Disclaimer: All stories are individuals of themselves and are unrelated to each other.
Gale rubs his forehead and browses through the files on his desk. Ever since his promotion in District 2 he's been given a lot more paper work instead of actual action. Everyone says he should take a break, but that isn't what he wants.
Today, however, was when he was allowed to dip his toes back into the water. He'd be training new recruits that were coming in from District 11. Not the job he wanted, but at least he got to hold a gun again.
"Private Hawthorne," his commander walks into the room and salutes him, but Gale just waves him off. "The recruits have arrived, Private."
Gale stands up, straightens the badge on his shirt, and lumbers out of the room behind his commander. He leads him to a room filled with about 25 recruits, males and females alike. They stand tall, taut, ready to learn to fight. He remembers how eager he had been to jump into action, how although the war in Panem is over it rages on elsewhere.
He was supposed to read all of their files, their backgrounds. This was to understand them, get to know them. But he didn't. He stayed up drinking his way into oblivion and slipping into bed with a girl from the bar. His headache raged on but he showed his authority, his lips tight and his jaw set.
His eyes skimmed over the recruits as he spoke. "Alright," he shouted. "I'm Private Hawthorne, you will call me that and that alone. I'm not your buddy, I'm not your friend. I'm your chief, your commander, your coach. Do you understand?"
"Sir, yes sir," the room shouts back. Good. They know their basics.
His eyes continue to graze as he speaks. A man with jagged dark hair, a woman with a scar over her eye. "Here you'll learn that we work as a unit. No one is better than anyone. No one receives special treatment. Without teamwork we are nothing." Again his eyes graze. A man shorter than most of the females. One balding. "Clear?"
"Sir, yes sir."
"We don't take anyone for advantage. We don't abuse our power." A woman with strong shoulders. A teenager that looks like Rory. "We never give up." A red head with a braid trailing down her back. "And we never…" he trails off as a blonde catches his eyes. Fierce blue, once pale and scared, now filled with determination take hold on him. Soft pale skin. Blonde hair knotted on the top of her head. He coughs, his voice catching in his throat. How can he finish this sentence when he's done exactly what he said he never would? "We never leave anyone behind," he finished weakly. "Understand?"
And her voice is the loudest, she is no longer quite and kind. She's strong. She's a survivor. She's not the mayor's daughter anymore, and she'll never leave anyone behind like he left her. "Sir, yes sir."