Gally Imagines

=TWENTY-SIX= Burning Fever (Part 1)

"Gally!" you shouted, scrambling off the bed and to the floor where Gally's motionless body lay, ignoring the pounding that had begun to ravage your mind, along with the twisted knot in your stomach.

Taking him by the shoulders, you turned him from his side to his back, eyes running wildly across his face to see if you could make out the cause of his collapse.

"Gally? Gally!" You put a hand to his cheek, then pulled sharply back in alarm.  It was hot.  Really hot.

"Help! Help me! Somebody please help me!" you screamed frantically, throat tight. "Gally, wake up! Please wake up!"

The hut door burst open, and Jeff was on the floor beside Gally in a second, looking over his limp form.

"He's got a fever," Jeff said, then to Clint who had just stepped through the doorway, "We have to get him to the Medjack hut. Now, Clint!"

Clint blinked, then shook his head as if to clear it before dropping beside Jeff to help with Gally.

You struggled to get to your feet, fighting against your aching muscles that tried to force you to the ground, shaking like a leaf.  You managed to get to somewhat of an upright position before your resentful joints gave in on you, and you found yourself stumbling forward.  A quick hand that caught your arm was the only thing that hindered your inevitable collision with the floor, and another arm under you helped it to stay that way.  You looked up to see Thomas giving you a soft, sympathetic smile.

"This is all my fault!" you groaned, closing your eyes against a sudden rush of nausea. "Why didn't I see that something was wrong with him? I'm such an idiot!"

"Don't say that," Thomas said. "Clint and Jeff will make sure that he's okay, don't worry."

With Thomas as a brace, you followed the Medjacks as they carried Gally's limp body to the hut in the distance.  Even with Thomas' help, your stiff joints wouldn't let you forget how painful walking was, but you forced yourself to just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and trying to push away the image of Gally's unconscious form lying on the floor of your hut.

Sunlight pooled along the grass, and you were faintly aware of the sound of birds chirping in the trees. Everything seemed so normal. Just a usual morning in the Glade. Aside from the fact that you were over exhausted, aching, and nauseous, it was still hard for you to comprehend that you had spent a night in the Maze, with Dan, only minutes before. You shuddered deeply, closing your eyes to try and block out the memory, and Thomas tightened his grip around your middle, giving you more support.

You heard boy's voices getting closer and briefly opened your eyes just in time to see an uncomfortable-looking Zart, followed by at least five other curious boys, leading a dark figure in the opposite direction in which you and Thomas were heading.

Panic began to rise up within you as memories of being stuck in the Maze alone with him came flooding back. It was almost just as bad as reliving it all over again. Thomas must have sensed the sudden tension in your body, for as Dan came closer, he positioned himself between him and you, closing the gap between you both. As Dan passed, he jerked his arm from the loose grip that held it, snarling at either you or Thomas, you couldn't tell, before being redirected by an obviously unsure and unconfident Zart.

"T-thank you, Thomas," you managed to say once Dan had passed. "I...I just—"

"Don't mention it," he said, "I can't imagine spending a whole night alone out in the Maze with that creep. He's gonna be locked in the Pit until Alby decides what to do with him."

As you entered the dusky Medjack hut with Thomas, you could make out Alby and Newt's silhouettes in the dim light, along with Gally's motionless form lying across one of the beds.Slipping from Thomas' supporting arms, you knelt on the ground beside the bed, grasping his hand in yours.

"Gally."

Perspiration had already began to gather on his muddy skin, beading around his forehead, dampening his hair. The hand you held was hot and clammy with sweat, and you blew on it, trying to cool him, before pressing the back of it to your lips.

"—and we'll get some stream-water to cool him down," Jeff was saying to Alby.

"Alright," you heard Alby agree, "Clint, help him. Newt, take Y/N back to her hut so that she can sleep; she must be tired."

Your head jerked up at Alby's last statement, eyes locking with his, horrified. "No!" you blurted, standing with support of the bed.

Alby looked at you with a curious expression on his face, obviously not used to being spoken to in such a manor, and obviously not thrilled about it either.

"I can't leave him, I won't!"

Alby gave you a quick, sympathetic glance before clapping Newt on the shoulder, his look all-too-clearly saying handle this as he stepped out the door, closing it behind him.

"Newt," you said, turning your plea to him, "don't send me away."

You set your jaw with determination as Newt looked at Gally. Then he took in a deep, slow breath before saying, "Y/N, I don't know how bad this is yet, but it doesn't look so good. You don't need the stress of this, just go and get some sleep; Clint and Jeff will do their job."

"Newt—"

"You just survived your second night in the Maze," he interrupted. "You're tired, you can't deny that. Getting some sleep would be the best thing for you now."

"No, Newt, please; I can do this. Really. Let me stay." You gazed at him, trying to read his thoughts as his eyes moved from yours, to Gally, then back to you again.

"Okay," he finally said, reluctantly. "But if—"

The rest of Newt's sentence was drown in a sudden rush of white-noise that filled your ears, head, and mind, as your knees gave out, and you sank to the floor by Gally's bed, grasping his hot hand in yours once more.

A sudden thud followed by a sloshing sound and the feel of cold water seeping into your shoes caused you to jerk from out of the incomprehensible daze that you hadn't realized that you had been in as you stared at Gally. Clint knelt by a metal bucket filled to the brim with what water hadn't spilled over the sides, rags in his hand.

"Here," you said, instantly realizing what it was for. "Let me."

Clint paused a moment, as if wondering what Alby might say, staring at your outstretched hand, then he relented, giving you the cloth and moving on to another task.

You selected a clean-looking rag out of the bunch, dipped it in the cool water, and lightly bathed Gally's face with it, gently wiping off the mud and dirt to reveal hot, flushed skin beneath. You dipped the strip of cloth in the bucket again and again, slowly making progress and rubbing away most of the mud. After his face, you moved to his arms, watching as the dry dirt turned to mud with a touch of the wet rag, then thinned as the rag was reapplied with clean water, and then finally turned into dirty streaks before disappearing entirely. Then you gradually began work on his hands, carefully dabbing and smearing at his mud-covered knuckles and other gashes and open wounds sliced and grated into his hands and fingers. It took a long time, with a lot of patience and precision, but finally his hands were clean enough to satisfy you.

Wetting another clean rag, you laid it lightly across Gally's forehead, then you picked up his hand once more. It was uncomfortably hot. You blew on it slowly, softly, letting your breath have the chance to cool his skin before kissing his hand again and resting your forehead against it.

"You're going to be okay," you whispered.  "Everything's going to be okay..."