Around the first mile of jogging, Gale thinks Madge is going easy on him. And that the light from the street lamps is beautiful in her hair.
By the sixth mile of jogging, Gale wonders how Madge got so fit, so good at running. He goes through the mental yearbooks in his mind, trying to remember if she was on the Cross-Country team.
It is around Gale's thirteenth mile of jogging that he thinks Madge might be trying to kill him after all.
And by the fifteenth mile, Gale collapses on the concrete.
Madge remains on her feet, hands tucked up on either side of her pony tail as she draws in deep breaths through her nose, attempting to control her heart rate. She doesn't ask if he is alright or even look down at his poor, tired body on the pavement, a fact for which Gale is grateful. If he had to look at her sweaty, beet-red face bearing a pity-filled expression directed at him, he might have died of shame right there.
"What are we doing next?" Gale ask, panting as he stares up at her from the flat of his back.
It is at that moment that Madge knows her faith in him is not misplaced. Because fifteen miles later, from the flat of his back on a dirty concrete city sidewalk, he's ready for the next challenge. But Madge doesn't have time to answer because a car door slams and the sound of a voice rings out through the nearly deserted street.
"The question isn't what we're gonna do next, it's what aren't we gonna do next."
Haymitch appears, picking himself out of the driver's seat of his car as Gale twitches on the ground to catch a glimpse of him. Coffee thermos in one hand and sunglasses over his eyes, Haymitch's unwashed hair hangs over him, giving him a look even more generally scraggly and terrifying than usual. Though altogether unsurprised at his entrance, as he was following them in his car at about a block's distance for the last three miles, it does occur to Madge that this is the earliest she has seen Haymitch awake perhaps as long as she has known him.
"So, what aren't we gonna do next?" Gale heaves.
A dark chuckle passes from the older man as he downs the rest of his coffee in one long swallow, and Madge thinks that perhaps asking him to train Gale might not have been the best idea.
"Sleep. Probably not ever again."
It's a joke, but barely. Gale sighs and lays his head back against the pavement. This is going to be a long two months.
That afternoon, just around when Gale's legs feel as though they're about to give out from the energy he's been expending all day, Haymitch and Madge leave Gale at the doors of The Mine for sparring practice with Peeta. Haymitch hasn't gone into a practice gym in years, and he isn't about to start now. Gale attempts to thank Haymitch, but he just waves off the words, muttering to Madge that he'll be in the car whenever she's finished swooning. Resenting the implication, the blonde attempts to shuffle off behind him, rushing away from the fighter whose life she might be saving with this training, but Gale's hands reach out, wrapping his fingers gently around her wrist. The feeling of the callouses and the scars there never fail to catch Madge off guard, and she turns without his having to pull her. Those striking blue eyes electrify him in a way that he wasn't sure was possible in such an exhausted state. A car door slams signaling Haymitch's descent into his steadily breaking down vehicle, and Gale's red and tired face questions Madge with a quiet distress he wasn't sure he is capable of. She's been doing that lately. Appearing in his life and disappearing, dancing in and out of position as though she's an opponent in the ring, unsure if she's ready to strike yet. And after the day of training that Gale just had, he can't leave without a conversation, a real one, with her.
"You're gonna leave just like that?" He asks.
If there is a conversation Madge doesn't want to have right now, this is it. She's watched him do pull-ups and sit-ups and crunches and planks for hours now and there is still a mountain of uncertainty that she isn't ready to climb just yet. Yes, she wants Gale to win this fight. But what does that mean, exactly? Madge doesn't know and she isn't sure she wants to.
"How would you like me to leave?" She quips, her throat clenching uncomfortably, forcing her voice out in a tone quieter than the bravery she's struggling to keep hold of.
While Madge certainly didn't intend for her words to come out suggestive, Gale certainly interprets them that way, raising an eyebrow at the implication in that question that he knows she didn't anticipate. He chuckles.
"You want an honest answer to that?"
The wheels in Madge's head come to a grinding halt and for almost a moment, she isn't entirely sure what he means. But then, it dawns on her. With a scoff, she pulls her hand out of his and rolls her eyes.
"Don't make this like that," she accuses, cursing herself for not thinking before she speaks.
Flush coloring her chest and uncomfortable look in her eyes, Gale knows when to take a step back. This is one of those times. But, even through his apology, he smirks. He and Madge are getting places they've never been before. And it's going to be uncomfortable and awkward and stinted at first, but he's alright with that. Because he's been waiting since he was twelve to be so close to her.
"Sorry," he says.
Madge crosses her arms and looks up at him with an indignant expression. She breathes through her teeth, giving the air the sensation of her hiss as she attempts to collect the red, hot paint that has decorated her cheeks and chest. Gale's eyes meet her, expectant and warm, a lazy smile focused on nothing but the woman in front of him. It puts a word on the tip of Madge's tongue, a word that she can't remember for the life of her, a word for how it makes her feel. And if she were to think just a little harder, she might realize that that word is special. That smile of his makes her feel special. But, pushing that word and that feeling aside, Madge shakes her head.
"I'm not gonna kiss you when you're sweaty," she announces.
Gale's smile only grows now that she's said the words. If she said them, it must mean she's thinking them, a realization that sends shockwaves through Gale's entire system. In a grand show of false flattery, Gale points to himself and gasps.
"You were thinking about kissing me?" He asks.
Eyes widening and sense of injustice flaring, Madge shakes her head.
"No! You were thinking about kissing me," she defends, thinking back to only a moment ago when she was thinking about his lips and the ways that just the sight of them made her feel at any given moment.
The blush paints itself a darker shade of red across her body and Gale shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets as he leans comfortably back, looking oh-so casual as he watches her spiral into a silly sort of distress.
"I didn't say anything like that. I just asked if you wanted an honest answer to your question. You're the one making this dirty-"
Huffing, Madge rolls her eyes and turns away, ready to join Haymitch in the car and return to her footage of Thresh which is waiting on her computer in the piano shop where Delly has been covering her shift for a few hours now.
"Goodbye, Gale," she shouts over her shoulder.
Nerves shudder in Gale's chest; he doesn't want her to leave upset. He never wants her to leave upset.
"No, wait. C'mon," he calls after her, the bravado evaporating from within him.
A sigh from the blonde and she turns around, giving him the fullness of her tired eyes.
"What?" Madge asks.
Gale nods at her once, sincere for the first time this conversation. There is no way to pay her back for what she's done by bringing Haymitch and this training into his life. It's giving him a fighting chance here. He isn't sure, but she may just be saving his life.
"Thanks," he says, solemnly.
But Madge doesn't want his thanks. So, she turns back to the car and leaves him behind, a smirk growing on her lips with a careless grace.
"For what? You haven't won yet."
Gale watches the car disappear before walking into the gym to meet Peeta. A single word brings hope into his cloudy mind. Yet. Yet means something still to come. Yet means that she believes he can do it.
"What're you so happy about?" Peeta asks, his brow furrowed, his mind confused.
Leaning down to tie his shoes, Gale shrugs.
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
Madge sinks into the seat beside Haymitch, who is listening to some terrible 1950's country song on the radio, taping his hands impatiently on the wheel. Eyes alight, she doesn't even realize that she's still smiling, thinking of the things to come. Gale's going to win this thing. She just knows it. She just knows he will.
"What're you so goddamn pleased about?" He grumbles, pulling the car into drive and beginning down the stretch of road toward the Mayor's house.
Madge shakes her head, leaning her forehead against the cool glass window beside her.
"Nothing, Haymitch."
And while he doesn't believe it for a second, the retired fighter doesn't push any further. He's seen that look before. He knows what it means. He just hopes that they're wrong when they say that history repeats itself.
Well, here we are! I'm sorry it's late! I've been at Disney world! Next week, we will return to the regular Tuesday updates, but there will be two updates next week to make up for the late update this week! Please leave me a review and let me know what you think!
