Author's Note:

I hope you all haven't forgotten about me – I haven't forgotten about you! Apologies for dropping off the face of the earth; I was job hunting (sadly harder work and longer hours than actually having a job) and working on a writing assignment (read: dry training manual) for another employer with a strict deadline. I made an announcement on Tumblr, but for all my people – sorry for the delay, and there's no great way to post that kind of announcement on this site. But now that I type this, I guess I could have put it on my profile page….

I wake up before sunrise as is my habit, but for a half a heartbeat everything seems a bit strange; the bed and blankets are far too soft, I still have half my clothes on, and I am not alone. In the next breath I remember that I'm not at home, and it amazes me that I slept so soundly that I would awaken disoriented like this. Truthfully, I'm surprised I slept at all.

I know that I ought to get up now, if nothing else so I can escape before anyone notices that I am here, but one arm is still draped over Madge's side – exactly where it had been when I drifted off – and I'm not ready to move it. She is curled up against me, her breath warm against my chest and one hand flat over the place where my heart would be. Her eyes are still closed, fast asleep. My fingers tangle in the ends of her hair while I marvel at the brave kind of kindness in her.

Long eyelashes flutter blearily when I shift my weight, and a cautiously gentle smile teases her lips as she awakens. The hand pressed against my chest slips up over my shoulder, then to the side of my face so her fingers can spear into my hair. "How are you feeling?" she asks, voice just barely above a whisper.

"Better," I tell her. I prop myself up on one elbow and look down at her, tightening my arm around her waist to keep her close. I can see through the narrow part in the curtains that the sky is only just edging out of darkness, and in the faint light she looks almost unreal, a few luminous features against inky shadows, as if I might simply have imagined that she was ever here at all. To reassure myself I let the fingers of my free hand trace the line of the side of her face, the slope of her neck to her collarbone; she is real, no doubt, warm, soft, responsive. "Better than I should, actually." My fingers continue up to the curve of her shoulder, stumbling almost imperceptibly over the strap of her nightdress. Madge notices though, and nuzzles closer as if encouraging me to move it out of the way. The temptation gets the better of me after a second of indecision and I brush it aside over her arm.

The effect is no less than dizzying. This is hardly the first time that I have laid eyes upon that smooth, cream-perfect expanse of skin - I've seen her in sundresses with thinner straps that show off more than what she is wearing now. But that was different; this, though less revealing, is far more intimate. This is only for me, and I am the one who has done it. I trace feather-light patterns back toward her ear, cup the back of her head gently, and lean down to cover her lips with mine. She melts into me, curling her arms all the way around my shoulders.

Hell's teeth, how did I sleep through this?

We shift together as I pin her carefully beneath me and I let the kisses trail from her mouth down over her bare shoulder. A sharp intake of breath gives me pause as my lips find the soft place at the shallow V of the nightdress' neckline, but the way her spine arches and fingers flex into my back tells me that this is a welcome advance. I drift to her other shoulder and slip that strap lower also, content to savor this slowly, inch by inch. I catch her lips again as I let one hand follow the curve of her waist and hip to the hem of the dress at her knee; for a moment I consider pushing it upward to expose more silkily delicious skin, but I want more of this closeness so I curl my fingers around her calf instead and hook her leg over my hip. The motion still yields the same result, though, as the fabric rides a few inches higher on her thigh. She breathes my name against my ear as I kiss her neck and that fast I want her so badly it hurts.

I push myself up to look at her again, drink her in, reassure myself that she looks at me the way I look at her. She does, it is clear, and she wants me, wants this, every bit as much as I do. She remains still though, hesitant – not unwilling, but inexperienced. I am right to take my time, let her find her way, so I remain still also until she lifts a tentative hand to my chest and lets her fingertips trace a line of muscle through my threadbare undershirt.

Maybe it is her uncertainty, or the realization that I don't have the time that I want right now, or knowing that the longer I stay the greater the chances are of getting caught, but suddenly the context of all of this seems wrong. As much as I want what is happening, I don't want there to be any question about my motivations, about what she is to me. If I continue, she will be left wondering if I was simply searching for solace from her. I will be left wondering if I can ever make her know that everything that happened yesterday had nothing to do with it.

It is a weird, jarring feeling that getting so caught up in this moment is the thing that snaps me back to reality. I sit back on my heels, and she remains still, waiting for my next move. Finally, she sits up with me, the nightdress – now held in place only by the graceful swell of her bustline - slipping precariously lower and her hair a golden, lopsided tangle. Good God she makes a gorgeous mess. I can't help but think she isn't nearly enough of one yet, either…. How much more enticing would it be if that dress fell even more askew? Or better yet, fell in pieces onto the floor? What would it feel like to twist those knots of hair around my hand and pull, for my teeth to leave a mark on the inside of her thigh? And she could make a mess of me, too; she has become more daring herself after all the time we have spent together. She is strong… I imagine her fingers leaving bruises in my shoulders, her –

"Gale…." Madge tilts her head curiously and I can see that her blue eyes are troubled as they catch the low light. The concern in her voice pulls me back from the brink again.

I look away and close my eyes for a moment. "No, not like this…." I mumble quietly, afraid that if I meet her gaze my resolve will wane again.

I feel her move slightly in front of me, the leg still flung over my hip sliding away. The motion pulls me back to her but she has turned her face away from me now, her arms crossed self-consciously over her chest to straighten her nightdress. She is embarrassed, and worse, clearly hurt, and it is crushingly painful. I reach across to her and she freezes when my fingers land on her skin – skin that had moments ago been warm and welcoming. Determined not to let her slip away from me I cup her face gently in my hands and press another gentle kiss to her lips. She thaws a bit, but she is still cautious.

"I don't want to have to rush. Or worry about whether we're alone," I say. "I don't want to have to turn around and leave right away."

She smiles at me finally, and inches a little closer. Her arms snake around my shoulders as she fits herself to me again. "And I already don't want you to go," she says as she returns the kiss, "so I guess you should."

A frustrated little laugh escapes me as I push her back down on the bed and kiss her quickly one last time. "God, you're making this hard…."

Madge chuckles at this and it is a musical, intoxicating sound. I stand up and start pulling on my clothes, and it is the most difficult thing I have ever done. I'd give anything to be able to stay with her, and it isn't because of where I'm going when I leave.

….

I watch him dress for a minute, admiring the ropes of muscle in his arms as he buttons his shirt and rolls up the sleeves. The silhouette of broad shoulders and narrow hips as he passes in front of the window. Agile fingers tying the laces of his boots. All of the things I wish I could be feeling instead of seeing right now. But the line we have crossed this morning came with too many caveats and I hope that this awkward impasse is not irreparable. What had begun as a gesture of comfort with no expectations from either of us had become something deeply emotional and then intensely physical. And I was shocked at how good it felt, how easily it swept me away, how much my imagination had paled in comparison…. And then he pulled away from me, and I didn't know what to think. Even now, even after his reassurance, it feels as if everything has been cut oddly short and we are caught in some weird sort of limbo.

I tell him to wait as I throw a robe on over my nightdress, so I can tiptoe down the hall and make sure that no one is up and about. Everything is quiet, all the doors are closed, all the lights are still turned off. I lean back into my bedroom doorway and wave for him to follow me; the tall, still shadow perched on the edge of my bed shimmers to life and moves with me toward the stairs.

I lead Gale into the kitchen quickly – here at least I could make a reasonable excuse for his presence should someone wander in for some reason or another. I turn on the light and his gray eyes narrow at the sudden brightness of it, but I can see that they still remain strained even after a few seconds as if he is uncomfortable at the realness of the world that comes with it. Only a few minutes ago, in the dark, it was only he and I and nothing else.

He watches me carefully as I pull a biscuit from the breadbox and an apple from the basket on the table. "Here," I say, "breakfast."

He studies the apple for a moment, rolling it over in one hand, before a sly smirk tugs at his lips. Silver eyes come back to mine through the dark hair that has fallen in the way, and my knees nearly give way. "You give up on peaches altogether?" he asks.

I smile but narrow my eyes at him, the weakness vanishing at this invitation to spar. "They're out of season, smartass," I retort.

Gale brightens at this and gives me that enticing, low little laugh. His lips catch mine as he leans down, his free hand tracing a teasing pattern from my ear to my collarbone. "Hmm," he mumbles as his mouth follows the trail begun by his fingertips, "that's too bad…." I immediately decide that, no matter what I have to do or how much it costs, I will find a peach in this God-forsaken district by Saturday if it's the last thing I do.

Well, second to last. Otherwise it would defeat the purpose.

He rights himself deliberately, as if it takes a great effort, and it's a thrill to think I have this kind of effect on him. Gale touches a light kiss to my lips, brief and gentle as if meant to be the last before he leaves, and at once his eyes become melancholy again.

"I wish you could stay," I sigh.

"So do I," he admits as his fingers, feather-light and steady, brush a lock of hair behind my ear before breaking away from me completely. The motion transports me unexpectedly back to the day of the Bloodbath, when he had plucked a stray lily leaf from nearly the same place. Wanting you was never the problem, he had said the moment before he had first kissed me; is this what he had wanted to do instead on that morning he had watched me so sharply while I worked, what he had wanted all along and couldn't have because he is a miner and I the mayor's daughter? Perhaps I have not made him see me differently over time, but rather opened a door he'd always believed locked. And yet he pushed me away a few minutes ago; I can't help but wonder if, despite the fact that he had other good reasons to do it, it also means that he still senses some wall between us. My hands fist involuntarily in his shirt as a hot wave of anger floods over me at the unfairness of it, the circumstances that make everything between us so much more complicated than it needs to be. It might not matter to me, but it matters – he'd been right about that as much as I wished he wasn't – because the world we live in is real and cruel. And now, of all times, I have to return him to the hell that may not give him back to me again.

This sudden flux of emotion physically hurts, and I see him tilt his head in that way he has when he is asking a question without words.

"I hate that I have to send you back there," I whisper through clenched teeth. "I hate it."

Something subtle about his demeanor changes, and there is the hint of a smile in his tone when Gale speaks again. "Well, we should be getting some things to change soon."

My heart drops into my stomach as the words hit home. This is more than just the reassurance he had given me before that he will keep coming back. But he is out the door and into the morning twilight like wind through the trees before I can breathe another word.

Additional Author's Note (avoiding spoilers again…)

To those of you expecting a lemon this chapter – sorry guys. I hope you are not too disappointed. I'm aiming for realism and character development, so I guess you get… a lime?