards my bedroom.

After laying her as gently as I can face down on my bed, I nervously bite my thumbnail and pace around the room needing a minute to think this through.

Cleaning her wounds is the most logical first step which means removing my now blood-soaked apron from her back and when I do, my stomach heaves at the bloody sight. But Katniss needs me to be strong for the both of us, so I sprint to the adjoining bathroom and splash water on my face to calm myself down then take a few deep breaths before washing my hands thoroughly.

I carefully clean each wound with a damp cloth, making sure to refill the bowl several times with clean tepid water. As gentle as I have tried to be, Katniss grimaces with each dab and my heart sinks further with every pitiful moan she lets out.

When I’m satisfied the wounds are cleaned to the best of my ability, I place a muslin cloth covered with a thin layer of crushed ice cubes on top.

There’s always a tray of ice cubes at the bakery in case one of us burns our hands from the ovens and it helps numb the pain a little, but it also lessens the chance of swelling and painful blisters forming. Although this is nothing remotely like a small burn from the ovens, I figured it might do some good while I wait rather impatiently for Haymitch to bring the medicine.

What is taking him so long?

I know I’m flying off the seat of my pants with all of this healing stuff but as I watch Katniss for any sign of discomfort, the coolness of the ice seeping through the cloth seems to have a soothing effect on her. I assure myself this can only be a good thing and for the first time today, I breathe out a sigh of relief.

Now that I have that critical part under control, there’s no sense in putting off what I’ve been anguishing over for the last few minutes.

Although nudity has never been an issue with me, I know Katniss has always been self-conscious about that sort of thing and I can’t stop thinking how she must have felt as her shirt was ripped from her body in front of Thread and his men, not to mention every citizen in Twelve. She wouldn’t want anyone seeing her naked…except for maybe Gale of course, but under these circumstances I hope she can forgive me for what I’m about to do.

I apologise profusely but she doesn’t complain and offers a slurred “s-kay” as I carefully remove her trousers and then the rest of her soiled clothing including her undergarments. With a clean cloth, I gently wash her skin and the dried blood from her hair with warm water mixed with a few drops of lavender oil my stylist Portia gifted me, amongst other luxury items in her care package.

“Just a few drops in your bath will help relax and soothe your aches and pains…and it smells divine,” I can almost hear her saying.

Once that’s done, I cover the lower part of her body with a fresh linen bedsheet and it doesn’t go unnoticed how thin she’s become. I tell myself I should go to Katniss’ house and grab some clean clothes for her to change into, so I start to make a mental list in my head of some things I think she’ll need.

A sudden loud knock stops my thoughts and has me almost flying downstairs to let Haymitch in.

“Were you making the fucking stuff?” I curse loudly as I fling the door open only to find the Mayor’s daughter, Madge Undersee standing on the other side, cheeks flushing bright pink.

“I’m really sorry Madge, I thought you were Haymitch,” I say, my cheeks heat with embarrassment as I move to the side and gesture for her to come inside, but she shakes her head.

“I need to get back home before I’m missed,” she tells me before handing me a small tin box.

“You’ll find a syringe in there…give it to Katniss straight away. It’s a sedative and will knock her out probably until morning, but it will take the edge off the worst of the pain. There’s also a Capitol grade salve which the peacekeepers use to help fight infection as well as having quick healing properties and from what I saw today, she’ll need every bit. There’s not much but a little goes a long way, just make sure you save a little for yourself,” she says, pointing to my shoulder, and when I take a look there’s a rip in my shirt and a streak of dried blood that I completely forgot about until now.

One thing’s for sure, no matter how many lashes I would have received if Haymitch hadn’t arrived when he did, Katniss would always come first and there is no way I would ever think of using any of this salve on myself. I nod anyway, thanking Madge for her kindness and go to close the front door, eager to run upstairs to give Katniss the medicines.

“I’ll do my best to get you some more,” she tells me.

“Thank you.”

Madge turns to leave but stops at the bottom of the steps, “I just want you to know…what you did back there, even when you thought Katniss was dead. That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do for the one they love. I wish I had someone to love me that way.”

I don’t say anything, offering only a smile in response before Madge turns and starts her way back to town.

“Stay alert!” she shouts before reaching the Victors’ Village gates.

Between Haymitch and now Madge with all of this stay alert stuff leaves me puzzled and somewhat curious, but there’s no time to figure out what it is I’m supposed to stay alert for when I hear Katniss scream.

“Peeta!”

I’m up the stairs and by her side in double time and try to calm her while she screams at whoever to let her go. It must be the peacekeepers who found her or maybe Thread before he laid the first painful lash to her back and hopefully not me, but I can’t be sure.

“Shshsh…It was just a bad dream…it’s not real,” I whisper as I gently stroke my hand over her still damp hair. 

“Peeta!” she cries out again.

“I’m right here,” I hush, and she holds onto me tight.

“He lied! You have to believe me!” her frantic words making no sense.

“You need to rest,” I tell her, too concerned all this jostling about may have caused her wounds to reopen and bleed again to try and make sense of what she’s saying. “I won’t let Thread near you ever again.”

“You don’t understand— AHH! It hurts,” she cries out, the pain stopping her from finishing whatever it was she was trying to say. 

“I know it does and I’ve got you something to help with the pain, but it will make you sleepy,” I say, stroking her hair with one hand to reassure her, the other still holding onto the tin box tightly.

Katniss begins to shake her head, “no…I don’t want sleep syrup…please Peeta, not that,” she pleads with me, making me wonder what’s making her react this way.

“I promise it’s not sleep syrup, but you need to hold still…can you do that for me?” I ask, laying her back down on the bed and covering her naked body again with the bedsheet.

I explain the medicine came from the Mayor’s daughter and show Katniss the tin box which seems to ebb her concerns long enough for me to remove it from the box. I’ve never done this before but neither did Katniss when we were in the cave and as soon as that thought crosses my mind, any hesitation I had passes and I’m injecting her arm with the clear liquid.

A few anxious seconds later and the chemical concoction in the syringe is beginning to work as Katniss loosens the tight grip she has on my arm. Her face takes on a relaxed look and her breathing begins to even out and thankfully starts to drift off to what I hope will be a pain free sleep.

Even though I know Katniss can’t hear me, I speak to her softly and let her know everything will be okay as I brush her hair gently away from her face. It’s then I decide to try my hand at braiding to keep any loose strands of hair away from her back, especially before I apply the salve.

It takes a few attempts as my fat fingers fumble with her hair but she hasn’t uttered a word of complaint and sleeps contently throughout my braiding failures.

The medicine is really working fast.

Lost in thought, I almost forgot entirely about the salve and reach for the tin box again to grab the small jar and unscrew the lid. When I see how little is in there, I try not to let the disappointment show on my face.  

Madge wasn’t exaggerating, but it must be potent stuff if this is all you get.

I dip my finger into the jar and gently apply the clear gel-like salve sparingly over the deepest gashes first then the lesser ones until most of Katniss’ back is covered with a thin sticky layer. I draw in a breath with every touch I place on her open wounds as I carefully spread the salve to ensure each raised welt is treated with an even amount of healing medicine.

As careful as I have been, the jar is empty and I can only hold out hope that Haymitch or Madge can get their hands on another.

***

I watch as Katniss sleeps and having her so close to me for the first time since The Victory Tour ended feels like a luxury. But I’m quick to remind myself this is only a temporary arrangement born out of necessity and I’m probably the last person she would want taking care of her.

I can’t allow myself to get too attached. Katniss will leave the moment she’s well enough.

My mind can’t seem to stop going over the events of today. Dad finally telling me the truth; mother and Delly and everything they did and said; almost losing my mind at the sight of Katniss tied to the whipping post thinking she was dead; Haymitch coming to our rescue. Every detail replaying in my head with one puzzling thought sticking out from the rest.

I move the armchair closer to the bed and reach my hand over to Katniss and instinctively start to gently smooth my fingers down her braid, trying to sort things in my head. So lost am I in the calmness it brings me, my voice follows my thoughts and blurts out the one question troubling me since this morning.

“People said you ran away, but you come back. Why?” I ask softly not expecting Katniss to answer.

“Couldn’t leave you behind,” she utters, her words sounding slurred.

***

She came back…for me.

I rolled her words around in my head through the night and finally convinced myself that it was the medicine talking and to stick to the things I know to be true.

Katniss pushed me out of her life to be with Gale and if that wasn’t bad enough, she planned their escape from Twelve with their families without a single thought of me. Their plan succeeded but for whatever the reason, she came back and that decision almost cost her life.

Could she be a rebel spy?

No! I refuse to entertain that absurd notion and push it right out of my head.

I wrestled with my thoughts for hours before giving up exhausted from the mind battle and even managed to doze off at some point during the night. Sleep didn’t last long and I woke up gasping for breath from my usual nightmare of running in the endless darkness desperately searching for Katniss as she calls my name over and over until her voice fades away.

I’m not sure how or when it happened but at some point during the night, my hand found hers. I must have reached out for her in my sleep, but I tell myself it’s okay and it’s not like she’ll remember much of the past 24 hours anyway. She’s safe and sleeping soundly in my bed and there’s a happy look on her face.

***

Sitting back in my chair, it takes a few minutes for my heart to stop pounding. There’s no use trying to fall back to sleep, it’s almost dawn anyway. So, I slowly untangle our fingers and decide to take a quick shower and change into clean clothes before heading downstairs to prepare some light meals for Katniss.

Dad will understand why I’m not turning up for work today and besides…I don’t think I’m ready to face my mother just yet.

The pot of broth I made for Katniss earlier simmers on the stove top and its delicious smell along with the freshly baked bread just out of the oven, permeates the air. I’m hoping when Katniss wakes, she’ll have an appetite and remembering how she liked to eat a simple breakfast, I made sure to include her favourites.

I’m busily preparing a breakfast tray to take upstairs when I hear a knock at the front door. I smile thinking it must be Madge with more salve or maybe Haymitch who I haven’t seen since he ran off yesterday.

Maybe I’ll finally get some answers.

When I go to answer the door, I’m taken by surprise at the sight of Delly, who let herself in and is standing by the kitchen doorway wearing a rather low-cut dress I’ve never seen before.

Far from the reaction I’m sure she was hoping to get from me, the smile on my face drops. I can’t think of anyone I want to see less right now…apart from my mother.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, with a tone of displeasure.

Delly moves from the doorway and steps slowly towards me, “is that anyway to greet me? You didn’t come to see me last night and I missed you,” she proclaims, gazing around the kitchen until her eyes fall on the food tray set on the table.

“Did you seriously expect me to after you tried to keep what was happening to Katniss from me?” I explain rather coldly.

She steps into the kitchen, swaying her body and smoothing her hands over her dress, “of course I did! You always come by after dinner, nothing has to change because of that silly girl. I’m still your fiancée after all…or have you forgotten?”

It seems I have.

I thought I made myself abundantly clear my future was mine to decide and it doesn’t include Delly, but by the way she just labelled our friendship…it appears I wasn’t clear enough.

“Delly—”

“You hurt my feelings and all I was trying to do was stop you from getting yourself killed. I know you didn’t mean all those things you said, it was all a big shock and you weren’t thinking straight,” she says. “We all say and do things we regret and are sorry for later, but everything turned out okay in the end. I’ve decided to forgive you and put yesterday behind us,” she adds, inching closer to me.

“I’m not seeking your forgiveness and I don’t regret what I did…I’d do it again if I knew Katniss was in danger,” I say, in no uncertain terms.

“This isn’t The Hunger Games, “she says with a snap. “You made it back home alive and now you have responsibilities and a future to plan and under the circumstances, it would be best if someone else took over caring for Katniss now.”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that sounded like something my mother would say and I’m not prepared to listen to this any longer. It’s time I spoke up and set things straight.

“I will be caring for Katniss until she’s well…and exactly who would it be best for?” I question, unable to hide my annoyance by her comments. 

Delly glares at me and her cheeks begin to flush red with anger, her expression taking on a different look far from the one she wore when she first walked in.

“I’m sure your drunken mentor can take over. Isn’t that part of his job?”

“No…and don’t talk about him that way. If it wasn’t for Haymitch, Katniss and I would both be dead by now,” I retort.

“You wouldn’t have been in that position if you listened to your mother and me! We tried to warn you to stay away from the square. You almost got yourself killed and right now…you’re being vulgar and unfair about all of this Peeta,” Delly pouts like a spoilt child. “And I didn’t come here to argue with you,” she says in the same breath.

I clench my teeth recalling how everyone treated me as though I was a child and assumed it was best if I was kept in the dark about Katniss and it still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

“I don’t want to argue either,” I admit truthfully, and this brings a smile to Delly’s face. “But I think you and I need to sit down and have a serious talk,” I tell her, pulling out a chair and motioning for her to sit.

Delly nods and flicks her long blonde locks away from her shoulders in a boastful kind of way before stepping beside me and as she does, brushes her fingers up and down my arm. I step back and move to the opposite side of the table and take a seat. When she reaches out her hands for me to hold, I don’t take them. 

It’s plain to see what Delly was hoping to gain from this visit and although this isn’t going to be easy for either of us, she needs to hear what I have to say without her conveniently changing the subject. She needs to understand how I feel and how things can no longer go on as they have. If nothing else, Delly deserves my complete honesty.

I take a deep breath not really knowing where to begin, “we seem to have different views on our relationship status,” I start.

She gives me a cold stare and moves her lips to respond, but I’m determined to speak first before she has a chance to turn the conversation around as she so often does.

“Here me out first before you say anything,” I tell her. She rolls her eyes and lets out a huff in petty annoyance, but I allow myself to continue.

“It was my mother who planned for us to meet under the guise of a neighbourly dinner invitation between our two families, but I’m sure you were aware of her plans,” I say and Delly nods. “Mother had been telling me for weeks to move on with my life and when I finally agreed with her, she took it upon herself to make the arrangements without bothering to ask if I was okay with it…

It was awkward, but I thought it would be nice to have a friend I could talk to. Someone I thought I could trust. I did enjoy being in your company and your friendship helped me feel a little less lonely, but it soon became clear to me you were expecting more than friendship and I’m sorry I wasn’t totally honest with you from the beginning. I guess what I’m trying to say is with everything moving as fast as it did, I didn’t know how to react to your advances,” I finally finish saying.

“Well…” Delly sniggers, “I seem to remember you having no problems reacting to my kisses.”

A thump coming from upstairs distracts us both and it definitely sounded like it came from my bedroom. Katniss must be waking which means I need to finish making breakfast and check on her wounds. The rest of this awkward conversation will have to wait for another day and so I move from my seat, ready to ask Delly to leave when I’m stumped by her next comment.

“…in fact, you enjoyed our kisses so much, even your body reacted to them,” she adds voicing it rather loudly.

I hear sounds of movement coming from upstairs and my concern for Katniss intensifies. Without a moment’s thought of how hurtful my words may come across, I’m mouthing them, “if my body was reacting it would be to the image of me kissing someone else’s lips,” I tell her and the smugness on Delly’s face drops. In that moment I regret being so forward, but I see no sense in hiding behind the truth even though honesty can hurt sometimes.

“No matter how hard I’ve tried to forget and move on with my life, I can’t shake her image from my mind…and before you say anything, I know Katniss will never feel the same way about me. But I can’t change how I feel…how I’ve always felt about her and for that I’m truly sorry for leading you on and giving you false hope. It wasn’t my intention.”

Delly shakes her head and reaches for a handkerchief tucked conveniently inside the bustline of her dress to wipe away a tear, but I forge on.

“Yesterday made me realise more than ever, how pointless it is to think I can move on…not when I still feel this way about her.”

Delly slams the table with clenched fists, “How can you say that after everything Katniss Everdeen has done to you. I watched all those broadcasts and saw how you were being manipulated and used by her. She was probably praying you’d eat those berries first so she could claim victory all on her own. Seam only think of themselves!” she practically yells.

I look at Delly…really look at her and for the first time I see a side of her that has been kept well-hidden underneath that bubbly, kind and easy-going demeanour.

“Being Seam or Merchant didn’t matter in the arena. We were just two kids from Twelve trying to keep each other alive. And if your comments were a way to hurt me then it’s probably what I deserve after everything I’ve done.”

“I would never hurt you, not like Katniss has. I’m trying to get you to understand how you’ve wasted practically your whole life fantasising over her and what have you gotten in return?” Delly questions with one breath and answers with the next. “Heartache and pain! She’ll never give you the things I know you’ve always wanted. You could never trust her to be faithful, but I would be,” she says, reaching her hand out to me. “You and I…we can be the perfect little family and I can help you run the bakery, give you strong and healthy sons. All I’m asking is for you try harder to see things my way, the way they should be. In time, that Seam girl will be a distant memory and you’ll finally see I was the right choice all along.”

I shake my head, knowing there will never be a reality to Delly’s hopes and dreams, “do you really want someone who has to try?” I ask, but she doesn’t offer anything in reply.

“From everything you’ve just said, there’s one important fact in all of this you haven’t mentioned,” Delly looks at me with a puzzled look. “We don’t love each other.”

A few seconds of silence pass before Delly speaks, “that’s true, we don’t…but you know as well as I do, Merchant pairings are arranged for good reason. It’s always been that way and I don’t know of anyone actually marrying for love…not at first. My parents certainly didn’t and neither did yours,” she says, and her words ring true.

I’ve never seen my parents kiss much less give each other a loving embrace or show any sort of real affection towards each other. Merchant marriages are simply deemed a satisfactory match by families who would gain the most financially, especially shop keepers without male heirs to take over their business.

“I could never commit myself to anyone in that way…good or otherwise. If I ever marry, it will be for love,” I confess.

“Maybe in time, we can learn to love each other. I do have feelings for you, isn’t that enough?” Delly asks.

“Not for me,” I answer truthfully.

Delly clenches her fists again and it’s clear she’s not happy with my response, “Do you think coming to Katniss’ rescue will make any difference to her? She will never love you the way you want. Are you blind to see it has always been Gale Hawthorne for her? What do you think she’s been doing with him since you both came back…probably even before the reaping? The only difference is they do it in the woods like wild animals instead of the slag heap!” she yells, scrapping the floor with the legs of her chair as she pushes it back to stand in a fit of anger.

I’m taken back by her scornful words that seemed echoed from a familiar source and I’ve heard enough.

“You need to leave now,” I instruct. “I don’t think there’s anything left for either of us to say.”

She tries to argue her point, but I’m done listening and get up from my chair and walk through to the hallway and open the front door as an obvious hint for her to leave. The time for subtleties is over and it takes a moment for Delly to accept our conversation has ended and the outcome wasn’t anywhere near what she had first hoped for.

As Delly walks towards the door, she stops and looks up to the stairs leading to the bedrooms where I’m sure she knows Katniss is sleeping.

“It was a simple plan really,” she says, her eyes still focused upstairs. “All I had to do was get you to have sex with me until I was sure. It worked for your mother and she said it would work for me too.”

I stand motionless with my mouth gaped open, completely stunned by her admission. It’s no secret why my parents are together. It would have been scandalous if dad hadn’t married my mother after she told him she was pregnant with my oldest brother. The fact my mother spoke to Delly and suggested she deceive me in the same way is beyond belief.

“You need to leave and not come back here again,” I tell Delly.

“But—”

“You planned and schemed with my mother and all this time I thought I was the one being dishonest. I can’t believe you would stoop to her level and use deception as a means to get me to what…marry you?”

What I think may be genuine tears start to flow down her cheeks, I find myself unaffected by them and stand at the front door waiting for Delly to leave.

“It was wrong…I know that now but seeing as we’re being open and honest with each other, we can start all over,” she pleads.

“Start over? As what…friends? I’m afraid it’s too late for even that now.”

Delly looks out to the pathway then turns her head to me, “I just don’t get it. At school, there were so many girls lining up for the chance to be your girl, me included, but you weren’t interested in anyone except Katniss Everdeen. She never even gave you the slightest indication she was interested in you, yet you continued to swoon over her and I never understood what she had above us all…I still don’t.”

No one could ever hold a candle to Katniss but how do I explain the depth of my feelings when I don’t understand it fully myself. All I know is it has no bounds and if I were to find enough words to define it, they would be for Katniss’ ears to hear only.

“Maybe one day you will.”

“You’re a romantic fool Peeta Mellark,” Delly says as she takes the first step out of my house. “Katniss will break your heart again the moment she heals. She’ll sneak out of Twelve the first chance she gets and run into the waiting arms of Gale Hawthorne…and his bed.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?”

“Then why do you still care for her so much?”

Because I can’t let her go.

But I don’t say it and although I wouldn’t say our conversation has been fruitless, there’s already been too much time spent talking when I should have been checking on Katniss instead.

There’s only one thing I have left to say to Delly and I seriously hope she takes heed to my words, “if I can give you one piece of advice to take with you today it would be to forget everything my mother ever told you and never listen to people like her again.”

I’m half-expecting Delly to argue the point but she gives a curt nod and wipes the tears from her eyes. I know this is the conversation we should have had weeks ago but now with everything said and done, it feels like a huge weight has just been lifted from my shoulders.

Delly takes a moment, I guess to let everything sink in before taking another step and stops to look upstairs one last time, “your true love doesn’t deserve you,” she sniffs then starts her walk back to town.

“Goodbye Delly,” I say to myself, closing the door gently behind me and making sure to turn the lock this time.

…tbc

[emospritelet]

WL verse: 27 Can you have Nurse Faye or someone make a passive aggressive bitchy remark to a recovering Lacey about Tilly being in the ICU?

27: “Is there anything more I can do?”

Prompt list here

[AO3]

x

Lacey Weaver wasn’t used to being sick.

She had always been fairly robust, despite living on the streets and in abandoned buildings for years. After meeting Weaver, and settling down, she had flourished, rarely even suffering from colds. But the virus was indiscriminate, it seemed, and it had affected her badly. Even now, able to breathe again and her fever gone, she was as weak as a newborn kitten. It was some comfort to know that neither her husband nor her daughter had caught it, although she worried for the child that was soon to be born.

She ran a hand over her belly, the IV tube taped to the back of her hand catching on a fold of the blanket. The chair beside her bed was empty, and she hoped that Weaver had gone home to get some proper sleep. It was hard to know what time it was in the hospital, but there was light coming in through the window. Perhaps he and Tilly were eating breakfast together, seated around the kitchen table of their new home in the suburbs with the morning sun streaming in. Or perhaps he had relaxed the rule she herself had set down about eating meals at the table, and was letting Tilly eat her breakfast on her knees in front of the TV. He almost certainly had. The thought made her smile.

The door opened, and Lacey pushed herself up a little further on the pillows as Nurse Faye walked in, pushing one of the meal trolleys. She was efficient enough, but cold and clinical, Lacey found. 

“How are you feeling, Mrs Weaver?” she asked, her tone dismissive.

“Fine,” said Lacey. “A lot better, actually. Can I go home?”

“That’s for the doctor to decide.”

She moved the tray table into place, taking the breakfast tray from the trolley and setting it down. Lacey looked at it without enthusiasm. A bowl of porridge with raisins, a cup of peach yogurt and a bagel. Her appetite had not yet returned, but she knew she needed to eat. The cup of tea to the side was more welcome. Nurse Faye took her pulse, then her temperature, nodding stiffly and making a note on her chart. 

“Stay in bed,” she said, in a tone that suggested Lacey had been planning on racing up and down the corridors on a gurney. “Your fever is gone, but we need to be sure you don’t pose a danger to others.”

“I’m not exactly gonna go around licking the door handles,” said Lacey tartly, and the nurse frowned at her.

“No, but you might decide to go to the ICU to check on your daughter,” she said, matching Lacey’s tone. “The doctors are extremely busy, and you’d only get in the way.”

Lacey blinked rapidly as a cold hand squeezed her heart, making it thump in fear.

“What?” she demanded. “Tilly? Are you saying she’s here? She’s sick?”

“Yes.” Nurse Faye was watching her impassively, but there was the tiniest quirk at the side of her mouth that made Lacey’s hackles rise. “Didn’t your husband mention it?”

Her mouth twitched further, a twist of her lips bordering on a smirk, and Lacey’s eyes narrowed. She gets off on giving people bad news. She likes having that power over the patients, keeping them in the dark until they say something she doesn’t damn well like. Bitch. Dammit, Rafe, why the hell didn’t you tell me?

“I guess maybe he did, but I was half-asleep when he came in,” she said, trying for a calm she didn’t feel. “How is she?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Nurse Faye lightly. “Although if she’s in the ICU, I don’t suppose it’s a mild case.”

Lacey wanted to scream at the woman, but she held her nerve. Her fingers dug into the blankets, fists clenching.

“I need to see her,” she said, and Nurse Faye shook her head, tutting.

“I just told you that wasn’t possible.”

“Then I need to see a doctor.”

“I’m afraid they’re busy.”

“Dammit!” Lacey snapped, slapping the blankets. The smirk grew a little, and she wanted to strangle the woman. “When can I see her?”

“When I tell you,” said Nurse Faye, and nodded at the tray. “Eat your breakfast.”

She closed the door, and Lacey glared after her. Her anger faded into fear as she thought of her daughter, lying in a bed in intensive care, sick and scared. Turning back to the breakfast tray, she pulled a face. Any appetite she might have had was gone, but she needed strength, and so she wolfed down the tepid porridge, followed by the yogurt, and crammed the bagel into her mouth between sips of tea. At least that was hot.

Slipping from the bed, she tested her strength, a little unsteady on her feet. There was a hospital issue gown on the chair by the bed, which she had used on the few occasions she had left to use the bathroom. Anyone seeing her out in the corridor would assume that was where she was going. If she happened to take a detour to the ICU, Nurse Faye would never know.

x

The house was too quiet.

Weaver had not expected to sleep, whatever Nurse Gale had said, but she had been right. He had lain down fully clothed on his bed when he got back home, and the next thing he knew, it was dawn. The house was silent, and the blissful oblivion he had felt on waking from sleep vanished in a flash as he remembered why. His mouth was dry, a foul taste in his mouth, his clothes wrinkled and uncomfortable, and he sat up, running his hands over his face. His wife was in the hospital recovering from the virus, his daughter was in the ICU, and he was sitting on his arse doing fuck all to change it.

Getting angry at himself usually helped him to get moving, and true to form he pushed to his feet, tearing off his wrinkled clothes and heading for the shower. Thirty minutes later, he was clean, dressed, and nursing a cup of coffee in anxious hands, waiting until he could head to the hospital. There were restrictions in place for visitors now. He wondered how Lacey was doing. Whether he could bring her home. He needed to tell her about Tilly, and felt guilty for lying to her, but while she was still weak, perhaps it was for the best. He glanced at the clock, and gulped the rest of his coffee, wincing as it scalded his throat. Time to go.

x

Lacey made her way down the corridor, wheeling her IV on its rack beside her. The floor was cold beneath her feet, and she knew she needed to get back to her room quickly before she was missed, but fear for Tilly made her keep going, turning the corner and almost bumping into a running junior doctor. The ICU was hectic, filled with hurrying staff and the odd desperate-looking family member, and she saw a young nurse with brown, shining hair and an air of calm efficiency herding the visitors out in a line, instructing them to keep their distance from one another. Lacey slipped past her as she was arguing with a particularly vocal woman.

“I told you, only one family member per patient,” she said. “And only when the doctor says it’s okay. I need you to take a seat and wait.”

Lacey slipped through the door, fingers tightening on the chrome stand of the IV as her eyes swept around the ward. There was no sign of Tilly, and she was unsure whether to be relieved or not. Perhaps Nurse Faye had been lying, and Tilly was safe and well, at home with her father.

“Mrs Weaver?”

A familiar voice made her turn, and Lacey tried to look as though she was meant to be there. Dr Milliner was kind and knowledgeable, and had been the one to treat her when she first arrived at the hospital. He looked tired, his eyes hollow and his cheeks unshaven. She wondered when he had last had a full night’s sleep.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “What are you doing out of bed?”

Lacey hesitated.

“I - someone told me my daughter was here,” she said. “Is that true?”

“Lacey?”

She glanced around to where her husband was standing by the door, his eyes wide and frightened. Dr Milliner glanced away, sucking in his cheeks as Weaver strode up to them. He hadn’t shaved either, and looked just as tired. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, sounding as close to scared as she had ever heard him. “Did - did something happen?”

“How could you not tell me our daughter was sick?” she demanded, and he looked pained.

“Lacey…”

“She’s gonna be alright,” interrupted Dr Milliner, before Lacey could respond. “I - look, it’s only supposed to be one parent at a time, but since you’re a patient, Mrs Weaver, I’ll waive that. Come with me.”

He led them swiftly to a bed at the end of the room, where curtains were still drawn around it, and pulled them back. Lacey clutched Weaver’s hand as Tilly was revealed, lying with her eyes closed and a ventilator mask over her mouth and nose, brown hair curled on the pillow. Weaver threaded his fingers through hers, squeezing tight, and Lacey could feel tears prick her eyelids. Machines were beeping, keeping pace with her racing heart, and she shook her head.

“She looks so small,” she said thickly. 

Weaver released her hand, putting an arm around her and pulling her close. Dr Milliner gave them a tired smile.

“You did the right thing bringing her to us,” he said. “Her fever had spiked, and she was having trouble breathing.”

“I was told she was in a bad way,” said Weaver, sounding anxious. “How bad are we talking?”

Dr Milliner shook his head.

“She’s gonna be okay,” he said gently. “Last night I was worried about her prognosis, but she responded well. We’ve brought the fever down, sedated her to calm her down and let the machine do its work getting oxygen into her. She’s stable, and no longer critical.”

“Oh thank God!” Lacey felt like hugging him, and Dr Milliner’s smile widened.

“I want to keep her in for a few days, make sure there’s no sign of pneumonia, but she’ll be okay. She’s a tough little cookie.”

“Takes after her mother,” said Weaver, and Lacey laid her head on his shoulder with a shuddering sigh of relief. He kissed the top of her head.

“Right,” said Dr Milliner. “Well, you should really get back to bed, Mrs Weaver. I’ll be along to run some tests in a while, and if I’m happy with the results, you can go home today. How does that sound?”

Lacey nodded, wanting to cry with relief.

“That sounds great.”

“Good.” He glanced between them. “Now. Is there anything more I can do?”

“No, thank you, Doctor,” said Weaver. “Thanks for saving them.”

“Anytime.”

Dr Milliner hurried off again, and Lacey turned to face her husband, taking his hand in hers. Weaver was watching her with a wary, almost guilty expression on his face, and let out a heavy sigh, opening his mouth.

“I get it,” she said, before he could speak. “I get why you didn’t tell me.”

He seemed to sag with relief, his grip tightening on hers.

“Maybe I should have,” he admitted.

“Maybe,” she allowed. “Would I have, if our positions had been reversed? Probably not.”

He smiled faintly, and leaned in to kiss her.

“Well, you heard the doctor,” he said. “Back to bed with you, or I won’t get to take you home.”

Lacey leaned into him, taking a moment to rest against his firm chest as she gazed at their daughter.

“Are you sure she’s gonna be okay?” she whispered, and felt him nod, his arms going around her.

“You heard the doctor,” he said. “I’ve cornered the market in tough cookies, it seems.”

“Weavers are hard to kill,” she said stoutly, and he chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest that made her cling to him a little harder.

“I’m sure the newest Weaver will be just as tough,” he remarked. “Come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

[whiskeykneat]

The West Wind [1/?]

ONE ~ Like Clockwork

Notes: I am rewriting this fic, the original of which you can find under the pen name “whiskeyneat” on ao3 and ffn. I will be editing the one on ao3 to reflect these changes, however, the ffn one will eventually be deleted and replaced. Updates will be staggered as I primarily write for another fandom and have to balance my multiple WIPs with my regular life. // Words: 2278 // Rating: T for mention of prostitution and war violence. Chapters which are explicit will be tagged as such.// Tag list: want to be tagged? Comment and I’ll tag you on the next update!

1875, Dakota Territory.

 "There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls." (George Carlin)

 "You're what?" Gale's thoughts are still muzzy from the night before, and they take awhile to form and connect. Delly Cartwright, his right hand gal, is standing over him, a smile playing on her plush pink lips. She looks as fresh and pure as if she just stepped from the pages of a ladies magazine, the kind the soiled doves at Madame Coin's pore over (though they are no longer ladies), come all the way from Richmond with the mail coach. 

The last time I saw Richmond, it was burning... He can still hear the roar of the flames some nights, when the moon is cool and round as a silver dollar, and he's alone with his memories, of a boy and a war and the terrible things a boy must do to become a man. 

"Drink up, soldier." Delly leans in, and Gale catches a whiff of her scent, green and cool as spring water, and he wishes for the thousandth time that he could be the man she needs, a good man -- but that man died somewhere between Gettysburg and the Battle of the Crater -- yes, he died long ago, in Twelvetrees, when the world was crisp and new and the sun rose over the blue mountains. 

"What is it, Miss Cartwright?" He's wide awake now, and his head is pounding louder than a Sioux war drum. Wordlessly, Gale accepts the willow pithy from her hand and chews it dry, swallowing it down with a gulp of water so gritty it makes his teeth ache for just one sip from the ice cold spring that flowed beside his boyhood home, back in the mountains, lost to him now. "What's so damn important you had to wake me up?" 

"That chair is bad for your back." He looks down at Delly's hands and realizes she's holding a pillow, embroidered with a stitch so fine that it makes his eyes water. She places it between Gale and the hard back of the chair, and as he sinks against it, he wishes again that he was the kind of man who could marry her, but she's too good for this place. 

As if on cue, there's a sound like cannon fire from the hill just above town, and Gale vaults upright, reaching blindly for a rifle that isn't there. The Yankees are coming. The world blurs and he's back in Gettysburg, just a boy, watching as a sea of blue pours down the valley towards him, his hands sweaty on his bayonet, until beside him Finnick begins to yip a wild war cry, and all the men up and down the line join in along with him. Give 'em hell, boys!

"Mr Hawthorne! It's all right! Mr Hawthorne!" Delly snaps her fingers sharply in front of Gale's face, and the world rights itself, coming back to the stark lines of reality. "That's just the General's cannon, signaling break of day." Delly's soothing Virginia drawl reels Gale back to 1875, twelve years on and a world away from the blood soaked earth of the place that was once home, the one place -- the one person -- he yeans for, above anything, but to whom he can never return.  

She's married to someone else now. The thought still hurts as much as if it were yesterday that he stood in the gloaming and watched his girl brush her hair by candlelight through the window, only a tiny smile letting him know she knew he was there. The next day, he'd been on his way to the War, with her red ribbon wrapped around his wrist, marking him as hers, forever. He didn't know, then, that he'd never return. 

"Mr Hawthorne. Sit down." Delly pushes on his shoulders, and he drops back into the chair, his surroundings coming into focus, bare and stark. "Coffee." She places a mug of thick black gold on the desk before him with a thunk. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

But not this. No, he isn't that boy anymore, and he hasn't been for a long time, but he's still a man who's done dark and terrible things to get to the place he is now, and even though he regrets them, he can't share it with anyone except the ones who were there, the ones who stood in that valley with him as the mud turned red with their blood. "It's nothing." 

Delly looks away, she crosses to the window and throws the curtains open. Somewhere, across the sunrise, a cuckoo is singing, ku-ku-ku. "I may have fought a different war, Mr Hawthorne, but I was in it all the same." She inhales a deep breath, then turns around. "I'm leaving." 

Gale is struck dumb, the shock stripping the words from his tongue. Some things are a given in Panem: every morning, the General's cannon booms, signaling another day in hell to the miners; Haymitch Abernathy will always stagger into The Hob demanding a bottle of rotgut whiskey; and Delly Cartwright is Gale Hawthorne's secretary and stage manager, keeping The Hob from running itself into the ground. He couldn't have a better right hand woman: she balances the books, she keeps the place running like clockwork, and the miners all adore her. 

"Leaving?" Gale's words are hoarse, they come out in a croak, and he throws back a revitalizing gulp of thick, hot coffee (real beans, all the way from civilization, not the chicory they used to drink of a morning back in the lines), scalding his tongue. 

Delly twists her hands, looking at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but at her employer -- former employer, as of today. When he stands up, she shivers, like a prairie hen sighted by the fox. "Yes." A note of deep reluctance has entered her tone. "Wheatley Mellark offered me marriage, Mr Hawthorne, and we're headed to San Francisco." She swallows, and lifts her chin. Tears sparkle in those big blue eyes, and he knows that if he gave her a single sign, her resolve would crumble at once. "We're leaving today. In an hour. I'm sorry." 

As if on cue, there is a sharp rap on the door, and Gale's hand goes reflexively to his holster. His eyes meet Delly's, and he drops his hand from his gun, reaching out to stroke her cheek instead. Neither of them will ever know what he might of done next, how he might have changed all their fates in a single instant, because the door creaks open and Gale drops his hand as though burned, a deep blush spreading over Delly's freckled cheek. 

"Miss Cartwright!" Wheatley Mellark steps into the room, brows drawing together in consternation at how close Delly and Gale are to one another at this moment, and Gale steps back to a respectful distance. After all, it's not as if he has a tendré for Miss Cartwright. It's only business between them, that's all it's ever been. 

He tries not to think of how he almost touched her just now, he pushes that beyond him. It's too late for that, it's gone with the song of the cuckoo, melted into the heat of the morning. He spends far too many nights in the company of Comstock Hanna for this to ever have been anything other than what it is, even with all that lies unspoken here in the upper rooms of The Hob; the air simmering with something he dares not put a name to. 

"Mr Mellark." Delly ducks her flaxen head, stepping back from Gale and looking at her fiancé from under darkened lashes. 

Gale can almost see the wheels turning in Wheatley's brain as he looks between the two of them, and he holds out his hand. "My felicitations on your upcoming nuptials, Mr Mellark." 

Wheatley lets out a puff of air, shaking Gale's hand, his grip tighter than Gale would like, both men baring their teeth as they pump up and down with a grip like a vise between them. "Thank you kindly, Mr Hawthorne." There is a hardness around Wheatley's mouth, and Gale wonders if Delly knows just what kind of a man she's about to marry, or if she would have married anyone just to escape Panem. To escape this. Him. 

He runs one hand over his unshaven chin, studying the pair of them. Delly reacts first, she tucks her hand into Mellark's elbow and kisses his cheek perfunctorily, like the best damn Sarah Bernhardt impersonator this side of the Mississippi. "Mr Mellark." 

"I'll be waiting downstairs, Miss Cartwright. Don't be long." Gale doesn't like the warning tone in Wheatley's voice, but he can't do anything about it. She's made her choice -- just like Katniss, both of them leaving him for Mellarks. 

"Yes, Mr Mellark, I'll be down shortly. I still have to say my goodbyes to Mr O'Dair and Mr Thresh, and --" Wheatley cuts Delly off with a firm kiss on her those lips, a mouth made for sin, his eyes flicking at Gale as he stakes his claim. Then, running a hand over his waxed mustache and elaborate muttonchops, he sharply nods to Gale, and exits the room, his boots clomping loudly down the stairs.

From the ground floor, Gale can hear the piano tinkling off-key, and loud cursing as Haymitch Abernathy stumbles  through the saloon doors, there to fetch his first bottle of rotgut for the day. Yes, it's like clockwork: the cannon, the rotgut, and Delly... "You're leaving," he says gruffly, pulling a bottle of whiskey out of his desk and tipping it into his coffee. Today calls for something stronger. 

"We can't be beholden to this town, Mr Mellark and I." There is a new thread of resolve in her voice, and he's not surprised. She always was one of the strongest women he's ever met, with a core of pure steel. "General Snow was putting pressure on Wheatley for protection money. A baker! Needing to pay for protection! Have you ever heard such a damn fool thing?" Delly begins to pace, her sprigged muslin skirts rustling. "Me and Mr Mellark don't mean to spend our lives beholden to the grace and mercy of the General. That's no life at all." She crosses her arms, staring out the window, as though willing the sun to never rise on the dusty streets of Panem. "And I can't stay here, Mr Hawthorne. Everything I want..." 

I can't give it to you. He doesn't have to say it. It's there in the room as though he's spoken it aloud. If he had a heart, he lost it long ago, to the girl with the stars in her eyes, lost now to the memories of the mountains he can never return to, to the man he never could have been, and the life that will never be. "Delly..." he breathes out her name and she's there beside him, sitting down on the desk and taking the bottle from his numb fingers to tip it into her mouth. 

She coughs, wiping the back of her hand over her lips, and takes another swig. Forget if Delly knows who she's marrying -- he wonders if Wheatley knows who he's marrying, just what kind of a diamond he's mined from the grit of this dark town. "It's not my fight any longer, and God willing, you won't let it become yours. There's more to life than vengeance, Gale. Katniss may not understand that, but don't let her fight become yours." 

Doesn't she understand that he's been fighting since the day he was born, that family trumps all, that the bonds of blood and bone will never leave him? "I can't change Panem, Delly -- I know that. I'm just one man." And if he could -- would he? But he knows the answer. 

General Coriolanus Snow owns the mine, and in a sense, he also owns the town. Hell, every saloon on Main Street owes fealty to Snow, and they all pay the devil his due -- or else they find themselves six feet under. Only a fool would take on a madman like Snow alone, and Gale has never been a fool. 

"So you say." Delly hands the bottle back to him, and wordlessly begins to fix his collar. Her hair brushes his nose, and that clear green water smell is softer and sweeter than ever, and if he closes his eyes for a single second he can imagine he is back in Twelvetrees, and that there's a different girl before him, a name that lives on the tip of his tongue in that aching place between waking and dreams. "A man would need an army behind him for that... Captain." She places his hat on his head, tugging down the brim at a rakish angle. 

"Delly..." Gale swallows his words, he doesn't know what else to say. I want...

"Everything I want has never been mine to have." She smiles, a sad, wistful smile, and pats his chest, surveying her work. "She's out there, Mr Hawthorne. Somewhere. I know she is. And you'll find her again, I know it." 

And then she's so close that he can swear he'll know just how those pink lips will taste, and he closes his eyes. Delly's lips brush his cheek, and when he opens them again, she's gone.  

He is in The Hob, his pride and joy, the saloon he built with his own two hands. This is the mining town of Panem, nestled in the Black Hills of South Dakota, and none of them are any longer the people they used to be. 

Once. Long ago...

[slipteeha]

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[everlark-your-own-adventure]

Powder Keg - Ch 3

Happy Monday, Everlarkers! Last week’s episode of EYOA’s Powder Keg left our Katniss with a dilemma - call in Grumpy Gale on his day off, or spend an entire day with archnemesis Peeta, who somehow broke her heart.

You chose for Katniss to throw caution to the wind and spend the day with Peeta. What happens next? Our own @burkygirl continues the drama (hang on to your hats, kids, this one’s a doozy!)

As always, you have 48 hours to vote, until noon, Wednesday, November the 22nd. Remember, vote in the comments or reblogs, not in the tags! And as always, share with your friends, more voices = more fun! Ready? Here we go…

The door to the staff room slams behind me as I storm away. I have got to get some fresh air. I need to be alone for 10 seconds or I’m going to scream. Fucking Johanna. She might as well have stuffed us into a get-along shirt like a couple of bratty kids. And what kind of choice is that anyway? As if I’m going to drag Gale up here on his day off to deal with a bunch of kids just because Dickwad is doing a tap dance on my very last nerve. That's not fair to Gale. He works two jobs to help his mom take care of his brothers and sisters and this is the only day he gets to sleep in. And anyway, I definitely don't need him running up here and trying to save me.

The cold air slices through my lungs the minute I step outside. I close my eyes and breathe deeply; each sharp, frosty inhale forcing the red haze just a little bit farther away. When I’m calm, I go back inside and find Peeta in the staff room packing up his gear to go home for the day.

“What are you doing?”

His expression is flat, emotionless as he methodically packs his bag. “What does it look like? I’m obviously not going to get any work here today. I might as well go home and help Dad at the bakery if I’m going to work for free.”

My attempt at another calming breath comes out like an impatient huff instead. “We have a class, like, any minute.”

His eyes snap to mine. “You didn’t call Hawthorne?”

I throw myself in a scruffy armchair that must have gotten dragged in here when it was no longer presentable for the guest area. “No. I am not going to do that to Gale on his day off. Just stay away from me, Mellark, and it’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to do that if we’re supposed to work together all day.” Peeta runs his fingers through his hair until it’s standing on end. “I just don’t get why we can’t be friends, Katniss. We used to be, or at least, I thought we were. I don’t understand why you’re so determined to hate my guts.”

“Are you kidding me right now? You completely humiliated me and you don’t even remember it?”

He leans against his locker with a puzzled grimace painted on his features. “No. Elaborate.”

I don’t - I can’t - answer that. Three years later, the wound is still too raw. I’ll cry or kill him. Neither option is acceptable so I jump out of my chair and go back outside to wait for the kids.

The worst, most painful part of all of this is that he can't even recall what he did to me.

Three years ago, I thought Peeta and I were well on our way to being a couple.

Nearly every morning, he’d greet me on the slopes, his eyes as bright and blue as the sky behind him. We’d spend the day carving up the slopes, skiing in and out of each other’s turns just like he did today. We drank hot chocolate in the lodge while we warmed our toes by the fire, Peeta’s arm thrown over my shoulders. I’d laugh at his corny jokes and tell stories about the time I spent here with my dad. Some nights, we’d stay for night skiing and we’d fly down the mountain together, the snow beneath us a sparkling carpet of sugar as we whooshed along under the glow of the lights. Then Peeta would drive me home and we’d listen to classic rock as we bumped down the mountain.

Gale tried to warn me about him. He said I was reading too much into Peeta’s friendly gestures, that he was a player and I needed to be careful. Gale had been hinting at wanting to be more than friends with me for awhile, so I just brushed it off. I told him he didn’t know Peeta, that he wouldn’t do that to me.

A few days before Christmas, Peeta and I were lingering in the warmth of his truck, listening to tunes and reliving the best parts of our day when he turned toward me and his crooked smile grew serious.

“You’re a really great girl, Katniss,” he said, and then his gaze flicked away. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip and his thumb drummed on the steering wheel.

“Thanks,” I managed to choke out. “I like hanging out with you too.” The drumming stopped and Peeta reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. My pulse skittered as his fingers trailed along my jaw. I stirred in my seat, my body yearning to close the space between us. As if of a will of its own, my chin lifted and I admired the way the dashboard lights made him look like he’d been sculpted from marble.

His lips were firm and warm when they met mine and my body melted beneath them. His fingers threaded through my hair tugging me closer and I gasped in response, giving him the chance to capture my bottom lip between his own. My hands flew up to his shoulders, enjoying their strength and revelling in the warmth of his presence and the spicy goodness of his cologne. He tasted of chocolate and cinnamon and it made me greedy for more. I welcomed his tongue as it slipped past my lips, sliding against mine, twisting around it before flicking across the roof of my mouth and backing away, forcing me to chase it into the warm darkness of its cave where I plundered its depths.

A light flickered on the front porch of the house and Peeta dragged his lips away, framing my face in his hands and lowering his forehead against mine.

“I think someone is sending us a signal,” he panted. “I should let you go inside.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Peeta pressed his lips against my forehead and then climbed out of his truck. While he got my skis out of the back, I pulled the rest of my gear from the cab. He carried my skis to the door and then a shy smile crossed his face. “Did you hear about the party in the dorms at the lodge tomorrow night? The instructors have been inviting some of the guests our age. Are you going?”

I’d heard about it. Gale had asked me to go with him. I’d said no. Parties weren’t exactly my scene, especially with the out of town ski instructors, but with Peeta at my side, it might be worth my time.

“Yeah, I think so.”

His smile turned to a grin and he bent down to kiss my cheek. “I’ll see you then,” then he turned back to his truck, his hands stuffed into his pockets. I went inside and, ignoring the questioning looks from my mother, headed straight to my room.

When I arrived at the party the next night, it was in full swing. The air was filled with smoke and the clinking of bottles as people relaxed to the music. I scanned the room for faces I knew. Johanna, not yet a manager, was wrapped around a hulking blonde instructor named Gloss. A guy named Finnick had his head in the lap of a shy girl whose name, I think, was Annie. Gale was scowling in a corner, his beer clutched in his fist. And in the middle of it all was Peeta, his arm wrapped around another girl our age named Bristel who was snuggled up beside him. A wave of emotions crashed over me, extinguishing any flame I might have been tending for Peeta. It was a potent brew, a blend of humiliation and disappointment. Tears threatened and I bit down on my lip so that I didn’t give them both a piece of my mind.

I stood there, waiting for him to notice my arrival. When his gaze fell upon me, he gave me a wave and returned to his conversation with her. I’d been dismissed. Clearly, the night before had just been a lark, something to do because he was bored. He was a jerk. An ass. A party-barge-sized douche.

My thoughts were swirling so fast I heard nothing as I walked out, starting back for my mother’s car that I’d borrowed for the evening. As I sat in the dark trying not to cry, I heard a tap at the window. Gale needed a ride home. I told him to get in and we drove back to town in silence.

I never spoke to Peeta after that night and to this day, Gale has never so much as offered me an “I told you so.”

My dismay when I heard Peeta and I would be both hanging around the instructor’s lounge this winter was almost too much to bear. I was going to have to deal with him everyday, just to have a shot at this sweet job that is double what anything else pays in town. And now we have to spend all day teaching a bunch of nine-year-olds to ski? My life sucks sweaty balls.

The bus rumbles up the road and I can see the kids bouncing up and down in their seats. The door opens wide and they all pile out, jabbering away at the top of their lungs.

A young teacher is the last to disembark. She makes her way to me and shakes my hand with a smile.

“I’m Madge Undersee,” she says, “and this is my class. As you can see, we’re very excited.”

“Katniss,” I tell her. “Welcome to Mt. Mockingjay.”

“And I’m Peeta,” says my nemesis, who has appeared beside me, and I watch as Madge falls under his spell. She giggles. Giggles! It’s disgusting.

“We’re your instructors for the day.” He turns to me. “Shall we get started?”

At my nod, Madge claps her hands and calls out to her students who soon fall into silence.

When they are quiet, I speak up, unwilling to let Peeta establish himself as the leader for the day.

“Welcome to Mt. Mockingjay,” I say to the wriggling masses. “I’m Katniss and this is Peeta. We’re going to get you on skis in a bit, but first we have to go over some rules. These are for your safety and-”

And just like that, they’ve tuned me out and returned to talking to each other. A sharp, “Class!” from their teacher brings them back in line.

Peeta holds up his orange helmet. “This is your brain bucket,” he calls out and the kids laugh. “You put it on before you put on your skis and you don’t take it off until you take your skis off. Got it?”

Twenty-two heads nod.

“Peeta and I are your teachers today,” I tell them. “No one leaves the bunny hill until we say you’re ready.” A couple of boys in the back of the crowd roll their eyes.

Beside me, Peeta clears his throat. “But we know you all can do it and even if you don’t get down a big hill today you’ll learn enough today that you might be able to do it next time.”

Ugh. He’s so good at this stuff. It makes me crazy. I’m the one who’s been practically raising a kid since I was one myself and with a cheesy grin and a bad joke, he's won them over.

It’s a bit like the way my dad used to handle his students, which annoys me further.

“Are we allowed to have snowboards?” pipes up one of the eye rollers.

I look to the teacher who gives a slight nod. The potential for a clear division of labour emerges.

So now I’ve got a choice to make. I can divide them up, boarders and skiers, and cross my fingers that they won’t all choose boards just to hang out with Peeta, or we can go with them to get their equipment and test them together.

One option means Peeta and I each have a separate class to teach today, lowering the risk of a blow-up. It also means I run the risk of having his success compared to mine, again, when I’m already in serious jeopardy of losing this job.

What should I do?

[kateemmerson]

Honoring the Call of Closure

Honoring the Call of Closure

A pilgrimage to the heart of the lonely gap that exists between NO LONGER … and … NOT YET.

If you find yourself reading this post, then you probably already know me and my work and want to know what I have been up to, or someone has suggested you come and read it. Don’t curse them when you see the length – they have their reason and must love you enough to give you this nudge along your path. If you want the shortened Haiku (5-7-5) version so you can get the gist and move on with your day – here goes:

Pause and honor life

Connect to the sacred pulse

Embrace threads of love

This blog is a bit (well um, a lot) longer than normal, so grab a cuppa’ or a tall glass of something delicious to drink, and come walk with me for a wee while.

We are off to a remote island…on a pilgrimage. Not an island holiday – but a deep immersion to challenge life head-on, and to be curious about what I might find there. Scary as hell, but exciting as heck.

I would like to mention right up front that this feels like a deeply personal sharing. I feel called to document and attempt to do justice to the mammoth journey I have recently immersed in. While I tackle everything I embark on in life with mindful awareness, (along with a massive dose of salt and humor), this one has been exceptionally profound. Trust your gut whether to read on or not…

I guess it’s the layered convergence of a few things: the location I journeyed to for my pilgrimage, what I came to do and why, and the timing of it. I’m not simply referring to July 2020, stuck with the rest of the world before, during and after the ‘easing up” of restrictions, but more so from a personal juncture in my life and all the threads that were weaving together at this time. Or more accurately the threads that were “un-raveling and un-weaving simultaneously” at 52 years old.

  There are two forms of courage in this world. One that demands we jump into action with our armor on. The other demands that we strip ourselves bare-naked and surrender. Bravery is a curious thing. Jeff Brown

#The Quiet Beckons

Are you perhaps there right now and also needing to stop a while to sit with the un-weavings in your life?

These moments in time are what many traditions call ‘initiations’. A time to walk through the doorway of personal transformation. A new chapter. To re-evaluate. Reset. To go into the cave no matter what you find there. Many loosely refer to this a time of retreat (but some folk think that a retreat is simply a time of rest in a lovely setting – that is a holiday). When these particular times beckon us, we have to go directly INTO the fire in order to be transformed. There is no walking around it. No pussyfooting or side-stepping. Perhaps for a while, you can ignore or pause it. But not indefinitely, as the rumble and rattle of the call will inch deeper and deeper into your cells, relentlessly. If repeatedly put off, then life will figure a way to throw you down in your own tracks in order to get your attention. It could be in the way of illness, death, divorce, financial ruin, being retrenched, or global scale disasters – hello virus. A lot of the time it just feels overwhelmingly scary, inappropriately timed and miraculously something else will just win the battle for priority. For now!

Lack of money, time-poor, kids’ demands, partner’s needs, work obligations and our inner voice protesting that we cannot possibly indulge in and follow the call to ”take time out”. I have often looked on enviously at those who live more within the tradition of wise cultures, where ceremony and ritual is embedded into their lives and they follow the rhythm of nature, seasons and sun, moon cycles every day. I have tried, somewhat unsuccessfully I might add, to create that for myself over the years. To carve out time to immerse in things that matter to me. To live closer to the rhythm of life. To create a little “altar” of things that matter to me when I travel. To wake up with the sun in my room and sleep early. But I have also spent five years of summers in a row, never getting the quieter rest time of winter, which can play havoc with circadian cycles. Sometimes I try and follow daily rhythm because it’s the only thing I know how to do. At other times I have been led into that journey of remembering by someone else on my path – be it partner, friend or teacher.

#My Travelling Altar

I know this for sure, we are all here to evolve, expand, learn and transform. The flip side means that it also requires the polar opposite to close out, let go, contract and move on. We need both these sides of the spectrum to fully embrace and live our highest life.

I heeded the call.

I embarked on a solo pilgrimage to a minute, remote island called Iona. It’s really a wee rock at just 1.5 miles by 3 miles where only residents are allowed cars. You can’t even walk all the circumference of the island, as it is so wild, craggy and difficult in places. With only 120 or so permanent residents who brave life all year round, this swells massively to about 175 000 pilgrims and visitors annually (not in Covid times of course). Some visit for just a few hours between ferry crossings from Mull, just time enough to walk the ancient path from pier to the Abbey that dominates the landscape – to taste the wild isle and stand awestruck in front of the carved Celtic crosses or visit King’s graves. Perhaps be lucky enough to grab the famous cream tea at the Argyll Hotel, or stare at the Sound of Iona scanning for dolphins and seals from the St Columba’s garden tables, munching an organic salad and local “hogget” burger. Nowadays you can even rent a lovely bike. Ha-ha – be warned – they have no gears and you have to backpedal to break, but you get the hang of it pretty fast and it’s a total delight to wheel past the shore and explore the island.

  But for these day-trippers it’s more of a fleeting visit to tick off the bucket list. It may plant the seed to promise to return … one day. But it in no ways allows you to soak up the healing energy here. One of my favorite times of day is when the last ferry has backed off the pier and you can feel the island exhale and settle into its silent womb again. Everyone you see from then on has the privilege of staying put for the night.

#Carved Crosses Loom in the Landscape

A warm envelope of quiet love and immense possibility descends. Such is the lure of this sacred isle. A wee isle with monumental power. Within the wild elementals of this ancient Celtic land with deep Christian roots, it is said that the “veil between the two worlds is very thin”. Meaning you always feel more closely connected to the spiritual world here. It feels more accessible no matter how disconnected you are when you arrive. If you have never heard of Iona, I lovingly laugh and mean no disrespect when I say it’s the “ass-end of nowhere”, whereas in actual fact it feels like the center of the universe to those of us who venture here. You usually feel “called” to visit to be honest, as you don’t just happen upon this island one day. Getting here is somewhat of a mammoth pilgrimage all in itself. Part of the shedding process of the external skin.

  When the ancient mystery of Iona has beckoned, the journey starts the moment you make the decision to answer that call. The energy starts weaving from that point on. But when you first set physical eyes upon it from the pier at Fionnphort on the Ross of Mull – it’s easy to feel a bit let down and disappointed. SO SMALL? That’s it? This is what I traveled all this way for? Mmm – don’t be so easily fooled by appearances.

  When you have rested your weary head under these stars, it’s impossible to leave as the same person that arrived. Ever!

  So I have penned this blog for heartfelt personal reasons, as a way to capture some essence of this recent experience for myself. Firstly to inform myself by writing it down, which creates another layer of processing it all and living it again. And secondly, if by reading it, you too happen to be inspired to embark on a similar kind of pilgrimage or retreat process one day, or this becomes your beckoning call to Iona– then how lovely will that be for both of us?

  To put my experience bluntly – I feel like a snake that has shed a few skins.

  I think I look the same, sound the same, walk the same, laugh the same and eat and drink just as much as ever, but I FEEL different. The old adage of “pull yourself towards yourself lass” rings in my ears and my heart. That was the point after all. I have not been on some massive diet, makeover or had a new photoshoot. Quite the opposite to be honest as it’s been a deep-dive journey into the cave of CLOSURE. Wild, windswept hair, zero make-up most days, crying, laughing, dancing, singing to recently shawn sheep and mostly sitting, staring at the splendid views and …being. Finding a spot to plonk down and do what I came to do. The inner work. Usually clad with about 5 layers of clothes on for all sorts of rapidly changing weather. A vest, gym top, jacket, gilet-puffer and a supposedly waterproof outer later. (Yes mum, it isn’t quite doing its job and I’m often a cold, wet mess). The next minute I’ll be stripped down to my vest only, and then it’s all piled back on again in a flash. Plenty of workouts in that process, at least ten times day!

  I had one directive – do the inner work in rain, gales or shine. A three-week gap. I needed to get away with myself, to be by myself, to fall in love with myself again. There was a much deeper purpose to this specific retreat.

I had found myself in the challenging place of NO LONGER …but…NOT YET!

  My watchful #AngelOwl 

What do you say when someone asks you what you “do”, and you no longer love most of what once brought you deep joy, satisfaction and energy? When you feel that even as the words come out your mouth it’s confusing because there are so many facets to what you do? I was watching and witnessing words come out my mouth that simply didn’t resonate with me anymore. Over the years, my business has at different times been very niched, then morphed and generalized, only to be re-niched and rebranded again, then generalized ad Infinitum. I understand that the natural expansion and contraction of business emulates nature. And here I was at the point of needing to contract once again.

      Consciously contract. The bigger the expansion, the bigger the contraction, right?

I was starting to feel increasingly confused by myself; too fragmented, disjointed and discombobulated. Honestly, a bit bored of my work, myself and a little disinterested in life. It’s a real killer for me to confess that. I was all over the place both literally and figuratively and just way too busy. But busy with what exactly? There were immense pockets of joy and delight too – don’t get me wrong. It was just that whenever I “hovered” over my life and looked in from the outside, I knew that it was NOT what I wanted to be feeling, doing or living into anymore. Something was shifting but I hadn’t caught up with myself yet.

  I truly believe that just because you ONCE loved doing something, loved your work/career/business, loved a home, or your country, loved another person, etc., that it doesn’t mean you still do love it. Or even if you do still love it now, it doesn’t automatically mean that you always will feel the same way in the future. Yet we want to hold onto that idea for some reason.

Never letting go.

Fear of moving on.

Hold on tight now.

  That realization that you once DID love it in past tense doesn’t make it wrong that you no longer do love it. Or that it was a waste of time or a bad decision. What if it simply means you no longer love what you once did? Just because you are brilliant at something doesn’t mean you still love to do it. What if that “thing” has just run its course, had its time, done its job and now it’s an opportunity to move on. Can it hold the space of both – you used to love it and simply no longer do. Except it never feels that simple as we have to dismantle it all somehow. Piece by piece.

  It’s time to embrace the gap that exists after “no longer?” And the only way we finally reach the gap is to honor the parts that are no longer.

  But that’s quite difficult to explain to other folk. Even more so at this specific time in our collective, worldwide experience of the pandemic. Such horrid pain, brutal economic crisis, people’s lives falling apart or lives ending in greater numbers right now. Where the current feeling and directive is that we should be bloody grateful for any work we have and do what we can to keep it, right?

  Definitely NOT a time to be choosing, re-evaluating, assessing life and not working as much. It’s the time to HOLD ON and sit tight. Or what if this is THE PERFECT TIME because of it?

  More so than ever I feel we are being called to live into our truth, our dreams, our yearnings and what makes our hearts sing. To do what we can to pursue our passions and find a way to need less stuff along the way. You got that lesson from Covid right? How much of the nonsense we consume and buy has not much meaning after all –and in fact family, health, connection, and heart stuff is what really matters? Can we finally need less stuff, but choose to experience life more?

  I appreciate that right now many folk are up against the wall trying to make ends meet, or fight for their lives. Do more, earn more, feed families, and handle heartache of separation and losing jobs.

We are holding on, digging deep, and sitting tight. Panicking. Feeling deep pain and loss.

But I often choose to go against the grain – or let’s rather say that it chooses me. As much as I feel I too should be “panicking” or anxious about what is next, what is my work going to look like, where in the world is next, will a partner come along, will I ever afford to buy a home in a Euro-based economy after South Africa and how am I going to survive if I am walking away from so much I have done for the past 17 years. Those are real fears to face head-on. But still, this nagging idea of just taking time to do the work would not leave me alone.

#Prayer

After being in lockdown for four months (and dealing with testing positive for Covid where I got off lightly to be honest, with just a few days of symptoms) it was time to follow this call as soon as the opportunity arose. So although I had been on forced pause along with the rest of the world, I needed a more intentional pause. I just needed to go into the cave and immerse.

I am acutely aware that the idea of taking time off might seem very self-indulgent to you – but to me it was actually a matter of sanity. Because doing this retreat and pilgrimage was not the easy option! The easy option would have been to stay hunkered down with my mum, eat delicious food and quaff vino, kick back into gear and start a new project, coaching clients, launch the next online mentorship and get cracking with booking people on our retreats for 2021. I can manufacture energy and enthusiasm to get back up, get busy and soldier on the same as always. To keep at it, be productive and out there. That’s the easier, more common choice. It always has been for me. So that left me in a quandary as over the past few years it has left me feeling flatter and flatter every time. My nickname has been KickassKate for many years – but I no longer felt like kicking my own ass into gear, or anyone else’s for that matter.

Where does that leave me, or you?

I wanted to feel the JOY and energy and be IN LOVE with all of my life again. To feel the sparkle in my eyes burst out of my body – when the truth was that was NOT how I was feeling. I was wading through sludge. A personal bog like the peaty ones here on the island. The words that were coming to me more and more, in sleep and wake, were simply …

I’m DONE!

  KickassKate  – NOT. Kate was tired and burnt out. No more to give to clients – what used to be my soothing balm (aka work) was just not soothing for me anymore. Dammit. I knew in my soul that I was no longer in love with all I had created, but I wanted to find a way to honor it all and take with me the parts and aspects that I DO still love.

I didn’t want to throw the proverbial baby out with the murky bathwater.

That’s why most folk don’t do it. In fact, for about three years on and off I hadn’t been doing it. I’d been tinkering with it – but not immersing. I had been feeling it, needing it, yearning for it, but not quite yet doing it all. I activated some aspects of contracting (vs. expanding) and saying NO – like selling off one part of my business to a beautiful client who is loving it all into better existence again. Or by deciding not to re-certify with an international organization to deliver their material. A tough one, as I love the organization and it had afforded me some incredible experiences around the world by running high-end retreats for their forums, or doing 5-star events with them. I was also “contracting” by not taking on as many coaching clients and referring them out to trusted colleagues. But it didn’t feel drastic enough and I didn’t love enough of the elements I was still choosing to keep in my busy work bundle. And there was the other stuff going on for me too… that’s life!

  MY LIFE WAS COLLIDING…

I desperately needed to re-look my business and work passion

It was time to embrace no longer being part of a “we” and facing life in a new country as an “I” – a real rift in identity.

I was bidding farewell to the Rainbow Nation country that gifted me a beautiful home since the age of 3.

#Double Rainbow Prayer

In other words, I needed to shed a few different skins all at once. A somewhat daunting triangle.

My PURPOSE for returning to this sacred isle of Iona on pilgrimage was to close out and honor this complex triangle.  To disentangle and disconnect from these three aspects of life.  To find a way to say goodbye to and appreciate what was no longer, so I can finally sit in that GAP that exits before what comes next. That place we often gloss over.

We don’t really get taught how to dismantle and deconstruct our life, do we? 

So I came to Iona exactly one month ago today, with bravery and daftness in my wee heart, resigned to sitting on my butt no matter where I found myself on the island and DOING THE WORK.

  THE PRACTICAL SIDE:

I couldn’t believe my “luck”.

Back in the UK Midlands where my Mum lives, I noticed a three-week GAP where I could take off from work without any obligations. Whoa – no obligations – what’s that? No mentorships, boot camps, coaching clients that could go on momentary pause, a new writer’s contract was all signed and sealed and thanks to Covid, no upcoming retreats to dash off to host in a far off land. The hardest part of the decision was not so much around post-Covid safety of travel to be honest – as things were easing up and opening again. The challenge was the reality of “taking time off.”Just because the gap shows itself, doesn’t mean I usually take it. I normally fill it with work, of course! You too?

It was challenging to decide to ignore emails and daring to tell/ask/beg my business partner I needed and wanted three weeks offline. We had no writing challenges, no Feedback Fridays – nobody really needed me for ANYTHING! Bliss.

As an entrepreneur, all my life, one of the hardest ideas is to take sufficient time off. Over the last five years or so, I have learned to work fewer weekends and take a bit of a break either side of big work projects, perhaps a few days here and there. But to be honest over the past 17 years, I could never go more than 3 days without looking at my computer, phone, mail or FB. And when you do what you love it’s also much easier to be ON all the time.

You can bet the fears still rushed right at me in all forms: Is it really, really safe to travel so soon? I’m eating into my money fast at the poor ZAR currency conversion. Who the hell am I to do this? What if someone needs me? (Oh please need me) What will others think blab la bla? Will mum be ok on her own – I can’t just pop back if I leave

But I started dreaming about this wee island every night and it started weaving its spell again from the moment I gave it a glance in the realm of possibility. It had been 17 years since I last set foot upon Iona!

I had no idea if or when we would really be able to travel from UK to Scotland, but I started making tentative plans. The UK and Scottish Government announced new measures, and I had to heed both restrictions. Fast forward a few weeks and I was on a train, masked up and double sanitizer on hand.

It was all a bit surreal. Only two other people on the train platform. Only 4 in the carriage to Glasgow. The first stop was a legally operating hotel in Oban, then the ferry to Mull, and next a bus across Mull where I was the ONLY passenger. I got to natter all the way to the driver. From 3 meters away of course. The poor lad had spent four months driving his bus back and forth twice every day for a 70 minute trip with no passengers: just parcels, shopping, wool and supplies for the house-bound locals. Talk about a driving meditation with no cars and just a few sheep and highland cattle to look out for on the single lane track. Suddenly having a real person to carry was such a novelty – so much so that he forgot to open the hold for my suitcase when we arrived in Fionnphort and was about to turn around and drive merrily off. Hey, wait up there Steve.

#Surreal Travel

And then there is the final Calmac ferry before you can set foot on Iona.

The power of showing up somewhere always amazes me. The initial cottage I had secured for 6 weeks had fallen through a few days before traveling. Covid measures meant they needed it back to isolate guests. I was planning 3 weeks of intense retreat and an extra 3 weeks to start writing again. So my wonderful friend, DF, back from when I worked on the island 18 years ago in the summer of 2002, kindly helped secure me a new spot. But for 2 weeks only. I knew I had to let go of all plans, anticipated outcomes and just BE THERE to allow the magic of Iona to find me – I hoped. My life motto, and specifically living location free for almost 4.5 years, is that you can’t know everything before you go.

  I am now in my third accommodation and have been here for a month today!

    THE PROCESS TO FREEDOM – WHAT I DID

Set time aside and had a crystal clear intention.

Told my patient business partner I was going offline and to please NOT bug me for work for three weeks (we had one wee emergency that took all of three minutes, and even did an interview as it was pure fun and delight)

Told my current coaching clients I was taking three weeks off. Eeek.

Just disappeared off FB. No big song and dance announcing what I was up to. I just did it and went offline. Biggest relief of all.

Stayed OFF email, Facebook and ALL other Social Media platforms for three weeks.

Reached out to friends and family as and when needed. I wasn’t doing a full silent retreat so was happy to interact a bit when needed. Just not with clients or work.

My phone lived on airplane mode 90% of the time.

Interacted with locals when I felt drawn to – fascinating people live here!

90% of the time, I was however on my own, in silence.

Every day I slept, walked, swam, ate, napped and read as I felt like.

I never felt compelled to listen to any music, audiobooks or such like. Just nature, wind, waves and me.

Devoured 10 books that I found in the cottage – good rollicking Scottish romances, moving memoirs, deeply powerful Shamanic books – all sorts to immerse in when I needed a break to let my process stew.

 8-10 hours daily I DID MY PROCESS. And it continued in my sleep. Letting it all seep slowly into my soul.

  Mostly, I reveled and rejoiced in the depths of NOT doing anything or needing to BE anywhere at any given time. No one needed anything from me. That’s pure bliss. My modus operandi was to do what I wanted when I wanted. For the first three days I also made things a bit more intense for myself. Ha – of course we have to push a bit to get results.

On the day I arrived, I shared dinner and some vino to reconnect with my friend and her partner. Armed with delicious Italian pasta and lamb ragu in my tummy, the next morning I started a rigorous 3-day water fast to kick start my body and soul. That means ONLY WATER mixed with a bit of lemon, cayenne pepper, and maple syrup (for the blood-brain barrier). I’m pretty used to some shorter fasting so it wasn’t tooooo much of a shock to my system. I was a determined little beast on a mission. After my initial water fast, I kept up intermittent fasting for about 16 hours every day to help support the inner work I was doing. And ate what I felt like for the rest of the time. No booze for the first 10 days to up the ante.

I went swimming EVERY DAY. No matter the weather! 

You might think Scotland sounds drab, cold and dreary – but oh my – the color of the water up here. The astounding beauty that is the Hebridean islands. A photographer’s delight! Think intense azure blue and liquid aqua with the shimmering Iona light that bounces through it. The sound of Iona can look like sheets of silver glass, punctuated with a dolphin fin or a sailboat, or it can rage wild and thrash on the rocks, hiding the pure white sand or the craggy rocks at high tide.

But by swimming, I really just mean that I got wet in the freezing Atlantic or the Sound of Iona. Wim Hof and his cold-water therapy principles inspired me, but deep inside I am really the gal that grew up swimming in the warm Indian Ocean with the Benguela current. Toasty warm. The mild Mediterranean is my other favorite swim spot thanks to our annual Greek writing retreats. When I lived in Cape Town, I never did quite cotton on to swimming, as it was mind-numbingly cold for me. I’m just not a cold-water salmon kind of gal.

On day one, my version of swimming involved running in, plunging my body in the water, squealing and shrieking loudly and running out gasping. Probably wet for less than 3 seconds, to be honest. I thought – come on you sissy – this is a great cleansing practice. A ritual. Why don’t we try to double it every day till you get to ten minutes? Are you mad? Because now I am talking to myself out loud. Shivering. Come on – we can use the power of the water to enhance what we are trying to do here with our spirit Kate. Aaaargh ok dammit, you win, you damn voice in my head.

So the game was on, and the next day I ran in and while gasping ridiculously, I counted to 10 seconds. FAST. Day 3 – 30 seconds later made me feel like I had just run a 5 km race. The next day 4 was a big jump to 2 minutes. Then 5, 8, and 10 minutes day-by-day. In just one week I reached my 10-minute hurdle. Now I’m up to 15 minutes. It’s just about the BREATHING (ok, I still mean gasping) and counting, breath by breath. The body is incredibly resilient and adaptable. I am not in the running for any frozen lake swimming or artic jaunts, but I feel so invigorated by it. Like a little personal challenge. We won this one.

On day 4, I was looking into the mirror after thawing out in the warm shower, and SAW myself looking back at me for the first time in a very long time! Rather than simply looking in the mirror while usually putting on some mascara, moisturizer or lipstick, I was suddenly aware of ME. I truly saw ME in the reflection. I peered deeply into my own eyes (sounds so cliché) and said hello to myself at last. I had been missing for a while. Missing from myself. Missing from life.

            #Daily Swimming 

It was like a little jolt of reality and I felt I was back IN my body again.

I went back and looked at the Wim Hof shower challenge where they ask you to get up to 1 minute in a cold shower by the end of a MONTH. Pah – what a lark. I was officially a hard-core cold-water swimmer compared to that standard. And again when I say swim, this is not what I do in Greece when swimming 400 meters to my “rock”. Here I just dunk my body in the shallows and wallow there, head out, gasping and trying to calm my breath while staring at the view, going tingly numb. Mad huh?

I also have to confess that I swim in the nick – again purely for practical reasons. It’s not one of my fantasies playing out in any way – it’s purely because I don’t want to trudge back to my wee cottage with a dripping costume. That feels too much of a stretch in the cold, rainy, misty and wild 12-degree weather in summer. I know my limits – so I am basking in the idea of being a Scottish seal for a while, cavorting in the shallow water when no one is around :)

But for the most part, I was really living by the rhythm of my body’s needs. Or collecting beautiful rock and stones :)

I also walked and hiked every day – no matter the weather! Usually 6 kinds of weather on one day! My body just got outside and did it. I did my work as I walked. Glorious long meanders on the pathways hugging the shore. Sometimes a quick chat with a local, or a wave from afar. I walked the land from the North End (always my favorite) to the pebbled beaches of St Columba’s bay with its beautiful meditational Labyrinth (annual upkeep done with love by my same friend) as a reward after the trek. It is in this bay that you might catch a lucky glimpse of the Iona Marble or green Serpentine. I found myself watching sheep graze the “machair” golf course or merrily much on seaweed gazing out over the Atlantic en route to Port Ban, or heading up to the highest point, Dun-I.

  #St Columba’s Bay – the pebbled beach to search for Iona Marble

Purple hues, electric greens and mesmerizing blues alongside dramatic greys. An artist’s dream palette. Spellbinding sunsets and days upon day of grey. Except that grey here is charcoal, black, white and silver – misty and wild. Not the soul-killing city-grey. Electrically alive grey!

  Walking shifts the body and moves the soul. Padam Padam! Swimming cleanses the body and refreshes your mind – Great combo! There were so few people on the island as it was just starting to re-open post lockdown that I felt truly grateful to be here at this time.

  Layered on top of the above practical aspects was the inner work. The real reason I was here after all. I was definitely not on “holiday” trying to escape post-lockdown with mum. So although I was in the most ridiculously splendid scenery possible, I was here to do my “close –out” work and heed the call for my personal pilgrimage. I had a crystal clear intention to plunge deep into my HEART.

  H: Honour

E: Engage

A: Acknowledge

R: Recapitulate

T: Transform

  I think of life unfolding in chapters and books. It felt like I needed to close out a few open chapters in a few different books.

In the Nagual tradition (check out Carlos Castaneda’s books) they talk about a process known as “Recapitulation”. I understand this to be a profound spiritual practice to retrieve all of your energy from the past – to help you live in this moment as a warrior of light. To be “at the ready” for whatever comes your way. To not be stuck in the past. Living lighter I guess.

You might understand this as a process commonly known as “cutting the ties that bind”. It is quite simply about finding all the aspects of yourself, your spirit, your energy, your memories that you may have left floating around the world and do some work at many levels to gather that energy back to yourself. In practical terms, this means being present, clear, at peace and un-hooked. It doesn’t mean you wish things hadn’t happened, but more that you are no longer controlled by them. You find a way to release that which is not yours and no longer serves you and wrap up all the good stuff in your heart. Very liberating. It is a long-standing practice in my life and one way I have been able to live a little lighter on the planet.

Everything we do, eat, touch, smell, experience, get hurt by, affected by, every place we visit, everything we love or hate – leaves a footprint. Stays connected to us. Some of that is good for us and some of it weighs us down. If you have ever read my CLEAR YOUR CLUTTER book, it’s all about releasing the sticky energetic connection from a place, person or object. Removing the dirt, the dross and the debris and then truly loving what you choose to keep in your home and life.

My aim was to actively look back at the last 17 years since becoming a professional life coach in the UK. That was the last time I visited Iona, so it was a full circle for me! In 2003 I went from Iona to chef in Provence, France for 3 months (yes even as a non-qualified chef!) and that summer job financed my coaching studies. I qualified as a Master Life Coach – and was one of the first Life Coaches in South Africa. I have had the most beautiful, BUSY career and business and now, in 2020, I wanted to do a massive honoring of that time.

  Closure is about looking back with reflection, honor, openness and curiosity. Being willing to go deep into the cave, but not necessarily falling into a hole that is too hard to get out. It felt like a deeply profound way to cherish it all. It felt necessary yet somewhat daunting. But I was determined and resolute in my heart.

  It was about RETRIEVING myself back to myself, finding all the parts of me that felt scattered, hurt, tired, depleted and heartbroken. I wanted to find a way to stop feeling so thin, torn apart, burnt out, irritated and with nothing to give anyone anymore. I had gotten to the point where I was feeling anxious and stressed about anything I was doing for work – suffering from performance anxiety, often depressed, tearful or downright sobbing, wanting to shut it all down and run away. I also wanted to go searching for and honoring the delights, the magic, and the incredible opportunities that have crossed my path. I guess it’s a bit like when an actor receives a lifetime award and everyone acknowledges what he or she has accomplished, only I came to do that for myself.

  Because the truth is that I had started really questioning my ability, my self-worth, my passion. So it was time to stop, gather and sit IN IT and face it all head-on.

  Even as I write this down, I know I am not doing full justice to my experience. I’m not sure words can convey the depth of my exploration – deep into my heart and recesses of my mind. Waking, sleeping, walking, swimming, resting, dreaming, walking over and over and over again with it all brimming and swirling through me. I would sit for hours in one spot staring at the ocean and just do “the process”.

I worked quite systematically in some ways through each year, from 2003 all the way up to 2020, gathering back all the threads of energy, pulling back my strength, increasing my vitality and expanding my heart. At the end of each cycle, I did some powerful writing processes to capture the essence of that time. I also re-looked areas of work over and above each year, to redo them and relook. I didn’t want to miss anything out.

  Many years ago I created an “online course called Close Out Strong” which supports you to honor the year gone by in order to move in the New Year feeling lighter – well imagine that process times 17!

  At the end of 12 days, I had brought myself up to present time. I had walked back and revisited every single:

Home and office de-cluttered Clients coached Retreats hosted Mastermind facilitated Workshops or trainings delivered Online courses written and run Interviews given and articles penned Stood back on the stages of every talk I ever shared Re-connected with each of my books written and movie I starred in Every partner I had shared life with, but more emphasis on my recent relationship Every home I have lived in Every country visited

…and every single experience I could find for the past 17 years.

The highs and the lows!

Layer after layer after layer.

#layers of colour with grey

Stripping away the ‘krap’, the gunge, the lack, and the ego. Relishing in the delights. Pulling my energy back to me. Releasing what wasn’t mine back to where it came from. Release. Put the final full stop on that chapter. Close the book.

This process is hard, it’s deep and it requires courage. Are you being called to do it at this time in your life? Could you give it to yourself – the permission, space, the time, and let yourself do the work?

  From day 4 onwards I started to feel awareness rise like sap in my veins. I felt inspiration, vitality and sparkle flood back through my cells.

  If I can convey anything at all to you – it is the tangibility of the energy that I feel now. I am able to say with my head held high and my heart ticking strong, that I am so deeply in awe of what I have created, done, experienced and explored in my business and life. Because I hadn’t been feeling like that – I was feeling useless, bored, questioning what I had accomplished, wondering if I had made any real difference in the world, wondering what I had contributed. I had no real energy, no spark, no sustainable vitality and I had to muster up motivation rather than feel inspired. Whilst I wasn’t exactly ill, I felt like my spirit had become weary and heavy. Other than some aches and pain, old injuries, the coming and going of depression and menopause thrown into the mix, I was still reasonably healthy, resilient and strong. But not being ill is definitely not the same thing as being truly healthy, vitally alive, awake and in love with it all.

I felt zinging and pulsating again – I could hear differently. I had more energy again and was getting better sleep. I felt proud, alive, awake, accomplished, in awe. I also got the closure I was desperately seeking.

From work, my ex-life-partner, and South Africa.

My gigantic triangle.

  EMBRACE THE GAP

On day 12, I released that my closure initial process was done. Now that the closure felt complete – I took myself off for a glass of crisp Sauvignon Blanc and a sandwich in the glorious sun, to watch the ferry boat come and go.

I was now facing the unknown of the gap.

The sitting

Waiting

Wondering

Exploring

Following threads as they appear

Still reading, swimming, walking, sleeping, eating, and do them over and over again.

Trying desperately not to fill the gap too soon. To not push forward. To not start mind mapping the future – as that is such an exciting process to engage with. It’s one I have helped 1000’s of clients do. But the trick was to wait. To be. To still NOT do.

  I had glimpses of the elements of my work I still love. Writing. Retreats. Then a wee flicker of possibility somehow found its way into my heart – a tiny glimmering thread I am now following both literally and metaphorically. But not forcing or controlling it. Just being delighted by its welcome presence more than anything. My friend simply mentioned a local woman who does something extraordinary. The moment she mentioned it, my whole being resonated when the words came out of her mouth. I didn’t even know exactly what it was that this local did. I just loved the “sound” of it. My heart sat up and paid attention and I felt a little smitten by the idea of it. Weird? I had been seeking something creative to fall in love with – a hobby of sorts. It’s been all work and travel for so many years and I have wanted something to DO with my hands. Something to bring me to life again. I always feel envious of people with hobbies. Creative pursuits.

  Sorry to leave you in the lurch here– but there is no more to say about it on this blog – we have been at this one long enough today. Are you really still here? I just know that something is unfolding inside me on the island that feels juicy and full of life. I’ll write about it next time – when I know more.

But for now, I embrace the GAP. This space of being complete, closed out, full of awe and proud of it all.

Happy and content with the NO LONGER, but not yet knowing what will come in the NOT YET.

Not sure where “home” or nest will be.

Not sure what all the facets of work will look like. Being an author and running retreats are still sticking like glitter glue

Not sure who is going to come bounding into my life and heart

Sit here and be still, be patient Kate.

Just do what needs to be done for now. Today.

Stop trying to shift gears too soon.

Don’t start too many things as default from the old.

Don’t gloss over the gap.

  “It is a transformative experience to simply pause instead of immediately filling up space. Pema Chodron”

  REACH OUT

I wish you well on your chosen journey! I’d honestly LOVE to hear from you as I emerge slowly back into the world again – pop a comment or drop me a mail. It might take me longer to reply as the connection is a bit dodgy on the island, and I am not spending much time “working”. Are you in this phase of needing to get closure and embrace the gap? It’s really hard, isn’t it? I do hope that if you stayed reading with me till the end, that you have taken away something from my experience that can support your journey. It was just really important for me to pen it.

You could also go and check out “THE STRATEGIC POWER OF DISCONNECTING”. It was written a while ago, and I’ll update it again soon, but it might help you along your path right now?

  ABOUT KATE As you gather from this post, Kate is busy re-jigging her life as she embraces the gap. She is an international, location free author who leads immersive and experiential retreats in her favorite power spots – ludicrously idyllic locations around the world. She has become intrigued by the notion of regularly taking time out to restore and rejuvenate the spirits and find that sense of joie de vivre. She still loves helping you to understand the power of slowing down and saying hello to yourself and your dreams! And it seems that being an author and running retreats are the pieces that will stick going forward.

#seaweed munching sheep

  Honoring the Call of Closure was originally published on Kate Emmerson - The Quick Shift Deva

[apprenticemages]

Busy, busy week… Two finales, several penultimate episodes, and quite possibly the finest episode this season.  All this, some thoughts on the differences between heroism in The Incredibles and My Hero Academia, and more after the jump!

The shows that I am watching are in bold, shows my wife and I are watching together are in bold italics.  Question marks denote shows not watched yet (during the premiere weeks), and strikethrough marks dropped shows.

3D Kanojo / Real Girl Ep 12 (Finale)

(I’m trying to write this as if I didn’t already know a second season has been announced.)

That worked…  I guess.  The Itou/Ayado relationship was put on hold (mostly due to Itou’s self-effacing nature), and the romance between Tsutsui and Iroha was reconfirmed.  Not that we need it reconfirmed, but that’s how romance anime works.  Other than the revelation that Iroha and her brother were not related, there were no big surprises.  I guess you could say they just coasted into the ending without exerting much effort.

Such coasting isn’t that unusual, but at least the final scene gave a bit of closure.  More of a “our battle goes on” ending than a “go read the manga” ending.

(OK, now writing with the foreknowledge of a second season and treating this ep as more of a “midseason break”.)

I really don’t see where they can go from here that isn’t “more of the same”.  That works in a manga you read weekly or monthly, or in a tankoubon…  But it’s hard to pull off in a continuing anime series.  And the whole deal with her brother has a good chance of heading quickly south into squick territory.

Comic Girls Ep 11

Is it just me, or has the pacing really been off between Eps 10 and 11?  Both of them felt like finales of a sort – but the actual finale comes tomorrow.   I may have just not noticed them before this, but it seems that recently more than a few shows have adopted the “finale and epilogue” structure.

Anyhow, to the business at hand – this week’s finale-but-not-final ep.  The first main thread of the story is that staple of high school anime, the career survey.  Unsurprisingly, none of the girls want to be anything but manga artists.  Only Ruki-chan had any kind of realistic backup plan, to teach nursery school.  This was nicely contrasted with the Matron revealing that she had decided not to become a manga artist, but instead decided to support other budding mangaka by becoming the dorm matron.

Poor Kaos-chan.

The second thread was all about preparing to close down the dorm.  (For good?  For renovations?  I don’t recall.)  The girls are dragooned into cleaning out the storage room, and Kaos discovers some graffiti left by previous students…  Which inspired her to ganbatte (as if she hadn’t been doing that all along) and resulted in her getting a two issue one-shot, her first actual success!

Which… felt off to me as they’ve spent so much time emphasizing how useless and untalented she was and not showing much if any personal growth at all.  I think I’ll have more to say on that in my series review.  It’s not something that really fits here and I need to think it out more.

Crossing Time Ep 11

Ick…  They went in a creeper direction again this week.

Hinamatsuri Ep 11

Didn’t hit me till I sat down to write this review…  But there’s an interesting common thread between the two segments.  Both involve the protagonist trying to create something that isn’t there for their own selfish reasons.  Seta (the journalist) trying to create the image of a hardened yakuza so that he keeps his job…  and Nitta trying to turn Anzu “to the dark side” (for lack of a better term) basically out of pure selfishness.

Both parts felt a little… forced I guess?  Almost but not quite filler.  In particular the Anzu/Nitta segment was good, but also felt like it was mostly intended to set up the final scene…  Would that make it a two-parter?  I guess so.  It just feels odd here since so far Hinamatsuri has mostly confined itself to self-contained segments and no cliffhangers.

Speaking of the cliffhanger…  Did they drop a hint as to Nitta’s real feelings?  I mean, just moments before he was all “dammit, reality is returning” but there was a flash at the end where he seemed to be in shock and actually care.

Either way – guesses on what happens in the finale?  It’s not implausible that Hina simply got bored and wandered off.  But we still have Mao wandering around out there somewhere, and her appearance in the ‘flash forward’ that opened the series.

My Hero Academia 3 /  Boku no Hero Academia 3 Ep 11 (Ep 49)

Not ashamed to admit that this scene, when it hit me what All Might’s true message was and who it was intended for…  Damm onion ninjas.

I’ve rarely seen such a crowning moment of awesome…  A capstone for a belief core to Academia‘s entire structure – heroism and strength come not from Quirks, but from deep inside.

They’re quick moments, but interesting.  Bakugou is very somber and serious during All Might’s final moments as a Hero…  What is he thinking?  Does he see that as raising the bar on what he must do to be the Number One Hero?  The second shot…  I can’t tell if he’s being sympathetic to Deku, or questioning.

It was interesting to ponder on this episode after going to see The Incredibles 2 the next day.  It had never really occurred to me how both address the issue of the legitimacy of superheroes.  The view is less nuanced in The Incredibles – more about the supers, and their duty to use their powers for good and to protect the innocent.  Academia takes the position that it’s less about doing good and more about being good.  Instead of simply being protectors, being a hero is as much about inspiration as raw power.  And it’s not a matter of style over substance, All Might’s wellspring of inspiration comes not just from his attitude and his smile – but from the certainty produced by his deeds.  And unlike Mr Incredible, All Might is self-aware enough to know that this matters.

Endeavor, in his self centeredness is much closer to Mr Incredible than All Might…   And I have to wonder if that’s what Endeavor recognized?  As Academia has emphasized again and again is that the true nature of heroism comes from inside the Hero… The ultimate difference between Endeavor and All Might isn’t raw power, but that inner certainty.  Both Shimura Nana and All Might seemed to recognize that drive and nature in their respective proteges.

Rokuhoudou Yotsuiro Biyori Ep 10

I liked the first segment a great deal…  The contrast between the aunt and her sense of adventure and niece trying so hard to play it safe was interesting to watch play out.  And did she end up with a bit of a crush on Sui, or is it just me?

I laughed out loud that so many of the reviews had photos of Gure’s latte “art” (which they’d made fun earlier in the segment).  Speaking of Gure, he was the hero of the second segment – rushing off full tilt to procure a key ingredient so that Rokuhoudou would not disappoint any customers.  He’s so earnest, so honest, so clueless (in spots) and so over-the-top.  Gure is rapidly becoming my favorite character that isn’t Sui.

Sword Art Online Alternative: Gun Gale Online Ep 10

Still building towards the fated (scripted?) confrontation – LLENN v. Pitohui.  SHINC has signed onto this plan (for reasons unclear to me) and throw their chances at winning in order to break M and take his sniper shield out of the equation.  The rest of the episode was basically devoted to showing in various ways what a sadistic, heartless, heedless idiot Pitohui actually is.

The biggest idiocy?  Apparently she and M are using Nerve Gear – for that full “you might die” experience.  Which, as many folks have pointed out, is potentially huge plot hole.  Wouldn’t they have been confiscated?  Wouldn’t the game software be designed to reject a connection from them?  It’s very likely they were confiscated from known survivors.  But what about Gear from those who didn’t go into professional custody (as Kirito and Asuna were).  Or Gear from folks who were unable to log in on the fateful day?  (Like Pitohui herself.)   It’s quite possible (if not entirely plausible) there’s still Gear floating about in the wild.  As to the question of game software – if GGO is built on top of the World Seed framework…  It’s entirely possible that it wouldn’t occur to Kayaba Akihiko to build in such protection.  Why would he?

They’ve referenced Shinon (twice) and Yuuki…  It was inevitable that they’d reference Kirito.

Tada-kun wa Koi wo Shinai / Tada Never Falls in Love Ep 11

This wasn’t exactly an easy episode to watch…  Not for any great emotional depth, but because of the complete lack of emotional depth.  They tried to sell us on the notion that Tada was silently pining of Theresa-hime and that none of his nosy friends had noticed for six months.  And they failed, abysmally.  They’ve spent a ton of time establishing that Tada has the emotional sensitivity of a turnip, and failing to capitalize on any chance to show him moving beyond that.  This episode was (to paraphrase Karandi) too little, too late.

Uma Musume: Pretty Derby Ep 13 (Finale)

I’m… not exactly sure what to think of this ep.  It wasn’t quite the epilogue-and-wrap-up that I expected.  It wasn’t quite an actual finale either.  With the time skip and the careful introduction of each character, it felt more like an OVA than anything else.

They just couldn’t resist having Team Spica make a hero walk…

And I couldn’t resist a final screenshot of Best Girl doing what she does best.

Either way, we got a final look at most of the girls and their determination to race.  With pretty much the entire cast having their moment in the spotlight there wasn’t time to go into any kind of depth however.  Particularly, they lost their final chance to get inside Silence Suzuka’s head.  I wasn’t really happy with the cop-out ending where “everybody wins”…

Wotakoi: Love is Hard for Otaku Ep 10

This ep was mostly about Naoya…  via a chance encounter at work, he hooks up with a very lonely and introverted Kou.  He ends up working very hard at getting better at video games so he doesn’t feel so bad about hanging out with her ingame.  For her part, she seems to accept that there’s someone who genuinely want to hang out with her despite the whole (tropish) introverted/plain/gamer/nerd thing.  Wotakoi has played fast-and-loose with tropes all season to great effect, but this time it felt forced and seemed to fall flat.  And there’s still a trope waiting in the wings…  I don’t think Nao really realizes that Kou is a girl.

=========

And there you have it folks!  What are your thoughts on this week’s episodes?  What are your thoughts on my thoughts?  Feel free to say “Derek, you’re a genius!”, I’ll be humble I promise.  OK, OK, I guess you can say “Derek, you’re an idiot” if you must…

Looking forward…  Should have my Summer preview out later this week.  Haven’t really laid the schedule over a calendar, but SAOA:GGO is going to be the pacing show for my Spring season review.  (Yay, looks like I’ll be working on it across the holiday week.  What fun.)

Thanks for reading!

Spring 2018 – Week 11 Busy, busy week... Two finales, several penultimate episodes, and quite possibly the finest episode this season.  All this, some thoughts on the differences between heroism in…