A/N: So, I don't feel like it's neccessary to do a disclaimer, since I obviously do not own the Hunger Games, nor its characters, but here one is regardless. xD Last chapter could be considered a preface/prologue in a way, as it's shorter than the rest... anyways, please stick with me on this, I guarantee it becomes more exciting... especially in chapter 3 ;) So, that is my author's note, continue reading x)

Ch.2— The Fight

"Anything for you?" she giggled as she asked it with a fake saccharine voice and batted her eyelashes. She poured some cheap wine into a miniature glass.

"Nah, just water," Gale shrugged nonchalantly, though he couldn't resist a miniscule smile at her behavior.

One would assume, by the way she sauntered over with a sultry sway in her hips as she clutched the drinks in her hands, that she was completely carefree and perhaps even a tad bit devious. True, she had improved greatly since their last meeting, but Gale saw through the façade. It leaked through as she handed him the glass; the series of tremors that ran up her arm every time the water ventured too close to the edge of the cup, threatening to spill over onto her roughened fingertips.

After they had spent the last half-week living together, they had allowed themselves to unwind slightly, and were more comfortable and casual with each other; no doubt they appreciated each other's friendship. Unfortunately, with this new closeness, came a random arsenal of crude taunting and irritating accusations from Johanna; it was beginning to wear thin on Gale. For some unknown reason, she had been nagging him endlessly, but not in the same way he had known her to do so in District 13. Not only was it extensively more often, but now there was a light tinge of a pout every time she teased him; it seemed to be pity, but whether or not it was meant for herself or him, he had no idea. Regardless, this irregular behavior was growing old, fast. In fact, Johanna had just flopped onto the sofa and they were exchanging good-hearted japes when the banter started up again. Great.

"So Gale, how's the Kitty Kat?" she snickered. "Has she called yet?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Johanna." Gale's tone was instantly stone hard and frigid. From the way Johanna talked about her, she seemed nearly jealous; but Gale was aware this was a senseless accusation and notion. What did Katniss have that she would ever want so badly? "And no, she hasn't called."

Before he left for District 2, Gale had experienced half-hearted emotions, and allowed the telephone number for his new apartment to be provided for Katniss, just in case she ever desired to call. But the phone remained still and silent, flaunting its coat of dust from disuse. Sometimes, a part of him wondered if she ever considered calling. But the rest of him hoped he'd never talk to her again.

"I'm sorry, that must really suck," she mumbled, downing the shot of inexpensive alcohol. "I'd be bummed too if I were you, knowing she's probably screwing bread-for-brains every night."

Gale created a guttural noise of contempt. "Be quiet, Johanna. You don't get it at all."

"It's not my fault everyone I cared about is dead," she shrugged. "You can hardly be upset with me just because there's no way to hurt me anymore."

"Don't pretend like you don't care. Even I, of all people, know you better than that," Gale retorted, and then, with a sharp burst of anger, replied, "and I believe the Capitol still left people with ways to hurt you."

Gale dipped his hand gently into the glass of water and then flipped it up, splaying his fingers wide open; crystalline drops of water were flicked across Johanna's face.

She bolted away from him and snarled, glaring with the fury of a madwoman. And spontaneously, she was the girl he'd known way back then. Since then, her pallor had surely subsided, and she had gained back some of the weight that had been missing from her sickly, bony figure since the torture, though she still appeared extremely skinny. Her hair had grown out, the longest of the strands extending to her shoulders, and it was still sort of spiky like before, though more ruffled. It lacked luster, but had maintained the warm chestnut-brown hue it always had. Yet, underneath all of the differences and her healthier appearance, the old Johanna was still in there, clawing her way out. The one who was annihilated inside by the Capitol, and who's shattered pieces could never be fully restored. It came to his attention that whatever was eating away at her now, for whatever reason she was acting in this fashion, he cared about her, and as her friend, he needed to find out what was wrong before willingly flooding her with memories of her own near-demise.

In actuality, he was about to apologize, but he suddenly preoccupied himself with observing the wary look she was giving him. She looked, in all honesty, like a hateful, bedraggled kitten would if you attempted to give it a bath. And before he could contain himself, he chuckled loudly.

"What?" she snapped, her dark eyes narrowing to flustered and furious slits. "What about this is funny?"

"Watch out, I might need to call Finnick to dunk you again before you go off on another crazed tangent," he said with a sadistic smile, remembering the humorous event he had watched on television during the Quarter Quell; but he instantly regretted saying it.

"Finnick's dead, asshole." Johanna bit her lip, her eyes brimming with tears. "Okay, I'm sorry for what I said to you. But do you think everything I went through was fun? Do you think I enjoyed watching everyone I love die? Do you think I cherished every second of being turned into a fearful, unlovable, disgusting, and terribly ugly mutt?"

"Oh, shut up, Johanna. You're always beautiful. You know that."

Suddenly, the room fell into an empty abyss of silence. Yet it wasn't stuffy, it was ominously open. A crimson rouge blossomed across her cheekbones, so light that it was barely detectable, but obviously Gale noticed; it was the most color he'd seen grace her face in ages. She glanced away, unable to meet the glare in his silver eyes. However, the impact of what he said registered in his own mind stronger than it ever could in Johanna's. Gale swallowed hard, his expression unreadable and incomprehensible, a difficult lump forming in his throat.

"I'm going to shower…" Gale's nervous murmur trailed off as he quickly left, his footsteps loudly slapping the stairs as he ascended. Johanna stood frozen in place, quiet as a phantom, as she tried to grasp what all of it could mean. She felt terrible and guilty for what she'd said, but deep down, it was all because of her jealousy for Katniss. More specifically, the attention she received from Gale. Johanna couldn't be ascertained as to why the emotion was so powerful, as she couldn't determine how she really felt about him. However, under all of the confusion and befuddlement, it was impossible to deny the attraction she felt. What else would explain the way that teasing each other simply as humble friends was never enough for her? How every second she was alone and desolate, her mind always wandered astray to him? How, although he had only been an acquaintance, she already trusted him with so much?

Of course, she had frequently believed she would never inform Gale of this jealousy. Yet now, still suspended in the wake of the shock of what he said, she could feel herself mentally letting him in. After so many years of hardening herself, building an impenetrable wall of hatred since the day all of her loved ones were slaughtered, she felt herself falling in love like a foolish waste-of-space schoolgirl. She had sworn to herself that she would never become attached ever again. However, this time, she didn't block any inch of him out of her troubled mind. For the first time in a long time, she felt the detest and envy in her mind fading away, realizing that with all of this, she finally had a chance.

Meanwhile, Gale permitted the cool droplets of water to sting his flesh, refreshing him. The icy dribbles of the pure, clear liquid trickled across his olive skin, flowing down every taut muscle in his body. He slapped his face cautiously, trying to find a single point of focus for his mind to dwell upon. So immediately, he tried to think of Katniss. He attempted to carry the anguish of his past, how she had played him, all of his bottled emotions, to the surface. As he pondered all the horrors he'd been through, as the water continued to wash away the excess of all he felt and renew him, he was confronted with an image. It was Johanna's face, back downstairs, with a blush spreading across her face and a silent smile in her eyes.

And suddenly, it came to his attention that no matter how much he tried to think of Katniss, he couldn't care less.