Author's Note:

Requisite Apology: Sorry, guys. Still taking forever.

Heartfelt Thanks: Much appreciation for still bothering to read.

Though he had been careful not to actually promise that he would be able to come back for me Sunday afternoon, Gale appears at my back door with a pained smile on his face that quite explicitly says Let's get this over with. He is clearly still uneasy about letting me tag along, which I find slightly annoying, but I try hard to remember that he is simply being protective and make a mental note to be less difficult.

This is, after all, hardly the most dangerous thing I've ever done.

Gale isn't too keen on advertising where we are going, so he heads toward the square. "Mrs. E sent us to the butcher," he explains with a wink.

I agree to play along, and he keeps his distance from me as we walk side by side so we look like nothing more than two people out to run an errand. In fact, he doesn't even look especially pleased to be in my company at all, and I can't help but resent that he plays this part so convincingly. I guess it ought to be easy enough, I think, since for so long it had never been an act. No one pays us any attention as we cross the square and head down the street to the place where Rooba keeps her shop at the edge of town.

"There's a weak spot in the fence close to here that we can get through," Gale explains as we round the building and head through a patchy, junk-spotted field. "Usually, I go from the meadow since it's close to home and where the snare run starts. But this is a better way out if you've got bigger game, or a better way in in broad daylight and you don't want half the Seam wondering what the hell you're doing."

Gale pauses to listen carefully for the hum of electricity, then beckons me closer and points to a spot where the chain link is warped out of place behind a tall growth of weeds. "After you."

I try not to appear too hesitant; any number of unpleasant things could be making a home in the brush around the bottom of the fence and I'm not exactly thrilled at the prospect of crawling through it. But I would never give Gale the satisfaction of seeing that. Once I claw my way through to the other side I have to force myself not to shudder, and I make a point to turn away from him as he follows me so I don't have to see the obnoxious smirk that I know must be on his face.

He leads me through the trees and I am surprised by how quietly he does it. He isn't completely silent – there are too many fallen leaves drifted across this long-unused path – but he doesn't make half the racket that I do despite the fact that he is twice my size. I make an effort to be quieter because for some reason it makes me think of how frustrated Katniss had been with Peeta's well-intentioned ineptitude while she was trying to hunt in the Arena. Gale might not be hunting, but I'm sure he'd rather not have to listen to my graceless tromping.

We stop in a clear space with only a few trees, and he finally turns to face me. "First thing you're going to do is figure out how to get up in a tree."

I look up at the specimens around us and pray that I don't make a complete idiot of myself. I had hoped that he might forget about this lesson that he promised to teach. It's not so much the idea of climbing a tree that bothers me necessarily; it's the fact that climbing by definition involves going up. I have never been a fan of heights, and do not plan on changing my mind about it.

"What good is it going to do me, really?" I ask, mostly just to delay the inevitable. I already know he is not going to budge. "Can't bears climb trees? And mountain lions?"

He gives me the same look that he gave the night I told him I thought one of his constellations looked like a raccoon. "Yeah," he recovers after a beat, "but a bear is big enough that it won't be able to climb as high as you can, and that's if it bothers to go after you." I think of Katniss again, climbing that tree to dizzying heights to escape the Careers in the Arena, and I'm pretty sure that Gale doesn't realize that he isn't helping his case. "And honestly, I'm not sure there are really any mountain lions left or if it's just something they tell us to keep everyone inside the fence. Besides, deer can't climb trees. Or dogs. That's what you really have to worry about."

"Deer?" I ask curiously.

"Yes. An angry buck comes your way, you get out of his way. Now quit stalling. I'll show you."

He moves toward a tree, obviously chosen because it has a few branches that are low enough that I could reach them, and I try one more time to talk him out of it. "You don't have to show me, Gale. If properly motivated, I'm sure I'll have no trouble getting up there."

He looks over one shoulder as he reaches up for a limb. "What, are you scared?" he asks with a teasing grin before pulling himself upward, swinging one leg over the branch and sitting back against the trunk with enviable, athletic ease. It's a lovely thing to watch, really, like one of the leaves above us falling to earth in the breezeless air, except on a greater scale and in reverse. The glint in his gray eyes dares me to prove him wrong and I marvel for a moment at how well he knows me, knows the surest way to get me to do something. But he doesn't know that it's not really teasing this time.

"I just haven't ever done this before," I say levelly.

He laughs at me a little and drips down from his perch. "You lay down in the middle of the medow in the dark. You wanted to come here so bad," he says with a shake of his head, "you crawled through a bunch of weeds to get under the fence, and now you're worried about climbing a tree."

"It's not the tree," I admit sheepishly, knowing that he is going to laugh harder at the fact that I'm terrified of doing something that he does without a second thought. I raise one hand way over my head. "It's the, um, tallness."

The playful smile melts away and he looks hard at me. "So you really are – oh." The laughter I expect never comes, but then neither does the disappointment or condescension. Suddenly, he is all business. "Well, you're going to have to do this if you want me to show you anything else. If nothing else it'll make me feel better. So I'll stay right behind you, okay? Right here. I won't let you fall."

I stare at him for a second, surprised by this serious and genuine change in demeanor. I suppose that by now, with all the time we have spent in each other's company, it shouldn't be such a shock. But it is still a small thrill each time it happens. I swallow hard and take a deep breath. "Okay."

I reach up for the lowest branch and feel his fingertips in the center of my back through the fabric of my jacket, not to help push me upward but enough that I know that he is there. All at once, I feel like I could do anything and in the rush of confidence I make a determined effort to pull myself up and fling one leg over the branch like Gale had done moments ago.

My leg doesn't quite make it. But I don't quite embarrass myself, either. I drop back to the ground but stay on my feet.

"Well, you just got bit. Or gored. Try again," he says.

"Thank you, Gale," I grumble. "That was helpful."

"I'm motivating you," he replies. "C'mon. Get up there."

I make a second attempt, and place my hands a little differently which makes it a bit easier to pull myself higher, and this time I manage to hook the back of my heel over the limb. Overjoyed, I struggle mightily to drag myself all the way into a sitting position before I can think too hard about how far I could fall from here. I think about it when I look down at him beneath me, though, and reflexively wrap my arms around the trunk to keep from feeling like I am swaying.

"A for effort," Gale says as he smiles up at me. Then he tilts one hand back and forth in a so-so gesture. "C-minus for form."

I consider telling him exactly what he can do with his C-minus, but I don't want to make him decide not to break my fall. I still need to get back down, after all. I ask him how I am supposed to accomplish this.

"Same way you went up," he says. "Just backwards."

I know it's not that far down – I had been able to reach the branch on which I am sitting without any help – but for some reason everything seems smaller than it should down there, and my seat suddenly very unsteady. If my ascent was any indication, a graceful, painless landing is out of the question.

My apprehension must show because when he speaks again, his voice is reassuring. "I'll catch you if you need me to."

It's either get down or sleep here. I steel my nerves and remind myself that two strong arms and a pair of very kissable lips are waiting for me. It takes me a minute, but I gradually scoot myself into a hanging position and finally let go once I feel my shoes brush the ground.

"See?" he says as I turn to face him. "That wasn't so bad. You survived. Do it again."

To my chagrin, Gale makes me repeat the exercise three more times in all, although I have to admit it gets a little easier by the end. I can't quite convince myself to enjoy it, but the subtle vertigo eventually subsides and I suppose that I ought to be grateful that he insisted I be able to get myself out of harm's way in case I should ever need to do it. His practiced ease still eludes me, but I apparently meet his minimum standard and he must see that I'm rapidly losing patience because finally he kisses me quickly and says, "Let's go for a walk."

….

Madge is, of all things, utterly fascinated by the creek. She had commented on how much richer the fall colors seemed here. She had been awestruck at the sight of the angular, mossy rock walls of the ravine that cuts into the forest. She smiled with genuine interest when I pointed out the deer and raccoon prints in the mud in the low spots of the trail. But when we get to the stream, I have to stop so I won't leave her behind. I pick a spot at the edge of the stream to sit and watch while she bends down close to a small pool sheltered from the lazy flow of water by an old branch and a pile of debris.

"Look at all the little fish!" she gasps with unabashed delight at the sight of a miniature school of tiny minnows. At my suggestion, she nudges some of the dead leaves at the edge of the water out of the way and discovers a salamander. Madge looks for a moment like she is considering whether to try to pick it up, but refrains in favor of admiring its bright yellow spots from afar. A scatter of small mussel shells catches her attention, and then a water-strider skimming across the surface and out of sight.

After a while she tip-toes her way to a large rock in the middle of the creek and crouches down to stare wide-eyed and unblinking into the swirls and ripples. "It's so clear," she breathes. It occurs to me that the only stream that she has ever seen in person is the one by the mine during school field trips, and nobody has probably been able to see the bottom of that for a century or two (nor wanted to, for that matter).

She stays there for what seems like hours, statue-still and completely entranced, studying every little detail of the creek bed before her. And I sit, statue-still and completely entranced, studying every little detail of the girl. It is as if the dappled sunlight has solidified and beaded on the stone there like morning dew upon a leaf. One hand finally reaches out, overcome with curiosity, and fingertips skim the surface of the water. She almost shivers at the sensation and her perfect lips twitch into a smile.

"Cold," she mumbles, before letting her hand sink deeper to bring up a handful of dark, current-polished stones. She holds them close and examines them minutely like she is admiring a cache of gems pulled from a treasure chest. "They're all so perfect.…" The way her sky blue eyes soak up all the things that are so familiar to me reminds me why I love this place so much, gives me a chance to look at it like it is new again. She lets the pebbles roll off her fingertips and back into the stream one by one with slow precision, bobbing her head in time with the splashes, lips pursed in concentration. I realize that she is humming a melody to herself, each dropped stone corresponding to a note.

"So you have a song for this, too, then?" I ask, even though I know the answer.

Her eyes snap up to mine, and she smiles brightly as if pleased that I have figured out what she was doing. "Yeah. I guess I do." She drops the last pebble back into the water thoughtfully. "You know, I never really had music for things like this until the day you told me that you thought that piano piece sounded like autumn. Well, I did, I guess, but I never really thought much about it." Her fingers drift through the water again absently. "I'd play something and I'd get a mental picture, or a feeling, or think of a story but…" she pauses and frowns as if struggling to choose her next words, "I never paid attention to it? I dunno…."

I chuckle at this. "Well, I'm not sure I deserve that kind of credit, but I'll take it if you're giving it."

She laughs with me. "You deserve some of it. A different pair of eyes – or ears, for that matter." She shrugs lightly as if it is the most natural thing in the world. "Everybody has one, everybody needs one. You know, perspective and all that."

It is the most natural thing in the world, which still amazes me – this ease with her, this balance, this sureness. Somehow all of it has me off-kilter again, because that is what she always does to me, and I have come to find out that the reason I have always found the feeling so unnerving is that I like it. "Do you have a song for me?" I ask playfully before I think better of it.

She smiles shyly as she stands up, breaking eye contact as if suddenly self-conscious. "Yes," she says as she takes an agile step onto another rock. "You have a song."

"You'll have to play it for me."

Madge glances back up at me for a moment. "Okay, but you've already heard it."

"I have?" I say, somewhat surprised to hear this.

"Mmm hmm," she says, crouching down again and propping an elbow on her knee to rest her chin in her hand. Her eyes go back to the creek. "The one you said sounded like rain."

The off-kilter, lightly-dizzy feeling pulls into shockingly razor-sharp focus. Of all the things she has played while I have listened…. I don't have the skill that she does with music so the melody is not something I can call to mind with any kind of precision, but the image it evoked is something that I remember clearly. Like rain….

"Well, not all of it," she admits to the water, charmingly oblivious to my sudden start. "Just the first movement. The tempo of the rest is too fast, I think –"

I don't give her the chance to finish. I crash into the water with her and pull her to her feet, crushing a kiss to her lips as I pull her tight against me. A small squeak of surprise escapes her before she regains her faculties and returns it, snaking her arms around me inside my open jacket. I withdraw just enough to catch my breath and whisper, hurried and awed, against her jawline, "How do you know…."

"Know what?" she breathes, nuzzling back against me to invite another kiss.

"Me," I answer, tasting the pretty contours of her throat and collarbone more daringly than I have before. "Rain…." I don't bother explaining more than that before I catch her lips again; words are failing me fast, and she is distracted enough that I'm not sure my response registered at all.

We stagger out of the creek and then clumsily atop the shallow bank where I back her against the tree I had been sitting under. I feel her fingers curl into my shoulders as she arches into me, a now-familiar motion that has still not lost its luster. No closeness seems close enough, and I let my hands slip lower past her hips and in one quick motion bring her legs up to circle my waist. The sound she makes when I do this tells me that she likes it. I sink to my knees with Madge still tangled around me and we tune to each other, boots drenched and jackets askew, all speeding pulses and ragged breaths and hungry lips, and we strike a perfect chord.

It all hits me hard, again, because everything about her does. It's not that it's new, or especially sudden; it's that there is no dancing around it anymore, no questions, no wondering. Only certainty. I have known that she is right for me, that we fit. This is different. I'm in love with her.

Footnotes:

The salamander that Madge finds is a common spotted salamander. They are black or very dark brown with bright yellow spots and are indeed quite pretty. They are found all over the place, especially in the eastern United States.

The song that Madge is singing to herself in the stream is the beginning of the first movement of Mozart's Piano Sonata No. 11. The whole piece is somewhat reminiscent of a woodland stream in my opinion, especially as it progresses through its six variations.

So you don't have to go back and look up what the "rain" song was, it is Beethoven's Moonlight Piano Sonata No. 14. To me, the first movement seems to suit his character – it's a very strong, measured melody that is a touch melancholy without being completely depressing.