ghosts that we knew: A mockingjay fanfiction

Chapter 13

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Chapter 13

Gale

Thrilling. It's the only word that can describe the day's events.

I lay on my back in my lumpy cot as we fly back to District Thirteen, tossing a small rubber ball. I watch it rocket upward, suspend itself in the air, and fall, plummeting toward me like a bomb. I catch the ball in my hand while it's still in mid-descent, curling my fingers around its spherical circumference and squeezing it tightly, until it disappears completely in my fist. I smile, pretending that I am crushing it, and I continue to repeat this routine over and over as I replay the action of the day.

Other than my escape from District Twelve, the attack on Eight today has gone down in my personal record as my first battle. To see the way the Capitol hovercrafts retreated so quickly, their plans botched by the brave soldiers on the warehouse roof, was simply thrilling. The fighting has finally begun, and the wretched Capitol has finally gotten a taste of what the rebels are capable of. It's finally happening.

And I get to say that I am a part of it. I get to call myself a rebel who is helping to bring the Capitol down.

Of course, having the Mockingjay as my best friend is helpful to my personal cause.

I shake my head and grunt in frustration, tossing the ball against the wall of my bedroom. I try not to think of a world in which I am not so closely linked to Katniss, a world in which my involvement in the war is minimal, a world in which my importance is insignificant and I am not worthy enough to be a part of the cause simply because I hold no relevance. A world in which I do not feel blatantly used because I am the "cousin" of Katniss Everdeen.

This is why, I remind myself, I continue to work extra hours in the weaponry room, continue to train and utilize the facilities my communicuff allows me to use, continue to push my way into the heart of battle, into the limelight. I refuse to be ranked by my association to Katniss. I will work to earn my communicuff...at least until the pesky thought of simply having one because Coin was recognizing my leverage with Katniss over my actual bravery dissipates and I finally feel self-assured in my abilities.

An abrupt knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. I groggily check my watch-three o'clock in the morning-and stumble around in my cramped quarters as I try to navigate the door in the darkness.

On the other side of the door stands a frantic Mockingjay, having fled the hospital quarters. Her eyes are wide and wet with oncoming tears, desperately locking with mine as her hair continues to fall from her braid in fraying strands and her hands grip onto her stomach while she shakes uncontrollably.

"Gale," she whispers, "something's wrong."

I blink in confusion. She hasn't given me much to work with.

"Katnip, are you talking about a nightmare?" I conjecture. The nightmares, as I recall, are not my area of expertise. That is Mellark's territory, a cavern of her mind that I will never be able to coax her out of, no matter where he is.

She shakes her head wildly. "No, no, I mean with the baby. Something's wrong. I-I felt, I felt something, it was like..."

She doesn't get the opportunity to finish her sentence, because whatever is happening to her happens again and sends her dashing over to sit on my cot, gripping its edges until her knuckles turn white in the darkness of the room. How she can go from fearlessly tacking the feat of Capitol bombers on a District Eight rooftop in one moment to helplessly rocking back and forth on my bed in the next moment, I'll never know. Motherhood has a funny way in bringing out even the most fickle fears in women.