Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
AN: This is part of the 'Gale as a Victor/Madge as Tribute and then Victor' series, which includes 'survival', 'victors and heroes', and 'best-laid plans'. Yeah…this series/story isn't dead. It's not exactly going to be active, but I do want to give it some closure. Hopefully it'll be satisfactory when all is said and done. Whenever that is.
Proposition as Proposal
Gale stands on the front porch, hand raised, balled up and ready to knock. He hesitates though, stays frozen in place by indecisiveness.
He's been waiting for this opportunity, a chance to speak with her alone. Now his nerve is failing him.
The past few weeks she's had Haymitch over, sleeping on her couch, probably holding demons and ghosts at bay. Or at least providing some kind of support or comfort.
Gale rolls his eyes at the thought. The old bastard hadn't even shown the smallest concern for Gale in his early days. The most helpful thing he'd done was warn him to set the fancy Capitol alarm system, because the Victor's Village was the only place worth robbing, and people would try.
It had turned out to be solid advice, scaring off a few would-be robbers in the first few months. Not that Gale would admit Haymitch Abernathy ever did anything halfway decent for him.
Still, even if Gale sees his fellow Victor as a useless lump, Madge clearly doesn't.
She's tolerated his presence, at least.
"She finally get sick of the smell?" Gale asked, standing and stretching on his back porch, as Haymitch skulked away from Madge's house, a few days ago.
"Har, har," he grumbled. "Such sterling wit."
When he didn't stop walking from her house, Gale jumped the little fence around his backyard, hurried to him.
"Where are you going? It's almost sundown."
That's when he settled in at Madge's house, not left it. At least not unless he was escorting her spacey mom away.
"I'm not staying over tonight," he muttered, stride not slowing.
Gale cut in front of him, crossed his arms.
"Why not?"
Because even if Gale thinks he's about as useful as a hole in the head, at least he's someone. Unlike Gale, Madge is alone in that big empty house. Gale arrived at the Victor's Village with his mom, his brothers, and sister. Madge arrived with a damned piano.
Her dad is still the mayor, can't just up and move, and her mom is…weird. She needs someone near, and as shit as he is, Haymitch has to be that person. Or at least he had.
Grinding his teeth, Haymitch huffed.
"Not that it's any of your business, but she sent me home." He narrowed his eyes on Gale, as if that were somehow his fault. "She's got a good heart. Said I needed rest and I wouldn't get it watching over her."
He scrubbed a hand over his face, tugging the loose skin around his bloodshot eyes lower before sighing.
"Keep away," he warned, brushing past Gale and toward his house.
It hadn't sat well with Gale. He didn't like the idea of her alone in there. Ghosts haunt him even with the insulation of family close by, what protection does Madge have?
Keeping his ears open, alert and on edge, he'd listened for her to scream that first night, ready to race over and be whatever help he could be.
Her house had remained silent though. Not only that first night, but for a week. If not for Haymitch stomping up her front steps everyday and not emerging in a panic, Gale would be worried she'd died.
Hand dropping to his side, Gale sighs. He's been outside her door for nearly an hour.
How do you tell someone you want to create a fake relationship with them to keep both them and yourself from being bought and sold by perverts?
"Just like that," Alameda had said, when he'd asked that very question. "Be blunt. Said it yourself, she knows how to play this game. She'll understand."
Running a hand through his hair, Gale shakes his head. Madge probably would understand, but that doesn't make him feel any less awful for giving her such a shitty option.
He needs to plan his presentation through more, he thinks, knowing he's stalling. There's no good way to say what he needs to say, ask what he needs to ask. Waiting a day or two won't make it any easier.
Won't make it any harder though…
Giving the trip over up as a practice run, Gale backs away from the door and starts down the steps. He'll try again tomorrow.
Turning, he sighs, starts down the steps, swatting away a bug drawn to the porch light buzzing at his ear. His retreat dies when he hears the click of the lock behind him.
Turning, he finds Madge's pale face peeking out, eyes wide with fear.
"What're you doing out here?"
Her voice is scratchy, hoarse with either disuse or, more likely, screaming into a pillow.
For a moment, Gale is too dumbstruck by her appearance to say anything. He just stares at her mouth agape, deaf from his ears full of the humming of the night.
She's halfway to a ghost, sickly and faded. Her hair is rumpled, muted even in the yellow light of porch. Even her eyes seem duller, no longer pale blue, almost gray and dusky.
She isn't the bright and shiny toy she'd been leaving the Capitol, in the glory of her victory. All their makeup and glitter have rubbed away, leaving the broken person underneath.
It's a reality Gale is all too accustomed to.
When a bug zips into his cheek it startles him back into the moment.
"I…came to check on you," he tells her. It's half the truth.
Her brows pull together in thought.
"You've never come by before."
He shrugs, rubs at his neck absently.
"Haymitch has been here before."
Nodding, she grips the edge of the door so tightly her knuckles go white.
"I'm fine," she tells him quickly, starts to shut the door. "Thanks."
It's a lie they all learn. Repeat day in and day out, hoping someday they'll speak it into existence. She isn't fine, though, none of them are.
Gale catches the door before it shuts, squints into the darkness at her shadowed face.
"No," he tells her softly, "you aren't."
The moment stretches out, and when Madge doesn't make so much as a halfhearted attempt to shut him out, he reaches through the cracked door and brushes a stray strand from her cheek.
He shouldn't. Touching people isn't something he's used to doing without a threat hanging overhead.
But just like when he'd hugged her, this is a choice. Comfort he's choosing to give. It's foreign, but it's wonderful.
He leans in, catches the scent of disinfectant in the cool air leaking out.
"But I think I know a way you can be," he whispers. He lets his hand fall. "I think I have a way we can both be."
Inside Madge's house it's cold, though Gale thinks that's less to do with the air conditioner and more to do with the lack of personalization.
It's a house, not a home.
There are no photos up, even though her family could afford professional ones. Gale has seen them during formal dinners at the Mayor's house. Madge has left the model photos in the few frames that had been scattered around.
She's left the walls stark and plain, other than a few bland pieces of artwork, clearly posted before her arrival. Every piece of furniture is unmoved, still where the Capitol had staged it. The only sign of life, as far as Gale could see, was a blanket on the divan near a window in the back room. He only noticed it because he could see Posy's bedroom window a few yards away through the lacy curtains.
Gale's house, in sharp contrast, is a mess. Posy's dolls are everywhere, Rory and Vick's shoes piled by the front door, lost homework turning up in random places, drawings tacked to the icebox…
It's lived in, battered, full of life and love, even if it was won with blood and cruelty.
Madge's house could be mistaken for vacant, a set for a Capitol program. It makes her situation twice as shitty.
As they sit in her kitchen, at her bare table, Gale tries to ignore the cold as he waits for her to process what he's told her.
"You want to get married?"
The plan, poorly formed and a nightmare to implement, sounds twice as stupid coming from her. He wouldn't blame her if she kicked him out and told him to leave the grand plans to smarter people.
"Boiled down, yeah, that's it."
She gnaws her lower lip between her teeth and stares at her delicate cup of tea, gently taps the tides with her fingertips. It's got to be lukewarm by now. She hasn't even tasted it.
"You think…do you think that'll keep them from-from…" She takes a breath, closes her eyes. "You think they'll leave us alone if we get married?"
Gale shrugs. He isn't sure. The Capitol is about as predictable as a summer storm.
Despite that, they are infatuated with the notion of love. Even if Gale is certain they don't have a clue what it is.
"I think it's as good a chance as any," he admits.
He sits forward, forearms to the tabletop, sighs.
"I've-the life I've had to live…I wouldn't wish it on anyone."
It's twisted, the things he's had to do to survive, to keep his family safe. If he can spare even one person, he'll do whatever it takes.
"This isn't foolproof. I'm not making promises here, just a chance."
She turns her cup, studies it as she thinks.
"This won't-your family will be safe? If we do this, they'll be okay?"
Taking a breath, Gale forces a smile.
She doesn't even know his family and she's concerned his helping her will hurt them. Even if their romance will be a sham, she's a good person. He'll be happy to share his fictitious life with her.
"I wouldn't offer if it might hurt them."
Even if the District Twelve love story dies a sudden death, Gale is still a popular Victor. With Alameda's tinkering and the demand for his company, they'll be safe. Most likely, this will just be another notch in his bedpost when viewed from the outside if things sour.
Madge traces a pale finger along the painted grain of her table as she considers the offer. Gale quietly waits, studies her.
Even rumpled and fragile as she is, she's pretty. The physical wounds from her Games are all gone, either erased by time or Capitol magic. Her hair is a little dirty, but not stiff and styled. Without the makeup and shitty outfits, he can almost pretend she's still just Madge the Mayor's daughter.
If not for her eyes.
Even downcast, he can see she's got that haunted, hunted look they all have. Gale can't fix that though, all he can do is keep it from crushing her. Or at least try.
She looks up, her pale eyes swimming. Then she reaches out, covers his hands with hers and squeezes.
"I'll do it," she half whispers, voice cracking. She makes a face, takes a breath. "Let's get married."
Turning his hands over, Gale takes her hands in his.
It's no Capitol romance, those don't exist.
He almost smiles. Actually, a fake romance is the perfect romance for the Capitol, the most Capitol thing he can imagine. All show and no substance, just the way they like it.
Gale nods. "Let's get married."