II. (eighteen years old; june)
a/n: in the last chapter, Gale was fifteen but almost sixteen, and in this one he's eighteen but almost nineteen. So just assume there's a three-year gap in between them and not a four-year gap. Katniss is sixteen and Madge is almost sixteen as well.
He hasn't spoken to her in exactly three years.
For some reason the date he'd made a fool of himself at Madge's party has always stuck in his mind. He's not even sure how he's avoided her this long, but he's glad he has.
Last year, Katniss and Madge both turned fifteen—Katniss in May, Madge in July. She didn't have a party as far as Gale knew. Katniss had told him Madge's birthdate once, and much to his dismay, he not only remembered it but thought of her that entire day. Anyway, with both Katniss' and Madge's fifteenth birthdays, they were old enough to take classes in the Secondary wing of their school instead of the Middle wing. Gale actually had a few classes and lengthy interactions with Katniss, which he thoroughly enjoyed, as the couple of years were kind to both of them. They became less afraid while hunting, venturing deeper into the greenery that set them free. They even found a pond once that provided entertainment on several hot, sticky, summer afternoons.
One thing Katniss and Gale were never comfortable with was talking to one another about romance. Rumors of Gale's many flings and hookups and few semi-serious girlfriends were almost always on somebody's lips. Katniss was quite the opposite; she was often called a prude, but she couldn't care less. Physical contact made her uncomfortable, and though Gale respected that, he would be lying if he said that he'd never wanted her.
He could say the same for Madge, but on a much, much smaller scale. There have been a couple nights he can recall that she snuck into his dreams, but he'd persuaded himself that dreams don't really count. What does count, though, are the several seconds that he'd let his gaze linger on her even as her eyes flickered downward, or the way he let his mind wander when she wore a particularly stunning dress to school. Those damn dresses would be the death of him.
But he could never say that he loved her, not at this point and not ever, he's sure. It's simply a slight physical attraction, as most of his interests have been, though he doesn't like to admit that. She's not the same as the Seam girls, with almost no edges and not a mean word to say about anyone; she's pure, clean, innocent—the opposite of that which is Gale Hawthorne. She's something that he doesn't want to screw up.
She was beautiful, though. Much less cute and much more breathtaking. She must have grown a good six inches in these past few years, her teeth have straightened out (though Gale had found something oddly charming about them when they weren't so), and he knows that all of his friends have noticed how her clothes cling around her chest. Though he doesn't disagree when they talk about her like some pretty object, he doesn't really think of her like that as much as one might assume. She's also different in that she'd never be the kind of girl to look for a quick hookup, much to his friends' and peers' frustration. He sometimes wonders what she thinks of him in this regard, but Gale isn't entirely sure he cares. Maybe just a little.
So it's understandable when Gale doesn't know whether to laugh or cry after Katniss invites him to another one of the Undersees' bonfires. It takes a few minutes of persuading, but Gale honestly would rather be with Katniss at the Undersees' than sitting at home sulking.
"Don't be stupid this time," she laughs, and at her laughter he smiles. He loves Katniss, as a friend; on the few occasions where he wants it to be more, he reminds himself that if they were to have a fallout he would lose her. He's always been protective of her, too. Numerous boys have nervously asked Katniss out on a date of sorts while at lunch, and she hasn't been on a single one—partly because of Katniss' awkward shifting in her seat and the uncertainty of her voice, but also partly due to the death glare Gale has mastered. He can't blame them, though; he doesn't think of Katniss as sexy, she too is clean. But she is the embodiment of the word beautiful—eyes silver, shiny, and sharp, like dimes; lips soft, pink, and quick to speak; dark hair that falls over her shoulders in waves, not like Madge's, but still something he loves to tangle his fingers in. Her skin nearly matches his, and he thinks that's strangely poetic, in a way. Not to mention her bravery and fierceness and her fire, something Gale hopes nobody can ever put out.
"I won't be," he smiles. "As long as you're there with me."
"I have to talk to Madge, too," Katniss rolls her eyes, but there's a smile in them. "She hasn't been doing well lately."
Gale swallows thickly. Oh, right. Of all the things he could think about relating to Madge Undersee, the anxiety she mentioned to him is not one he enjoys dwelling on. He knows what it means to be anxious, and he hates the feeling—he can't imagine what it's like to live with it, to feel it every day. So he doesn't.
"Will there be alcohol?" Gale raises an eyebrow mischievously. Katniss scoffs, but says, "Probably. Her parents won't be there. Most of the town kids are going, and they're less innocent than you might think."
"Like there'll be people fucking behind the house?" Gale suggests, now grinning. Katniss punches his arm lightly, her cheeks beginning to turn scarlet.
"Kidding," he laughs, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and burying his nose in her hair. He inhales deeply and sighs. She smells like wind, like sun-heated grass, like fresh saltwater. It comforts him, more than any artificial sweet chemical ever could.
"I'm sure if there's anyone fucking behind a house it'll be you." Katniss pokes his chest.
Gale laughs. "I would object to that, but I somehow can't find the will to."
Katniss giggles, collapsing against him again. The air is sweet and she closes her eyes, listening to Gale's heartbeat and the water rushing over the rocks before them.
. . .
Now he's nervous, approaching the Undersee mansion for the third time ever with Katniss reassuringly pulling him forward. There's no knocking on the door, no Prim over his shoulders, no unsettling maids. They walk straight to the backyard, where music is playing and lights are sparkling along every surface. He sees the stark contrast of the white smoke against the black sky and smells the cherry blossoms planted in the distance. What he sees at first isn't as pleasant—most of the guys here are drunk already. He instinctively links his fingers with Katniss', and they tear their way through the crowd before sitting down in front of the fire.
Gale and Katniss get comfortable and unlink hands, and he finds himself scanning the vicinity for Madge. He can't find her after a while, though, so he and Katniss make conversation for a while.
"Maybe this'll be the night someone asks you out," Gale remarks.
Katniss rolls her eyes. "That night could have been a long time ago if you'd have learned to keep your opinions off your face," she says.
"I don't want any competition," Gale says, and it dawns on him that he's only half joking. Katniss simply looks up at him, her eyes vulnerable, before turning her head to a voice in the distance.
And there she is again.
Madge isn't wearing a dress this time—shorts, much to Gale's delight/dismay (there's no way for him to make a stupid "pretty dress" comment this time). They're denim, with several tears and loose threads, and a loose red plaid shirt hangs over her shoulders, sleeves rolled up. Her hair is blowing in the warm breeze in tight, tousled waves, and her smile is bright, probably due to the fact that Gale hasn't made eye contact with her yet.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she says, sitting down next to Katniss, who laughs out loud. It takes a moment for Gale to remember that Madge said the exact same thing to the two of them the last time. And again, she's not interrupting anything.
"Peeta!" Madge calls as she sits down, and Gale feels Katniss tense up. Madge turns to them. "Have you met him before, Katniss?" she asks. "He wasn't here the last time."
"Yes," is all Katniss says, and Madge looks concerned, but drops it. Gale wonders why Katniss is so on edge; has this Peeta kid hurt her? His jaw tightens, and Katniss' steely eyes find him again. "It's okay," she mouths. Soon a boy with sandy blonde hair approaches them, taking a tentative seat next to Madge. She leans into him, and suddenly Gale is a little bit jealous. It's only because of Katniss, he reminds himself. It has nothing to do with the fact that Peeta smiles down at Madge, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, or the way she grins back.
Suddenly Gale realizes. "Peeta Mellark?" he whispers to Katniss, who nods. Gale and Katniss have only ever traded with Mr. Mellark, who gave them their payment at the back door, so neither of them have ever been inside the bakery to meet his sons. Well, he hasn't. Peeta and Katniss are in the same grade, so he grudgingly reminds himself that he can't always be with Katniss and that she very well might have met Peeta before.
Mr. Mellark always paid them well and Gale had to commend that he was still with his witch of a wife. Still, when Peeta's eyes aren't on Madge they're on Katniss, and he hates it.
"I'm going to go get something to drink," he mutters to Katniss. She furrows her brow as he stalks away, turning a curious gaze to Madge, who shrugs.
"So you've met?" Madge asks her friends. Both of them nod stiffly. "When?"
"We have a couple classes together," Katniss says, at the same time Peeta blurts, "A few years ago." The awkward silence lasts a few minutes before they eventually pick up a conversation.
"Madge," Katniss says later, after another more comfortable, less awkward silence, "You should go after Gale. He's a real asshole when he's had too much."
"What do you mean, 'when he's had too much'?" Madge jokes dryly, though her heart isn't in it. She hasn't forgotten the strawberries. She hasn't forgotten how much she wanted to tell him about the episodes, as the Capitol doctors called them. She hasn't forgotten anything about Gale Hawthorne.
So she follows her friend's advice and goes after Gale, and after some uncomfortable asking around (she's heard variations of "Why're you looking for Hawthorne when you could just fuck me?" at least three times), she finds him leaning against the shed at the far edge of the yard. She can immediately tell he's drunk.
"Gale Hawthorne," she spits. He chuckles a little when she stands in front of him, and puts up almost no fight when she takes the bottle of beer out of his hand and throws it to the ground. He's not just drunk, he's wasted.
"Madge Undersee," he drawls, laughing like it's the funniest thing he's ever said. "Why'd you take away my drink?"
"Because you've had way too fucking much," she mutters, grabbing his wrist.
"Woah, Undersee," Gale laughs. "Watch the language."
"You're one to talk," she scoffs, though it's hard to sound angry as he runs his hand up and down her arm. He's drunk, she reminds herself. This means absolutely nothing to him.
"Mm," he murmurs, pulling her closer. "I should be mad at you for that, but I bet you taste better anyway."
"Excuse me?" Madge looks up at Gale, and as much as she wants to pull away from his grasp, she doesn't. "Gale, let go." Her voice is weak.
"Tell me to stop," he shifts so that her back is to the cold exterior of the shed. He buries his face against her neck, his warm breath causing her to shiver. "Tell me to stop."
Stop, she says, only in her mind. This is wrong, this is stupid, this is desperate, but she likes it. She's wanted it since she was eleven years old. Perhaps not up against a metal wall while Gale is practically unconscious, but she'll take what she can get from him.
"Tell me to stop, Madge," he says again, running his fingers through her hair, pulling her so that their foreheads touch. "Please, tell me to stop."
"Are you begging me?" she asks, with a hint of humor in her voice.
"Only for your own sake," Gale murmurs, his fingers sneaking the tiniest bit past the hem of her shirt.
"I think I can take care of myself," she giggles.
"That you can," Gale's voice is wavering. "But I'd like to."
The kiss begins slowly as their lips meet with unspeakable hesitation. Soon, though, a combination of Gale's drunkenness and Madge's desire cause it to be anything but chaste—instead it's warm and wet and messy. His hand travels farther up her back and she tries not to feel self-conscious. She knows deep in her mind that this will mean nothing to Gale in the morning—hell, it won't mean anything in twenty minutes. He probably won't even remember it. But she still hopes he can stop avoiding her now, that maybe they can do this again sometime, when Gale's mind is clear.
"Fuck," Gale groans. "Madge, fuck me." He begins grinding his hips against hers, and she laughs, pulling away. He sighs in frustration.
"You're drunk," she reminds him, just a little hurt. "And watch your language."
He groans again, and she gives him another quick peck before circling her hand around the half of his wrist she can take. "Come on," she tells him. "Katniss is waiting for you."
"Katniss," he mutters, a little bitterly. "She hasn't fucked the Mellark kid yet?"
"Is that why you got drunk?" Madge asks, so quiet he couldn't hear it. She knows the answer is yes.
. . .
The next morning, Madge hears a knock on her door, and, being the only one home and awake, she answers. Her heart nearly stops when she sees Gale at her doorstep, and she's not sure if she's happy or upset.
"Hey," he sighs uncomfortably. She only smiles slightly, her mouth suddenly dry. She picks up immediately that this isn't a last night was so great that I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me situation. It's more of an I'm sorry I used you while I was drunk kind of thing.
"I wanted to talk to you," Gale stutters. "About last night."
"Of course you do," Madge hums, annoyed, shutting the door behind her. She stays at the top step, while Gale hesitantly stands on the first one.
"I…I'm sorry, Madge."
"So let me get this straight," Madge looks him in the eye. "You don't have enough class to kiss a girl when you're not wasted, but you have enough to tell her you're sorry the morning after."
"You kissed me back," he says, his voice now sharp. Her shoulders slump; he's right. But she didn't kiss him back just to feel her body burn, or to feel somebody pressed up to her. She never would have let someone that wasn't Gale drunkenly make out with her.
"I know I did," she tells him. "But it meant something for me."
"Shit," Gale mutters. "Madge, you don't—"
"I like you, Gale," she shouts, throwing her hands up in the air. "I let you kiss me and I kissed you back because I've wanted to do so for the longest fucking time."
"I wouldn't kiss you if I didn't like you," Gale attempts lamely.
But this makes her angrier. "You don't like me," she spits. "You like how I feel below you. You like how I taste and how I look but you don't like me."
Deep inside, Gale just wants to apologize and hug Madge and possibly kiss her much softer this time. He wants to be able to smile at her in the hallways and laugh at her jokes. But kindness and apologies aren't his first reaction. Nine times out of ten, anger is, and this time is one of those nine.
"What the hell did you expect?" he asks. His mind is screaming shut up, but he doesn't. "Did you expect me to come here with flowers and ask you for some sort of commitment? I was drunk, Undersee. You've got to know what kind of person I am. I don't do relationships."
"I'd heard rumors," Madge says shortly. "I thought I'd give you the benefit of the doubt. But Katniss did say you were an asshole when you drank too much." She laughs. "It was silly of me not to believe her."
Gale doesn't respond. They both stand there, the heat slowly dissipating as the seconds turn to minutes. "So why are you here?"
"To say sorry," Gale scowls.
"There's more," Madge quips. "If you'd have simply wanted to say sorry you'd have asked Katniss to pass on the message."
"I didn't last time," he reminds her.
She sighs. "No, you didn't. But that was different." She's not sure how, and she's glad he doesn't press further. "Besides, it's kind of sad that there was a last time."
Gale runs his fingers through his hair, growing more agitated. "What do you want from me?" he asks.
"There's more," Madge repeats. "Tell me."
"Fine!" Gale shouts, a little too loudly. "I came to tell you not to expect anything from me! I don't want a relationship with you, I don't want to be your friend, I don't want you to keep waiting for me. I don't love you, Madge."
She bites her lip, holding back tears. "I didn't expect you to love me," she says, her voice wavering a little. Why does he make her so damn weak? Reduce her to puddles?
"Yeah, well," Gale sighs, "I don't like you either. We're nothing, Madge."
She shuts the door without looking back, hoping he calls her name. But when she looks out the window a second later, he's already disappearing in the horizon.
