Chapter 4: Gale Hawthorne
As their lips separated with a soft, lusty lisp of flesh parting flesh, Gale's eyes darkened to a steely gray. His corded arms held Finnick at their furthest reach. Despite the brevity of their kiss, the blond's lips were swollen and blood red. His eyes were inviting. Gale's cut into him like a pair of swords wielded by a champion knight.
"What. Was. That." Gale carefully enunciated each word and equally precise when he chose not to glare at Finnick.
"That was my way of saying thank you." Finnick cocked one eyebrow and locked his turbulent sea eyes with Gale's glacial grays. The District 4 Victor's face gleamed with something alluring, even though he was pale with still recovering from his poison. "Would you like to see how I say please?"
In District 12, girls often giggled surreptitiously when Gale passed them in the market. Even the mayor's daughter had offered him innumerable demonstrations of affection. He was tall, strapping, and provided well for his mother and brothers. Gale's body was well-formed from years of hunting, and despite his stoic personality, he dispensed a quality charm when he smiled and talked.
Etick Hawthorne had raised his eldest son to be more responsible than to sow his seed in every field that offered.
In District 12 there were men like Gale, but not like Finnick. Gale had watched the broadcast in which the blond demolished the Capitol's flawless façade by disclosing his years of prostitution. Gale had seen Finnick battle, first in the Games then in the Quarter Quell. While the girls in District 12 had teased each other as Finnick's wife, Gale's brothers had imitated his fighting style. And there was the matter of Finnick's trident, the most expensive gift ever bestowed on a Tribute, especially for him.
There was no doubt in Gale's mind: People loved Finnick.
Apparently, Finnick loved people as well.
Gale gave Finnick nothing in return. He had learned patience as a hunter; he had learned to control his emotions as the head of his family since he was 13.
"You have lain with men." Anyone else would have posed it as a question. Gale could not disguise the revulsion he felt. He wanted Finnick to see and know how he felt. In District 12, there were no men like Finnick.
The blond nodded, swallowed, and without warning, began to cry.
Gale never dealt with any man crying before. He was paralyzed with uncertainty. He had seen his brothers cry over a toy snatched away and over who had the largest portion at dinner. Gale never had received the luxury of crying in his memory. He reacted to Finnick's tears the same way he reacted to his brothers'.
He aggressively shook the blond. "Stop crying, right now." Gale shook him again. Finnick only gave him a blank stare and did not speak. Even though Finnick's body was firm from his strength, Finnick did not flinch. "What are you crying about? Why are you crying?"
Finnick inhaled deeply while sobbing still. "My wife is dead, and so is my family."
Ice did not know the cold depths to which Gale's expression sank at those words. He sat immobile, while Finnick's tears rolled down his cheeks. Finnick's face turned ruddy, and his facial muscles contorted as though each was a talented dancer on display. The tears decorated his cheeks in sheets of silver fabric.
"I'm sorry about that, Finnick. Perhaps the execution of President Snow should help you…deal with it."
When Gale's brothers cried, they wiped away their own tears. Finnick seemed incapable of doing even that. Gale's fingers reached for Finnick's cheeks, to disrobe them of tears, but the blond undressed his own face.
"Murdering President Snow will not help me. I want more than that. I want to see him and all of his associates tortured. They should suffer for what they've done to me." Finnick's eyes darkened under the heady influence of something Gale did not want to see.
Gale averted his gray-eyed gaze. The dark-haired young man had lost his home and narrowly escaped when District 12 was devastated. Gale understood Finnick's rage better than Gale cared to admit. It had never driven him to do anything he would regret. And Gale could not allow Finnick to do what he had not.
"President Snow is being taken care of. There's a new President, remember?"
"I don't trust her."
Some animal emerged and covered itself in Finnick's skin. His expressive and vivid green eyes conveyed darkness and danger. "What has President Coin done to deserve your hatred of her?"
Finnick clenched his jaw and disappeared somewhere Gale could not go. "Finnick?"
It resembled Katniss' times when she suddenly fell silent in mid-conversation. She had told Gale that she returned to the Arena at times and sank into the recesses of his own mind. Finnick had suffered more than Katniss—the loss of his family, the torment of the Arena—but he was easier company.
Gale was not equipped for it, not Finnick too. He stood up and retreated from Finnick's questions with a note of haste.
