Katniss had tried to warn him once, in that little cement shack in the woods, about the consequences of rebelling. He had been so headstrong, so blind, in his belief that they had to fight this war, no matter the cost. He had been so certain that the only way to stop them was to fight. That had been true, but so had the burden of what came after.
Losing Prim was his fault more than it was Katniss's. She had asked him to run away, and he had said no. He had stayed, because the fight had been more important than his family. And Katniss's family was his own, just as surely as she was his best friend. If he had run away with her -- with Prim and with Peeta and Haymitch, too, if she wanted -- they would all have been safe.
Katniss was breaking in his arms, her sobs heavy blows to his heart. It was all his fault. Not the things Snow had done, of course, although there had been so many chances to escape that he'd been too afraid to take. But it was his fault for not finding a way to keep them safe. He had promised to take care of Prim. He had failed in the most important task of his life. The only one that really mattered.
The play of her weight against him changed, and Gale leaned down, bringing an arm under Katniss's legs and lifting her easily in his arms, as he had done once when she'd twisted her ankle in the woods.
It was only a few steps to the couch, but Gale passed it by and the walked a few more to Katniss's old bed. He'd left it, a mausoleum to her previous presence, and now he was glad he had. Taking her to his own bed would have sent the wrong message. He just wanted to be somewhere soft with her, somewhere comfortable where they could both do their grieving.
He sat on the mattress edge with Katniss still tangled in his arms, stroking her hair. Now that he'd let the tears out he couldn't stop them. Only with Katniss could he let it go like this, unself-consciously torn apart by regret and pain.