Disclaimer: If the characters are mine, it's highly likely this scene would have been in Mockingjay.
Written for one of the writing competitions that went with Starvation's New Years Eve party. Hope you like it, Kate! :D
This is post-Mockingjay.
The rain was pounding on the windows, and wind lashed the trees back and forth outside. Most of the guests had left, returning to wherever they were staying, not really wanting to be in the Capitol at all, even when rebellion leaders now held the most powerful positions. The memories were too painful for most of the guests, former victors of the Games who couldn't forget what the Capitol had put them through.
Bitterly, Gale thought of someone else who couldn't let go of the past, and he strode toward the bar, fully intending to drown his sorrows, already too drunk or too stubborn to remember that this never worked.
"Care for a drink?" The bartender drawls. His accent is clearly from one of the Districts, although Gale isn't sure which one, and he wonders why kids from the Districts who no longer starve still want to move to the Capitol.
He would gladly live in Twelve, starving even, if it meant Katniss would speak with him again.
"Please," Gale replies, and the bartender slides the shot glass across the bar. Turning away and preparing to down the shot, Gale catches sight of an almost-familiar silhouette.
Holding his drink, he moves through the very much thinned crowd toward her – only the lonely and desperate remain. Like me, he thinks sourly.
He's scowling when she finally turns to face him, and she levels a scowl at him in return. "Why the long face, handsome?"
He shrugs. "Do I need a reason?"
This causes her to laugh, a harsh, barking sound, even if the pain is fresh in her eyes.
"I suppose you don't."
"Neither do you," he says, and regrets it for a moment as her gaze becomes weighty, but then she brightens – as much as she can – and nods, conceding the point.
Around them, the count down begins, somewhat slurred, to accompany the large screen broadcasting the numbers.
Ten! Nine!
"Kiss for good luck?" he tries.
Seven!
"For luck?" she is skeptical.
"How about for tradition?"
She scowls. "Screw tradition."
Three! Two! One!
As party horns and screams erupt around them, most coming from the television screen, he leans in, and she relents, allowing him a gentle kiss.
She smiles. "Happy New Year, Gale."
"Happy New Year, Johanna."
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