A/N: We all know how much I hate Gale, but I had to write this. An idea sparked, and I was writers blocked, so I had to get the idea out, because sometimes, that's my peculiar way of curing writer's block.
This is not a Galeniss fanfic. Even if I didn't hate Gale, I don't think I'd ever write a Galeniss fic. Just because he loves Katniss, doesn't mean she loves him back. She loves Cato! Okay, Peeta…
Two-shot! It was going to be a one-shot, but then it got so long… I had to change it to a two-shot.
Gale Hawthorne (Mid-Mockingjay)
He did not know that Coin was going to drop those bombs. With all of his heart, he thought they were for emergencies such as the rebels being closed to failing or another district—or even the Capitol—attacking. Wholeheartedly, he believed, at first, that that plane was controlled by the Capitol.
Until the bombs went off.
Even though he was captured, he could see through the window the whole scene. His mouth with a rag tied tightly to it and his body strapped to a chair, he took his gray eyes away from the Peacekeepers and looked at the scene. He could see his hunting partner—and the love of his life—standing there. And when the bombs drew closer to the ground, he panicked.
He screamed against the rag and kicked his legs wildly. The Peacekeepers brought a whip down on him. The older one—the one who looked oddly like a Capitol citizen—said, "Calm down immediately or we will be forced to take extreme measures."
Gale was not stupid. He knew what "extreme measures" meant. And he would not let them take that route. He had to make it out, to see her one more time. He had to be alive when the rebels won the rebellion.
And not only was it that, but he wanted no one—no one—but his hunting partner to kill him. When he mouthed, "Shoot me," and she didn't, he knew he wasn't going to die. No matter what. He had no purpose, no reason, except his family, and the chance that she might choose him.
And then the bombs went off. For a moment, he couldn't tell if his hunting partner was alive or not. Then, when he could see, he couldn't see her. His world went crimson red. He thought, It's a sickly color—crimson is. It basically symbolizes death, and then is plastered around like it is okay. Do people not see that that color symbolizes my Catnip's death?
His eyes saw regular colors once more after this thought. He looked out the window. Over the frantic people and the rebel medics racing in, Gale could just see her. He smiles under the rag, and felt a jabbing pain race up his side.
"We're getting out of here. We have reports the Mockingjay is being captured," said the other Peacekeeper, who looked a lot like Gale's father. The resemblance sent a jolt sadness and ache up his spine. What the man said sunk in. Gale's heart sunk, too. She's gone? It was impossible. "You're being taken in for questioning."
It was truly impossible. He knew she wasn't captured, and so another thought rose: Coin's an idiot! Why is she sending in the medics? Does she not know the bombs are going to explode again?
A blonde braid flashed into vision. Gale's heart that was already sunk in fear and hate sunk further. If he could have, he would have yelled, "Run!" to everyone there, not just his hunting partner's sister, the one with the goat cheese on reaping day.
Just as he suspected, and right on time, the bombs burst, and so did the little blonde braid's owner. He didn't know about that girl's sister, but he had his suspicions as he went limp because the darts were in his skin.
Gale Hawthorne (Mid-Mockingjay)
She was safe. His hunting partner was safe. It was execution day for the bastard of a man. That man who destroyed everything. That man who brought the boy that his hunting partner would love into her life. He ruined Gale's life. But not as much as he ruined her life and Gale understood that. And yet, he always forgot to remember that when he was in her presence.
Gale was not selfless. In fact, he was rather selfish. But nothing—not any of his personality characteristics—applied then. He was too numb for that. He knew he had lost her forever, and it was his fault she had so much pain right now.
No, he reminded himself. It is your fault, but it's more theirs. He knew it was true, but he couldn't accept it. He kept telling himself that he killed that little girl. He knew it. The bombs had resembled his too unmistakably much. He was guilt-ridden. But today, he was to present her with the bow.
Though he felt horrible, he was excited to see the Mockingjay, his hunting partner.
She was being prepped. He didn't know, nor did he try to understand, Cinna's relationship with Katniss. So he didn't ponder on how much it might hurt for her to be placed in the Mockingjay suit. He pondered on what she might say about the bombs.
He felt even more horrible. He hadn't seen her at the hospital. He wondered if she was awake enough to know that. He wished that she wasn't. He just couldn't see her. It would hurt too much. If he saw her there, damaged and torn by fire because of his own bomb, he would have not been able to continue on like he has, like he will.
He tapped on the door when he gathered his courage. He opened it and stepped in, the scents of the Capitol's remake taking over him, and he wanted to retch. "Can I have a minute?" he asked. Her team scurried away as she watched them in the mirror. He marveled the beauty of everything about her, and was sickened by the look on her face. Through everything that happened, he just wanted to make things right again. He walked behind the mirror, and she looked at him. He looked at her. They were both looking for something that was similar to the two kids that met in the woods years ago, both thinking about what could have been if the girl with the blonde braid had not been reaped and if the girl with the dark braid would not have volunteered.
But there was a difference. He ached. He ached with longing and a heaping of remorse. He wanted to turn back to the moment when he was making the bombs with Beetee and stop himself. He wanted this moment to be one where they hugged, and maybe even smiled.
But she just wanted to think, and, more than anything, forget.
He knew she had more to forget than him, but Gale Hawthorne was selfish, so he set that aside and let his-self get angry because he thought she was being unreasonable. We're best friends, hunting partners! he thought.
Over his shoulder was a sheath, holding one arrow. He took it down and raised it. She turned around. "I brought you this," he said to her, his brain searching frantically for a defense mechanism if she brought anything he didn't want to discuss up, or something to say in his case if she retorted back after that. He came up blank. "It's supposed to be symbolic." He was so glad this sentence didn't sound frantic, though he was. "You firing the last shot of the war."
"What if I miss? Does Coin retrieve it and bring it back to me?" she asked, and Gale wanted to smile. He really, really wanted to. "Or just shoot Snow through the head herself?" But he didn't smile. Maybe what was coming wouldn't happen if he had.
But he didn't.
He adjusted the sheath of one arrow on her shoulder and so badly wanted to be the idiotic bread boy for one moment so he could brush back her hair like nothing was wrong. Because he made her think that nothing was wrong, but Gale knew she wouldn't fall for that. He finished adjusting, and lifted his hand, unnoticeable to her, and put it back down quickly.
They wouldn't look at each other. He didn't know what was coming, but he had his suspicions. He wanted to get it over with.
"You didn't come see me in the hospital," she said. He, shocked, looked up. Think of something to say, idiot. He was angry. Those two weren't people that should be close when one—and especially when both—were angry. It just didn't work. And they were both so exhausted and afraid and sad. Fighting would send them both to complete insanity.
But what she said—it wasn't what he expected, and he was glad. But he knew—with every morsel of his being—that that was the next blow, the next arrow to shoot him with. Just like the single arrow in her sheath that would take down their enemy, it would only take that one blow to shoot him through the heart.
"Was it your bomb?"
And for once, Gale Hawthorne went down without fighting. He wanted to go limp and for her to swarm him. He wanted the night he was whipped to be back. He didn't care if that meant bringing back insufferable pain. This pain was way worse.
He thought he still had a chance, if he played his cards right. He thought that maybe, if he said the right thing, eventually, he could gain back his hunting partner.
But first, he had to think of what to say. He could not go numb. He could not go back in time. He could not go forward in time. He was where he was, and for everything to be better, he had to control this moment like the idiotic bread boy seemed to control Panem during interviews.
He thought of nothing.
He came up blank, again.
He couldn't help it. It was as if he was not in control of his words anymore when he said, "I don't know." I do, though! he screamed in his head. "Neither does Beetee." At least that's the truth. "Does it matter? You'll always be thinking about it." Because of me!
Had he not lied, she would not have to think about it. The pain would still be insurmountable, but she would be able to move on and live a happier life sooner had he not lied.
Gale Hawthorne was unreliably, inhumanely, corruptly selfish.
He wanted her to deny that. He asked for no more than for her to just deny it, then and there. No more said, no more owed, and then they'd be almost okay, and could work things out back home.
Wherever home was.
Her silence was her answer.
And in that moment, he could see the end of hope as he knew it. The silence that was there ended his every chance with her. He loved her, and silence stole his chance.
He was selfish, so he said, "That was what I had going for me. Taking care of your family. Shoot straight, okay?" He touched her cheek, for this was the last time he'd get the chance, and he had a feeling this would be.
Now, he had one purpose left, and he had another feeling that he would leave that behind, too.
He was purposeless.
It would take a long time to let her go. And everything would be better for everyone when he did. But he was selfish, so he didn't think he would.
A/N: I am slowly forgiving Gale for everything I hate him for in small acts, like writing this. I am dangerously close to having Gale in my top twenty favorite Hunger Games characters.
Anyway, this was extremely fun to write, surprisingly! Part Two will be up soon! Review! And check out the poll on my profile?