Purgatory Miniseries Part 3.
Dinner - is he just being sensible or making a move? She wishes she could just get away - just to think. The diner is plainly decorated and mostly clean, with red plastic tablecloths and silver napkin dispensers. As soon as they're in the door, Madge spots the signs for the restrooms in one corner and excuses herself, leaving Gale to find a table.
Alone, she looks at her reflection. The plaits that hold her hair back on each side of her head have loosened and a few tendrils have fallen free; she tucks them behind her ears and sighs. This day has not gone as expected. She had it all worked out, a full schedule to keep her nice and occupied. Morning meeting, visit with Hazelle, a shift in the walk-in clinic, a couple hours to review and update patient files, then a tedious but professional reception and dinner with the drug reps visiting from District 4. All things she knows how to handle.
Then Gale Hawthorne had to show up and turn everything upside down. Ugh. It's really unfair how good he looks, all tan skin and dark hair. But she remembers how terrible he was to her, before the war. She's not the type to make him suffer; she wasn't even then, when she really hated him. And now ... okay, she doesn't hate him. She just doesn't know what to make of him. From a professional standpoint, she can be polite. For Hazelle's sake, she will help him navigate the world of hospitals and hospices with the courtesy ingrained into her by years of playing hostess to ridiculous Capitolites. But this Gale is unexpected and confusing, taunting her one minute and coming on to her the next. She spent half the day bouncing back and forth between anger, confusion, and something else. Curiosity maybe. Well it's not every day that she hears such outrageous compliments out of nowhere. Even so. Yes, he's sex-on-a-stick and yes, he called her sexy, but she was not about to let him off the hook so easily. After this morning she'd resolved to steer clear of him, and then he'd shown up uninvited at her office, with a cactus no less. Somehow he seemed to know that helping Hazelle would be her weak point, breaking her resolve and confusing her even more. And everything tonight … she agreed to help, because it was for Hazelle's, and after all she didn't mind a decent excuse for missing the dinner with the drug reps. He's been perfectly civil, some might even say sweet, but she still doesn't trust him.
It's not a date. So why does it feel like one? Probably because he just batted away all of her no-dating-patients excuses as if they were inconsequential flies. Well, it's too late to get out of it now. She wants to push him away, but at the same time … she doesn't. If I had your best … what the hell does that even mean anyway? She can't forget that idiotic grin on his face, and wonders what brought it on. He's been much more reserved tonight.
You're overthinking this, she tells herself. It's just dinner. She takes a deep breath and heads back out into the diner.
Gale's sitting in a booth by the window, facing the door so his back is to her. He's leaning forward over a menu. As she slides into the seat across from him, he sets down the menu in front of her and rests his elbows on the table. Madge has barely picked up the menu when an eager waiter appears at the table, asking "What can I get you?"
"I think we need a few," Gale starts to answer, looking doubtfully at Madge.
"No, I'm ready," she contradicts him. The menu is familiar, so she goes for her default. "Cheeseburger with tots. And a coke, please," she tells the waiter.
Then Gale orders. "Same. No lettuce or tomato."
Left alone facing Gale, Madge feels a small spike of anxiety. Should she bring up Hazelle? His family? She doesn't want to pry though. This isn't usually so difficult. Grasping for a safe topic she asks, "Where'd you get the Jeep?"
Gale's brow furrows briefly and he glances out the window toward the parking lot. "Borrowed it. The owner's in the Capitol. I've only got it another week. Guess I need to figure out something else soon."
"Oh – seems to fit you," she says. "What do you usually drive?"
The waiter brings their Cokes, then disappears again.
"A Jeep. Mine's in better shape," he admits. Snickering he adds, "but it's no model 6, that's for sure. Bet that's fun to drive."
"Nothing like it," she agrees, briefly remembering the last time she took it out for a real drive. The model 6 was a serious splurge, bought on a whim and depleting more of her savings than was wise, but on weekends when she's not working she loves to get out of the district on the less-traveled roads they've put in connecting the Districts. Most people take the train or hovercrafts, but Madge just likes being on the road, accountable to nobody but herself.
She smirks and sips her drink through the straw. When she looks across the table, Gale is smiling at her. Then he shakes his head and mutters, almost to himself, "Who knew?" She's tempted to ask what he means but instead she switches the topic of conversation back to his Jeep and a possible replacement, suggesting a repair shop that could help him find something longer term. In the back of her mind she wonders how long he'll stay in District 12, but she pushes the thought away without asking.
Their burgers arrive quickly on plates overflowing with tater tots, effectively ending their conversation as they both dig in. Gale wolfs his down in no time, then squirts a pile of ketchup into the empty spot on his plate.
In between small bites, Madge watches incredulously. "You are hungry."
Gale shrugs and smiles. "Was. Busy day, didn't get much lunch," he explains. "That was a good burger." Then he leans back, dunks a tater tot into the pool of ketchup, and pops it into his mouth, chewing happily.
"You like ketchup but not tomatoes?" she asks.
"It's November," he answers. "The tomatoes are from 13."
Apparently that's all the explanation he thinks is necessary. For some reason this seems strange to her, Gale being finicky about produce. Probably because she assumes he wouldn't be picky after barely having food to eat. And he would have lived off of food from 13 during the war.
She eats deliberately, as is her habit, feeling his gray eyes on her as she wipes the corners of her mouth self-consciously. Gale takes his time with his tater tots, refilling his pool of ketchup when it gets low.
"So you're at the hospital a lot I guess," he says.
She looks at him strangely. "Well I work there, so yes. I'm there a lot."
He nods thoughtfully. "I guess they keep you pretty busy."
"Yeah, well, we're understaffed," she answers. "Paylor's nurse training program has started to help, but I guess after the war – there just aren't that many people interested in it." She doesn't mention how many medics were killed in the war, doesn't like to dwell on it.
"But you were?" he's stopped eating for the moment, waiting for her to answer as if this is more interesting.
She shrugs, noncommittal. "It just comes naturally to me I guess." She'd rather not talk about why. It was obvious to her this morning that he has no conception of what her past was like – no memory of her mother's absence from District events. She studiously rearranges the bun of her burger so it's more centered, avoiding his gaze.
Fortunately he doesn't press her. Instead he returns to his tater tots and asks, "Were you Ma's doctor?"
"No. Never," she answers automatically. She takes another bite of her burger.
"Is that hard? I mean, do you talk about medical stuff with her?"
She's taken aback by the question, and takes her time chewing before she answers. "Sure, we talk about it. It would be impossible not to," she concedes. "But she has great doctors. I wouldn't want to be her doctor. It's too hard to be doctor to friends."
"But on some level you must see her as a patient, right?" Gale presses. "I mean, she's in your hospital, and you're following her treatment and everything."
"It's hard to explain," she sighs. "We're friends. But sometimes she wants the reassurance that her doctors are doing the right thing. I try not to exert undue influence, though."
Gale cocks his head quizzically. "Undue influence?" Madge takes another bite of her burger and chews, thinking she'll never finish it at this rate.
"Well, for example," Madge says. "I would never tell her to go into hospice care, even though I think it's the best thing."
"Why not? You told me."
"Hazelle doesn't think about what she wants. She's not used to being taken care of. I think it's hard for her - she's always been the one taking care of her family." She flushes a little, realizing she is lecturing him about his own mother, then gives him a dry smile. "And I think, because I'm a doctor, she thinks I'll have all the answers. I didn't think that would be a problem for you."
"You'd be surprised. I started the day completely against hospice. But I didn't really understand what it meant until you explained it," he answers casually, chewing on another tot.
Madge squirms a little, uncomfortable at the possibility that she has pushed him into the decision. "Look, I didn't mean …"
"No, don't." Gale freezes her with a stern look. She's surprised by his vehemence. "Honestly – I can't thank you enough for that."
Madge sighs. "You don't need to thank me. I just want Hazelle to be happy. I admit I was pretty surprised you signed the paperwork already."
She eventually finishes her burger as he tells her a little bit about his morning talk with Hazelle about Serenity Hospice, and his visit with Rory when they signed the papers. She hears something in his voice that reminds her of Hazelle's comment about Gale and Rory not getting along … or maybe she's just reading too much into it.
Soon Gale polishes off the last of his tots with a swig of Coke and looks uneasily at Madge's half-empty plate. "You going to eat those?" he asks, gesturing to her pile of tots. She's picked at them, but honestly the servings here are far too big for her. She's been done for a few minutes, giving up on the remaining pile of tater tots.
She shakes her head and pushes the plate a few inches toward him. "You can have them," she says.
"We can take them to go," he suggests.
She shrugs, nonplussed. "If you want."
He gets a carton from the waiter and packages them up. Madge insists on paying her half of the bill, and is mildly relieved that he accepts her cash without argument.
Back in the Jeep, the conversation lapses again. Madge directs Gale back to a road he knows, pulling her jacket closed and crossing her arms for warmth. She wonders what he's thinking. The image of him in the stairwell comes back to her, and she feels heat creeping into her cheeks. She was so angry at him … She looks out the window hoping he won't notice. She's glad she came tonight, even if she's more confused than ever about him.
"You never answered my question," Gale says.
She turns back toward him. He's watching the road, his silhouette faintly lit by the lights on the dashboard. He's smiling faintly. "What question is that?"'
"You and Ma. Why you're friends."
He's thinking about this morning. Oh. What does that mean? "You really want to ask that?" she asks sharply.
He glances over at her briefly. The smile is gone. He looks annoyed. "It's just a question," he says. "Sorry but it's not exactly obvious …"
She scowls at him. "Right. What could a district princess and a seam widow possibly have in common?"
"I didn't mean it that way," he says slowly, relenting. She wonders if it's true.
And why does it matter? Why is it so hard for him to accept? "Maybe you should ask her, if you're so curious," she snaps. He wouldn't, would he? She can't imagine it.
"Maybe," he mutters quietly.
He parks the Jeep on the street behind her model 6 and climbs out wordlessly. The carton of tater tots is propped up on the center console. Disquieted, she grabs them and follows suit. "You forgot the tater tots," she says, holding them out toward where he stands in the grass in front of the house. He takes a step toward her and reaches out one-handed, his index finger brushing against her hand as he takes hold of the carton. His skin feels warm and dry and rough, raising a string of goosebumps up her arm as she releases the container abruptly.
Before she turns to go, he breaks the silence, saying, "Thank you. For your help," but sounding distant and formal. His face is in shadow and she can't read his expression.
Feeling a little hollow, she nods in response and says, "Goodnight, Gale."
Driving home, she turns the radio on loud and finds a station playing upbeat music with a heavy beat and lyrics about love and heartbreak. The quiet streets lead her into the denser part of the city to her apartment. Ugh. Why does she feel let down?
Morning comes too soon. She's out of bed before dawn, shoving her cold toes into slippers as she climbs out of bed. Her day begins early. Her day always begins early. Long, busy days that tire her out are her M.O. - the best way to ensure restful sleep at night. The only way.
She glances at a book from beside her bed. She didn't even open it last night, too busy rehashing so many scenes with Gale Hawthorne. She rolls her eyes at the thought. She should go for a run before heading in to the hospital, but it's raining and she hates running in the rain.
Instead she walks out into the main room of the apartment, glaring irrationally at the storm-clouds outside and looking for an outlet for her nervous energy. Dirty dishes have been piling in the sink since her dishwasher broke a week ago. She really needs to call someone to fix it, but she doesn't want to have to sit at home all day waiting for a repairman. There's still some time to spare, so she attacks the mess in her kitchen, hand-scrubbing dishes until everything is piled high on the drying rack. Suddenly she realizes she's lost track of the time and is now running late. Jumping into action, she speeds through her morning routine to get ready for work, skipping her usual latte and oatmeal breakfast and telling herself she'll get something at the hospital.
She hurries down the stairs to the communal garage, then pauses to see how late she is. She still has just over a half hour before her first appointment. Relieved, Madge looks through her schedule and sizes up the day. It's packed with patient appointments, and she'd forgotten about drinks with Delly tonight. She remembers Delly's message last night to confirm and belatedly replies with more enthusiasm than she feels. Maybe it will be good, she thinks. Take my mind off things. She wonders if she'll have time to stop by the apartment and change, knowing she probably won't. There's a new message from her supervisor asking her to attend lunch with the visiting drug reps from District 4. After blowing them off yesterday, she knows she'll have to say yes, even if it means all her afternoon appointments will run late. Hopefully she can bow out early if needed. Between it all, she won't have time to check in on Hazelle. Which shouldn't bother her, but it does. It's not like you see her every day, she chides herself. Why are you so anxious to now?
A/N: Thanks everyone for reading and especially for the reviews. I wish I could thank each of you personally. Belle453 was hugely helpful in getting this story moving forward.