August 20th, 2011

Note: It took me a while to write this chapter because I felt like I needed to know where the rest of the story was going in order to get this one right. So, I had to wait for Katniss and Gale to tell me where there story was going before I could continue writing it. I do have some direction now, and hopefully, can post chapters with some length even if it is only every few days. Thanks once again for the encouraging words and as always, reviews are greatly appreciated!

The surrounding woods are quiet, unnaturally so. My left palm slick against the smoothly crafted alloy, my right hand reaching for and loading an arrow, I apprehensively crouch in the thick underbrush. It is hard to keep my head, the panic closes in like a thundering herd of wildebeest, but I swallow back the fear.

I almost kill the mockingjay that flies into my peripheral vision, I'm so on edge. It alights on a pine branch, some needles falling silently to the ground from the slight disturbance. After a minute or two, it cocks its head and sings Rue's four note melody to me. The tune sounds distorted, my ears still ringing from the explosion. Well, that is, the one ear trying to recover.

Aggravated, I swipe at my left ear in a futile effort to clear it. My jacket sleeve comes away glistening, the dark red of my blood invisible against the black fabric. At least I can take comfort in the fact it's not streaming down my neck anymore.

The snap of a twig breaking somewhere behind me has me spinning completely in a one-eighty, my weight coming to rest on my forward foot, my arms taut and ready to fire. Several more snaps and it's taking all my restraint not to fire blindly. Whoever is being so careless as to not conceal his location may not necessarily be a threat to me.

"Katniss!"

Or not. My mouth goes dry and I draw back on my arrow more. But I don't answer. I replay the cry, trying to glean a clue to the owner. Male. Deep voice. Worried. Angry? I grit my teeth, realizing my ear was lucky to even hear the call.

"Katniss!"

It's closer and I feel my arm shaking. My insecurity is compromising my steadiness. The leaves on the underbrush in front of me ruffle, despite the lack of breeze. Something's coming my way and it's looking for me.

When the footsteps are audible, I have no choice. My arrow speeds out of view into the rustling. I pause, waiting for a response.

The groan that escapes from my invisible target is one of pain. More branches snap as the victim flounders forward, but the cacophony is clumsy and I grin, knowing my aim was true. I am not so thrilled when my prey stumbles into view.

Gale clutches the shaft of my arrow, its point lodged deeply into his chest. Dark wet streams leak from around his hands. When he reaches out to me, falling to his knees, his hand is dripping red with his blood.

"Katniss," he says, before collapsing to the ground.

I'm only aware I'm screaming after I gasp for breath for my burning lungs. My hands fly over his face, his chest, and I find myself wishing I wasn't the hunter in my family. Gale's gray eyes are wide and terrified as he coughs a bloody spray that splatters across my face.

"No, no, no, please!" I'm begging, "Stay with me, please!"

But all I can do is feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, clutch his hand to my chest, because there's nothing I can do.

"There's nothing you can do."

I look up, my mouth agape and sob in relief. Peeta is standing there, but I'm too happy for help to notice the malice that tarnishes the brilliant blue of his eyes. So when the knife whizzes by me, sticking with a sickening thud into soft flesh, and Gale's grip loosens around my hand, I feel like I'm lurching in a spinning vertigo. My mind refuses to put together what has happened but it has to eventually. I glare at Peeta with murder in my eyes. A cannon fires.

"NO!"

"Katniss!" he taunts, over and over.

I run at him, full out, but he's fading into darkness.

"Katniss!"

"Katniss!"

I bolt upright, prepared to run from the last remnants of my nightmare. Ragged and choking, my gasps mix with my coughs. The sound that escapes my throat is ugly, strangled. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, they dart about my bedroom, flitting from the slightly luminescent curtains to the dark spread of my covers to the silhouette of a figure next to me. There's someone in my room.

I scream.

"Katniss, shhhhhh. It's okay, it's me."

The lamp on the nightstand clicks on and Gale appears.

"It's just me," he repeats.

I'm so disoriented and raw that I break down. Gale sits quickly, his weight on the mattress pulls me towards him, and I fall into his waiting arms. He murmurs into my hair, holding me close until the horror runs its course. I'm trembling with exhaustion, an occasional shudder racking my body, when it's all said and done.

"Amazing you didn't wake the whole house up," he says, and it's not the entirely right thing to say at this moment, I smile weakly anyway.

He shifts to resituate us into a more comfortable position, but I, still fighting the remnants of my nightmare, start to panic. Without thinking, I immediately tense, clutching at any part of him I can get a grip on. "Don't, please…"

"It's all right, I'm not going anywhere."

Gale swings his legs onto my bed, reclining and tucking me across his chest. Gently, he works my fingers from the fierce hold on his shirt, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of my hand once I release my death grip. The weight of his arm against my back is reassuring, like a shield to ward off more bad dreams. It doesn't surprise me that he knows what I was dreaming about.

"The Games?" he asks.

I nod.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I mumble something like a negative. I'm not ready to relive that horror so soon and I suspect Gale was asking more to be polite than anything. As the minutes tick by, my body begins to relax in stages. Gale lets his hand roam lazily across my back, and I make a noise of appreciation. I don't notice my eyes have closed until they snap open when Gale speaks.

"I didn't want to watch you in the Games," he says softly, "but I couldn't not watch either."

I feel his fingers twist in my hair, and I wonder if he thinks I'm asleep. Since Peeta and I returned, we've had this understanding that the Games were off limits. Sure, I'd managed to piece together what life had been like for those left behind. Prim's eyes reflected a weariness far too old for someone her age. My mother, ironically, was more motherly now than before I left. Greasy Sae told me how affected Gale was. Away from the watchful eyes of our families in the Hob, he had become distant and listless. A shadow of himself.

"At first, the worst part was how helpless I was. Sitting here in the Seam. You somewhere far away, out of my reach. I tried to help you though. I screamed directions at the TV when you kept circling that pond." He huffs. "Like you could actually hear me."

I swallow past the painful image of Gale watching me stumble around, half insane with thirst, while the commentators discussed my vital signs and speculated how many minutes I had left to live.

"And then, he was kissing you and there was nothing I could do." Gale's voice hardens and then trails off, softer. When I crane my neck to see his face, his eyes are watching our hands entwine, but the anguish in the gray is seeing something else. Finally, he looks at me. "Even if you won, I had lost you all the same."

I reach my hand up to touch his face, as if I can wipe away his torment. He catches my hand and presses his lips to my palm.

"I was thinking of you," I whisper. I can see the question in his eyes, wondering whether I specifically meant when I was kissing Peeta or something else. I don't really want to open up the memories I've kept locked away, but the vulnerability Gale's showing me thinks it might be imperative that I do. For both of us.

"In the Capitol, especially at meals." That earns me a small smile. "In training, when I got my score. My first night in the arena. After my hallucinations. When I kissed Peeta." I study his face, as he studies mine, and I feel the question even before he asks it.

"What were you thinking?"

"I was wondering what you were thinking."

He frowns, remembering. "I didn't like it."

I know he's referring to my more intimate moments with Peeta. I can't blame him for feeling betrayed and I can't really find it in me to defend Peeta, though I probably should. Instead, I pull myself up to kiss Gale, to head off the flickering fury I see bubbling under the surface. When I release him, the fervor on Gale's face triggers that burn inside of me again.

"I love you," I say. "Sorry it took me so long to figure it out."

"You always were slow," Gale teases. His grin draws out one of my own, and he kisses me quickly, before turning out the lamp. I willingly snuggle closer to him as he pulls the blankets around us both. It's not long before the gentle thud, thud, thud of his heart against my cheek lulls me to sleep.

~Fin