A/N: Ooh, an Italicized Author's Note. Fancy. This is just a small little drabble thing-y mabober because, again, I'm experiencing technical difficulty (-cough-writer'sblock!) with The End of the Beginning. So if you're reading that, sorry. If not, and you enjoy some Madge/Gale (mostly Madge admiring Gale), then read on. Maybe, one day I might post something in Gale's POV.
This is set sometime near the end of the 74th Hunger Games. Madge's thoughts here are purely Gale-related and how much she likes him-almost no mention of Katniss. This isn't because I think Madge is a 'fake friend' to Katniss, it's because really, Madge is so sure of Katniss' abilities that no matter who she takes on and whatever liability Peeta may pose, she'll make it home. Also, when the Games aren't being watched, she prefers to just try to pretend like everything's normal (not hard, because she's a loner). But.. yeah. Long note. Well, enjoy. And shoot me a review? I promise I'll even reply. I'm on a 3 month break from school. (Summer Vacation, baby! Ye-ah!)
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I feel kind of like a stalker, staring at him all the time. But I can't exactly help it-when he has that hair and those eyes and when everything about him is just so horribly perfect, it's all I can do to keep from doing something probably much worse. If he ever looked at me, I know I'd melt into a puddle of Madge. His eyes smolder all the time; but when (if) they see me, they smolder with hate. Although, when I imagine him ever turning to look at me, it isn't with hate.. it's with something more like love. Sometimes, even lust. God, I want him.
Lately, I've kind of been staring at him more often and in longer periods. I think he's been starting to notice. Okay, Madge, I say to myself, tone it down. I do not want him to think I'm a freak-for as long as I can remember, I've had a crush on him. He never really notices me, except when he wants to insult me. Because I'm rich and he isn't. Because I'm Town and he's Seam. Because he's poor, angry, and was forced to grow up too quickly and has no one to blame except for me. Still, I choose to look beyond that.
Overlooking it is hard, sometimes, because words really do hurt, no matter what the saying was (Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words may never hurt me? I mean, honestly. No wonder the world before Panem fell, if they believed in such strange things). There are times when he'd say something particularly cutting and I'd put on my diplomat smile-I practice it when my Father has officials visiting-and quickly close the door so I can go cry on my bed.
Vexing as he is, I can still see the good in him. He'd stepped up when his father died (I knew about that because my own father was extremely distressed at the time and I would eavesdrop on the conversations he had in his office on the phone) and taken care of his whole family. He risked his life to protect for them-both in the woods and in taking out tesserae. I can also tell how much he cares about them. When he lets people into his life, he doesn't half-ass it (pardon my French, whatever a French is). It isn't likely, but I hope to one day be one of the people he cares about. I just don't know how or when it will happen and as we get older, the chances are really diminishing. He'd be going to the mines soon, being two years older than me.
Ever the strange one, I've gotten caught up in my thoughts again (though it really wasn't my fault. Why must he be so damn attractive? Oops, French again). But on top of that, I'd kept staring at him while I was thinking. Eep. If he saw that, I might just die of embarrassment, not to be over-dramatic or anything. Seriously. I might just shoot myself with a gun I wrangle off a Peacekeeper. I shiver at the thought of him realizing how obsessed I am with him. It surely isn't healthy. It's bad enough that I hardly have any friends my own age (or any friends at all, for that matter), but to be obsessing over the one guy who acts (acts? More like deliberately rub it in my face) like he hates me is just kind of morbid. And pretty creepy, as I've said. Maybe a little masochistic. Stop it, Madge! Stop thinking! I shake my head and look round myself again, seeing that he's moved from where he'd last been. Idly, I wonder where he's gone-
Good God! He's coming over here. Nonononono. Please not now. No, no, no! He seems to be barreling straight for me. I almost fear he'll crash into me. He sure can move fast.. but I suppose that's to be expected; he's awfully tall, and has got really long legs. Muscular legs. And arms. And chest. I suppose every part of him was muscular.. and maybe, like his legs, long. I blush at the direction my thoughts are taking. And, oh my goodness, he's nearly right in front of me now!
And all of a sudden he just walks -runs, more like- right past me. Confused, I turn and see that there's a fight going on between two younger boys. Looking closer, I see one looks very similar to him. Black hair, gray eyes. Then again, I can name at least fifty boys with those traits (alphanumerically, too). Still, there's something about the intensity in that boy's eyes that reminds me of Gale.
Looking more closely, I see more traces of Gale. Well, there's no way Gale could be that kid's dad (though I have heard some interesting things involving Gale, a slag heap, and different girls on different instances), so I'm lead to assume it's some other close family relation. Cousin, nephew, brother? "Rory!" Gale's forceful voice booms around the school yard and takes on a paternal tone. Confused once more, I do the math in my head. I am sixteen; Gale is eighteen. This-Rory, did he say?-looks to be about twelve. That leaves a six year age difference. So I'm pretty sure there's no way Gale could be his dad.
Except, maybe, he's the surrogate. Gale was fourteen when his father died, so this boy would have been eight. Hm, that makes sense. He took over as head of the family.. and now is Rory's father figure. My, am I a dumb one. Of course, this is Gale's younger brother, and in the crowd I see another boy, who's obviously another Hawthorne and whose name I remember starts with some strange letter like W or M. Walt? Mark? Neither of those sound right.
His voice resonates around. "What were you thinking? Why would you- With Vick right there-" Gale keeps talking about setting a bad example and I realize Vick must be the other brother. Vick? I was way off. I suppose because with Gale occupying my thoughts all the time, it doesn't quite make sense for me to think about his siblings. Why think about ten and twelve year old boys when you can think about Gale, an eighteen year old man? (A very, very manly man, too)
All too suddenly, Gale is walking past me again, towing Rory behind him (struggling) and with Vick trailing behind them. They stop closer to the school fence, so Gale can continue berating him quietly, but Gale isn't very good at being quiet right now (usually he is; he can just appear behind you and you wouldn't even know until he alerted you to his presence) and I can hear most of it. He's interrogating now, still angry but less volatile.
"Why would you start a fight? Do you know what could happen to us if tells his parents?" Rory, sullen, shakes his head. "They file a complaint! And then we get in trouble. You might be arrested, or punished in some other way! Did you ever think of that?" Another shake. "We can't afford for you to get in trouble like this." He turns to Vick, "Do you hear that? Don't you go getting into fights, too! I won't always be there to stop them." Wearily, Gale rubs his temples (I always figured him for more of a 'pinch the bridge of his nose' type of guy, but I've been wrong quite a few times today) and huffs a breath. "Why?" Rory mumbles something, and one look from Gale prompts him to repeat it. "He was talking about the Games."
The tone Rory uses transforms Gale. "Katniss?" he whispers, so I almost don't hear it. Rory nods. Gale's lips twist to the side in a sour face and he pats his brother on the back. The three of them walk away, Gale in the middle with his arms around either of them, and saying something comforting. It's something I admire in him, this side of him (not that I don't admire all sides of him, just that this is what makes or breaks the whole 'Madge liking Gale' deal).
He's gone in the distance now, since this was an after school fight, and I appear to be one of the few stragglers left. I stand up and hurry home to help my mother, who suffers from headaches. I wonder, would Gale still hate me, resent me for being a spoiled princess, if he knew what really went on in my household? My mother is in bed all day, typically passed out from morphling, and some nights my father is so busy with work he stays at the Justice Building over night (although a few Peackeepers and other officials always stay with him; the Capitol would never allow anyone to be in there alone). The housekeepers arrive once I am at school and leave soon after I come home, so I don't know them so well.
Of course, I'm not trying to say my life is as bad as Gale's, not even close. Just that he is wrong about me. My life is not perfect and I am not spoiled. I do have money to spend but that doesn't mean I go about buying all the food I can while letting the less fortunate starve. Our pantries don't have much in them, but they always have something in them. That is in no way my fault.
Really, I wish he could see that. He says I am a snob, but what is a snob? Someone who looks down on and scorns someone else based on superficial means, isn't it? In this case, he is the one scorning me. As much as I like and respect him, he is a snob. I open the door to the house and lock it behind me. Checking to make sure my mother hasn't possibly come out of her drug coma and done something crazy or dangerous (she hasn't), I then retreat to my room.
Now, I can think about him in peace without worrying about him catching me staring. Oddly enough, though, it's not the same without being able to see him in the flesh. In lieu of that, I stare at the ceiling and enter the middle zone I have in between sleeping and waking, where my mind wanders, combining reality and the fantasies I only allow myself when I'm dreaming (these ones don't count because they retain the element of truth-that's what I tell myself).
Eventually, I fall asleep for real and (as usual) Gale dominates in my head.