A/N: Lazy Medea here. I'm going to go back tomorrow and try to catch typos. I hope you enjoy! Thanks to all the anonymous reviewers for leaving feedback!

Chapter 21

Dear Reader: I Murdered Him

Madge moves surprisingly fast down the Level 1 corridor. After a stumbling start, Gale follows. That's when he notices that she forgot to put her shoes on again, like the night they both showed up at the Mellark's place. She's as bad as Posy, he swears.

The guard stationed in the elevator room recognizes Madge instantly. "How's your father, Miss Margaret?" he asks brightly as she careens past him toward the doors. The guard presses the call button for her.

Gale notices her ears turn pink. He smirks. Henry's situation isn't funny, considering. But then again, it kind of is, given how well-known the Undersees turned out to be.

"Fine, thank you," she replies woodenly, rolling back on her heels, impatient for the lift.

The elevator arrives and Madge steps inside just as the guard turns his attention to Gale. He holds up an arm to stop him from following Madge. "I need to see ID, sir," he says.

"I'm with her," Gale replies, keeping just behind her. She stops suddenly inside the door of the elevator, causing Gale to bump into her from behind. She stumbles forward, but catches herself.

"Are you following me, Gale?" she asks as she turns around to face him.

"Only one way down," he points out. Of course, he has to follow her because he's the man who's supposed to show up at her door tonight – according to the postcard he did not mail after Jo told him he could cut off the stamp and glue it to a different letter.

"Seriously," the guard interrupts, "I need to see some ID. Don't you know we're under Code Chartreuse?"

Gale shows him a special trick he can do with his finger, then he uses it to hit the button that closes the doors in his face. Chartreuse? Sounds like a cheap whore.

The elevator lurches downward and Gale leans against the handrail, feeling satisfied with himself. The sentiment evaporates quickly, though. He knew it would.

"That wasn't necessary," Madge snaps.

"What? I left my wallet at home," he explains. "No ID."

He looks down at her warily. She keeps clenching and unclenching her fists, periodically wiping her palms on her sleeves. Just a bundle of nerves. He wonders if it's the aftershock from the episode in the office, or in anticipation of her date. She rubs her hair out of her eyes, but only makes it worse. A piece of her hair lands out of place, falling across her forehead. He'd sweep it back, but her eyes are sharp, narrow slits of lapis ready to slice through him if he tries. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

"I don't mean the flagrant display of rude hand gestures," she grouses with a huff, reminding very much of their first interactions as coworkers. "I meant, coming with me. Why didn't you just follow Haymitch? Don't you have some top secret scheme you want to discuss with your cronies?"

Gale pretends to check something on his communicuff while tamping down his natural, surly response when someone directs sarcasm at him. He's not in a position to piss off Madge any more than he's got to. Besides he deserves the bitterness, he admits, even though he had to follow orders.

Gale shrugs in an effort to appear unruffled. "I figured you'd appreciate the company. Especially since we just discovered a real live Jabberjay spy living in the Underground undetected for several years. You never know who you might be standing next to," he drawls, trying not to show how hungry he is for her to be near him. He wishes he could show just how relieved he feels that she's safe, and angry that he's still pretending. Gale has to admit that he's a first-rate sucker.

Madge opens her mouth to retort, but the elevator stops on Level 2, revealing another security guard standing sentinel. Code Chartreuse. People file into the elevator car one by one, or argue with the guard until he lets them on without ID.

Madge eyes the other pedestrians warily and steps closer to Gale. Not close enough to touch, because that would grant him a full victory, but still. Neither one says much, both focused on the minutes lurching away with the levels as they descend. It's slow going with the new security procedure and Madge starts perching on the balls of her feet as anxiety over being late starts to reach its saturation point.

Though anticipating the exact same event, Gale wagers their thoughts have never been more dissimilar. She contemplating, he imagines, the beginning of a new relationship. He's contemplating murder, determined to rub out Dear Friend from the face of the earth with iron determination. And maybe a little trepidation with nearly four months and many lost opportunities to explain the situation to Madge – with Johanna to thank for Madge's fouler mood and getting him off to a rotten start tonight.

Gale notices the buzz running through the Underground whenever people join them on the lift. They seem to know that something happened in the bunker, but they maintain a solemn quiet as they ride. He holds onto Madge's elbow and hopes they don't run into anyone they know, not in the mood to explain.

On Level 7, he notices out of the corner of his eye, Madge glance up at him. He watches the doors close on his home floor and continues to ride down with her.

"Gale, what are you doing?" she murmurs, breaking the elevator code of silence.

"Making sure you get home all right."

"You needn't."

"I insist."

Madge huffs.

On Level 9, she slips ahead to unlock her door while he trudges behind with his brains shorting out like a bad radio. Confessions don't go well for him. It's like a plague on the Hawthornes. Or maybe just on Gale.

He leans against the doorjamb while she stands in front of the keypad, observing her mood.

"You've been awfully quiet. Still angry with me?"

Madge sighs heavily, staring at the door through tired eyes. "I'm not angry with you – I mean, I am angry. I've just been thinking about this whole stupid situation at work. I'm sorry – I'm a little on edge. One disaster already and I'm worried that this date will go horribly."

Gale starts to say it'll go fine, but he can't make that promise.

Madge notices his hesitation and seems to wilt further. She makes a half-hearted gesture with her hand down the hallway from where they came.

"Anyway, thanks for walking home with me, Gale," she says despite the fact that she didn't want him to. "I hope your shoulder and chest don't hurt too badly."

She starts to open the door while Gale touches the spot where the padding forms a bump under his jacket. Maybe it's a little underhanded of him, but he knows Madge has a weakness when it comes to people in pain. It's one way to get his foot in the door.

"Hurts a bit," he admits with a grimace.

Madge glances at him and bites her lip, struggling with doing the right thing and needing to get Gale out of the way before her friend arrives.

"But then, it's only a flesh wound."

Madge's eyes soften. "You'd better come in and take another pill," she tells him, her conscience winning. "I have some in our medicine cabinet."

Gale follows her inside, switching on the kitchen light for her and shutting the door behind them. He chalks up a point for himself as he gains ground. Then his chest seizes up because once the door closes, their date has officially begun. He hopes he's ready.

He peers into the gloom of the living room. "Where's Henry?" he asks. Since she invited him over, he assumes she kicked her father out, but maybe he's just taking another one of his naps. Henry's presence in any form would cramp Gale's style considerably.

"My father's out for the evening. You can find him at the Broken Oar though," she explains, misunderstanding why he wants to know.

Gale's happy to hear it. "Too bad."

"I'm glad," Madge says distractedly. "I'd rather not explain to him what happened to us tonight."

She pats her hip when she nears the counter, then down at her feet and torso, realizing that she left her purse at the office along with her shoes and jacket. She glances at the clock, knowing there's nothing she can do about it now.

"I'll be right back," she tells Gale as she quickly disappears into the dark living room to get the pain tabs for him.

Gale busies himself by grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with tap water. The sink still drains nicely, he's happy to see. She might question his motives later on, but she won't be able to deny that he's good with a sink. Because that's what women really want in a man. He gulps water.

Madge appears around the counter again with a plastic bottle in her hands, looking pensive. She pops the lid for him and spills two brown tabs into his open palm. He lifts them to his mouth and knocks them back, then swallows all the water in two gulps.

"I probably should've made you get off at Level 2 to have your injuries looked at," she muses.

"I wouldn't have listened," he points out.

Madge rolls her eyes. "I figured as much. I still should've tried. Also, I realized something," she adds as he rinses the glass out in the sink. "You said you bagged the criminal when you were talking to Officer Treadle."

"Wedge-Face?" asks Gale. "What about it?"

"Well, technically," she drawls, crossing her arms. "I bagged the criminal. With the telephone."

Gale smirks. "I concede your point. I'm glad you're handy with a telephone."

Madge shakes her head, staring at her feet as she leans against the counter. He can see her nose wrinkle and her lips twitch a little as she tries not to smile self-consciously from the praise. Then another look passes over her face and the humor disappears.

"I held up pretty well until I thought he'd shot you somewhere vital," she admits. "That was the worst part. I just reacted, I guess."

Gale stares at her profile as he puts the glass in the drying rack. The whole ordeal went by pretty quickly, but he remembers her scream and then how she threw her arms around him when she found the damaged pin. It gives him a warm feeling underneath that bruised part of his chest, but it doesn't quite make sense.

"Worst part, huh?" He stands next to her against the counter. "I figured the worst part would be when Junius had the gun trained on you, and no idea if help would come."

Madge's fingers tangle in the strands of gold tumbling over her shoulders. "I felt afraid that he'd kill me, but it felt worse being helpless, watching him point the gun at you," she muses quietly. "I wonder if there's a word for that?"

"Sure there is," he says thickly.

"Insanity?" she laughs.

"In a way."

Madge pushes off the counter and walks into the living room where she switches on a table lamp. Gale follows her, standing on the edge of the kitchen. She turns to face him, while they each keep to their own sphere of the apartment.

Madge sighs and gives him a grimacing smile. "Well, I hope I didn't spoil your evening."

"Not at all."

The silent hint hangs in the air for Gale to leave so that he doesn't cross paths with her date. Of course, in Madge's worst possible scenario list, reliving the first failed date makes the top. Gale stands his ground though, because without him there is no date. He clears his throat.

"Were you going to meet that girl and give her the pin tonight?" Madge says suddenly before he can get a word out of his dry mouth.

Gale gapes at her. "Huh?"

"The pin." She points at his jacket. "You said you were giving it to a girl you wanted to ask out. I don't want to keep you if you have plans. I've already inconvenienced you enough for one day."

She's giving him the boot out the door, ratcheting up the pressure which makes it hard for Gale to think.

"Oh. Uh." Gale's hand immediately finds the hair on the back of his head and starts to tug at strands. "I think she'd hate me if I didn't help a friend in…your situation. She'll understand." Hell's teeth.

Madge bites her lip and Gale kicks himself.

"Can I tell you something?" she asks suddenly.

Gale glances over his shoulder, but he's not sure why. "Sure."

"Before you go, I just feel like I need to tell you something. It's probably the worst possible time to bring this up, but…um…since we're both seeing other people…but we're friends and I've been upset with you…I don't want you to think that after tonight, with finding out that you've been masquerading under false pretenses…that we're not friends anymore. In fact… well."

Gale blinks, his brain trotting in circles trying to keep up with her turns of thought.

"I realized something," she says with a low voice, like she's trying to talk about someone who's standing close by.

"What?"

She puts her hands on her hips and frowns. "If you hadn't been so awful when you arrived – if someone had just explained to me what was going on – we would have been friends from the start. I might have even fallen for you."

Gale reaches to hold onto the kitchen chair behind him. "Huh."

Madge wrinkles her nose up like she does when she's embarrassed. "You see, I had a little crush on you when we were kids in Twelve," she admits. She retreats deeper into the living room. Gale followers her, watching while she restlessly straightens the room. "I always admired the way you and Katniss flouted all the rules. Unjust laws are made to be broken. That's something my boyfriend said once," she says proudly.

Gale cringes inwardly, unsure if this conversation helps his position or makes it worse, especially now that she's quoting letters back to him. He figures that she's expecting him to walk out the door soon and promptly forget everything she's just said. Because he's supposed to be chasing after some other girl. So, none of this hypothetical nonsense should matter to him, which is why she feels free enough to admit it.

Only, and here's the kicker, it does matter. Because he's the damn friend in her letters.

"That's a peculiar sentiment coming from the mayor's daughter. Breaking rules," Gale says, trying not to betray himself. He's never going to get used to her quoting his letters back to him.

Madge purses her lips. "I was in a prime position to form alternative – perhaps dangerous – political opinions, Gale," she says matter-of-factly, misunderstanding his reason for confusion. "You know, I had my name in the reaping ball too. So did my aunt – and she got selected. The differences between the town and the Seam weren't as wide as you might think. Perhaps if the Capitol hadn't tried so hard to emphasize those differences, District 12 might have been able to unite and actually do something significant. We might have been united by the things we had in common."

"Like what?" he asks, unable to help himself.

Madge waves a throw pillow. "Like protecting our friends and families from the reaping, wanting the right to provide for ourselves, and the right to representation, as well as a larger measure of self-government," she rattles off, "Just to name a few."

Gale shoves his hands in his pockets to keep from pulling her flush against him and kissing her silly. "I think you may be right," he manages to burble without sounding completely deranged.

Madge smiles at him. "See, I felt confused, because there were times when you reminded me very much of the man in my letters." She laughs self-consciously. "You're both rather incendiary. I guess that's my type." She shrugs.

"You're a bit of a firecracker yourself," he says. "It seems to me that we didn't get along so well most of the time."

Madge rolls her eyes. "Well, you started coming around and acting so nicely to me and my father," she explains. "It's silly, but did you know, there were times when you could have swept me off my feet. You can see why I was a little confused."

"Now I'm confused," Gale mutters, attacking the hair on the back of his head while he tries to remember who's supposed to be convincing who that they're meant to be together. Yet, if she could feel that way about him when they were just becoming friends, why the hell does she still give a care about the guy in her letters?

Gale silently starts to panic. How can he just come out and tell her after that setup? She considered Gale. She decided to continue pursuing another man. He's got to kill off Dear Friend. There's just no two ways around it.

Madge turns away to fluff a pillow while he deliberates. "Anyway, I'm not really sure why I told you that. Maybe just to be honest." There isn't anything left in the room for her to fiddle with, so she has to face him. Her cheeks look a little pink. "Now you're going to see that girl you like," she says happily. "By the way, is it serious?"

"What?" he asks stupidly.

"With your girl?"

Gale tries to refrain from ripping his hair out or shout out that she's the girl! He can't do it. Not when she's so fixated on the letters.

Madge glances at the clock again. Her date is late. "We might both finally find the one we're looking this evening," she says pensively.

Gale scrambles inwardly. He's got to do it now or walk out of the apartment for good. His throat feels tight and he has to look away from Madge to gather his thoughts. They land on a stack of books by Henry's chair. He squints at the spines and suddenly he has an idea.

"I think we will," Gale opines, feeling a tingling in his spine.

"Don't misunderstand me." Madge hesitates with a faint blush. "In my case, it might happen."

"As a matter of fact," Gale says, turning away from her to step back into the kitchen, "I can tell you, it will happen."

Madge watches his back. Her eyebrows knit together in a puzzled response to the certainty of Gale's tone and the definitive nature of his words. How could he possibly know?

"How do you know?" she asks.

Gale pauses at the counter. "Just a hunch." He goes to the sink and pours himself another glass of water. He's starting to sweat.

Madge follows him out of the living room. "But how could you know something like that?" she insists on being told. "It's so strange."

Gale turns around, feigning a candid expression. He sets down the glass. "I guess I might as well tell you," he tells her, using his fingertips to rap a death-knell on the countertop. "He came to see me."

"Who?" Madge gasps.

Gale pins her with his slate-gray eyes, the trick to telling an outright lie. "Your boyfriend."

Gale turns so he has to look at her sideways as her face goes slack with surprise, otherwise she might read the mischief in his face. He silently thanks the powers that be that his mother isn't within earshot to hear how much BSing her son is about to do in one night. She'd die of shame.

"My b-boyfriend?" she stammers. Her forehead crinkles up with consternation. "How did…how?"

"Well, he waited outside of the Broken Oar that night," Gale continues, unfolding the story. "Followed me home after he saw us sitting together. He found out where I live and it was pretty easy to get my name after that."

"He talked to you that night?" Madge gasps.

Gale's eyebrows knit together. "What? No. Not until after he wrote you," he fibs. "The guy stopped by my apartment while you were home sick. Apparently, he didn't believe it when you wrote that I meant nothing to you."

Alarm bleaches the color from her face. Madge holds up a limp hand. "He stalked you?" She shakes her head slowly. "Oh no. That doesn't sound like him at all."

"I sorted him out." Gale's lips twitch just a smidge. "Don't worry. In a little while you'll be Mrs. Winterbottom."

Madge blanches and tries to recover when she realizes Gale's watching her closely. "Mrs. Winterbottom?" Her hand inches up to press against the soft skin around her temple.

Gale's eyebrows lift in mock concern. "That's the name, isn't it? That's the name he gave me. Reginald Winterbottom."

A nervous laugh bubbles up from her throat, then cuts off abruptly. Her eyes look a little glazed. "Oh, yes, that's right. Winterbottom. Winter…bottom." She purses her lips like she's bitten into a lemon and can't find a place to spit.

Gale starts playing with the magnets on the fridge while Madge absorbs this information. He's starting to relish this bit of stage time. The sweating stops and he can't help watching her as he both murders Dear Friend and rebuilds himself in her eyes.

"He's a very nice fellow – after the initial shock," he remarks over his shoulder. "I congratulate you."

Madge ducks her head. "Thank you. He must have been very concerned to behave that way," she observes in with a flat tone. Then she gives Gale a sly look. "I think he's a very attractive man, don't you?"

Gale stops short of snorting as she blatantly fishes for information.

"Yes," he says carefully. "For his type, I'd say…yes. And it'll be a relief for you not to have to wear high heels anymore."

Madge looks positively alarmed by this. She steps toward Gale almost as if to reach for him, but holds herself back.

"Would you call him short?"

"I wouldn't," Gale says with a shrug. He forms the magnets into a smiley face. "But that's a matter of opinion."

"Is he shorter than me?" she asks, more to the point.

Gale turns away from the fridge, his eyes rolling up and down her body, taking his time. "With your hair up or down?" he asks.

Madge's mouth pops open, but he goes on before she can squeak a reply. "Anyway, I heard people under 5'3'' live longer than people of, say, my height. And you want a long, happy marriage, don't you?"

Madge flinches. Apparently there's something very interesting on the countertop that she can't take her eyes off of because she clings to the lip overhanging the bottom cabinets, staring down.

"Yes, that's what I want," she says eventually, sounding like she's starting to hyperventilate.

"Good, because that's what Reggie wants too."

Madge winces again at the nickname.

"Did he say anything else?"

"Well, he asked me about you, since I said we knew each other from work," Gale continues. "He felt concerned when he learned you'd taken several days off, but I assured him that you had paid sick leave. He felt relieved, of course. What with all the kids he's got. Can't afford to marry someone frail like his first two wives, poor guy. He hasn't taken a day off in twenty years, he said."

Her jaw drops and she forgets to keep up the pretense that she knows anything about the personal life of Reginald Winterbottom. "He was married before?" she cries. "He has children?"

Gale blinks like a mildly interested devil in cherub's skin. "Didn't you know that?"

"No, he never said a word," she chokes. "H-how many?"

"Oh, not too many," says Gale, "By Seam standards, anyway."

Madge blanches and squeezes her eyes shut for a few seconds. That could mean anything from four to a dozen. "More than one?" she whispers, probably hoping he can't hear her well enough to answer the question.

Gale counts the figures on his hand while Madge watches with ever-widening eyes. "I think he said ten Winterbottom kids…or was that just including the kids that are still at home?" he muses out loud.

Madge's mouth droops like a fish's. Gale starts to worry that maybe it's come unhinged and will stay that way.

"Don't worry about it too much; you'll get your chance. He sounded like he wanted more babies." Gale shrugs, purposefully misunderstanding her concern. "And you should have seen the look on his face when I told him about your income. Relieved that you weren't used to fine living, because he's sure not going to spoil you. Wouldn't want to ruin your good character."

"Character?" Madge looks a bit green in the face. Her fingers shake as she balls them into fists. She swings around to look Gale in the eye. "He didn't say anything about his income, did he?" she asks. "With all those bottoms…I mean children."

"He didn't give me any numbers, naturally. He's a plumber, I think. I remember seeing the badge on his arm, pretty sure it was a plumber's union one." Gale squeezes his eyes shut, as if in concentration. "…Otherwise it might have been a parole tag."

"A delinquent plumber." She shudders and sways a little. Gale quickly leads her to the table so she can sink into a chair. "With ten children." She looks up at him with glistening, desperate eyes. "Gale, what am I going to do? I had no idea he was looking for a –baby machine! What an awful, deceitful man."

A hot tear trickles down her cheek, making Gale wonder if he's gone too far with all the kids. Then he wonders if he has as much leverage with the sink as he thought he did.

"Well, I wouldn't take it so hard—"

Madge swipes the tear away angrily. "He can't even spell," she laments with a sniffle, looking down at her lap in shame. "I overlooked it before."

Gale frowns. "He can't?"

Madge glances up at him. "I know. Isn't that awful in a grown man?" she laments, mistaking his expression.

Gale clears his throat. "There are worse things."

Madge wrings her hands in her lap, shifting around and glancing repeatedly at the door as if she expects him to burst in with all of his children and wearing pants that reveal too much of his backside.

"What am I going to do, Gale? I had no idea that he's a deceitful, money-grabbing stalker," she says to Gale and maybe the world at large. She looks down at her lap again and sniffles. "I built up such an illusion about him. I thought he was perfect."

Gale settles in the chair next to her and pats her shoulder. "I wouldn't take it so hard, Madge. A girl like you could find someone else pretty easily. In fact, I sort of wish I'd gotten to you before ol' Reggie Winterbottom."

"Don't say things like that, Gale. You should be hurrying off to your own date, not teasing me about mine. You have that pin you're supposed to give her," says Madge dejectedly, pointing at his pocket containing the pin.

Gale glances down at his jacket. "I don't think she'll want it with the bullet in the middle," he observes. "I don't think it'll mean as much broken."

"It should," Madge insists with a very wet voice. "It shows how brave and decent you are. Unlike some."

Gale cringes inwardly and wishes he could swallow his tongue. He feels painfully sure that she won't be think he's got an ounce of decency in him in the next few moments. She looks so pathetic he feels bad for drawing out the truth. "Listen, Madge, about tonight…"

Madge stands up from the table, ignoring him. He notices her hands are shaking again. "I better let you go. It's been quite an evening already and he'll be here any minute." Her shoulders droop. "Though I don't think I have the heart to see anyone just now."

"Come here." Gale takes her hand and leads her to the couch, making her sit, then he squeezes in next to her. "I can't leave when you're like this."

"Don't trouble yourself," she moans, though she scoots over to make room for him. She accepts the tissue he hands her from the box on the table. "You'll keep your date waiting."

"She's not waiting. Look." Gale turns so his torso faces her, resting his arm along the back of the couch. "Madge, if I'd only known in the beginning that you needed the job, and how you felt about me...things would have been different between us."

She glances down at the tissue box, embarrassed, but he keeps going. "We wouldn't have been fighting all the time. If we quarreled, it wouldn't have been over pencils," he says carefully, "...but over something like whether your father should live with us or not."

"Well, I," she begins to reply through the tissue she's holding to her nose, then her head snaps up. Her blue eyes are round and wide. The tissue disappears.

"What?"

Gale clears his throat. "I said, whether your father should live with us or not," he murmurs slowly.

Madge blinks at him and decides to laugh, a little too frantically, at what she can only imagine must be a very weird joke.

"It's sweet of you to try and cheer me up, but I think we'd better call it a night." She sidles away from him on the cushion, getting to her feet. "You have an engagement and so have I, and we shouldn't be late." She steps around the table, heading back into the kitchen.

"Wait." Gale follows her quickly, taking her by the elbow. His heart thumps in his chest. Even if she can't hear it, she must feel the pulse in his hands.

"Do you know what I wish would happen?" he says without any kind of ruse. "When your bell rings and you open the door," he says, leaning over her. "Instead of Winterbottom, I come in."

Madge gasps and shakes her head, as if she could shake the words away. "Please, don't make it more difficult for me."

But he does make it more difficult. Gale's hands grasp her other elbow, sliding his hands up her arms so he can pull her closer. She has to lean against the wall to keep a few centimeters of empty space between them. She can smell his aftershave, which isn't helping her one bit.

"And I'd say, Dear Friend…"

Barely hearing him, Madge struggles to free herself, but he's pressing her into the wall. He leans over her like that day on the bench, which she seems to realize. Her eyes pop and she practically tries to crawl up the wall. When she can't get away, her eyes snap shut as she tries to block him out when he lets go of her arm so he can slip her hair behind her ear. His nose brushes her cheek and she gasps.

"Oh, Gale, you mustn't—hmh!"

Gale's lips press over hers slowly with intent, stifling the rest of her protest. In nearly twenty-six years, he still hasn't learned not to grab girls and kiss them without asking. It's the secret of his charm. Caught up in the feel of her mouth against his and the way she tastes like her tears, yet sweet like she just ate a piece of fruit, it takes a while to register the pressure of her hands against his chest.

Gale backs off so she can breathe. "At PO box 237," he finishes, staring down at her bright face and closed eyes.

When she understands what she just heard – it takes a moment— Madge's eyebrows cinch together and her eyelids flutter open, before staying impossibly wide.

"237…" she breathes, eyes glazed and unfocused.

He points to himself. "451."

"You…" Madge says breathlessly. Her eyes slowly narrow in on him as reality sets in. Her trembling finger points at his chest. "Dear Friend? But R-Reggie…"

"No such person," Gale admits.

Madge passes a trembling hand over her forehead. She swallows, opens and closes her eyes a few times, as if each blink will help her understand what's happening a little bit better.

"All along?" she asks.

"All along."

"But…" she chews on her lip, "why make me believe that it was someone else?"

Gale clears his throat. "You said yourself that you thought the man in your letters was perfect," he explains. "Given our past, I thought if I wrecked your image of him, you wouldn't take it so hard when you found it's really been me all along."

"And you've known all this time?" She grimaces. "Since the restaurant."

He nods once.

Madge bites the inside of her cheek, eyes flickering in every direction but his face. Then she bursts into tears. Gale backpedals.

"Hell's teeth. Madge, I—"

"My father's going to be so happy," she sobs nonsensically into her hands.

"Uh." Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

"I need to…" she chokes, pressing against his chest to get past him.

Gale drops his arms, backing up so she can stumble toward the door. She slips through without a word or looking back at him. It closes behind her like a curtain at the end of a play. He feels like she took all of his vital organs with her when she bolted down the corridor.

Gale plunks down in a chair after feeling like he's stood around stupidly in her kitchen long enough. His communicuff peeps accusingly at him just as he leans back to knock his head against the wall.

He's dead, the message reads.

Haymitch probably referred to Junius. But it's probably just as true of Dear Friend.

To Be Continued…or will it?