Gale lets Primrose Everdeen lead him into a large, fuchsia pink bedroom and on, to the simple bathroom attached. Simple, only by the Capitol’s standards. But Gale has reached the limit of what he can take in. He is upright, he is following Prim. She found him and has promised to get him washed and rested. Her gentle, encouraging smile keeps him standing. If she can be smiling, now, surely he can stay on his feet.
She draws off his body armour, his clothes, lifting his feet for him one by one. Beside him the shower water starts to run.
*
She leaves her white smock on as she draws him under the water. His eyes drift open and closed, here and not here. She doesn’t know if he knows her. The blood and dust, leaving him, rinses over her. She catalogues the cuts and bruises, the long friction burns and the careful way he holds his shoulder. The water is warm but she shivers. There’s no way to wash away all the death she’s seen today, the deaths Gale was part of sanctioning, that could have claimed her as well. Another shadow for her to live in the wake of.
*
“Prim,” Gale murmurs. She is busy wrapping him up in a borrowed towel, in this stranger’s house. It is softer than anything he’s known. “Prim, you’re still soaking.”
He comes awake again, drawn to life by the need to look after Prim. One of the first rules of his old life: love Katniss, look after Prim. He reaches for another towel, draws it around her, smothering her tightly between the fluffy pastel folds. Her wet hair is dark and long. He has his arms around her. She looks up at him steadily.
“You’re washed now,” she says, “you’re all clean.”