For Her Safety

March 31st, 2012

A/N: Just a little one-shot inspired by Katniss' recollection of a horrific hallucination in the first chapter of Mockingjay. I find it hard to believe that Gale never visited her once during her hospitalization and decided to write a scene explaining that lack of memory. First time I've written from Gale's perspective and while it's not what I expected his voice to sound like, I have to imagine he's pretty broken in this scene. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated.

PS: To all my loyal followers of Something Like Danger, I have not forgotten my story. I am struggling with a severe case of writer's block and beg your forgiveness and understanding. Hopefully,writing this one-shot will help me past me current failure to write the next chapter.

I'm not really asleep. I can't fall asleep when the walls in this cramped underground compartment seem to be pushing in on all sides. Feels too much like the dark depths of the mines. Feels too much like a tomb.

I lay listening to Rory's breathing beside me. It's even, comforting, and though, I feel badly that some nightmare has chased him next to me, I am silently grateful for his presence. Even if it is an unconscious one. If I focus, I can even hear little Posy across the room. For a second, I envy my youngest sibling and her relatively sheltered world. She's too young to grasp what we have lost; I work hard not to be irritated that through her naïve eyes, this whole predicament seems like a big temporary adventure.

Except it's not temporary. District 12 is gone. Our homes are gone. Friends, families, Katniss…

I flinch at the thought of lumping my best friend into that category. She's here, with us in District 13, but even though she's physically present, her mind is gone. They tell me it's for her own good, the drugs and sedatives they pump into her system. She needs time to recover, they say. She's been through a lot.

We've all been through a lot, I want to yell at them. But this would not sit well. They'd probably just inject some sedative into me, and while the temporary escape from the pain and loss might be nice, it wouldn't be only the bad things I'd be missing. I'd lose all the good memories too.

The rustle of the forest leaves under our feet…

The way her eyes narrow in concentration when she aims her bow…

The feel of her weight in my arms…

That last memory is both good and bad. I try to associate it with the time when she twisted her knee and I had to carry her home and not the time when I carried her limp form back to the hospital ward after they had tranquilized her. For her safety, they had said. It took everything I had to not snarl back some biting remark. That kind of behavior resulted in loss of privileges.

Seemed less like a privilege and more like torture to be allowed to visit someone who couldn't recognize a friend through a haze of drugs. Though she didn't acknowledge me, I dropped by the wards to see Katniss after all my mandatory scheduling for the day was finished. Sometimes, she stared at the wall when I talked to her. Sometimes, she stared right through me. My mother stopped asking me how my visits went when I returned late. I imagine my eyes seemed pretty blank and unseeing too.

The intercom crackles to life and I sit upright immediately. The snaps and pops waken the rest of my family as the audio struggles to come on line. Usually, announcements over the PA system are made during regular waking hours, not late at night.

"Attention. Gale Hawthorne, please report to Medical 5. Your presence is needed immediately. Gale Hawthorne, Medical 5."

I don't really need my mother's permission to leave, but I look to her anyway. I try not to notice the worry in her eyes when she nods her assent. It takes me less than a minute to pull on my uniform and boots, and then I'm striding out the door.

The hallways flash by, my long strides eating the distance separating us in chunks as I propel myself through the underground labyrinth of District 13. There's no one around at this hour so it's easy to navigate. Even so, I eventually break into a run. The few guards stationed at various corners don't try to stop my illegal pace. Let them try, I think.

Minutes later I'm standing outside the medical ward entrance, waiting impatiently for the airlock doors to slide open. The hiss of the doors starts my feet moving and I burst through too soon, my shoulder catches the left door hard enough to bruise, but the pain I feel is not in my shoulder. My chest and throat feel like they're going to collapse under some invisible pressure that tries to crush me. I almost wish it would when I see the faces of the medical staff congregating in the viewing bay in front of Ward 5. Their mouths pressed into grim lines, a few eyebrows already pulled together with pity. I want to smack the expressions off their faces. The sympathy feels artificial. How could they possibly understand our pain?

Katniss… what's wrong with Katniss… my mind screams. But I grit my teeth and manage to maintain my composure.

"What's going on?" I ask.

The head doctor on the night staff turns and consults his data tablet before meeting my gaze. I know it's all a ploy, he knows exactly what's wrong. They only call me to medical when Katniss is not doing well.

"Soldier Hawthorne," he says, extending his hand towards me. I fold my arms, not accepting the greeting. I realize how rude this appears, but I really can't pretend civility to the doctor who transforms my best friend into a catatonic body.

His arm drops awkwardly to his coat pocket to retrieve a pen as if this were the intention of his movement all along, and turns away to the viewing window. "Follow me."

The glass tint is gone to maximize viewing capacity and he points with the end of his pen to the patient huddled in the corner of the room. He begins to explain the situation, but I fall temporarily deaf as I stare into the room.

Katniss' mouth is open and though I can't hear through the soundproof walls, my mind fills in the terrified scream I know is coming from her. Her eyes are wide, tears streaming down her face, and she cowers in the far corner of the room. Her bed is slightly askew from the wall and the medical station with equipment has been overturned. Scalpels, scissors, and gauze litter the bland tiled floor. She stares at the various instruments as if they might attack at any moment.

"… not uncommon for her to come out of the sedative before her analgesic wore off. She won't allow anyone in the room. We thought she might let you…"

His voice trails off and I turn to him then. My stare must have changed from pained to murderous the instant I realize his arm is outstretched again, but this time a syringe loaded with a bright blue liquid lies in his open palm. He recoils a step, though his arm remains out. It is not the first time they have asked me to administer tranquilizer to Katniss.

"I can't take that in there," I say. He starts to protest and I think that I really don't want to hear all the medical reasons why I'm jeopardizing my friend's safety, or maybe I just can't watch her go through this anymore, so I step away and key open the door. "I said no!"

I know he won't follow me into the room, but I feel relieved when the doors hiss shut behind me.

Her screams echo deafeningly, high and petrified. The sound makes me eyes burn with tears for her hurt and confusion. But I can't give in. Katniss needs my strength right now.

"Hey, Catnip," I say, trying to keep my voice as gentle and soothing as possible though I have to use some volume to be heard over her screams.

Katniss sits up slightly. The room falls silent as she cocks her head and freezes. Except that I can see the quiver of her shoulders, the tenuous tremors of her hands. Her eyes search blindly around the room, sweeping over me several times, before stabilizing on my presence. "Gale?"

I wince at the meekness in her voice. It's like she can't quite believe her ears, but desperately wants to. It's the simultaneous hope and hopelessness that breaks my heart.

"I'm right here, Catnip."

I remain where I am until she trains her gaze on me and struggles to bring me into focus. Into her reality. I know better than to approach her before I see some acknowledgement. A few weeks ago, I had prematurely crossed the room to hold her in one of her panic attacks and she had almost hyperventilated into unconsciousness from the fear.

Her gray eyes swim with confusion and panic, but there it is! The slight glimpse of recognition. It takes a moment for the softness in her beautiful gray eyes to relax the twist of her mouth. But then she smiles, ever so slightly, and I know it's okay for me to walk forward.

But slowly.

"Gale," she says, still squatting but now her arms reach for me.

I speed up a little to get to her faster. In doing so, my boot connects with a downed scalpel and sends it clattering across the floor. Katniss' hands fall and she shrinks away from me. Damn it! I stop moving.

"Gale!" she screams, the hysteria returning full force. Her eyes stare at the scalpel closest to her and she lets out a high-pitched yelp. "Be careful, Gale! They'll get you!"

I shake my head, trying to understand what she's seeing. "Who, Catnip? Who will get me?"

She's quiet for a moment and I start to wonder whether she heard me at all. Patience, I think. Let her settle again.

"The snakes…" She can't bring herself to finish, her voice trailing off into a whimper.

"The snakes?" I ask, confused at first.

Then, I understand. The wary glances to the medical instruments. The panic when I inadvertently kicked one closer to her. Her constantly adjusting feet as if she were trying to climb the walls. The relief floods through me, because I know how to reason her out of this hallucination. At least, she's not reliving the Games.

"Katniss, there are no snakes…" I start. The interruption is expected, anticipated.

"GALE! They're everywhere!"

"Okay, Catnip, okay," I say. "Tell me where they are."

Her eyes dart left and right, eventually settling on my feet. She points. I look down at the line of gauze in front of me and slowly ease myself to my knees.

"Don't let it bite you!" she cries. "Gale, please. Get out of here! Please…"

"I won't," I say. "Catnip, listen to me."

She pulls in a huge terrified wail and her shaking resumes in full force.

"Catnip, please. Listen to me, okay?" I can't help the begging that creeps into my voice. "You know how much I hate snakes, right?"

She nods quickly.

"You know I wouldn't try to pick one up, right?" I slowly reach for the gauze on the floor.

Katniss starts to panic as my hand closes around a 4x4.

"No, Katniss. It's not a snake. I wouldn't touch it if it was."

I gently hold out the gauze to her. She flinches away, but doesn't take her eyes off it. The rationality of my argument battles for dominance with the illusions of her medications. Come on, Catnip. Break through the drugs. Come on.

"I'm all right, see?" I say. I pick up another piece of gauze.

Katniss dubiously watches me pick up piece after piece, and then her gaze switches less from the gauze and more to me. I feel my mouth twist into a relieved smile, the tension fall out of my shoulders.

"Gale?" she whispers, and this time when she reaches out for me, I wrap her up in my arms. Her small hands clutch my shirt, her tear-stained cheeks wet the skin on my neck. I press my lips to her forehead, stroking her hair and whispering "It's okay, you're okay," until her shuddering slows.

I don't know how long I hold her. It's a while because my legs start to cramp beneath our combined weight, but I ignore the burn in my thighs. I will sit here for as long as Katniss needs. And then, maybe even longer.

I catch the questioning gaze of the head doctor in the window and shake my head slightly. Anger flares momentarily in my chest at the thought of what I have to do. Not yet, they can't have her yet. Katniss senses the increased tension, her body starting to tremble, her voice wavering.

"Shhh," I whisper to her dark tresses, pulling her closer. The way she clutches me makes me think she's trying to burrow beneath my skin. It's strange that I feel like I'm trying to do the exact same thing.

If I close my eyes, I transport us back to our place overlooking the valley of District 12. The summer sun climbs high to its zenith, the late morning starting to drown in the lazy humidity of a hot afternoon. I imagine laying beneath its brightness, absorbing the warm rays. If I peeked out under closed eyelids, I could see her beside me, relaxed and supine. A mirror image of myself. All curves and delicacy stretched over a tough interior.

Katniss completely dissolves against me, and it's this moment that I love and dread all at once. There is nothing better than believing I alone am all she needs to feel safe and secure. Her complete trust evident from the lack of tension in her small frame. It's this complete trust that I also betray. Though the drug I'm about to hit her with will erase all memory of my involvement.

"Shhh," I say, continuing to stroke her hair, though I nod and the ward doors slide open to let the nurse in. "You're all right."

"Please don't leave me," she says.

My eyes squeeze shut and I force a deep breath into my cramped chest at the sound of her voice. I would stay all night, no, the rest of my life holding her if that's what she wanted. Rocking her slowly, I take the syringe from the nurse and shoo her away. Katniss burrows closer to me and I see my opportunity. In doing so, I almost vomit with disgust at myself.

Despite my resolve to be strong, I feel the lone tear escape my failing strength, sliding slowly over my cheek. It falls to her part, dampening the hair there and I know that my window is closing.

"I won't," I say, as the needle dives behind her left shoulder blade. I hold her tightly as she tenses, her head raising slightly to look at me with salty gray eyes. She won't remember this in a few minutes, but the betrayal dancing in her eyes still cuts me to the core. Then, she slumps against me, rendered unconscious, my only consolation that she's been returned to a few more peaceful hours of painfree oblivion.

I tuck her back into the hospital bed, pulling the covers snugly beneath her chin, stroking her hair out of her face. A nurse flocks to her side and starts reattaching all the monitors until the sterile hypnotic beep of a machine is the only sound permeating the room. Despite my audience, I press a gentle kiss to the tip of Katniss' nose.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to her.

It takes everything I have to walk away from her side.

"Thank you for…" the head doctor begins.

He pales a little when he sees the look I throw his way.

"Don't," I grind through gritted teeth.

But as the doors hiss shut behind me, I know they will call me back when Katniss falls back to instability. And I know, I will return without hesitation to reassemble her shattered pieces.

~Finis