ghosts that we knew: A mockingjay fanfiction

21

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games series or any of the characters created by Suzanne Collins.

Chapter 21

Gale pov

There are ten minutes left before the interview airs.

My heart races as I wipe my sweaty palms onto the pants of my uniform. My eyes continue to impatiently skirt over the sealed doors of the Control Room, willing Madge or Katniss to burst through them quicker.

Other gray-clad soldiers mill about the room, buzzing excitedly like worker bees preparing honey, or in this case, the sweet nectar of declaring war with the Capitol. Queen Bee Coin sits upon her throne at the front of the Control Room with Plutarch. They converse in hushed tones, and I am grateful that they are so wrapped up in their own plans for Operation Airtime Assault that they have failed to notice my strange, jittery behavior.

Finnick Odair is as still as a statue in his seat, tying and untying a knot in a worn piece of rope, the continual weaving of his fingers serving as my only indication that he is still breathing.

I glance at the clock that is mounted on the wall above the doors. Eight minutes remain.

One person in the room immediately suspects my foul play, and I can tell he is on to me the moment he staggers into the room with his indiscreet bottle of liquor.

Haymitch's bloodshot eyes continue to find their way back to meet mine, as if he already knows what Madge and I have plotted, until he finally decides to do me the honor of moseying up to my side.

"You look suspicious, boy," he states, his accusatory booze breath blasting against my cheek.

"And you look very well hydrated, Haymitch," I reply, sniffing him out like a hound, just like he had with me. Although, to be fair, I don't have to do very much work in order to pick up the scent of alcohol on this man. Goodness, he could use a nice bath.

Haymitch simply raises me a sideways grin, his all-knowing eyes flashing in the direction of the clock. I follow his gaze.

Six minutes.

"Whatever it is that you're planning, Hawthorne, better happen fast," he all but whispers as he continues past me and flops down in his assigned seat, nursing the drink as it nearly sloshes all over him from the impact of his landing. I quickly, nervously scan the room for any upturned heads, any sign of someone having overheard Haymitch's rather loud remark.

Just as Haymitch must have suspected, no one is paying us any attention.

More soldiers begin taking their seats as time continues to dwindle. The doors to the rest of District Thirteen remain closed, only to be reopened when Coin walks through them to deliver a speech to the public relaying the details of the Operation.

Unless those doors open sooner, for another reason.

Five minutes.

I fight the urge to physically lash out at something-or someone. When I left Madge in that corridor last week, she had promised me that she would tell Katniss about the interview. We had no long, drawn out, elaborate plan for what would come after Madge gave the news to Katniss. There's no telling what plans Madge had up her sleeve, if any at all, for how to actually bring Katniss to Control.

As soon as Coin spoke of Mellark's involvement in Operation Airtime Assualt, I knew I couldn't be the one to do it, to rip the band-aid and tell her. I am running on thin ice with Katniss as it is, so she would not have believed the words if they came out of my mouth. Madge, on the other hand, is trustworthy, and any news that comes from her Katniss will find reliable.