A/N: Sorry for the long wait, had to deal with real life. Now, to catch up on internet life... Oh, how I've missed you.
The day after the reaping drags by uneventfully. In school, nearly everyone has adopted a relieved and almost cheerful attitude, thankful they're safe for another year. Only a few of Peeta's friends seem disheartened as we're forced to re-watch the footage of the reaping in class, in place of our usual history lecture. At lunch though, they act the same as they ever do: talking, arm-punching, even laughing every now and then. I try not to focus on them, but it's better than just staring stupidly at the empty seat across the table from me.
I manage not to cry anymore, arranging my face into a somewhat blank expression, although it doesn't matter much. Even if I let myself look upset, there's no one who would bother asking me what's wrong. Nessie is working shorter hours than usual this week to tend to her sister, so she's only around when I'm at school, and my mother's latest piercing headache has made sure that she hasn't left her bedroom on the third floor in several days.
My father and I meet up in the town square, where he insisted we watch the broadcast of the opening ceremonies together. I'd rather be home, away from the crowd, avoiding watching Katniss dressed up and paraded in whatever parody of a coal miner's outfit the stylists have chosen this year, but my father is right. It's important to show support. He gives me an encouraging smile when our tributes are presented- not in clichéd, overdone costumes, but in dazzling flames- a smile that I'm surprised to find myself returning. When the ceremonies are over, I turn to my father to gush about how magical Katniss looked, and how maybe she'll have impressed some potential sponsors tonight, but before I get the chance, he kisses the top of my head and tells me he has to get back to work. I sigh, and scan the square for a head of dark hair that would be sticking up above the rest of the crowd. He isn't here.
The kids at school buzz about Peeta and Katniss. What they wore, how amazing they looked, and Was it real fire? How did they not get burned? Why were they holding hands? It's hard not to roll my eyes, considering how few of these people bothered to learn Katniss's name before, and now she's all anyone can talk about. I remind myself that this is a good thing. If she has buzz here, maybe she has it in the Capitol as well.
Gale hardly shows up for school at all. My awareness of his absence brings me a sense of disquiet, forcing me to realize just how closely I keep track of his schedule. He's in his last year, which means we share no classes, nor do we eat lunch at the same time, but still, it only took a glance first thing in the morning to the corner by the drinking fountain to see that only three, not four, scruffy-looking Seam boys were congregated there.
I try not to wonder too much about where he could be all day, hoping he isn't sick. I'm sure he's probably in the woods, hunting, wishing he still had his partner with him. I remind myself that it's none of my concern. One random nighttime visit and a fairly inadequate apology for his rudeness does not make us friends.
More hot days are followed by warm evenings, not unpleasantly so, but my father takes to fanning himself with his hat anyway as we join the group gathered in the square, waiting to see our tributes be interviewed.
The crowd is bigger tonight than it was yesterday when they announced the training scores, and Katniss managed to earn an eleven. When the number appeared on the screen, there was a moment of shocked silence, then an uproar of applause and chatter, not just from those of us in the square, but from the open windows above the shops, where the merchants' families were watching. My father had pulled me in for a hug and squeezed me so tightly, he almost knocked the wind out of me, but I could understand his excitement. The highest scoring tribute came from his district. No doubt he was proud.
I cover a yawn with my hand, and rest my head on my father's shoulder. I didn't sleep at all the night after the reaping, and I've tossed and turned every night since. Regardless of Katniss's high score, I can't help remembering some of the more brutal ways I've seen kids die in the Games over the years, and worrying for her, even though I know that she's not in the arena yet.
Gale's words haunt me as well. I had only tried to offer some comfort, reminding him that Katniss could win. No, she can't. He had said it so absolutely, so finally. As if she has no chance at all of winning. He can't really believe that, can he? He knows her better than anyone. They brave the woods together, hunt, use weapons. He has to know that gives her at least a bit of an advantage. How can he have no hope at all?
Then again, maybe hope is a dangerous thing for someone like Gale Hawthorne, who only sees things in the most certain of terms. To be reaped is a death sentence, pure and simple. To hope for anything different would go against his nature. To have hope would mean leaving himself open, vulnerable to disappointment, and something tells me vulnerability is not a quality Gale would ever choose to adopt. Maybe giving up hope that Katniss will live is his way of protecting himself from utter devastation if she dies. I suppose I can't blame him for that.
The crowd quiets down as the broadcast begins, and I barely make it halfway through the first girl's interview before I start to get antsy. I don't think I can make it through this whole show, watching all the other tributes talk about themselves, giving us a chance to get to know them before they get killed or start killing in the arena tomorrow. Watching the events leading up to the Games has never affected me quite like this before. It feels like I should be doing something to help.
I glace around the square for Gale, which has become second nature for me now, though I know he won't be here. My gaze fixes on the bakery, where Peeta Mellark's family is no doubt upstairs, waiting anxiously to see their son's interview. I narrow my eyes though, and I can make out movement through the shop window. A blonde figure, one of Peeta's brothers, bustling around downstairs. I glance back to the screen, where Caesar Flickerman is laughing with the beautiful District 1 tribute, then I tap my father and whisper that I'll be right back. He nods, but keeps focused on the interview.
Briskly, I make my way across the square to the bakery, where Flynn Mellark is inside sweeping the floor. The bakery's been closed a few hours now, but he's still wearing his white apron and has an ugly yellowish-purple bruise around his eye. When he catches me looking in, I lift a hand in an unenthusiastic wave, and after looking puzzled for a moment, he comes outside and leans on his broom.
"Madge," he says, nodding.
"You're not watching the interviews," I say.
"You either," he replies. His voice sounds hollow, with no trace of the charm or arrogance I know him for. Not that I'm fond of his particular brand of swagger, but it's disconcerting to notice its absence.
I nod. "What happened there?" I ask, gesturing to his face.
He shrugs. "Took an elbow during wrestling practice."
I nod again, as if this should have been obvious. I start to regret trying to speak to him, but something drew me over here. Perhaps it was that hug from Peeta, and the idea that maybe I had actually comforted him just a bit. Unfortunately, my presence seems to be having the opposite effect on his brother. "How's your family doing?"
"My little brother's gone," he says acerbically. "How do you think?"
My lips part in surprise. "I'm sorry, I-"
"No, forget it," he says quickly, the angry and frustrated look still painted on his face. "It's not your fault." He sighs. "Look, I have more cleaning up to do, you should get back before you get caught not watching the broadcast."
I look around, to only see a handful of Peacekeepers around the perimeter of the square, none of whom are paying me any attention. "I don't think they care."
He shrugs. "I'll see you around."
"Wait," I say impulsively, before he has a chance to disappear back inside, another idea forming in my head. "Can I buy some bread?"
"We're closed," he says flatly.
"Of course," I say, feeling stung. It's an odd feeling, being given the sudden cold shoulder by someone whose attention I always spurned. In a way, this despondent version of Flynn Mellark has me almost missing the relentless and usually obnoxious way he used to pursue me. "Sorry," I say again, and turn to leave.
He groans. "Madge, hold on," he says, and holds the bakery door open, waiting.
Mustering a smile, I enter the bakery, and wait quietly while he fetches a loaf of the bread my family always orders. "Two actually," I pipe up before he wraps it.
"I thought your housekeeper always picks up on Wednesdays," he says, trying a bit harder to sound friendly.
"She does," I admit. "This is for the Everdeens."
The moment the words are out, his face turns stony. "Right, the amazing Katniss is your buddy," he says. "I'll put this on your bill."
"Okay," I say slowly. "Thank you."
I'm out the door, curious for the first time about what must be going through Flynn Mellark's head.
With the two loaves under my arm, I duck into the alley behind the old sweetshop and head away from the square. I make my way to the Seam quickly, but slow my pace a bit as I pass by Gale's house, where the light from the television flickers in the front window. I picture him sitting with his family, little Posy on his lap, waiting to see Katniss on the screen. Surely he won't be so bleak and negative about her chances in front of them.
I continue on, hoping I can find where the Everdeens live. Katniss told me once that it was only a few houses away from the Meadow, and sure enough, I spot Prim's famous goat tied up in the yard with a ribbon around its neck.
I knock on the door quietly, and Prim, who oddly resembles me more than she does own her sister, answers the door.
"Hi Madge," Prim greets me, as if I'm expected company and we're old friends.
"Hi Prim," I say back, with just as much familiarity. "Could you use some bread?"
Her eyes widen at the sight of the loaves. "Come in," she says, ushering me inside. "Mother, Katniss's friend Madge is here, and she brought us some bread," she exclaims to the woman standing in the kitchen.
I hand the loaves to her and she manages a grateful smile. "Nice to meet you," I say.
"Thank you for this," she says, looking at me with tired eyes. Now I can see where Prim's features came from. Katniss must take after their father. "Would you like to stay? Prim, get some cheese for the bread."
"Oh, no," I protest, "I ate already, thank you. I should really get back-"
"At least stay and watch with us," Prim says hopefully, and I find myself nodding. I can't say no to that face. She smiles sweetly.
"Eleven's almost finished," a gruff voice says from behind me. "She'll be up soon."
I turn swiftly toward the sitting area. "Oh," I can't help squeaking when I see Gale on the sofa, facing the television. I almost smile at the fact that I've been wondering about where he's been for days, and the moment I manage to push all thoughts of him to the back of my mind, he finally appears. "Hi," I say automatically. He glances my way, nodding once as a greeting.
Prim takes my hand and tugs me around the sofa where she sits next to Gale. I take a seat to Prim's right, and Mrs. Everdeen promptly serves slices of the bread I brought, layered with a creamy white cheese. I wave my hand in protest as she tries again to offer me some. Prim bites into hers immediately, savoring it thoroughly. I watch from the corner of my eye as Gale studies his with hesitation. He looks as though he might refuse it, but seems to change his mind when he catches Prim observing him. His expression softens under her watchful eye, and he even gives her half a smile.
"This is it," Mrs. Everdeen says in a hushed voice, taking a seat in a dining chair behind us.
We all turn our attention to the television as Katniss is introduced, and glides onto the stage magnificently in the most spectacular dress I've ever seen. Prim and I both gasp.
"She's so beautiful," Prim breathes.
She does look beautiful, but what's more shocking is how different she looks than the Katniss I'm used to seeing every day. A quick glance at Gale's frown and furrowed brows tells me he's thinking something close to the same thing.
Her appearance isn't the only part of her that seems unfamiliar. She's smiling, speaking more freely than I've ever heard her speak, and at a few points, even giggling. I know that Haymitch and Effie Trinket will have coached her, but it's as though they've transformed her into a completely different person.
We finally see a glimpse of the real Katniss when she's asked about Prim, about volunteering to take her place at the reaping. Katniss answers proudly that she loves her sister more than anything, and without thinking I find myself taking Prim's hand. She looks up at me, her eyes glistening, then quickly back to the screen.
When Katniss tells Flickerman, and the rest of Panem, that she swore she'd try and win, she looks more deadly than any Career Tribute I've ever seen, sending chills down my spine despite the warmth of the room.
The second Katniss steps down from the stage, Prim jumps up from the sofa and bounds over to her mother. "She was so amazing, wasn't she?" she exclaims. "She was perfect!"
Mrs. Everdeen nods and hugs the excited girl. I glance across the now empty space between us on the sofa at Gale, curious about his reaction, but his face is serious and unreadable.
Prim is still gushing over every detail of Katniss's interview to her mother when Peeta Mellark comes on the screen. I watch with interest as he easily wins over the crowd with his charismatic personality. After a few moments, I feel Gale's eyes on me, and I turn toward him. I raise my eyebrows.
"Friend of yours?" he asks casually.
The implication gets under my skin. "Katniss is my friend," I reply coolly.
He shrugs, but holds my gaze, in what feels like a challenge. I purse my lips. I stupidly thought his apology after the reaping meant that we might be past these heated little exchanges, but as usual, I was wrong. I resent his insinuation that I would support Peeta Mellark over Katniss. Maybe Gale is closer to her than I am, but that doesn't mean he's the only one in her corner. After all, I came here tonight, didn't I?
Though, the animosity Gale clearly feels toward Peeta gets me thinking of my encounter with his brother at the bakery. "How did you hurt your hand?" I ask, gesturing to his knuckles that have recently scabbed over.
"Punched a wall," he answers, running his thumb over them, and not breaking eye contact with me.
Our little staring contest is interrupted, however, by a gasp from Prim, with the Capitol audience on television joining her. Gale and I both look back to the screen to see a very red-faced Peeta, followed by a shot of Katniss with her mouth open in shock.
"What happened?" Gale demands. "What did he say?"
Prim whispers, sounding shocked, "He just said he's in love with Katniss."
My mouth forms an O shape, my eyes glued to the screen.
"Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady," Flickerman is saying. "She didn't know?"
"Not until now," Peeta says.
The cameras keep switching back to Katniss, who's now staring at the floor and blushing.
"Does she even know him?" Mrs. Everdeen asks no one in particular.
I open my mouth, but Gale answers first. "No," he says quietly, his tone harsh. "And he doesn't know her. It's a joke." With a furious look on his face, he gets up from the sofa like he can't escape the situation fast enough.
"Gale," Prim protests, but it's too late. He's already out the door.
I leave the Everdeens a short while after Gale's dramatic exit, with sweet, if slightly awkward, embraces from Prim and her mother, thanking me for the bread and the company. I promise to return with more food as soon as I can, hoping that my father won't notice the larger bill from the bakery, at least until I rehearse a perfect apology and innocent look.
On my way home, I decide to follow another impulse and stop by Nessie's house. I haven't visited her since I was eight, when I decided I no longer wanted to live with the pressures of being the mayor's daughter, and the best solution was to run away from home. Her sons had looked at me like I was crazy, this little blonde girl, clinging to their mother and refusing to leave. I realize I'm a bit ridiculous now, sixteen years old and still turning to her when I don't want to be at home.
It's getting late, but the lights are still on, even though the television broadcast is over. I knock softly on her front door, hoping not to disturb her ill sister, or the rest of her family.
After a moment, Nessie's younger son opens the door, greeting me with a sly grin. "Well, well, if it isn't little sister," he says. "Been a while since you showed up on our doorstep." He looks me up and down. "Huh, I thought you'd be taller by now."
"Have you been missing me Bristel?" I ask, ignoring his jab and smiling back. Bristel's a few years older than me, and I very rarely have occasion to see him or his brother, since they both work in the mines, but he always acts very chummy toward me.
"Hey Ma," he calls into the house. "You're favorite kid is here. You can stop pretending to love Boone and me."
I grin, and Nessie appears, shoving Bristel out of the way. "Am I that obvious?" she asks, and gives me a hug, followed immediately by a concerned look. "Is everything okay?"she asks. "Your mother?"
I shake my head vigorously. "No, no, she's fine," I say. "Or, the same, at least."
"Oh, that's a relief," she says, placing a hand on her chest.
"I was watching the interviews with the Everdeens," I explain. "I just thought I'd stop and see you on the way home."
"Well that was awfully sweet of you," she says. "How are they doing?"
I shrug. "Getting by. I think Gale Hawthorne must be helping them." I pause for a moment, then add, "He was there tonight too."
She raises an eyebrow. "Want to talk about it?" she asks, opening the front door wider. I peer in at her sons and her husband, involved in some kind of card game on the dining table, obviously taking advantage of the electricity still being on. Bristel catches my eye and winks.
I smile ruefully and shake my head. "No, that's okay. I really just wanted to say hello. I've missed you this week. How's your sister?"
"Getting by," she answers. "Does your father know you're out at this hour?"
I clap my hand over my mouth. I left my father in the square ages ago, saying I'd be right back. It never even entered my mind that he might be worried about me. Frantically, I tell Nessie that I have to go, and she gives me another hug, promising to see me very soon. She disappears back into the house, but before I have a chance to hurry off to find my father, Bristel pokes his head back out the door.
"Hey princess," he calls. "Hold up."
I turn, trying not to scowl at the nickname.
"Katniss Everdeen," he says. "She's a friend of yours?"
"Yes," I answer without hesitation.
"Well, some folks at the Hob started a collection to sponsor her in the arena. We put in a few coins, but it would sure make a big difference if someone like you were to help out," he says.
Someone like me. I know Bristel means someone rich. He doesn't know that I don't exactly have access to any money. I nod anyway though, mentally vowing to contribute as much as possible to the fund. "I'll see what I can do."
Bristel nods back and waves goodbye before closing the door, and I make my way through the Seam, and back into town.
By the time I reach the Justice Building, I'm beyond exhausted, so when one of the Peacekeepers outside informs me that I'm not allowed to enter the facility this late at night, I don't even bother to argue. I simply ask him if he can relay the message to my father that I'm fine and heading home to bed, and I'll see him in the morning. He agrees begrudgingly, and I finally set off toward home.
Just before reaching the square, I'm slightly alarmed to hear voices. It should be cleared out and quiet at this hour.
"But you can't just be wandering around out here," a young but stern male voice is saying. "Get yourself home."
The second voice is lower, and I can't quite make out any actual words, but I have a strange feeling that I know who it's coming from.
My suspicions are confirmed when I venture around the corner of one of the shops to get a better view. I take a deep breath, knowing I should probably hang back and mind my own business, but instead I march straight up to the young Peacekeeper and Gale Hawthorne.
"Is everything all right?" I ask, trying to sound business-like.
"Move along please, Miss Undersee," the Peacekeeper says, sounding slightly exasperated.
Gale turns, hearing my name, and rolls his eyes. "Oh, fantastic. Here you go, Darius, make yourself useful and escort the mayor's kid home. She probably needs your assistance more than I do."
I glare at Gale, not giving the Peacekeeper, Darius, a chance to respond. "My house is right there, you oaf, I don't need escorting."
To my great surprise, Gale bursts out laughing, causing Darius to let out an impatient huff. "Hawthorne, you're killing me here," he says. "It's late, you're going to start waking people up, and I'll have to drag you out of here. Save us both the trouble and go home, okay?"
Gale's still chuckling, which is strange under any circumstances, but after he stormed off so angrily earlier tonight, it's especially disturbing. "What's wrong with you?" I ask him, puzzled.
He smiles devilishly at me for a long moment, then addresses Darius. "If the choice is mine, I will prefer to be dragged," he says matter-of-factly, then proceeds to sit down on the ground, offering his wrists up. "Go on, then," he challenges. "Get me out of here. Keep the peace, Peacekeeper. Earn that Capitol paycheck," he finishes, laughing again.
My eyes go wide at his flagrantly defiant statement. Alarmed, I look up to Darius, who seems even more annoyed, but surprisingly not enraged. Still, I can't simply stand here and let Gale run his mouth, getting him into more trouble, so I crouch down and take his chin firmly in my hand, forcing him to look at me. This close, I realize that the smile he's wearing is all too familiar to me, only not on his face. It's a smile I'm used to seeing on Haymitch.
"You're drunk," I say, as if it's something he doesn't already know.
"You're clever," he retorts.
I narrow my eyes. "Very funny, Gale," I say. "Now stop acting like a child, stand up, and shut your mouth," I order.
He raises his eyebrows, looking shocked and amused by my forceful tone, but actually complies. As he struggles to get to his feet, I turn back to Darius. "He's had a rough night," I say apologetically. "I'll make sure he gets home. Can we just forget this ever happened?" I ask him, wishing I had a coin or two to slip into his hand, like my father might in this situation. If this Peacekeeper chooses to hold a grudge against Gale for his actions and potentially treasonous words tonight, there could be dangerous repercussions for his family, and also the Everdeens, who all depend on him. I have no money though, so the only thing I can think to do is bat my eyes a few times and flash half a smile. "Please?" I add, biting my lip. It might be over the top, but charm is not a weapon I need to pull from my arsenal often. I'm not exactly an expert.
Fortunately, Darius smiles back. "Okay, just keep him quiet and get him out of here."
"Thank you," I say, relieved. This time, my smile is genuine. It fades though, when I turn back to Gale, who's scowling fiercely at me. I just roll my eyes. "Come on," I say, and hook my arm through his, leading him away as quickly as I can.
"What was that?" he asks as soon as we're out of earshot.
"That was me doing you a favor," I shoot back. "You're welcome, by the way."
"And what makes you think I need-" he stops short. "Wait, where are you taking me?"
I have to pull on him to get him to keep walking. "To my house," I tell him.
"Nope," he says, yanking his arm free and turning around.
"Well I'm not taking you home," I say. He keeps walking away from me. "You want your mother to see you like this?" I almost shout.
He stops in his tracks. I wait for several seconds while he presumably plays out that scenario in his head. Apparently it doesn't go well, because he turns back and starts walking toward my house again.
He stays silent the rest of the short walk, but I don't miss the look of discomfort on his face at the sight of my house. We enter through the front door because it's closer to the staircase, and there's less chance of running into either of my parents on the unlikely chance that either of them would be downstairs at this hour. Once we're in the foyer, Gale starts to laugh quietly.
I turn around to shush him, and he leans down alarmingly close to me to whisper in my ear. "Last time I was in this house, we were sneaking out instead of in," he says with a smirk.
My mouth drops open. This is the closest he's come to mentioning our little encounter on New Year's Eve to me since it happened, and the shock of it freezes me for a moment. I recover though, and grab his wrist roughly to continue leading him through the house. I remind myself that he's drunk. He mouthed off to a Peacekeeper. He'd say anything right now.
When we get upstairs, he tries to walk into the guest bedroom that's next to mine, but I keep hold of his wrist. He looks at me curiously, and I shake my head, leading him into my room instead.
"Nessie will notice if someone's slept in that room," I explain once the door is closed. "You can sleep on my floor." Having to confess to Nessie who stayed over tonight and why is not a conversation I want to have. She may love me and go easy on me most of the time, but I have a feeling this would be over the line. Even if she didn't tell my parents, she might feel obligated to tell Hazelle.
Gale doesn't respond, but sits on the end of my bed, slouching a bit, placing his hands on his knees and looking at the floor.
I stand in front of him, tilting my head to get a better look. "How much did you drink?" I ask, trying to figure out in my head just how drunk he could have gotten between the time he left the Everdeens and when I stumbled upon him in the square.
He shrugs and exhales loudly. "A lot."
"Do you need to be sick? Sometimes it helps," I suggest.
Sitting up a little straighter, he looks at me and smiles. "You're a practiced drinker then?"
"Don't be ridiculous," I say. "I've just witnessed a lot, with Haymitch."
"Right," Gale says. "Well, no, I'm not going to be sick. I just need the room to stop spinning," he says, closing his eyes and running a hand through his hair.
"Do you need some water?" I ask.
He raises an eyebrow. "Why are you being nice to me?"
I pause, crossing my arms over my chest. "I told you, Katniss is my friend," I say, a bit too defensively. "I doubt she'd want you disappointing your mother or getting yourself arrested just because the baker's son said he had crush on her on television."
His mood shifts immediately, and the anger that flashes in his eyes makes me cower a bit, but I think I can see hurt there as well as he shakes his head. "It's not about that," he says, resting his forehead on his hand, "not really. It's the whole show, the spectacle. As if it's not bad enough that I'll have to watch her die soon, first they have to strip away everything she is and parade her around for the whole country to see and talk about and decide what she's worth. Like they know her." He pauses, looking like he's trying to sort out his thoughts through the effects of the alcohol. "Like they have any idea who she is, or how much..." He trails off and buries his face in his hands for a moment, and I'm terrified that he might be crying. I just stand there pointlessly, afraid to move or even blink, until he looks up again, eyes dry, and chuckles softly. "Do you know what happened when I went home tonight from watching those damn interviews?" he asks. "I walked into my house and my whole family was quiet, like they were too scared to mention anything about it. And that would have been just fine, except that my little sister is never scared of me when I'm in a bad mood, and she took my hand and told me 'Gale, it's okay. Katniss will still want to marry you someday. You're better than that boy who likes her.'" He shakes his head. "She's too little. She doesn't get it. She doesn't understand what the whole show is about, and it that doesn't matter whether or not the baker's stupid son likes Katniss, because Katniss might not ever come home. And I can't bring myself to tell my sister that." His stony eyes look almost sober now, but incredibly tired. The only clue I have to his inebriation is the fact that he's still talking. He shrugs. "Except eventually, I'll have to. She'll have to know. Katniss might die there. And next year it could be Rory who gets reaped, then Vick in a few years, and eventually-"
I can't bear to hear any more. "Gale, stop," I say. "You can't think like that. It doesn't do any good. You're letting yourself get caught up in every bad thing that could happen, and not leaving any room in your mind for the possibility that it could be okay. There's a chance Katniss could win, and don't tell me again that there isn't," I say sternly, before he has a chance to counter. "You're so angry that no one out there knows who she really is, but if you've already counted her out, then maybe you don't know her either."
He looks like he wants to argue, but stays quiet, wearing the expression he always does when something I've said catches him off guard.
"Maybe she and I were never as close as you two are, but I know she's a fighter," I say, and smile wistfully. "She's just like you. She won't give up easily. You shouldn't either."
He's silent for a long moment, then nods, brows still furrowed in thought.
At this point, I'm about to start nodding off every time I blink for too long, and I know I need to sleep. I leave Gale to his thoughts, find a fresh nightdress in the closet, and head down the hall to the bathroom. Once I'm in front of the mirror, I lean on the sink and stare at myself for almost a full minute, sorting out in my head all the confusing turns this night has taken. A month ago, a week ago even, Gale Hawthorne's presence in my bedroom was something I barely even dared to fantasize about. The reality of it should have my heart racing. Under the circumstances however, the only thing my body is feeling is exhaustion, which shows in my reflection. There are circles under my eyes from the lack of sleep this week; my hair is a mess from not bothering to smooth it after wandering all over town. I take the ribbon out of it to let it down, ruffling through it a few times, then brush my teeth and undress.
As an afterthought, I fill a clean glass with water and retrieve a few pills from a bottle in the cabinet. They're nothing as strong as what my mother uses for her headaches, but Gale might have use for them in the morning.
Back in my bedroom, Gale has passed out cold on top of the bed. I want to be angry that he didn't move to the floor, but he looks rather endearing and almost comical sprawled out the way he is, and I just can't manage it.
I close the door gently, set down the water and pills on the night table next to him, and find an extra blanket in the top of my closet to spread over him. As long as I'm playing caretaker, I go ahead and start unlacing his boots as well. He stirs a bit when I take them off, and again when I move one of his long arms closer to his body so I'll have room to climb in under the covers, but he doesn't wake.
I'm only awake for a few moments once my head hits the pillow, just enough time to see that asleep, the lines of worry disappear from Gale's face, making him appear to be just a handsome, carefree boy. There's a dull ache in my chest as I drift off to sleep, because I know that isn't who he gets to be.
For the first time in days, I actually sleep through the night, and wake up as the sun is just starting to make an appearance. I blink a few times to clear my blurry vision.
Gale is gone. Frantically, I sit up and scan the room, not looking for him, but for signs that he was even here at all. Proof it wasn't a dream. The side of the bed he slept on is smooth, but I notice that the pills I set out are gone and the glass of water on the night table is empty. The extra blanket is folded neatly, sitting in the chair by the window.
Relieved, I sink back down into the warmth of my bed. I know too well that last night probably didn't change anything between Gale and me. I have no expectations of friendship or that he'll even acknowledge my existence the next time we see each other. But I can't help feeling satisfied that for once, someone needed me and I could help him. I wasn't useless. It's a feeling I want to hold onto, because I know I'll feel helpless again soon enough. The Games are starting today.