At his approval of the wound, green eyes would roll. The usual sharp tongue now rests between clenched teeth, so he spares himself the effort to speak. At the shift as Gale hauls him up, jaw further tenses.
When he asks if Finnick can make it, he hisses, more venom in his tone than there should have been, “ Let’s just fucking move. ”
Frustration isn’t directed at Gale, but pain is devouring his patience. It’s PATHETIC but more than anything he wants Annie. A SELFISH wish—how could she bear to see him like this? But his world is AGONY and she is HOME—she is warmth and safety, and god he wants to go home.
Progress with Gale is slower than death, and by the time they limp what feels like a mile, he’s wishing death would stop dragging its feet. But they’ve made it to the others, and more importantly, that med kit.
The sensation itself is almost distant now. The singe of carved out muscle is difficult to FOCUS on, much like anything else at the moment. Sounds were swimming, the world was dipping ever so slightly beneath the water.
Teal irises blink and meet the soldier’s eyes, mild confusion passing over Finnick’s expression. Had Gale said something..? He shakes his head to clear it before he speaks, forcing a GRIN.
“ Look, just so you know, I’m pretty close to passing out. So SORRY about that if I check out while you’re fixing up my leg. ”
He knows his lies won’t last -- he’s no medic, and convincing as he might be, he knows Finnick is no fool. He’s doing this all wrong; Finnick is a victor. He’s been burned, bitter, and full of rage. Just like Katniss now. Except he’s been in this game a very long time now. The images Gale had seen of Finnick, the person that he’d portrayed for the media, was a completely different person.
He doesn’t even know the half of it, doesn’t know much about Annie -- but he knows there’s someone he loves back home. He’s got to get him to safety. For her. For all of them. Because he knows the feeling. Perhaps not to the same extent, but he knows.
The others have made sure that their path is clear -- nothing stands in their way between them and safety, but still it’s agonizingly slow. He knows he can fix it, he can make this right -- he’s counting down the steps. “ C’mon -- ” he grunts, determined now.
He almost smiles at Finnick’s words -- memories flashing back to his own wounds, recalling how he felt. Perhaps somewhere, he understands. He drags him through and they’re already waiting for them. There’s noise, voices, some scramble to ease Finnick into a horizontal position again through vague directions. “ Just right here -- you’re gonna be fine. ”
Part of him keeps doubting himself -- you’re not good at this -- but he inhales and pulls back the fabric on his leg again, unable to help himself from grimacing. “ Don’t pass out on me just yet, ” he adds with a small grin.
He tells the others to go ahead, but it’s getting dark anyway and they stay close by. More than anything, Gale is amazed at how steady he’s able to keep his hands. He’s silent -- a better person might have been able to multitask and try to make conversation between applications of burn cream. Instead he’s all focus and doesn’t know what else to make of it.
Sighing, he leans back -- he’s done what he can now. It looks astonishingly better than before, but Gale’s still doubtful that Finnick will be able to continue if even walking proves to be a difficult task. “ I told you not to pass out on me... ” He says with a grin, not knowing whether or not it’ll warrant a response.