Author's Note: This was my little attempt to participate in jennycaake's/madgesundersee's 12 Days of Gadge on tumblr, for the prompt "Mistake."
Madge was not a morning person. But her new boss was, and he wanted his "team" (ugh) in the office when he arrived, which meant Madge had to drag herself into work long before she was ready to deal with humanity. In the elevator each morning at 6:55 a.m., she felt like declaring war against every single other passenger for taking up space and pressing buttons for all the floors standing between her and Floor 48.
Coffee helped her cope. And so did the Elevator Hottie.
She first noticed him one morning when the woman standing next to her unthinkingly swung her gym bag into Madge's side, which shoved her into the guy standing next to her.
"You all right?" he asked, steadying her.
She nodded, eyes locked on her triple grande nonfat latte to be sure it hadn't spilled. Then she glared at the woman with the weaponized gym bag who was now busy obliviously pushing her way out of the elevator.
"Sorry," she muttered to the guy, retreating back into her own space, though not before noticing how good he smelled: earthy and spicy at the same time. Clean. He was easy on the eyes, too, with tousled dark hair, killer cheekbones, and a wiry frame. She guessed he was about her age, a plus.
He gave her a polite, restrained smile and returned to staring sternly straight ahead over the heads of the other elevator passengers.
Sipping her coffee, Madge watched him and tried to guess where he worked. He wasn't wearing a suit (promising), just khakis and a striped button-down shirt under a rain jacket that looked like it could protect him in a hurricane. Maybe he was a skier? Snowboarder?
He must have felt her studying him, because he turned his head and gave her a quizzical look.
Madge promptly returned her gaze to the back of the head of the man standing in front of her. She shouldn't just ogle people, no matter how hot they were. Or more to the point, she shouldn't let herself get caught. Eventually, the elevator arrived on the 48th floor and Madge pushed her way out, steeling herself for another morning with her obnoxiously cheerful boss.
She saw the elevator guy again a few mornings later, and twice the following week. Then it seemed like she saw him nearly every day. It helped that she'd become militant about arriving at the elevator bank at the same time each morning, after not seeing him on the few days when she'd been running late. She and Elevator Hottie would nod in acknowledgment at one another, but they never chatted—that would have been a gross violation of elevator etiquette amidst the stony silence of their fellow grumpy commuters. Still, Madge could feel him watching her as often and intently as she watched him. She'd even spotted him looking at her legs one day when she'd worn a skirt.
No wedding ring, she'd noted pretty early on.
He was usually frowning or giving off an aura of general disapproval—never directed at her, more just to the entirety of the world—and she kind of liked that his expression matched her mood during those too-early mornings. These new hours at work were taking their toll on her; Madge's other boss came in late and stayed late. She joked with Delly about just bringing her sleeping bag to the office and cutting out the formality of walking home to her apartment each night.
She found herself loitering in the lobby of the building every so often, studying the building directory for the floors above hers so she could speculate about where Elevator Hottie might work. Her guess was one of the engineering firms, since he never dressed up and one day she'd seen him in mud-spattered heavy-duty boots. Maybe he was with PanemDesign on 52 and had to visit work sites?
She didn't think she was obsessed with him or anything, he was just... her entertainment on the long elevator ride, a pleasant distraction on those mornings when she happened to see him. And honestly, she could use all the external motivators she could get to trick herself into beating her boss to the office.
December rolled around, bringing with it Christmas muzak in the elevator and holiday office parties throughout the building. One morning, Madge slipped into a barely-full elevator, and as usual she brightened when she spotted Elevator Hottie on the other side of the car. As the other passengers exited and the crowd thinned, Madge noticed that he was wearing a bright green sweater decorated with snarling white kittens clad in Santa hats. The kittens seemed to be using light sabers to duel with... mini Darth Vaders.
Madge stifled a laugh, hiding her smile with a sip of her pumpkin spice latte.
Elevator Hottie grinned at her, proudly tugging on his sweater's hem so she could see it better.
Madge shot him a thumbs up. He was going to be a hit at whatever ugly sweater holiday party he was going to. There were even shooting stars sewn into the fabric with glittery silver foil.
As more people exited the elevator and the remaining passengers rearranged themselves to maximize their personal space, Madge inched closer to the guy to get a better look at his sweater. It didn't escape her notice that he was moving toward her as well. When Madge saw that there were only two other people with them in the elevator and that both were listening to their iPods, she realized she and Elevator Hottie were practically alone.
It was the best opportunity she'd had yet.
She smiled and raised her eyebrows at his sweater. "Office party today?"
He grinned and nodded. "We have a sweater contest. I got runner-up last year, but I'm going for the win this time." He sounded like he was taking this contest very seriously.
"Darth Vader's a nice touch," she observed. "Kind of a retro thing?"
"A classic thing," he corrected, looking down at his sweater. "Though I guess I did find this at a thrift store." Then he leaned in toward Madge and said conspiratorially, "It's my secret weapon this year. I'm hoping the new movie will give me a boost in the voting."
"Good plan," Madge whispered back, thrilled to be so close to him. Distantly, she was also amazed that she could be so affected by someone she didn't even know. "You have to work whatever angles you can."
"Exactly," he agreed. Then, to Madge's dismay, the elevator doors opened and she found herself staring at her company's logo mounted in large silver letters on the opposite wall as a greeting to all arriving visitors.
They'd reached her floor. She'd never been more disappointed to arrive at work (and that was saying something).
"Well, good luck," she said lamely as she stepped out into the corridor. This was another reason she didn't usually chat with people on elevators—awkward ends to conversations.
Turning, she caught a glimpse of the elevator guy still watching her just before the doors closed and whisked him away with an efficient ding.
Staring down the ugly side of another 14-hour day in her office, Madge was left with nothing but an empty hallway and a realization: she needed to see him again, and to have a real conversation. A few seconds in the elevator when the stars aligned wasn't going to cut it anymore.
"This isn't too stalker-y, is it?" Madge asked for what felt like the hundredth time that night.
"It's a little stalker-y," Delly hedged. "But totally within the range of plausible coincidence. You don't even know if he's here. And your cover story is solid."
Delly and Madge were getting drinks together that night in their building's top floor bar and restaurant. Practically every office in the building held their holiday party here—the view of the city was spectacular—and Madge was gambling that Elevator Hottie's holiday party was up here too. She was determined to talk to him under non-elevator circumstances. From her own office's party at this same restaurant last week, Madge knew that the fringes of the area reserved for parties bled into the bar, so she didn't think it was too intrusive to park herself at the bar.
Madge nervously sipped her vodka tonic and scanned the room while Delly chatted about their new project at work. There definitely was a holiday party happening tonight, but it appeared to be winding down (unsurprising considering it was a weeknight and getting to be late enough that the older people were putting on their coats and heading toward the exit).
"Oh God, there he is," Madge said suddenly, clutching Delly's wrist. "Green sweater. Coming inside from the roof." Elevator Hottie was slipping back into the restaurant from the roof deck, along with a few other men. His hair looked more tousled and gorgeous than ever, thanks to the wind. Madge was encouraged; the fact that he'd disappeared to the roof deck was a good sign that the formal party was fizzling out.
"He is hot," Delly said appraisingly. "Actually, he reminds me a little of Thom."
Madge paused to wrinkle her nose—she didn't want to associate her elevator guy with Delly's boyfriend—and then focused on the guy again.
"I have to do something," she said, downing the rest of her drink in one swallow. "I have to go over there and—. No, I should stay here, make sure I'm not interrupting him bonding with coworkers or whatever. I'll wait for a good opening. We could pretend to be leaving and I could just bump into him—."
She broke off; the guy had seen her and was walking over.
Straight toward her.
By her side, she felt Delly stand up from her barstool and start to collect her purse and overcoat.
"Do not leave me," Madge hissed.
"Did you see his face light up when he saw you?" Delly whispered. "Like a Christmas tree, Madge. Trust me, you do not need me."
Madge didn't get a chance to protest further because the guy was close enough to hear. And speak.
"Hey," he said, smiling at Madge. He stood with his hands in his pockets, the picture of casual ease in contrast to Madge's bundle of nerves.
"Hi," Madge squeaked. "Is... your office party here? My friend and I were just grabbing a drink to celebrate... I was promoted today! So, we came up here. Because it's our favorite spot in the whole city." She just barely stopped herself from adding "...not so I could try to run into you or anything stalker-y like that." The vodka had gone to her head more quickly than she'd expected and she was pretty sure she'd already hurled herself over the line into so-obvious-it's-embarrassing territory. She might as well have put a sign around her neck announcing, "I wanted to see you and was willing to attempt to crash your office party on the off-chance that I'd run into you."
It was official: coming here was the biggest mistake ever. This was what happened to people who never saw the light of day anymore: warped judgment. Why had she ever conned herself into thinking that showing up to her crush's office party was in any way socially acceptable?
"Well, congratulations," the guy said.
"Huh?"
"On your promotion."
"Oh! Thanks!"
Delly chimed in. "Our managers have been really impressed with how early Madge has been getting to work lately." She shot a wicked smile at Madge and then announced that she needed to use the restroom.
Madge wanted to murder her friend, but Delly was already speed walking to the women's room and besides, the guy had started talking again.
"Your name's Madge?"
"Yes," she said, nodding vigorously. That was an easy question. Something she could handle.
"Gale," he said, extending his hand out for a shake.
His hand was perfect—warm, not at all sweaty—and Madge knew she was holding it for a little too long. But his eyes were even prettier up close and she was distracted trying to figure out what color they were. Blue? Gray? Gray-Blue?
He pulled his hand back, drawing Madge out of her trance. Blinking, she remembered his Darth Vader/kitten sweater.
"How was the contest?" she asked eagerly.
"Runner up again," he groused, his face falling. He narrowed his eyes and glared at someone across the room. "Peeta—you can see him over there, next to the Christmas tree—won this year. Again."
Madge followed the guy's—Gale's—gaze across the room to a blond man chatting up a dark-haired woman whose hair hung down her back in an elaborate braid.
"Mellark!" Gale called. "Sweater!"
The blond man swiveled to face them, thrusting his chest out to show off his sweater.
Madge did a double-take, looking between the sweater and Gale.
"Is that... you?"
The blond man's scarlet red sweater was emblazoned with a scowling fabric photograph of a face that looked an awful lot like Gale's. Wearing a Santa hat.
"Don't you think that's cheating?" Gale demanded, turning back to Madge. "Those fabric photo things aren't knit, like real sweaters are. Nobody knit that sweater."
Madge burst out laughing. She barely knew this guy, but she knew that scowl. How many times had she seen it directed at the other people in the elevator, the types who sneezed or coughed into the enclosed space, pressed buttons for the wrong floors, or committed countless other elevator sins?
"I don't know," she said skeptically with an exaggerated headshake. "If you made a big deal out of the sweater competition—which, you must have, since I know about it and I don't even know you—then I don't see how anyone could not vote for that sweater. It's actually kind of a compliment though, right? A vote for you, in a way?"
"A vote that my face should win the ugly sweater contest?"
"Well, the ugly part's obviously not true," she said breezily, "which makes it part of the joke."
Gale made a huffing sound and crossed his arms, still glaring at the blond guy, who had returned to his conversation. Then Gale slowly seemed to register Madge's compliment, because he turned to look at her, his expression softening and something resembling a smile creeping onto his face. He uncrossed his arms and leaned against the bar, resting his elbow on the ledge.
"You know, I'm really glad I ran into you tonight."
"Same," she said, suddenly feeling shy and maybe a little tipsy. Had she actually crashed the elevator guy's office holiday party? Successfully? Was this the Christmas miracle she'd been hoping for to balance out her rotten year?
If so, she couldn't let the opportunity could slip away.
"Do you want to grab coffee some time?" she blurted.
"I'd love to," he said with a slow grin. After a glance over his shoulder to the remnants of his office party he said, "Can 'coffee' also mean drinks? And can 'some time' be now?"
His smile was so intoxicating, Madge nudged the empty bar stool next to her with her foot and gestured for him to join her. She felt like she was in a trance and didn't care how practiced he was with that smile or if she was falling for a move; she wanted to fall.
After he checked whether Delly was coming back (for formality's sake; Madge was certain he'd been able to tell that Delly was her wingwoman), he slid into the seat and caught the bartender's attention to order another round of drinks.
Madge finally got the answers to so many of the questions she'd been wondering about him. He was a geologist, not an engineer, though he was out in the field frequently and worked primarily with engineers. He'd only recently moved to the city, but his family lived in an outlying town and he spent a lot of time with them because his siblings were all still in school. He coached his sister's basketball team in the afternoons, which was why he went in early to work.
Madge told him about her life, too, and tried not to complain too vehemently about her job, though he picked up on her frustration.
"No wonder you need all that coffee," he said grimly. "Burning the candle on both ends like that. And why the hell do you have two bosses?"
Before Madge could answer (she did all the marketing for two divisions; the company wasn't ready to hire another person to help her out and that was at least part of why she'd been promoted), the blond man who'd won the office sweater contest appeared at Gale's side. He was accompanied by the dark-haired woman with the braid, who was watching Madge through narrowed eyes.
"You guys taking off now?" Gale asked, setting his beer down on the counter.
"Yeah, but first we wanted to hand-deliver your runner-up prize," the blond man said cheerfully. He set a black canvas messenger bag, adorned with what looked like a company logo, on the bar and nudged it toward Gale.
Gale eyed the bag with obvious disdain. "And what'd you get, Mellark?"
"Dinner for two at Cornucopia del Mar," the blond man said smugly, putting his arm around the dark-haired woman.
"Katniss is allergic to shellfish," Gale said as he picked up his beer again and took a sip. Madge might have been imagining it, but thought she detected a hint of matching smugness in his tone.
"They have other stuff, too," said the dark-haired woman—Katniss, Madge guessed. Even though Katniss had responded to Gale's comment, she was focused on Madge, studying her critically. She didn't say anything and her inspection wasn't overtly hostile, though it wasn't friendly either.
After an uncomfortable space of time had passed and it was obvious that everyone was waiting for him to make introductions, Gale grudgingly said, "Katniss, this is Madge. Madge, Katniss. And Peeta," he added, nodding toward his sweater contest competitor.
Madge nodded and said hello, thinking inwardly how awkward it was to be chatting with Gale while his office party was still straggling on. Her plan, as successful as it had been, was not without flaws.
"Oh," Katniss said, recognition dawning on her face as she turned to Gale. "Oh! Madge. Madge, as in short for Margaret?" she asked Madge directly.
"Yes...?"
"See you guys tomorrow," Gale said abruptly, standing to ostensibly pat Peeta on the back, though it was obvious to Madge that he was trying to steer the visiting couple away.
It worked: Peeta and Katniss left, after Katniss reminded Gale that they were meeting some surveyors the next morning at eight and that she didn't care how hungover he was, he wasn't going to make her do all the talking again.
"Fine, yeah," Gale said as he shooed them away. "Sorry," he told Madge. "Hanging around here wasn't the brightest idea I've ever had."
"Does that woman know me?" Madge asked, watching Katniss walk over to the elevator.
Gale shot an irritated look in Katniss's direction, and Madge saw the other woman flash an overly-sweet smile back, accompanied by a cutesy wave.
"She... may have helped me look you up on your company's website," Gale said reluctantly.
Madge blinked. "You... looked me up?"
"Yeah." Gale sighed and then shrugged. He looked resigned to his embarrassment; there was only so much you could do to climb out of a pit when someone had already pushed you in. Madge knew because she'd been in that same pit many times (most recently not even half an hour ago).
She bit her lip to keep from beaming and then confessed, "I tried to figure out where you worked, too. But I didn't know which floor you were on."
Gale didn't respond, and instead focused on swirling his beer. Madge started to worry that she'd said too much. He'd seemed happy to see her in the bar, but maybe telling him she'd tried to find out where he worked was going too far. Guys liked do be the pursuers, didn't they? As she struggled for something to say to salvage the situation, Gale set his beer down with a sigh and pushed it away.
"42."
Madge hesitated. "The answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything?"
The corner of Gale's mouth quirked upward, but then he shook his head. "No, I work on the 42nd floor."
"The—what?" Madge pulled his messenger bag prize closer and examined the logo. BT & Associates. She'd seen the name on the building directory but always assumed it was a law firm; it hadn't even been on her radar when she was trying to figure out where Gale worked. It also hadn't occurred to her that he might work on one of the floors below hers.
Gale looked miserable. "Have you ever done something stupid? Made a big fucking mistake that you couldn't see your way out of? Maybe it starts out as something you don't consciously think about—like not getting off on your own floor because you're distracted by a pretty girl—and then you do it again because you want to know more about her and were too much of an idiot to remember where she got off the first time, but then you realize you have to stick with it and you're actually just a dumbass who now has to backtrack six, no, seven, floors every morning? 'Cause I've done that, and let me tell you: it sucks." He watched Madge with a sheepish expression. "Sorry," he added.
"What for?"
"Being a creep. I couldn't even ask you out because I'd screwed things up before even getting a chance."
Madge studied him thoughtfully. "Creepiness is in the eye of the beholder. You never made me feel uncomfortable. And I wouldn't be sitting here if I picked up on the slightest creep vibe from you." This guy's vibes were hotness with a dash of wholesomeness. "Also," she added as an afterthought, "who am I to throw stones?" She shrugged and gestured to the entirety of the restaurant, reminding him that she'd essentially shown up to his office party to find him.
He got it, and let out a relieved laugh. His warm, hearty chuckle that made Madge feel lighter, and she found herself laughing along with him.
"Actually," Madge said, "I wish I'd thought to skip my own floor so I could follow you to yours."
"It wouldn't have worked. We'd both have just stayed on until the top."
"And... ended up here?" Madge nudged his knee with her own.
He grinned, clinking his beer with her glass. "And ended up here."
Author's Note 2: The reference to 42 is from Douglas Adams' book The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and was also inspired by DamnDonnerGirls for making Gale's hockey jersey #42 (because obviously Gale is the Answer).
Someone on tumblr asked for a continuation of this story and I do have something, I just need to put the finishing touches on it. I kind of like the ending here, but I did have a little more in mind so I wrote it up. Thanks for reading!