The truth is, with no one left to fight and the stain of Prim's blood on his hands, Gale Hawthorne went a little mad. He drank, not that it helped, and walked around at night starting fistfights with strangers. He'd later admit it was because he felt the need to be punished, a fractured eye socket gave him a little relief.

He'd been arrested a lot, let off on the coattails of being a decorated war hero. The drunkard who acquainted jail cell number 4 on a weekly basis didn't look much of a hero. His eyes were misty and bloodshot, his beard ratty and overgrown. He didn't care that he carried the constant stench of booze and sweat and he didn't own a shirt clear of vomit stains.

It was after deleting 7 voice messages off his mother and 1 from each of his siblings he went out especially drunk. He'd staggered just two blocks to the nearest bar when he picked a fight with the wrong person.

He was lucky to wake up in a hospital bed 3 weeks later. With no ID and completely unrecognisable as the once well-known Gale Hawthorne of the Star Squad, he was labelled an unknown, a living John Doe. He was in no hurry to enlighten anyone and ended up in a facility for – in his opinion – people who just weren't fit for society. Some were addicts like him, self-medicating with whatever they could get their hands on. Some were people, capitol, rebel and everything in between, who were injured in the war. The others were just plain insane.

Gale was particularly interested in a middle aged man who spent every waking minute trying to count the hairs on his head. He'd start again every day, every time he got distracted by eating even. Gale admired the commitment and the patience.

He was one of the lucky ones who got to wear the ugly lilac getups. He couldn't deny how comfy the sweatpants and t shirts were but purple was not his colour and the flimsy white daps looked more like slippers. It could be worse, the really crazy ones were all dressed in tie up hospital gowns or nightdresses and had a tendency to scream obscenities or hurl themselves at walls. He himself was only on two types of medication, the first a supplement for his alcohol addiction so they could gradually wean him off and the second, something to subdue him so he wouldn't say hello with his fists anymore.

As a purp – that's what he'd named himself and the others in ugly sweats – he tended to avoid the gownies. Instead he played cards with whoever had the mental capacity to do so and teased the nurses that issued his meals and medication. He wasn't quite the ladies' man he had been in school but they were all his mother's age anyway.

Thoughts of his family always made him feel like adding another pill to the list. He'd decided it was better for them to think he was dead, or at least the equivalent of. Then again he was medicated and shared a roof with a woman who thought she was a cat so his judgement wasn't exactly reliable.

It's been 4 months, the nurses have nicknamed him Jacky and he's getting really bored of cards. On a Monday he goes for a walk around some of the hospital wings instead. He ends up lost and in a part of the hospital he didn't even know existed. He's wandered in to gowny territory, where the doors have keypads and the glass in reinforced.

He's getting increasingly frustrated when he turns onto a large corridor and a woman he sort of, vaguely recognises, a little bit, catches his gaze, her eyes widening in shock. His widen in terror when she breaks in to a sprint towards him, hospital gown billowing out behind her.

He shouldn't be scared of her, she's tiny and not a woman but a girl. That being said she's wearing a gown and her eyes are still abnormally large.

"Um nurse?" he squeaks, taking a step back "nurse? Someone?" he pleads, taking a few more steps. The girl doesn't falter, if anything gets faster and before he has the chance to do anything about it she's on him and they crash to the floor. He thrashes for a minute before he realises she's just squeezing him, gripping his lilac shirt and burying her head in his chest.

It's only when he looks down, past her vice like grip and white knuckles, he recognises her. They'd lain like this once before, in a meadow a million miles away, a million years ago. The meadow, a peaceful vista between their respective halves of District 12, had been the only witness to their unlikely friendship. While Katniss was in the games it had been their sanctuary, they had found solace in each other despite their differences in the past and they trusted one another because of it.

He'd been the one to break that trust, he was unworthy of it in the first place. Katniss returned, Victor, with Peeta Mellark and the life he had given himself seemed to be slipping away from him. He focused on his best friend, his hunting partner, the girl he loved, never admitting he didn't think she'd return and forgot all about the girl from the meadow.

Until he realised he loved her, perhaps more than he did Katniss. Perhaps in the way he thought he loved Katniss.

She was killed in the bombing of District 12, he didn't even try to help her. Sure he run from the fence to town once his family was safe but stopped dead when he saw the flames. That's all it was, her house, flames.

He filled the hole left by her loss with more flames, the flames of rebellion. He went back to fighting for Katniss but it didn't take long to realise he was fighting a losing battle. So he focused on the war he could win.

Of course they did win but Prim was dead and she was dead and so many were dead. Disappearing to 2 seemed like a good idea. Maybe adding more pills to his daily dose was a good idea too because surely he'd started hallucinating.

Slowly he come back to reality and there were nurses everywhere, trying to pry her off him

"Miss let go, Miss we'll have to sedate you" and then he was screaming

"No! No! Let her go! Leave her alone!" he wrapped his arms around her, tighter even than the grip she still had on his shirt "she doesn't like needles, keep it away from her" he held her head to his chest and glared at the nurses surrounding them until they backed off. He even went as far as growling at the doctor holding a large needle "it's fine, I know her and she hates needles" he stroked her hair and cradled her head to him again "but she loves strawberries and hot chocolate and yellow flowers and the smell of smoke. She likes walking through long grass, letting it tickle her legs and she likes it when I smell like pine needles and the woods. Her favourite colour is blue but she doesn't think it suits her, even though it does" by now he's murmuring to himself

"Jacky? We need to get the two of you off the floor" he nods and it takes a minute because he's lost a lot of muscle, but eventually he climbs to his feet with her in his arms "does this mean you remember who you are Jacky?" he nods, feeling slightly guilty

"My name's Gale and I'd like to know why she's here" it's confidential but the nurse takes one look at the way she's still clinging to him and gestures for him to follow

"She's been here 3 days, transferred from a facility in the Capitol. From what we've been told, she was a prisoner of war, someone important's daughter"

"What's wrong with her?"

"She was tortured for information, by Snow himself. It's said she knew Katniss Everdeen" the nurse prattles off while Gale lays the large rag doll down on a bed. It's a room with a keypad, she's really crazy

"She was tortured?"

"I'm not supposed to say" the nurse shakes her head

"Please? I love her"

"I believe the physical torture ended once her pain barrier was breached causing a mental break as well. Then they began mental torture, a new kind that works by stimulating the part of the brain that processes fear. She would have lived in constant terror, with no concept of time. Goodness knows what else"

"How um- how crazy is she?"

"She's not crazy, just … damaged" the nurse tells him sadly "she hasn't spoken yet but understands what's going on. In fact, we're being rude"

"Nah, Madge was always a listener".