ghosts that we knew: A mockingjay fanfiction

26

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 26

Gale

I politely tell Beetee that I am not hungry for the fifth and final time before the smaller man pushes his glasses up on the rim of his nose and delivers another one of his erudite smirks.

"I am going to bring you back some food, regardless of what you say. I have been observing you, Gale. You have not been eating much these past few days," he remarks bluntly. "In fact, you have barely left this room all week..."

"Wasn't aware that you were keeping tabs on my eating habits, Dad," I rebuke him without looking up from the rifle I am tinkering with in the center of our newly refurbished weaponry room. "And we've been spending more time together this week because I was demoted, remember?"

"Ah, yes," Beetee confirms, wiping his oily fingers over his dark mustache. "How could I forget? You came in that morning grumbling all about the Airtime Assault, and Coin, and something about Soldier Undersee-"

"Boy, you remember everything!" I exclaim acerbically before he can go on to rehash the details of my throwing myself in front of Madge Undersee and losing my ranking because of it.

Beetee may be a genius, but he lacks in the social cue department. He simply blinks at me until I have visibly calmed down before pouncing on his next opportunity to speak.

"It's my job to remember everything," Beetee replies, cool and matter-of-fact, as always.

I huff and cross my arms over my chest. The old coot has a point. Where would this rebellion be without the brain of Beetee Latier? I wouldn't want to think of a war without him. Thank goodness Katniss was able to save him from execution. Coin would have regretted the decision to kill him as soon as she discovered that she had no weapons, and no hacks into the Capitol, anymore to fight the war.

"I will grab you a couple of extra heaps of whatever slop they are serving today," Beetee declares adamantly, causing me to scrub a hand over my tired face and groan in response. Beetee simply chuckles at my expense.

It would be much easier to get away with my current plans of sulking in the shadows if my only company these days wasn't bent on being so damn friendly.

I mutter weak thanks as Beetee leaves, shutting the door behind him and secluding me from the District after flashing me a final look of concern. As annoying as his faux-parenting has been, Beetee still manages to understand my need for isolation, and I appreciate him making my transition back into being title-less an easier one. I've got to hand it to him, he may speak in his own language of an incoherent prodigal standard that I will never be able to keep up with, but he's as perceptive as he is intelligent.

He has left the television in the corner of the room on, however. From his jigsaw puzzle of a station-ornamented with buttons, cogs, knobs, and wheels of every shape, size, color, and function imaginable that I know better than to even think about touching-Beetee has reruns of propogandas airing on constant loop in Thirteen.

Her voice catches me by surprise. It rings out into the dead air, and I nearly let the expensive rifle slip through my fingers at the very sound of it.

Madge Undersee fills the screen. She stands atop her former home, her heated words against the Capitol loud and resonant in the otherwise silent weaponry room. I should be used to the propo at this point, but in light of recent events, I'm surprised Coin lets this particular propaganda air anymore.

I take the opportunity to creep over to the bright screen, examining the girl in the broadcast. Her blue eyes are ablaze, wind rustles her corn-colored locks, and her face is contorted in determination as she speaks vehemently while clutching a beat up old rag doll. I remember this event well. It was even more moving to see it all unfold live than it is to see it replayed onscreen.