Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

Pretty Dress

Gale watched Madge adjusting the top of her dress, examine her makeup and hair in the mirror, make a face, sigh.

Madge no longer had pretty dresses and frilly bras that he could just catch glimpses of as the straps slipped down her shoulders. Thinking back, he realizes her dresses were never as extravagant as he'd thought them to be. They were practically simple compared to the ones she and the other women wore to the galas.

Now she borrowed dresses from her roommate, but seemed to have no desire to buy her own.

"I look so…"

Beautiful? He thought, though he didn't say it. Gale wasn't certain they were to the point in their friendship where he could tell her she looked like every man's fantasy without sounding like some kind of creep.

She was beautiful, though, gorgeous. He hadn't let himself realize it until she'd gotten so mad at him over being a tadover protective, a smidge possessive of her.

Now it ate at his mind whenever he saw her. He needed her in his life, couldn't face losing her like he'd lost Katniss. When they went places he held himself in check, tried to let her lead her own way. She could take care of herself, she wasn't weak, not a pushover.

But god she was beautiful. Even if she didn't know it.

"I look so…" She looks over at him. "Pasty."

He snorts, "Pasty?"

Madge nods, "Especially next to you. I look like I'm sick."

She was pale, was normally, but especially so in winter. Her golden hair and pale blue eyes only served to lighten her.

Gale can't stop himself, he reaches out and brushes a few loose strands of hair from her shoulder and rests his olive colored hand on her shoulder. His thumb rubs against the softness of skin and hand itches to run over the top of her bare back. She shivers and he sees her eyes flicker over to him.

"You look fine."

More than fine.

"This color is bad for me."

Gale rolled his eyes.

"That color is fine on you."

She's being too critical of herself, inspecting every angle too closely. Her nose wrinkles.

"No. It washes me out." She smoothes her hands over her stomach. "It looks like…"

Her head shakes and she turns back to her suitcase, pulling another dress out. She looks back at her reflection in the mirror, shakes her head again.

He catches her around the middle before she can disappear back into the bathroom and change out of her perfectly fine dress.

"Stop," he pulls her to him, enjoying the heat from her body as it radiates into his chest. He turns her back to the mirror, takes her chin and makes her look at herself. "What the hell is wrong with this dress?"

Personally, Gale likes it. It's soft, the neck line is low enough for him to enjoy up close, but not so much that all the men at the party will get an eyeful, her neck and shoulders are bare, but her lower back is covered, making his temptation to run his hands on her skin a little less. He doesn't see what the color has to do with anything.

Madge's lip puckers out, "Doesn't it remind you of anything?"

Huffing, Gale looks at the mirror, tries to figure out what her dress could possibly remind her of. He shakes his head. "I don't know."

A crease forms between her eyes and she looks down, picks at her nails and mumbles something.

Gale lets his chin come to a rest on her shoulder, "What?"

Her body stiffens for a moment, Gale watches her eyes flicker over her dress in the mirror, then look at his reflection.

"It…reminds me of my Reaping Day dress."

Frowning, Gale straightens up, turns her to him.

The dress is a similar color, has a similar length, but he doesn't see anything beyond that. Unless he was completely oblivious, her Reaping dress hadn't exposed her shoulders and neck, hadn't dipped in the front, or been made of such a tantalizingly material.

He shakes his head, "I don't really see it."

Her expression is pained, "Like you even remember my dress, Gale."

It had been a very pretty dress, he remembers that. He remembers thinking how expensive it probably was, how much money he could get for it at the Hob, how impractical it was, how he'd thought she was spoiled for having it.

She hadbeen pretty in it though. Now that he thinks about it, she was beautiful even back then, he'd just been so caught up in his anger and resentment he hadn't let himself truly appreciate it.

"I remember it," he shrugs. "It was a pretty dress and so is this one."

Madge turns back to the mirror. "No. It was expensive and it was stupid to wear a white dress in a coal mining district. This dress…it's too similar."

She starts to take off again, but he catches her by the wrist. He gives her a tug toward the bed and pulls her to sit next to him.

He shifts, turns to look at her. She's staring at her hands, keeping carefully still. Gale reaches out and brushes the loose strands from her shoulder again before running his rough hand across the top of her back, letting it come to a rest at her neck. He gently kneads the muscle at the junction, hoping she'll relax a little.

"Madge, you look great in it." She would look amazing in a bag, not that he would encourage her to go out in one, maybe just in the room…

"I-I just don't want to…" Her eyes flicker to him, "I don't want to have reminders of that. Of the bad stuff." Madge's lips press together, "Sometimes, I see things and it makes me remember how things were and how wewere and…"

She doesn't want to be like that. He can see it in the shine of her eyes and the defeated droop of her shoulders.

Gale suddenly remembers his scornful tones, his hateful glares, the cold way he'd always treated her.

He can understand why she wouldn't want even the slightest reminder of how badly he'd been toward her. It was all ugly feelings. She'd never deserved his cruelty, but she'd taken his barbs and tossed them back, masking any pain with a forced smile.

They weren't those people anymore, they were friends, and she was letting him know, whether she realized it or not, just how much all the words he'd thrown her way had really affected her.

Before he can stop himself, Gale pulls her to him, lets himself have the luxury of her hair in his face and her warmth under both his calloused hands. He squeezes her tightly.

"I'm sorry I was such an ass to you." He's said it before and he's probably going to say it again. His attitude toward her was just one more in his list of sins he'd spend a lifetime making up for.

Her head shakes in his chest, "That's not what I meant."

She tries to pull back, but Gale's enjoying her closeness too much and keeps her in place. A little giggle bubble out of her and she wraps her arms around him.

"I-when I wore that dress, I always felt like such an outsider. Like I belonged even less than I normally did."

He remembers her constantly wearing her plain school uniform most days. Her other clothes were remarkably dull too, not the things he expected of the Mayor's only child. She always had the look of someone trying not to stand out, not blend in, but not distinguish themselves. Now he knew for a fact she had been.

She had been an outsider, a cloistered child with too much scorn thrown her way simply for existing. Gale had been one of those throwing that scorn, and now he knew just how much his thoughtlessness affected people.

"I was terrible to you. I helped make you feel that way."

She starts to protest, but he stops her. He'd helped add to her misery, her exclusion, and he was going to help fix it.

"You were beautiful in that dress, whether it was expensive or white or whatever, and you're beautiful in this dress."

"But-"

"No, you're beautiful." God it feels good to tell her, to say it out loud, say it to her.

She manages to tilt her head up to look at him. A little smile creeps up her face. "You think I'm beautiful?"

He'd just said that hadn't he? He didn't mind saying it again though. "Yeah, you're beautiful."

Madge tucks her head down, into his chest, and murmurs, "Thanks."

Why she feels the need to thank him for pointing out something that was painfully obvious he didn't know, but if it won him a few more minutes of pressing closely to her, he'd take it.

After too short a time, she pulls back and he lets her. Her smile is bright as she looks down at the dress again.

"You really think it's okay? I'm not too pasty? It isn't too like my Reaping dress?"

Her old dress might've helped to ostracize her, but no one in their right mind would turn her away looking as she did now, with her bright smile and soft voice. Definitely not Gale.

Gale nods, "You're beautiful." He would say it a thousand times until she believed it.

Pretty dress or not, she was beautiful.