Author's Note: I'm not a native English speaker. I've never posted an English text online before and I'm really, really nervous for your reaction to my very first English one shot! My awesome friend Macha did some betareading for me (thank you so much!), but I still feel as if I'm writing terribly non-English. Please go easy on me? But at the same time please don't hesitate to post your criticism! I do want to learn, after all.
This is a little something I wrote about how Gale experiences Katniss' Hunger Games and how he reacts to the star-crossed lovers. While I was writing this, I had Sum 41's song 'Always' in my head. It's not necessary to listen to the song though, I just thought I'd mention it.
Enjoy reading!
Disclaimer: I own nothing and am not making any money off of this. Everything is the property of Suzanne Collins and her publishers.
.
Always.
It's what they used to say when one of them failed to be strong. We'll be there for the others, right? For each other, right?
Always, they used to say, followed by a reassuring smile or a sad, serious look in their grey eyes.
Gale's eyes are closed. The Meadow is beautiful this time of the year, but his mind is somewhere else. He remembers the day he saw her strong mask falter for the first time, and how he swore to protect her, for as long as he shall live. Always.
He opens his eyes and ignores the heavy feeling suddenly pressing on his chest. She's not there, and chances are big that she won't return to the Meadow ever again.
The sudden feeling of loneliness gets him on his feet and he grasps a stone about the size of his hands, throwing it into the woods nearby. A flock of birds angrily flies away, but he doesn't bother to take his bow.
This was something they usually did with the two of them. He made sure the animals left their shelter, and she made sure they didn't reach their homes, but instead ended up in a nice stew or as a trade in the Hob.
It's what they used to do.
And she's not in Twelve anymore.
And so hunting means nothing. Nothing at all. His bow lies a few yards away, alone and deserted. It's how he feels, but he doesn't want to admit it. He's strong. And he's doing what he always did. What they always did, together. Always.
He gets to his feet. He has game for tonight, he'll hunt again tomorrow. It makes him think of her too much. It makes his mind reel back in time, to times where hunting gradually became equal to happiness.
To the times when he slowly became aware of how much she meant to him. Of how much she made this life bearable. Of how he made promises of protection and a friendship that would never end.
Always.
It's a thought he can't bear. The woods are closing in on him like they always do these days. He's shocked, but not in the least surprised, when he realizes how little these woods mean to him without her.
Because it's her, always, and now she's gone and it's killing him and chances are high that she won't return.
Ever.
.
The room is dead silent. The people of District Twelve are watching the enormous screens in the middle of the square, but at the same time, nobody really watches, because nothing really happens at this time day.
Oh, they've been watching, every day, looking at their tributes' every move, waiting for a reminder of hope.
For a spark.
For a, by now terribly needed, sign that at least one of them will survive and return home safely.
The Hunger Games.
When they started, Gale had never shown much interest in the Games. He simply couldn't bear watching Katniss' fight for survival amongst these brutal beasts. The Careers, they are called. Gale still isn't able to comprehend how they, who are still the Capitol's slaves, can actually look forward to these games.
It's sick. The bloodlust in their eyes fills him with worry.
He despises them. Her cruel competitors, who - at the same time - were just like her. Innocents, intended to die for the pleasure of those who lost humanity a long time ago.
They were only children. They had a family too, anxiously waiting, hopelessly praying for them to please return safely and if not, at least to die a peaceful death.
Every district is like another world, but Gale knows with one hundred percent certainty that, during the weeks of the Games, every inhabitant, no matter which district they're coming from, is doing the same single thing.
When the Games had started, Gale had run off to the Meadow where he used to sit with Katniss. He had tried to imagine that the Hunger Games were nothing but a nightmare, soon to wake up from.
Only a nightmare, nothing bad. In a few hours, he would open his eyes, get dressed, light the fire in their house, so the others wouldn't be cold, and take off to the woods. There Katniss would already be checking his snares. She always liked to be the first one to be there - and he started to like offering her this small victory, so he made sure he ran exactly slow enough for her to be first.
Nightmare.
That's true.
Nothing but a nightmare.
It's like a badly made up mantra in his head, but it keeps him from going insane, and it helps him stay strong.
He knows it's useless.
Not a single person in District Twelve would ever wake up from this nightmare. If living under the Capitol's rule and going through Reaping each year was called living a nightmare, then the start of the 74th Hunger Games was the exact moment where Gale realized that nightmares were much, much worse.
Don't let them starve.
Her last words still echo against his skull.
It haunts him. How she made him promise to take care of her family, because he knew that at the same time, she also predicted that she would never return herself. The promise, it goes beyond these few weeks that she would be gone. She needed it to last forever, because there's a small chance that she will not last for a lifetime.
And although there's nothing he wouldn't do for her or her family, although he sacrificed every piece of meat, every carefully plucked bush of edible plants he could find to take care of Prim and her mother - Gale never feels as if he's fulfilled his duty, the promise he made to Katniss, before she was ripped away from his life for good.
Katniss.
The one girl that actually mattered to him in this district, apart from his mother and Prim. But then again, the latter one was only an extension of the affection he felt for the elder sister.
"You alright, Gale?" Prim stands next to him, big eyes full of genuine concern, and he shrugs.
How did she get here?
She and her mother usually watch the games from the little television screen on the dresser at their home. It's because her mother can't stop crying.
People don't discuss her tears, nor do they judge them, but Mrs. Everdeen insists on watching the games at home. No one knows why, but no one questions the desperate decisions of a mother who's lost half of her family already.
"Shouldn't you be at home?"
His answer is ruder than he intended it to be, but Prim doesn't take offence and she smiles, although it's the faintest of smiles. She takes his hand, softly stroking the back of it as if he were that ridiculous cat of hers, then leaves him in peace, making her way out of the crowded, smothering square.
Gale knows more about Katniss' family than the people of District Twelve, more about why her mother can't bear to watch the Games together with other people, who wishes for Katniss' return as much as she does.
Prim told him, right after the Games had started, how Katniss ordered - forced- her mother not to break down again. That she had to be strong for Prim.
Gale also knew what Katniss had really intended to say, regardless of her promise to Prim.
I won't come back alive.
It's what Mrs. Everdeen understood.
And it's the same thing Gale understood, immediately after hearing Prim retelling the scene.
It's like the promise she needed him to make: a prediction of her nearing death.
So Gale doesn't judge her mother or make an effort for her to stick to her promise to Katniss. Because he knows better than anyone, that when it comes to most possibly never seeing Katniss again, being strong is a promise that's simply too much to ask for.
I don't know how to be strong.
It's what he heard her, Katniss, mumble on the day they were told their fathers had died in the mine explosion.
They were all too hurt, too mournful to be there for each other at that moment, to connect one loss to another and support each other.
If they did, Gale would have seen the strength rousing in Katniss' tear stained face, even when her voice was wavering and her hand trembled with such force that the Peacekeepers had to take away the cup of herbal tea the family members were all given.
She didn't cry.
She never cried.
.
His hands crunch up in big, angry fists. It doesn't help him calm down.
His anger at the Capitol, at the Gamemakers, at those hideous creatures who a thousand miles away, are able to watch these episodes of slaughter without even a second thought, only rises. They even enjoy it. Probably have some sort of ridiculously luxurious snack while doing so. Laughing, too. Betting on which one of the participants will go down next, because it's fun.
Fun.
"Gale."
A big hand is resting on his shoulder. It's an elder miner his mother has recently come to know better.
Gale doesn't care for him, but ever since they met at the Square, his mother has worn a smile ever so often, so he doesn't complain either.
"She'll survive, boy. She's a strong one." Another pat and the man leaves him alone.
She'll survive.
He hopes so. He really hopes so.
The nails at the tops of his fingers, dirty from the coals, dig deep and desperate holes into the palms of his hands.
She's so innocent. She hated to think of herself that way. She thought she was hardened, hoped that nobody in District Twelve took her for that broken little creature from years ago, lost in sentimental stutterings, the day she lost her father.
No, Katniss Everdeen was supposed to be tough. Merciless. A caretaker, not one to dwell on insecurities or what if's.
It's exactly how she appears in the games, as if she has everything under control. As if she's always one step ahead of the Gamemakers.
The screens are focused on her face, filled with nothing but careful composure. Suddenly, one of the cameras zooms in on Rue, who could easily be mistaken for Prim, innocent, little Prim, trapped in a net.
And although she's right there, although she must be filled with a fear no human being would ever be able to bear, Katniss' face gives away nothing at all. Not even a glimpse.
It's how he knows her.
Gales averts his eyes from the screen.
He knows better. He knows the pain she tries to hide. He knows her every expression, the differences in her face, so subtle but still there. He reads her like a book, although she never knew and he never told her.
He knows all about her, but right now, all he knows is that she can't lose. She has to win, or else he'll go mad.
A voice from the Games slowly draws his attention back to the screen and again, he looks up.
He has to.
Watching the games is bad, but not watching them will kill him.
And there's Katniss, giving in, giving up, crying over something that must so obviously be the terrible death of little Rue.
Gale knows. The Gamemakers must have cut out most of Rue's death, but he knows there's more to it, because for Katniss to collapse like this, it would have to take something about the size of Prim's death.
.
I wish she were home.
He does.
There's nothing more on earth he would wish for but Katniss, safe and sound at home and wrapped up in his arms - although Katniss was never that kind of girl.
Truth be told, Gale doesn't care anymore about the kind of girl Katniss is supposed to be. These Games, they play with his mind. With his heart.
Then he hears the announcement, Claudius Templesmith's voice echoing through the arena. The square, moments ago filled with chunks of chatter, is dead silent now, the only sound coming from the wind howling through the streets.
It reflects the exact mood of every inhabitant of District Twelve in these times: dark and cold, but terribly strong. There's hope again.
The announcement is short and simple, and deadly confusing at the same time.
But Gale is a quick thinker. His heart flutters with hope, and with a crushing feeling of helplessness, more than ever, as realization dawns on him.
She can survive.
They both can survive. If she can find Peeta.
.
Peeta.
The one who claims to have loved Katniss his whole life. The one who - as Gale was quick to understand - helped keeping her alive during the Games, because of their so-called love story.
It's just a strategy.
How he knows?
There's no answer to that, only questions. He just knows.
Gale only saw a fragment of the interviews, but of course it had to be Peeta's. Of all the interviews he could have interrupted on.
And then he heard Peeta declare his love for Katniss, for the eyes and ears of all of Panem. As if it is their business.
At the time, Gale could only snort. He hadn't known the exact feelings that rushed through him at Peeta's announcement, but he didn't need to be a genius to figure out that jealousy was part of it.
.
His heart is beating against his chest as he watches Katniss run through the woods, looking for Peeta.
He forces himself to breathe in and out slowly. It's the only way he manages to keep looking at the screen, and as the hours pass, Gale does nothing but watch her every move, her every expression that manages to make it past het carefully constructed façade of nothingness.
He needs her to find Peeta.
Because he knows she would never leave him behind.
And she has, she has to come home.
He needs her.
.
"Gale, you coming home, too?" Rory, tugging at his brother's sleeve, because it seems to be the only way to get through to him at this stage of the Games.
A couple of days have passed and Gale is obviously in no state of reaching home safely.
The way he's crouched up on a vessel in the farthest corner of the square makes the whole district exchange glances of pity at the sight of him, but they never reach Gale's eyes.
It's as if he hopes to be able to disappear from the terrible scene, but at the same time every living soul in District Twelve knows that Gale of all people wouldn't ever leave Katniss out of his sight, when the Games are this close to ending.
So he's stuck, up here on this stupid vessel, with nothing but his own heart as company.
And his growing frustration.
His confusion.
His anger, towards Peeta, towards the Gamemakers, towards the Capitol, even towards Katniss, although he doesn't understand where thatsort of anger is coming from.
"No, you go. I'll stay just a bit longer."
Rory nods, then leaves. They both know that at this point, Gale won't leave the almost empty square until he knows Katniss will return home.
Still, Rory doesn't hesitate to ask Gale to come home, every night again.
As the moments pass, Gale's eyes are glued to the screen, even though nothing interesting happens. Still, his ears capture every word, from an angered scream to a fearful whisper.
He is lost, so much that even when Katniss is asked to tell Peeta her happiest memory, and Gale knows that he must play a role in it, the thought doesn't cheer him up. It doesn't even pull at his own memories of their hunting trips, of how much he loved her without even knowing he did.
There's a small crowd gathered in front of the screens.
They are the people who now tentatively, but increasingly enthusiastic, start believing that the tributes of Twelve might actually stand a chance.
But not even their carefully cheerful encouragements can put a hint of hope on his face, and Gale closes his eyes in an attempt to empty his head.
There's a coldness inside him that slowly starts to eat away at his heart. Inside, there's a feeling of something Prim would call lovesick, but Gale doesn't attempt to analyze what's going on inside him, because it only leads to more anger, more confusion, more frustration.
And hope.
Because it's obvious that with her every attempt at affection, her chances of returning home are growing.
Peeta might have the Capitol in his pocket, but Katniss is a quick learner - and right now, even Gale can't convince himself that the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve are nothing but a strategy for survival.
That's when it happens.
A kiss.
Again.
They've kissed before. It was painful but it was nothing. It was an act. Gale knew her well enough to figure that out. He does read her like a book, after all.
But it's a kiss nevertheless, and this one seems different.
It is different.
Suddenly, he wishes he doesn't know her at all, because at least he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between all the attempts at kissing.
He can't take it. Not anymore.
His heart shatters in a thousand little pieces, sharp and one hundred percent lethal.
Why don't they stop?
Why doesn't she react?
Why does it look real?
Why does it look so fucking real?
"Gale?" The mayor's daughter, next to him.
Gale doesn't react. It's only Madge, and the only things he can now think of have Katniss' name written all over it. He has trouble breathing, taking in small draws of breath while forgetting to breathe altogether.
And then he finds his composure again, and the only thing showing his unease is the way in which his muscles are so tight that Madge thinks he can explode any moment. But his mask is quiet and composed, and he is lost in thoughts.
He should have expected this. Of course he should have expected this! These are the infamous star-crossed lovers from District Twelve, who have stolen the Capitol's heart.
These people have no heart.
His fists are rock hard, human bombs of anger, fear, guilt.
Inside him, there's a mixture of feelings and he doesn't even bother to figure them out. They knot together, happily clashing into one another and creating the most deliciously indissoluble mixture of feelings. His feelings are a punishment and he hates them.
He hates everything right now.
He should have protected her. He should have done something. Started a revolution or something. Or spit at Effie's ridiculously painted face, or her wig.
Or ran away with Katniss when he had suggested it to her earlier, before the Reaping.
Except that she had refused his offer, hadn't she?
He wondered why. Perhaps she didn't deem him as important as she was to him. If she even knew how much she meant to him, surely she wouldn't have refused him so harshly.
Or would she?
Does she know? She has to know how he feels about her. Or doesn't she?
Gale growls loudly, lost in thoughts. She's so damn innocent. Of course she doesn't know.
Maybe he should have told her. How he grew attached to her, very slowly, and how she was the only girl able to calm his fears, how she made him feel alive. Happy, almost.
.
A kiss on her nose from Peeta, almost as sweet as the miniature cakes he used to decorate when he was still just the baker's favorite son instead of this wildly celebrated lover from District Twelve.
Right now, they don't look like anything except two lovers, desperately seeking refuge against the Capitol's crimes.
They seem almost... happy.
That's all it takes.
He can't take more of this. The vessel, over the days come to known as 'his', rolls around in the now almost empty square.
Gale is already outside.
He doesn't have the slightest idea of where he could possibly run to and feel safe, but he runs. Anywhere is good enough, as long as it removes the close up camera image of Katniss kissing Peeta from his mind.
It doesn't.
His mind won't shut up.
Instead of finding distractions in the deserted, dark square of the district, his head zooms in on the imagery, tattooing itself against his eyelids, making sure he'll never forget.
He trips, falls, rolls over the pebbles.
They pull open the skin of his leg, but he gets up and doesn't even bother to look at his leg. What really hurts is on the inside, where every bone, every vein, every nerve in his body screams out the agony he refused to give in to for so long.
And he runs.
His vision blurs. He runs harder.
Across the square, through the main street, past the Everdeen's house, where there's a light on in Katniss' old room, but he runs past it without looking at it.
Once he stops running, there's no turning back.
He has truly lost her.
He now knows.
The look on her face, when she was kissing the baker's son, will never leave his mind.
I lost her.
He falls to his knees, unable to move any further, ignoring the pain of the fir needles stinging in his skin.
A soft sound of sobs reaches his ears and it takes him another whole minute before he fully realizes that it's his own chest, heavily breathing, that the sobs are coming from.
The sound of his tears only smothers his attempts at quieting them.
He doesn't care. There's no one he needs to pretend for. There's not a soul on earth who can hear him, because there's not a soul who is stupid enough to go out on the streets this late.
No one to witness the breakdown of the great Gale Hawthorne, who has never been caught crying. There's not a person in Twelve who had ever seen Gale give up or wallow in self-pity.
He was the survivor, hunting for chances to lead a better life. Just like Katniss. Together, they'd never lose, but tonight, Gale lost his way.
.
"Gale... It's cold outside. Come with me."
A hand on his shoulder, small and soft. Someone helps him stand up, guides him inside a warm home.
A warm cup of herbal tea in front of him. He doesn't touch it.
A voice, quiet but determined. Her words go lost on him.
He looks up, but he doesn't see.
She asks if he's okay and he hesitates. He wants to tell her all is fine, but it's clearly not fine, so he doesn't say anything and just keeps staring at this stupid herbal tea, as if it's the source of his problems.
A sudden burst of anger overtakes him and he slams the cup, still full of tea, against the wall with all the force he can manage. The pieces shatter across the kitchen floor, the hot tea most likely killed the decorative plant on the dresser.
He waits for her anger, but it never comes.
He expects her to snap at him for being ungrateful, for ruining the cup and probably more kitchen stuff.
He looks up again, curious because of her unexpected silence, but this time he sees her.
Her eyes are big and all he can read in them is compassion. And pain.
She knows.
Madge.
.
She's soft beneath him.
Her hands are calming the heated waves of anger radiating from his chest, and she softy strokes his back in an attempt to help him empty himself of all the feelings. They're eating him from the inside. She knows.
She's seen the despair in his eyes, she's seen him fleeing at the sight of the star-crossed lovers.
They went upstairs, not so long ago.
Neither of them bothered with words when their mouths came crashing down on one another.
They knew how it felt, the emptiness inside, tearing at their sanity. And they both needed desperately to feel anything, anything, to avoid going insane.
Madge sighs, the sound filling her bedroom, but not her head.
The only sound had been that of shared kisses of desperation against the stone wall of an empty house.
She feels bad for him.
She feels worse herself.
The Games, they remind her, every year again.
It will never end. Her mother, tied to the bed, screaming the house awake with her nightmares.
They won't stop. Ever.
The Games, they're in her house, in her heart, in her head. Always. She'll have to live with them. This kind of cruelty, Madge knows, will never fade away.
And if she can, she'll try to make them fade away, even if it's just for one moment, one night in Gale's arms.
The sound of his moaning mingles with his sobs, as do hers.
They don't quiet down, but grow stronger with every second of their act of consolation.
On a normal day, she would fear someone would hear them. But right now, she doesn't care. He takes away her tension and she knows - she feels it - that he's taking out his anxiety on her.
It's the injustice of it all. The misery, the feeling of desperation. The loneliness.
Oh, the loneliness.
She needs someone, just someone, to help her make it through this moment.
So she's glad Gale is with her, because although she may be strong, Madge is human and she needs company, someone to hold her, to divert her attention from her mother's nightmares and from the Games her friend now finds herself in.
His mouth against her neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses. His weight on her well-fed, but still small, body. The sound he makes when she grasps dark locks of his hair and pulls him closer.
Closer.
She needs him closer.
She needs to feel his presence. She needs to feel, everywhere, not only surrounding her.
And he needs her too.
She knows. She can feel it, filling up the void inside her. She can sense it too, and it's heating up her bedroom with such warmth that they - for that split second, can forget the terrible cold that took her, that took himover on the day of the Reaping.
It's almost as if there's an end to the nightmares, and when they reach it - without giving it a second of thought - push themselves over the edge, there's a moment of bliss, and there's nothing.
Nothing at all, and these few seconds of nothingness are a thousand times better than the nightmare they soon will fall into again.
Silence settles in her bedroom and they lie still on her bed, heavily breathing.
They try to grasp the last seconds of another world, because the moment they open their eyes, the nightmares will come back.
They know.
She clings to him, too afraid to let go. She's not sure, but she thinks his arms cling to her in that same desperate, insane manner.
Fear. Loneliness.
They are lost.
His distraction is all she needs. She knows she'll lose herself if she has to go back to reality, but for now, distraction is all she needs.
As for Gale, it's all he can do to take away the agony that's rushing through his every vein.
He doesn't bother to consider thinking through his actions.
And he'd do it all over again.
He'd do anything for a moment to forget, but his mind is recovering faster than his body and the images are waking up against his eyelids.
His heart crumbles.
He panics. Faster than she could ever imagine, he gets up and reaches for his clothes, before exiting the room in a run.
The door is still open. She looks at it with empty eyes and doesn't even bother to feel bad. Her door will always be open for him, and she knows his will be open for her, too. It's something she felt, at the center of their desperation.
A scream from another bedroom reaches hers and Madge leaves the soft, still warm, spot of peace on her bed.
As she gathers her clothes and dresses, to go check on her mother, she notices a piece of cloth laying next to the door.
It's Gale's.
She doesn't even need to see it unfolded, she just knows.
She could recognize from anywhere that same feeling of loneliness, the smell of desperation, of tears refused to be spilled.
She'll always know.
Always.
.