AN: Oh boy. I have been excited about this chapter for a few months and now I finally get to show you!

Chapter 9

Gale's POV

Rory, Bristel, Vick and I wait around the cooking fire for the women to finish washing up, trying not to get too ornery smelling the food.

"Gale, I want to come on the snare run," Vick says, sidling up next to me. His face glows pink from too much sun yesterday.

I hesitate a moment, making sure that's what he really said. Out of all the kids, he's the most like Mom, in looks and everything. Not that Mom has any hang-ups about getting elbow deep in grit and guts, but she's got a gentler side, and Vick's never shown much interest in the forest. But since Madge came he's acted a little pluckier. It's not hard to guess why. Vick blushed like a burning bush in October when he promised to save her from drowning. The memory makes me grin. Then I frown, realizing how she's bewitched my family.

"Please, Gale."

"Sure, kiddo. If you want," I reply, ruffling his hair. "Hunting puts hair on your chest."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Is that true? Because Rory doesn't have any. I looked yesterday when we were swimming."

"Shut up," Rory growls.

I lean down to fake a whisper. "That's because he hasn't killed anything yet." Vick grins, revealing gaps where he's lost some baby teeth.

Rory mutters something libelous about me under his breath, but then shuts up pretty quick. I look up as Madge appears at the tree line between the field and the creek, the first to return.

"It's like there's another little Rory running around in those clothes," Bristel muses low enough so only we can hear. "A Rory with buttercup-yellow hair and soft, curvy hips."

"Yeah," Rory agrees dreamily. "Pretty."

The hair rises on the back of my neck and I thwap them each upside the head. "Knock it off, Rory. And you," I growl, rounding on Bristel, "what's that supposed to be? Poetry?"

Bristel shrugs it off. "Women have that effect on me," he says with a lazy grin. Something about it makes the muscle in my face tic.

"No one's allowed to be affected by any of the women on this crew," I say firmly.

Vick nods earnestly, his naïve eyes fixed on me. The least of my worries. He can fall in love with Madge all he wants. How much trouble can an eleven year old boy get into? Bristel on the other hand...I favor him with a scowl.

"Yessir," Bristel smirks impudently.

Rory pipes up. "Even if my shirt smells like her when she gives it back? Ow."

I consider giving his head a third smack for emphasis but think better of it. "She's your sister from now on, Rory. I mean it."

"No, she isn't." He frowns, rubbing the back of his head. "She doesn't even look like me. Just dresses like me."

Bristel's face smoothes into the benign expression of an angel. The scruffy, hobo kind that's up to no good. All right, a devil. "She can't be your sister and mine at the same time. Don't work that way."

"Actually, she looks more like Prim's sister," Rory concludes. "And if she were Prim's sister, you'd probably like her better."

"Shut up," I mutter, "I like her well enough." Rory's words sting a little, and the whole conversation seems wrong. Before I know it I'm on my feet. When I've walked a few steps away I swear I can hear muffled cackling behind me, so I turn back to look. Bristel gives Rory a thumbs up. What are they up to?

I turn my back on them. They're trying to get a rise out of me, but it won't work. Although, something's got me triggered. I don't care for that kind of jesting, not in the mines, not here, and certainly not at my expense. And not at Madge's either. Having a little sister to look after puts things into perspective.

But then something occurs to me. I think Rory and Bristel are just fooling around, but Madge might not realize that. Would she ever consider Bristel? Makes sense. Suppose there isn't a District 13 after all, and the rebellion is off somewhere we can't get to. I guess she'd want to be with somebody. Or even if we did make it to Thirteen, she won't know anyone else, will she? Bristel's strong. Even tempered, which is more than I can say. Certainly old enough. A girl might find him mildly attractive. But can Bristel set a snare in his sleep? Could he really take care of her? He's my best friend, but those things have to be considered objectively. Truth to tell, I could take better care of her than he could. I already am.

Right. If she wants him, who am I to say she can't? That doesn't mean I shouldn't look out for her. After all, I got her out of Twelve, so she's my responsibility.

Gale Hawthorne, what is going on? I chide myself. So what if there's an unattached female wreaking havoc in the mostly male population of this crew, and I certainly am not prepared to play chaperone? Turn around and take control. Plus, plus, there are the mothers for Bristel to contend with. Mom and Mrs. E wouldn't let him pull anything. "Ha!" I bark triumphantly. It echoes over the meadow and Vick turns around to look at me.

With measured steps, I urge myself back to camp where Bristel chats with Madge by the fire pit. He holds out a clean tin just so, causing her to touch him. Hell's teeth. What a bastard.

"Mornin', Miss Undersee," I hear him prattle. "How are you on this radiant day?" Madge looks a little overwhelmed, with her signature blink, but he just carries on. "Care for some charred woodchuck?"

"Thank you, Bristel." Madge smiles timidly and holds out her tin.

"You are very welcome," he replies with a grin just as I join them. "The rash looks much better this morning. Clearing up already."

"You think so?" Madge asks, lifting a hand to her cheek. "Well, it doesn't itch as much, at least. Mrs. Everdeen's salve really works." Then she turns to me and asks, "Gale, are you okay?"

"Huh?" I stammer. A dull pain throbs in my knuckles, and I realized that I've been clenching my fists. Hard. I release the tension in my fingers and ease them into my trouser pockets. Casual and aloof. "I'm fine."

"Oh." Second confused blink of the day. "You look like you've bitten your tongue." Then she accepts a mug of that chicory brew and goes to keep Prim company.

When she out of hearing range, I whisper to Bristel under my breath, "Don't do that."

"What?" he says through a mouthful of meat.

"That charming thing you're trying to pull. Knock it off."

Bristel shakes his head. "Manners, not charm, Hawthorne. You know, you could be more sociable once in a while. It wouldn't kill you."

"I am sociable," I grumble.

"Scowling is anti-social, pretty sure." Bristel picks something out of his teeth, then continues. "But you're right; you can be sociable…when you want to be, which is rare. And never with women, as far as I've seen." His eyes wander toward the only female present beside feverish Prim. Seeing the two together, I can't help but notice the difference in maturity, in every sense.

Still, I say, "Madge is just a girl." Well, she's young anyway.

"With a build like that?" Bristel's eyes nearly swivel out of his head, obviously seeing things the same way as me, but much more honest about it. "I don't think so. She's a woman, all right."

I find myself looking again and annoyance shoots through me. "I don't care what she looks like," I grouse.

"Good." He elbows my ribs, setting off a silent, yet colorful diatribe. "Then you won't mind if I do."

What is that supposed to mean? Scratch that. I know exactly what he means. What am I supposed to do about it?

…

Madge's POV

Something's shifted in the group dynamic since this morning. I'm not sure what, but it feels like there's some competition going on between Bristel and Gale. Must be a guy thing I wouldn't understand or appreciate, so I stick to Prim while they sort it out. She's shivering, even though the humid air hangs over us like a damp sheet. Mrs. Everdeen used her last bouillon cube yesterday, but there's enough broth left to coax another mug-full into her.

Hazelle says she wants to wash blankets and clothes today while Prim's too sick to move. When we've finished clearing up after breakfast, I offer to help. But Hazelle has other ideas.

"Madge, why don't you go gather with the boys since you've shown an interest in it." She turns to Gale. "Vick's tagging along anyway, right? Madge won't be in the way."

"Sure." Gale shrugs, not revealing an opinion either way.

Bristel beams. "Madge, why don't you come on the snare run? I can show you how to…"

Gale cuts him off. "Actually, I think you boys can handle that on your own."

"But," Rory interjects, "I don't know how to reset the…"

"It's a challenge," Gale says, rummaging around in his game bag. "See how much you remember. Take Vick with you. Should be fun."

"But…"

"Gale, I don't mind helping with the snares," I say, feeling awkward in the middle of a mild dispute.

He pins me with his eyes and everything narrows down to only us. "I promised to show you how to rig up a fish line."

"That sounds like a good idea," I vaguely hear Hazelle chirp, and the discussion carries on without us.

"Unless you don't want to fish with me today," Gale says in an undertone.

I swallow, unsure if the emphasis is on fishing or being with him, and try not to sound as eager as I feel. "I-I'd like that, actually."

He pulls a battered box the size of a half loaf of bread out of his bag. "Then it's settled."

…

I didn't know quail bones make good hooks, but they do. Well, okay, mine don't hold up, but Gale can tie knots with the finest line from the box he brought, and not only make it stick, but make it lethal. I don't even want to hold his hooks for fear of sticking myself. And honestly, my self-esteem is taking a huge hit watching his nimble fingers go. His hands are bigger than mine, but I feel like I've got fat sausages tacked onto my hands instead of fingers. And then there's one irreconcilable difference between Gale and me: I don't think the earthworms wriggle because they're happy. But do I bait my share of the hooks without complaint?

Yes.

Because I'm pretty sure he finds worm-gut fingers attractive. Because after all the furtive non-glances of yesterday, I wonder if a little shmear on my fingers might not put him off all together. Besides, nothing can be worse than half-healed poison ivy legs.

"So what do we do now?" I ask as he drops the last of the core lines in the water.

"Something useful," he replies, testing the tautness of the suspension line he rigged up between a sapling and my spear, which he drove into the riverbed. "Gather greens or eggs, and the like." But instead of doing any of that, he sits down next to me on the bank, putting things away in his tackle box. "So how'd you come up with that spear technique in the first place?"

I shift uneasily. "Those girls I was with, remember?" It seems like ages ago, but the memory still makes me squirm.

"Yes." His eyebrow quirks up to let me know he's listening.

"Uh…we found some," I swallow, "grown-ups and they showed us once. That's how we got food."

"Who were these grown-ups?" he asks without looking up.

I shrug. "Some men."

Gale pauses in the middle of winding clear line around a spool. "Men from Twelve?" he asks, quickly.

"That's what they said, but I'd never seen them before. I watched them make a spear and how to fish with it."

Gale gives me a sidelong glance. "Did you trust them?"

"What kind of a question is that?" I snap, feeling upset by how close his questions are getting to territory I do not want to enter.

He shrugs and goes back to winding. "You don't mention anything about them one way or the other. Seems odd if they traveled with you and kept you from starving."

"We didn't really have a choice but to trust them, since we were starving," I remark coolly.

"They also left you behind," he says. "Doesn't sound like a pleasant group of people."

"They didn't. I decided to take off on my own."

"Why?" he asks. Ugh. I want him to stop asking me questions.

"Just because," I snap, "I didn't like them."

His eyes narrow. "Sounds like a big risk over of a clash of personalities."

"I know it doesn't seem like it, but I made a good decision." I rub my eyes, which burn a little. "I wish I'd grown up like you, because then we wouldn't have needed help."

His face draws upward with shock. "You don't know what you're saying." A thread of anger colors his voice. "Nobody should have to spend every waking moment trying to keep his family on the right side of starvation."

"You're right," I murmur. "But at least you can."

"If I was a merchant's son, I'd never wish to come from the Seam." He sneers. "Why would you need these skills? Your father could buy you anything you wanted."

I catch that angry thread and hold onto it. "Not everything," I say unevenly. "It didn't buy him a way out of the district, did it? That's what I wanted most in the world."

Gale backs down. "I guess not."

I'm not ready to drop it, though. "The merchants weren't that fortunate. I mean, has it ever dawned on you that the Peacekeepers left the mayor there along with everyone else?"

"That's not my fault," he snaps.

"No, it's no one's fault. Just the way it is," I retort spitefully.

Gale looks like I slapped him. I squeeze my eyes shut to block it out, cursing myself for feeling sentimental about worm guts. And for thinking we could have a pleasant afternoon.

"Anything else you'd like to get off your chest, Miss Undersee?"

"No."

"That's a lie, Madge. You're angry with me for something more than social differences. What is it?"

I take a deep breath because it's hard for me to just lay things on the line, especially with him. Everything I've ever said or done has been calculated, veiled, or withheld completely. Honesty will only leave me vulnerable. But since he asked…I guess I'll try. See how he likes it.

"I just don't understand how you are so capable, yet refuse to help anyone else unless you have to."

Gale just stares in surprise for a moment as his face slowly turns red. "What do you mean?" he finally asks, his voice sharp as a razor. "I am constantly helping. That's all I ever do."

"Sure, your own family." I'm almost yelling. "I'm talking about helping people who don't belong to you, but still need you." And now I am yelling. "How could you leave my parents without even trying to help them get out? How could you leave them behind knowing it would kill them?"

"Your parents weren't my responsibility, Madge," he shouts back. "I'm sorry they're dead, but I needed to find my family. I take care of them first. That's my job and it's good enough. I'm all that Posy, and Vick, and Rory have. Nobody sticks out their necks for them, but me. Not when my father died and not now."

"It's not enough to take care of the people who belong to you, Gale. My mother didn't know you, but that didn't stop her – " I bite down on my lip, hard, cutting off the rest of that thought. "Never mind. It doesn't matter." I turn away from him.

"Finish that sentence," he orders. When I don't, he rakes his fingers through his hair, and his whole face pinches from frustration. "God. I hate it when you do that."

My chest is heaving with adrenaline and anger. "You did something really awful – no, what you didn't do was awful. And I don't understand how you're okay with that."

"I know you think that," he says after a while. "And I'm sorry, but it's not that simple."

"Simple? You wouldn't leave your family behind." I sit on my hands to keep from smacking him. "You made me leave mine."

His eyes blaze. "At your father's request, because the thought of you dying distressed him. Does that mean anything to you? What do you want me to do, Madge?" His voice is so cold, belying the rage on his face, and I find I don't have an answer. What do I want from him? "I can't change the past and I had my family to think of. I'm sorry it happened that way, and an apology is all I have to offer you."

"You should have helped me bring them," I press on. "We could have saved them together."

Gale's face slackens. "A grown man can make his own decisions. Your father didn't want to go. Accept that your parents wanted to die in District 12."

I'm stricken by the idea, as though Gale's words bite into me like the lash of Thread's whip. "That's a lie," I whisper.

"No, Madge, it isn't." He looks sorry. He actually looks sorry. It makes my eyes and throat burn.

The rage drains away as the thought seeps into my bones, replaced by something worse. My dad chose to die with my mom without trying. Just the two of them. Even though we're a family. Nonono.

But maybe? My dad would have tried if that's what he wanted, wouldn't he? Dad made me go without them. Made me go alone. But how do you blame someone who's dead? It's so much easier to blame Gale. He's callous enough, I think.

These awful sounds start coming out of my mouth, half-choked sobs that only sound worse the more I try to hide them. I curl my arms around my legs and hide my face in my knees. And for all I know it's just me sitting by the river, scaring every animal off with the rasping in my throat.

Then I feel an arm around my shoulder, gently pulling me against him. Gale whispers soothing words against my temple, like I'm some wounded creature he's bound to protect, the way he speaks to Posy and Prim.

The sobs soften, exhausted by the passing gamut of emotion. And maybe because the press of his fingers on my arm, and the warmth of his breath above my ear is working. I droop against his chest, and he doesn't even push me away.

We sit in silence for a while, absorbing the balmy, sunlit air, and discovering each new scent of the meadow as the wind stirred the tops of trees along the riverbank. It's peaceful after shouting and feeling hateful things.

But the peace never lasts long. The quiet brings its own shadows, leaving me defenseless against the darkness of memories that only activity and hardship can ward off.

The guilt comes first. Always. For surviving. For not protecting my mother, who is – no – was too frail to look after herself. For allowing my dad to be a hero and sacrifice himself. Maybe it's not right to feel so responsible, and maybe my dad didn't mean for me to since he chose to stay, like Gale said. But I don't know how to stop.

Then there's guilt of another kind. I don't want to leave this spot until I've made things better with Gale. We don't understand very much about each other, that's certain. It's something I can rectify. I hope.

And maybe he can teach me about survival of a different kind.

"Gale, what was it like for you when your father died?" I wipe my nose with the back of my hand before glancing up. Gale doesn't look at me, just stares out into the thicket on the other side of the creek. I feel him shift, so I scoot away a little. His arm falls from my side, as he physically draws inward.

"Bad." His face looks haggard. That's all he can say for now.

I get up to rinse my hands off in the water, thinking. "Some mornings I expect to wake up in my house. Safe. Only to realize that I'm not, and there's nothing between me and whatever bad is out there." Turning to face him, I lift my hand only to drop it. "I'll never feel safe like that again."

Gale smoothes a hand over the grass where I had been sitting, so I hunker back down next to him. "I had to grow up overnight." His voice is low in his throat. "I went from older brother to a sort of dad figure to my brothers. And Posy—she feels more like my own kid." He's picking at the delicate fringes of a fern, giving me a sideways glance. "I learned to be my own safety. Katniss and I, we could hunt. It expelled a lot of pent-up energy, gave me focus. It's hard to feel desperate when you've got a line of rabbits and squirrels to eat or trade."

"Meeting Katniss helped, too. Didn't it?" I ask, focusing on the tattered fern.

His voice falters. "We were friends – the only relationship I had that my dad's death didn't distort. I wasn't responsible for her, or she for me. But we relied on each other. I miss that."

I want to slip my hand into his, but I hold back, uncertain of his reaction. "I miss her, too. Katniss was my first real friend. Lately I've been wondering what she would do in my place." I give a gurgling laugh. "She wouldn't have been half as stuck. It's hard to believe…" that she didn't make it.

"The hardest thing is the constant need of a reminder, you know?" He throws the fern away. "I keep thinking that I must show Katniss this new snare or tell her what I've learned about…whatever…and then remember that I can't. It feels like someone gutted me."

Gale looks like he's been gutted, and I feel guilty for bringing this up in the first place. He hasn't looked like a guy grieving for his friend. Until now. And it's awful. And I think he's reached his limit, but then he begins speaking again. "It feels as if I'm waiting for something to happen only it never does. Possibly at any moment someone will wake me up and announce that it was all a great joke, things can go on like before...with Katniss and me. But no one does. And things can't go back to the way they were. But I'm still waiting. Only I don't know what for anymore."

Gale turns to me and his gray eyes shimmer with tears. I find myself reaching for his hand and taking it. I start to withdraw it and mumble an awkward apology, but his fingers close around mine and hold tight. Gale's eyes bore into mine, looking for answers as earnestly as I am. His face turned so close to mine that I can smell the wood smoke and sweat mingled together, and the mint we had after breakfast on his breath as it brushes my cheek. Emboldened, my other hand reaches for him, trails down his high cheek bone to his stubbly jaw. Then my hand drops, fingers curled, into my lap. Embarrassed, I grimace at it.

"I don't know if I can let her go completely," Gale confesses almost to himself. My cheeks burn, but I make myself look up. He's gazing between the hand in my lap and the hand locked with his. Then his eyes dart to my face, and they narrow thoughtfully. "Maybe I don't have to?"

I barely have time to wonder when Gale's fingers curl under my chin. His thumb brushes over my lips just before his own lips cover mine, fleetingly at first. His whiskers tickle, but I don't pull away. I don't even breathe. His other fingers feel like starbursts as they trail down my arm, gathering me closer to his side. When Gale pulls back, the tip of his nose skims the side of mine while he gazes at me. The intensity in his grey eyes sets my nerves trembling. I'm tempted to rest my forehead against his so we'll both close our eyes. But then his lips cover mine again. Fully. It's warm under the press of his mouth and my stomach flips back on itself. I move in rhythm with him, shuddering when his teeth gently graze my bottom lip, deepening the kiss.

I'm melting into him, tasting him while he explores my mouth. Gale makes a sound deep in his throat. It reverberates through him, and I feel it in mine. His arms lure me in further, anchoring me to his body, crushing my hands against his chest. My bones melt away as his thumb slowly presses a trail down my spine, resting on the small of my back. I shiver and feel his answering smile against my lips.

A protesting gasp escapes me when he moves away, taking the warmth with him. The corner of his mouth twitches upward at the sound. Then his lips trace my jaw, smoothing his way to my throat. For a moment he presses his nose where my shoulder meets my throat and inhales softly, before leaving a trail of kisses along my collar bone where Rory's shirt gapes open. I let go of his shirt and reach up to caress the nape of his neck. The muscles in his shoulders hitch beneath my touch as I blindly trace my way, threading unsteady fingers through the long, black strands of his hair.

I'm on his lap when he gives me one last brush on the corner of my mouth. I rest my head on his shoulder while we catch our breath. His hand lingers on my lower back, the other gently tangling in my hair. I lean back enough to see his eyes. I'm surprised by how dark they are, trained on my hair. He strokes a strand of it caught between his fingers, swallowing hard. Then his fingers slip down the lock, grazing my arm with his knuckles till the strand ends.

His voice is husky when he speaks. "You aren't interested in Bristel, by any chance?"

I manage a raspy chuckle and I push off of him, though it's difficult with my body this flushed and boneless. "If I were interested in Bristel, I'd let him kiss me. Not you."

Gale's eyebrows contract. "I should have asked first before kissing you." He blinks for a bit. What a funny thing to do. "You probably didn't want…"

"Gale, I've wanted you to kiss me since I was eleven." I look away and stammer, "Although at that age, my idea of kissing was a little more basic."

Silence.

I can't believe I just confessed that. Ugh. But if I hadn't felt the desire in his kiss (my stomach flips again remembering the way he groaned), then I'd be bracing for the worst. And I'm embarrassed, but not afraid. Not necessarily. Very much.

Gale's fingers grip my chin again, gently making me look at him. His eyes are wide. "Me?"

"I wouldn't have kissed you if I didn't want to," I mumble awkwardly. My ears are burning.

"I never would have thought…I didn't know," he finishes lamely.

"Of course not," I murmur. How could you? I secretly add. Before yesterday we weren't even friends. "Besides the fact that you openly despised me," I give him a moment to deny it, which he doesn't, "only a fool would admit as much knowing how you felt about Katniss. Plus," A self-deprecating smile spreads over my face, "half the time I want to hit you over the head more than I want to kiss you."

He frowns. "For what?"

I huff and fight the urge to bury my face in his shoulder again. "For being such a snob."

Gale gapes like that's the last thing he expected me to say. "I'm not a snob," he denies, sounding offended and confounded. "Snobs…snobs have money."

"That's stupid," I say, though there isn't any venom in it. "All a person needs to be a snob is an opinion that puts him in a position superior to someone else."

His lips quirk into a lopsided, wry grimace. "Quoting someone?"

"No, I just made that up," I say, folding my arms over my chest.

"Huh, right. So I'm a snob. With all my good qualities it's no wonder you were smitten," he gripes.

"Fortunately, you do have some good qualities," I allow, a mite facetiously.

Gale snorts. "Well, let's have it."

I take a deep breath and release it slowly. Although it feels safer to speak out of sarcasm, this isn't really the time for it. I want Gale to know what I truly think about him. "I was nearly twelve when you first came to our door asking for laundry." I pause to see if he remembers. Judging by the hard set of his jaw, I guess he does. "It's the first time I remember seeing you, but I'd heard about the accident in the mines from my dad. We didn't have anything for you, but then you came back to sell strawberries. Katniss told me you'd been in the woods together. I admired your bravery, because I'd always wanted to go, but felt too scared."

I pause but he doesn't say anything. His fingers twiddle with the hem on the back of my shirt. So I plug onward. "I started to look forward to when you would show up at the back door, and it became a game to see if I could get there with the money before Hanna." I laugh a little. "But I think what really made me care for you, what I admired most, was how you took care of your family. You don't think I get what that's like, but I do." I look down and mumble, "Because I'd been taking care of my mother for years. But unlike your family, nothing in the woods could help her." I finish with a half-shrug, quietly waiting for whatever.

Then he hugs me to his chest again. "I'm sorry about your parents."

That's all he says.

"So now what?" I ask into his shoulder. He doesn't say anything, and then I feel a hesitation in his fingers that hadn't been there before. My heart gutters like a candle. I sit up. "What?"

His face isn't closed, but his eyes are veiled.

"I need to think about this."

TBC

Happy Valentine's Day, and thank you for reading!

And thanks again to Ceylon205 for beta-ing.

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