A/N: I think this is my fastest upload ever! I plan to have the rest of this story up in two weeks or less. And warning to all of you Gale/ Katniss lovers: Peeta appears briefly in this chapter. And I put him in here because if I want to achieve my goals for this story, Peeta has to come up eventually. And this chapter contains no Gale/ Katniss interactions, sorry. I couldn't fit it in to my basic plot line, and I like the ending. It may be the first one that shows a light at the end of a tunnel. So I hope you enjoy Chapter Six, Simply Confused.

First thought: Fear.

Second thought: What the hell am I doing this for?

Third thought: Why is the world fading to blackness….?

Katniss's POV

When I hear something hit the ground from outside, I know something's wrong. When I see Gale, covered in a pool of blood, eyes closed, I freak out, a million questions darting through my brain. I start yelling. And then, all the sudden, I find myself at his side, on my knees, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest. I lift his limp arm, and check for the faint pulse in his wrist. It's still there. But just barely.

Soon enough, some paramedics take him away on a stretcher (when did they get here?), most likely to the small hospital that has been set up here. I feel hot tears welling in my eyes, threatening to overflow. I couldn't lose Gale; friends or not, he was my lifeline for so many years, I can't just let him go. Not yet.

Standing up, I brush the dirt from my knees, trying to avoid looking at the pool of blood that's next to my feet. I just stay there, dead on my feet, until Peeta comes outside and takes my hand in his. I rest my head on his shoulder. He brushes away a stray strand of my hair and whispers, "It'll be ok Katniss. Everything's going to be fine."

Peeta and I go to the hospital. I kind of feel bad from just leaving him for about a week to try and convince Gale not to kill himself, but I don't regret spending time with Gale. We sit in the waiting room, our hands intertwined, not talking. We both are, to put it simply, in different places. Mentally, that is.

I'm in shock. I thought Gale had gotten better; that he had healed from whatever phase he was in. Well, sort of. How wrong I was. And I can't keep that tortured look in his eyes out of my mind… They are haunting me. When I found out those bombs were of his and Beetee's design, I could see the guilt in his eyes. The pain was there. But when I saw him again, two years later, I didn't just see the guilt that I alone had caused him, the guilt of causing me pain. I saw the guilt of every being killed in the war reflected. The fire I once had seen in him was gone. Stamped out and flooded, ashes swept away. Like it was never there. I couldn't, and still can't, stand to see him like that; gone was his will to do anything. And for some strange reason, it hurts me too.

What's wrong with me? I didn't think I'd ever forgive him. Yet, I did. To me, this can mean only one thing: Do I love him?

Gale's POV

Pain. It's overwhelming. What's worse is the fact that I can feel it. I failed to end it. I must stir or something, because all the sudden, doctors and nurses are swooping over me with IVs and clipboards and other medical tools that I have no name for. A dull chattering fills the room. There's a sharp tightening around the side of my chest, then it stings like a thousand daggers. I figure that I hit a rock as I hit the ground and cut my side open… It's a miracle that I'm still alive. Or maybe a curse. It's a matter of opinion.

The doctors slowly finish whatever they are doing and one by one, they walk away, finally leaving me alone. They stand in the corner, discussing in low voices. Whether about my mental or physical state, I don't know or care. Probably both. I catch fragments of sentences, but the medical terms mean nothing to my mind. I don't even know what half of what they're saying means. I watch as all but one of them file out the door. The one that remains does something that I can't see, and then turns back to me with a syringe in his hand. It's almost funny how much I've come to hate those things; they always turn out to be full of the drugs that postpone me from doing what I need to do.

The doctor stands next to me, and looks at me with a look of curiosity on his face. It looks a lot like pity. My anger threatens to spark up, but I push it away. I wait for the man to say something, to do something. He places the needle on a small, metallic table next to me, and folds his arms.

"For someone who is considered a war hero, one of the big brains behind it all, you aren't being smart about what you're doing." I glare at the man. He returns it with a small smirk. "I know that you don't want help nor advice, but I'm giving you some anyways. Trying to punish yourself for something that you did in the past doesn't change the present. In your mind, you made some major mistakes, but you have to understand that what's done is what's done, and you can't change it. You live once, and you live for a reason. If you want to waste it, then be my guest. Feeling guilt and remorse is natural. But don't let it drive you to the edge. Those people wouldn't want you to do that."

I stare at the man, taking in his words. Something occurs to me. I say, "Those people and their families want to kill me. They want me dead. How could they not?"

A look I can't decipher crosses his face. "I would know. My son, he died in that episode at the Nut. I was angry at first, of course, but then I realized that it was done because you were trying to win a war. I knew that you acted for the greater good. Most of the other families of the victims agreed."

That stings more than a slap to the face. I cringe, and the doctor looks down at me. I don't even know his name…

"I hope you know that I'm not mad or angry. If anything, I admire you, Gale. Or I did. The easy way isn't the right way." He looks dead serious when he says this, "I want you to forgive yourself for my sake. If not for me, do it for my son. He wouldn't have wanted anyone, even if it was the person that ended him, to suffer. Learn to live again. Learn to laugh. Learn to love."

"I'll try. I can do that much. For your son." And I will.

The doctor, after zoning out for a moment, explains to me that I'm going to get stiches for the gash in my side, thus explaining the syringe. He does some basic prep stuff, checking my blood and vitals, then the cut itself, and gets me ready for 'transport'. Just before he sticks the syringe into my arm, I ask, "What's your name?"

He closes his eyes before answering. "James."

That's when I feel the medicine entering my blood flow, and I fall into a drugged sleep.

When I wake up, I am back in the room I was before. I'm alone. I rest my head against the back of my bed and sigh. I hate being confused.

But for the time being, I think I'll just have to learn to live with it.