Thanks so much to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter! I was planning on turning right around and updating, but then I got a little caught up in the "50 Shades of Grey" novels. I may or may not have fallen a bit in love with Christian—anyway, that's beside the point.
Happy summer to all those just finishing school!
Again, I own nothing concerning "The Hunger Games." No copyright infringement is intended.
Katniss' POV
As I huddle in the medical center's cold, harsh waiting room, I can't help my mind from wandering back through the events of the last day and a half. The horrendous fight at Annie's, Gale and I's silent ride on the way to work, the drop in my stomach when I found out that we were going to be hunting for mines again, and lastly, that explosion. I'm not even 100% certain how long I've been sitting here in this uncomfortable leather chair, knees draw up to my chin, as if I could somehow guard myself from any further catastrophes. Sometime between my arrival and now, someone was kind enough to lay a thin, cream colored blanket over me. I take comfort in its sparse warmth and close my eyes. When I do, it's as if the events of the afternoon are playing across the backs of my eyelids in startling clarity.
It was as if the earth had suddenly stopped moving. Everything happened in slow motion and sounds were deadened against my ears. I saw the cobblestone right as Gale stepped on it, and could do nothing but stare at him in horror, powerless to say anything in time to save him. I watched as he was tossed high into the air and launched away from me, his face paralyzed with fear and what—an apology? I remember panicking, wanting to chase him and make sure he was alive, but not wanting to detonate any further hidden mines. Our crew was running, panicked, through the streets and I couldn't corral them together. They were far too young for this mission, I think bitterly. Half of them ran straight into the swarm of tracker jackers that was heading toward us, and now the Rebels are short a few good men. I involuntarily cringe, remembering the screaming—guttural, wild screams that no human being should ever utter. Their pain, however, was secondary for me. I had to find Gale.
It was nothing short of a miracle that I was able to reach him in one piece. I cut through roads with no concern for my own safety. It was as if I had achieved utter clarity-I knew, in those moments, that I couldn't live without him. Our previous arguments meant nothing to me. My only concern was bringing him back safely. Leaning over his body, I placed two shaking fingers at his neck, checking for a pulse. His heart was beating so faintly that I wasn't quite sure that I felt something, but I decided to tell myself that it was there so I could maintain some sense of composure. Kneeling above him and rocking back onto my feet, I realized that I had reached an impasse. I couldn't carry this man by myself, but I had to get him out of there—now. Suddenly, I remembered my Holo. After I called for Command, the rest is a blur. All I remember is resting my head on Gale's chest in the middle of that hell and praying, silently, over and over and over again for him to be ok.
I'm shaken out of my reverie as the nurse at the station tries to offer me some lukewarm coffee. I offer her a half smile that I know doesn't reach my eyes and shake my head, thanking her. My stomach is in knots, waiting for someone to tell me something about Gale's surgery. I have no clue how bad the damage was to him and I continue to pray wholeheartedly that nothing happened that can't be undone. They whisked him into the emergency OR as soon as he got here, so I haven't seen him for three—no, maybe five—hours. Or has it been seven? I shift in my seat to glance out the window and immediately frown. It's dark out, which means that he's been in surgery for quite a while. I feel a burst of nerves blow up in my stomach, mimicking the mine from earlier today, and an involuntary shiver runs through my exhausted body. Suddenly, it dawns on me that this whole experience would be better if Peeta were here. I miss his solid shoulders and steady optimism. It's far too easy for me to get lost in my own head, and he was always willing to act as a foil to my never-failing pessimism. I feel a surge of sadness and nostalgia for Peeta. What I wouldn't give to have him by my side right now.
Shaking my head, I shift out of the blanket and rise, stretching my legs for the first time in hours. Walking to the window, I stare down at the townspeople hustling through the streets and I wonder what they are thinking. What their day has been like. Where they are heading. District Four is so different from District Twelve. The people are easy-going, but always have a purpose. District Twelve's sole purpose was to keep from starving. End of story.
Turning away from the window, I face a man dressed in scrubs and an OR mask. His eyes are apprehensive and my stomach drops like a rock. "Ms. Everdeen?" he asks. "Come with me ma'am. We've just finshed with Mr. Hawthorne, and I need to discuss his prognosis with you." He beckons me to sit back down on the chair I've just abandoned. Prognosis? That means Gale is still alive—so, that's good, right?
I sit, facing the doctor, and will him to continue. He does, thankfully reading my mind. "It was a difficult surgery for Mr. Hawthorne. We almost lost him twice, but miraculously, he managed to pull through. He's resting in Recovery Room 13 now, but Ms. Everdeen, serious damage was done to the right side of his body. His right lung collapsed, and his right arm may have been rendered unusable." He pauses, searching my eyes for some hint of response, but I am so numb that I cannot give him what he is looking for. Gale's right arm? His hunting arm. Unusable. "You can come back and visit him now, Ms. Everdeen. He's just waking up from anesthesia, so he'll be groggy, but I'm sure he'd like to see you." The doctor stands and beckons me to follow him down an extremely brightly lit hallway. I follow mutely, dazed into silence.
He's alive. He's alive. He's alive, my subconscious sings.
Walking into Gale's room, I'm unprepared for the sight I behold. Gale, looking smaller than usual, is tucked into a hospital bed, cords and tubes running the length of him, hooking him into almost every computer in the room. A strange chorus of beeps and hums accompany me as I slowly approach his bed. His eyes are closed, making him look blessedly peaceful and unaware of the day's events. I tentatively sit on the corner of the bed, and stroke my hand down his calf comfortingly.
His eyes flutter and he blinks them awake, letting them roam around the room before finally coming to focus on me. "Katniss," he croaks, "where the hell am I?" His face screws with concern and I can tell that he is anxious.
"Baby, you're in the hospital. You stepped on a mine and it blew up, taking you with it. You just got out of surgery." I place my hand more firmly on his calf, as if to anchor him to the room. His eyes fill with panic and darken.
"Shit! Are you ok? What about everyone else?" His words are tumbling out of his mouth, slurred, because he is still under the effects of the anesthesia.
"Don't worry about it, baby. You're here and that's all that matters right now," I murmur. I don't have the heart to tell him about the others who were killed by tracker jackers. He makes a halfhearted attempt to lift his head, but decides that it would require too much effort and places it haphazardly back on his pillow.
His next words surprise me. "Lay with me, Katniss. I want you next to me." I hesitantly rise, walk to his side, and awkwardly lay down next to him on the too small hospital bed. To my intense relief, I can feel my body relax as it draws from Gale's warmth. It's as if laying down next to him has finally proven to me that he'll be ok, albeit perhaps without the use of his right arm. I nestle into the nook at his shoulder, breathing in the scent that is so classically him. I feel him relax as well, and it isn't long before he drops back to sleep.
I suppose I must have fallen asleep also, because I awake to him muttering in his sleep. At first, his ramblings are incoherent, but suddenly, he becomes agitated and his next words are like salve to my stress-ravaged soul: "No baby, don't be mad. I did it because I love you—Katniss, I love you."
My mouth creeps into a smile and I nuzzle deeper against him. We can handle whatever comes, together because he loves me. And I love him.