A/N: The prompt for this oneshot was suggested a long time ago by Medea Smyke who wanted a double date scenario for Peeta, Katniss, Gale, and Madge. I will admit that for the longest time, I had nothing. As good as the prompt was, I had no ideas, and I wasn't even sure if Gadge had a place in the First Date universe. However, believe in the power of Gadge, fellow fans. Because when I was struck with this idea I absolutely had to write it. Please keep in mind, the term "double date" is loosely interpreted.

This oneshot takes place after the epilogue of First Date, during the unexplored autumn before the Victory Tour. Enjoy!

*Mature language warning* (You knew this was coming, right?)

Madge's POV

Double Date – Part I

My feet ache. The modestly heeled—yet higher than I'm used to—dark red mary janes once belonged to my mother when she was my age, but on me they're a size too small. They dig into the backs of my heels and scrunch my toes, but they match my wine-colored dress exactly, and Mom has always loved them. She was practically beaming when she saw me wearing them, and I couldn't bear to disappoint her.

I adjust my weight from my right side to my left for the hundredth time this evening. Eventually, my toes will go numb. That may be the high point my night.

Katniss sighs beside me—a veiled demonstration of weariness—but nothing could keep her polite smile from sliding into a scowl. Not in this company.

At least the camera crew is small this time; much smaller than the crews that invaded during our victors' return to Twelve. This crew only consists of a cameraman who wears dark glasses that conceal half his face, a producer with shocking blue hair, and a female director with an accent so thick I can hardly understand her. They've made a detestable first impression. And I don't say that lightly. The cameraman has pointed the camera at my chest, and lingered there, more than once tonight. The producer asks intrusive questions. And the director keeps telling us to change seats, freeze in place, and "look more authentic" without realizing the hypocrisy of her statement. Right now she's framing shots of Peeta sitting at the piano bench with Prim as she plunks out a tune I taught her recently. My parents and Mrs. Everdeen sit stiffly on our faded sofa, listening. Katniss and I watch from the far side of the room, standing in front of the bookcase. We intermittently sip sweet, pink punch from cut glass punch cups, of which we only have six remaining. I must confess to breaking one on my fifth birthday.

When the director takes a hold of Prim's wrist to adjust her position for yet another photo, Katniss visibly tenses. She quickly reverts back to her unnatural smile when the cameraman flashes his camera at us.

It must bother Katniss immensely to have to endure such attention after a lifetime of deliberately going unseen when and where she could. And then to be forced into situations like this where her family is put on display? Pure torture for the introverted and private. While I can by no means compare my situation to hers, I have some idea what it's like to be in the public eye. And the only way to get through boring obligations is to find a good distraction. I sidestep closer to Katniss; use my cup of punch to partially conceal my mouth and say, "Prim has a talent for piano. I wish you'd bring her by for more lessons."

"Maybe I will. She's good at everything she tries. She and Peeta are alike that way."

"I've noticed they have a similar temperament. Rather…optimistic. Well, most of the time."

"Has Prim been acting different lately?" Katniss asks, concern lacing her voice.

"No. Not Prim." I smirk and look down at my glass so the cameraman doesn't notice. I hope not to be present on the day that dampens Prim's spirits. Being present to see Peeta moping and miserable at the tavern was enough of an experience. "Did you know I once went on a date with Peeta?"

Katniss flicks her eyes toward me. She's silent. Her eyes narrow a little. I can't determine if she's upset or if she's unsure how to absorb this information. Maybe I should have thought this conversation through before saying anything.

I clear my throat and try to smile reassuringly. "It wasn't anything serious," I say quickly. "In fact, it wasn't even his idea. His mother and my father arranged it, as if we were kids or something." I laugh awkwardly, glancing at Peeta and Prim again. She's teaching him a little duet to go along with her song. The producer speaks with Mrs. Everdeen again, asking them how they feel about their children's romance. She repeats her position about how her daughter is too young to be so serious, but she's happy to have her home. The producer smiles at her small-district sensibility, but frowns when he turns away from Mrs. Everdeen. Surely he wanted a more sensational answer that he can use to sell…whatever it is he sells.

"When?" Katniss whispers beside me.

I look back at her. "Hm?"

Katniss' fingers clench her delicate glass. We may be down to five glasses by the end of the evening. "If it wasn't when we were kids, then when?" she clarifies; her voice low.

"Oh…um…over the summer, I guess," I fumble to explain. While you were dating him,I fail to mention. Katniss rests her gaze on her boyfriend, her mouth set into a straight line. I only thought to bring up that unfortunate mess of date as a joke; something to distract Katniss from this uncomfortable photo shoot. Instead, I've succeeded in making her mad at me. And maybe Peeta as well.

I clink my fingernails against my glass; ironically thankful for the Capitol crew for each moment their presence prevents Katniss from throttling me. I'd say more about how the date was a farce and failure; how the food was inedible and how I had to lie to my father about where we went, but the cameraman keeps glancing over at us and I don't want them to overhear and have a story to bring back to the Capitol. They'll give it some heinous tagline like, "VICTOR BETRAYS VICTOR" or "CATFIGHT IN DISTRICT 12". I gulp down the last of my punch, partially wishing we had spiked it like Haymitch suggested, when a thought occurs to me. The reason the date was so awful wasn't because Peeta was poor company, it was because he'd just been dumped. I didn't actually date him while they were together. I turn my back to the room and pretend to look over the bookshelf. "It was a few days before the reaping actually," I say under my breath. Katniss' mouth relaxes. I'm grateful she understands the significance of the timing. "It meant nothing to him, I promise. It was plainly obvious the entire time he was missing you."

Katniss casts her gaze to the floor to hide from the camera, but I catch a glimpse of her pained expression.

Why is she frowning?I question. Shouldn't she be relieved?

Katniss inhales a quick breath and forces the polite smile back on her lips. "Excuse me," she murmurs, setting down her cup on the edge of the bookcase. She crosses the room to stand beside Peeta and lays her palm on his back. Peeta immediately looks up from the piano keys. The brightness of his eyes dims ever so slightly when he takes in Katniss' expression. His eyebrows come together as if to say, what's wrong? Katniss leans down and kisses his cheek in response. A gesture that says, later. Peeta stands up anyway, using the piano to steady himself, and places a light kiss on the top of her head. It's a small gesture, but so sweet and startlingly honest a pang of envy reverberates in my chest.

The cameraman, of course, misses nothing.

The producer attacks Katniss and Peeta with a barrage of questions, desperate for a sound bite different from the ones they've previously given. Dad steps in to help relieve the pressure by distracting them with some cookies Peeta brought. I look down at my empty punch glass and decide now would be a good time to refill it, knowing no one will really notice my absence. I glance at my mother before leaving. She's quiet, but seems comfortable enough. Thank God today has been one of her good days.

"Everything alright out there?" Faunka, our housekeeper, asks as I enter in the kitchen. She has a dinner plate in one hand and a dishtowel in the other.

"Like you haven't been listening at the door all evening."

"There hasn't been one word of interest uttered tonight. Unless rehashing murders and nightmares interests you," Faunka grumbles.

I hold my finger over my lips, hoping her anti-Capitol statements weren't picked up on the microphone. Faunka shakes the dishtowel dismissively at me. I stand next to her at the sink so I can lower my voice. I know very well how thin the walls are. "Everything seems fine. I think they're getting bored of the pat answers. Hopefully, they'll call it a night soon."

"Lord knows why your father invited them here in the first place."

"I'm sure he had his reasons," I say. I know more than I should, of course. The director wanted to record in the Seam, despite the fact that Peeta didn't grow up there, to get the most sensational story by filming the poorest of us. When my father suggested we have an intimate dinner at our house instead, I almost fell into the vent I was listening at. While Dad is a public figure, he rarely invites guests from the Capitol directly into our own home. He didn't reveal his reasoning to me, but I can guess. The Capitol already knows my father, my family. Being in a photo shoot with our district's victors doesn't put us at any greater risk than we were before. But the Seam is full of Katniss' friends—people she doesn't want the Capitol to bring attention to if it can be helped. I'm not certain if Dad would do this if not for the sensitive situation of having two victors in one Hunger Games.

Having two victors should be advantageous for the district; instead, it serves to send Dad's blood pressure through the roof.

I lean on the counter to take the weight off my aching toes. I should go back out there, not that the Capitol crew cares. Maybe I'll wait until Dad realizes I left.

"Take the trash out for me, please," Faunka asks.

Or I'll do some chores. I should have known better than to lean against the counter while Faunka is working.

The trashcan is heavier than usual due to the number of guests we had. Faunka made a beautiful meal, which the camera crew declined to eat. They claimed they did not wish to disrupt our routine, as if dinner in semi-formal wear is routine for us. They missed out on her delicious pumpkin soup. They're not likely to find food of such quality anywhere else in town.

I trudge back to the house after I've dragged the trashcan far enough down the alley, but stop short of opening the door. Perhaps out here I can actually steal a few moments for myself.

The air is cool against my legs so I crouch down, set my backside on the cement stoop, and cover my exposed legs with my skirt. This evening can't end soon enough. I'm glad to help Katniss in some small way; even something as small as entertaining those Capitol idiots, but I can't help feeling this is only the beginning for her. She's destined to have a lifetime of home invasions and constant reminders of the games.

At least she has Peeta. They fought through hell for one another, and still are depending how you look at it. They deserve any happiness they can find.

A crunch of gravel or leaves or something startles me from my contemplative state. I sit up perfectly straight, staring into the dark alley while my ears strain to pick up another sound. We never get animals this far in. Nothing but the occasional chipmunk. And unless the sound was caused by a very large chipmunk, the sound most likely came from a…person.

I scramble off the stoop, not bothering to shake the dirt from my dress. I take a small step forward away from the yellow light being cast through the kitchen window. My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my throat. "Someone there?" I call out. There's no response.

What am I doing? I'm five steps away from the safety of the house and I'm calling out to an intruder in a dark alley?

I scurry backwards, but I forget to account for my shoes and trip when my heel gets caught between the cracks of the cement. I catch myself on one hand and suffer a mere scrape to my palm, when out of the corner of my eye a large, hulking figure suddenly comes right at me. Fast. My voice freezes in my throat, but it makes no difference because the shadowed figure crashes into me. My brain screams in fear—that is, until the figure's legs fly over me and his shoulder bangs into the trashcan I just put out.

"Fuck!"

Though it may be absurd, I'm slightly more affronted by the curse than being run over. However, when a deep groan follows my attackers curse I realize he's cursing the garbage can and not me.

My attacker pushes himself up and twists around, though his legs are still pinning me down. Even in the dark I recognize his face, especially when his face displays irritation, as he is so often irritated with me. Unwarranted irritation, I might add. "Gale?" I squeak.

When Gale sees his long legs sprawled over my stomach his eyes go wide and he quickly lifts them off. "I thought you went back inside," he says, rubbing his shoulder.

I could tell him I tripped and that's how I came to be hiding in the shadows, but I'd rather he think I was skillfully laying a trap, so I say nothing.

"I wasn't stealing anything," he says.

Okay? Somebody's feeling a little defensive. I wasn't even considering such a thing. Instead of pointing this out, I get to the point of the matter. "What are you doing?"

"I'm looking for my brother," Gale replies, climbing to his feet. He doesn't offer to help me up, but that's fine. I lay traps to catch alley lurkers. I can stand up on my own. I'm also glad I can't see the damage I've done to my mother's shoes in this light.

"Which brother?"

"Rory. He's been gone a few hours. Didn't come home for dinner."

Rory. I couldn't have described Rory Hawthorne's appearance prior to this past summer and not just because his hair is always falling over his eyes. Over the summer and into the fall he's been by a handful of times with some kind of berries or root vegetables he hopes to sell. They're never as ripe or as plentiful as the ones Gale finds, but I pay him anyway. Faunka always finds a way to use them. Rory is quiet and a little rough in appearance, but I'll say this much for him, Rory has better manners than his older brother. "He hasn't been by. Did you think he would be here?"

Gale bobs his shoulder—the uninjured one. "Sometimes your housekeeper hands out food when you have parties." He practically spits the word "parties".

"It's not really a party," I retort, feeling a slight edge come into my voice. Gale shrugs his hands into his pockets. As much as I'd like to argue, I quickly shake off my defensiveness. From the outside, this does look like a party. I'm wearing a dress and high-heeled shoes. Gale has no way of knowing we're not celebrating a damn thing. "I haven't seen your brother," I say calmly. "Do you need help looking?"

"He'll turn up," Gale says.

"Alright," I gulp. "I'd invite you in, but…"

Gale snorts derisively. "See you around, Undersee," he practically laughs as he turns away.

Suddenly, the alley floods with light. We both turn toward the house. The back door has flown wide open. Katniss stands in the threshold in her own pretty party dress the color of deep blue sapphires. Her mouth falls open at the sight of us. "Gale?" she whispers, taking a step out onto the stoop. She looks back and forth between the two of us. Her eyes cloud with questions. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Gale snaps. "I'm leaving." He stalks down the alley at a brisk pace.

Katniss bolts from the stoop, unsurprisingly agile in her leather flats. "Wait!" she cries as she grasps his arm. "Talk to me." Gale pauses, not by the force of Katniss' strength, though I don't doubt her ability to take him, or any person, down if she really wanted to. Gale stares at Katniss' hand on his arm, refusing to meet her pleading eyes. I feel as though I'm infringing on either an intimate moment or the seconds before a brawl. I struggle between a longing to sneak back inside the house to give them privacy and an impolite curiosity to know what happens next.

Luckily for my less well-mannered side, the decision is made for me.

"When did this become an outdoor party?" Peeta says as he steps out of the house. His playful smile instantly turns cold. "Hawthorne?" he says suspiciously.

I expect the camera crew to follow behind Peeta, but he's alone. I breathe a sigh of relief. This situation being exactly what those Capitol scum were hoping to find.

Katniss quickly drops her hand away from Gale's arm. Free from her grasp, he marches on.

"Gale is looking for Rory," I blurt out. Gale freezes mid-step. I don't know what makes me say it. If it's the heartbroken look in Katniss' eye or the simmering anger in Gale's voice or the careful way Peeta approaches these two as if they're a powder keg ready to go off. Faunka would say I'm nosy and want to fix things that are not my place to try to fix. "He's missing," I gulp.

"Missing?" Katniss repeats, looking at Gale.

"Don't worry about it," he says over his shoulder.

"Do you think he came to see Prim?"

"I don't—"

"I'll go find her," Katniss interrupts. She makes a break for the door before Gale can turn around to stop her.

"Be discreet," Peeta whispers as she passes him.

"I know," she whispers back.

The door slips closed behind her, leaving Peeta, Gale, and I in the quiet alley with nothing but faint music coming from the house. A sweet, romantic melody plays on a wind-up record player my father gave to my mother as a gift on the day of their wedding, knowing how much she loves music. As lovely as the song is, it doesn't fit together with the tension out here. Neither Peeta nor Gale deigns to look at the other. Men are impossible. I wrap my arms around my middle to keep warm.

"We came out here to tell you the crew started packing up," Peeta says in my direction.

"Good," I reply. Gale looks up from the ground in question. "A group of people came in from the Capitol today to film Katniss and Peeta. My parents hosted it," I explain. Gale nods and stares back at the ground.

Since my date with Peeta, when he confessed his suspicion that Gale might have had some role in his brief break up with Katniss, I've been, not desperate, but interested in asking Katniss if that was true. The only time I even came close was when Katniss and I were picking berries at the end of the summer. When I asked about Gale, Katniss' replies were abrupt, more so than usual, and she reluctantly admitted she hadn't seen much of him. I could tell from her voice it hurt her to speak about him. That same day we met up with Peeta at his house where he stuffed us with cheese bread and sugar cookies. I never see Katniss smile the way she does with Peeta.

Unfortunately, Gale couldn't look more miserable, even though he is trying very hard to look like he's not feeling anything at all. Stoic and untouchable. I could poke him in the arm with a safety pin right now and he wouldn't react.

We endure the tense silence until Katniss returns with anxiety written across her face. Her eyes are wide and her hands shake like she's struggling to keep still. "Prim is gone," she says in a hoarse whisper. Peeta and I close in around her. Gale doesn't move in or out, just stays rooted in one spot. "I looked all over the house. She was just here and now she's gone."

Peeta takes her shaking hands in his. He ducks down a bit to make himself eye level with her. "It's okay. She's okay," he says like he's placating a small child.

Katniss rips her hand away. "I don't know where she is!" she cries. "What if they—"

"Think for a second," Peeta interrupts. "They have no reason to hurt her. Isn't it more likely she and Rory snuck out?"

Katniss takes a breath and nods. Hurt her? Who would hurt Prim? Surely not the Capitol television crew. I mean, they might be desperate for a story, but desperate enough to harm Katniss' little sister? It's clear from the panic in Katniss' eyes she's contemplating these questions as well. "I have to find her."

"We will."

"Now," she says, sounding like her formally confident self. "Let's go." Katniss walks purposefully down the alley without waiting for anyone who might be following. Gale actually has to take a step back to get out of her way.

"Wait!" I call out. Katniss pauses and looks back over her shoulder. "You can't just leave. It'll look suspicious. They might go looking for you." If the victors leave without a proper goodbye, it could raise a red flag.

"Madge is right," Peeta agrees. "Should we wait until they leave for the train station?" Of course they don't plan to spend the night. That would be taking the District Twelve experience too far.

I don't have much, or rather, any practice at sneaking out. And now is not the time to wander off and tell no one where we're going. Not with Capitol guests and new Peacekeepers patrolling the streets. "Okay, um," I stammer. We can't sneak out, so why not ask permission to leave? As Faunka would say, ask and you shall receive. "Just follow my lead. Or, don't say anything at all." At the last second before I walk through the back door, I turn around and make eye contact with Gale. "Wait here. Please," I instruct, though the "please" probably takes away from my forcefulness. Gale folds his arms and takes a seat against the trashcan. How confident am I that he'll stay? I wouldn't bet a tessera on it.

Katniss and Peeta follow me back into the living room where the crew is putting their cameras and notes away. Mrs. Everdeen appears completely calm, despite the fact that one of her daughters is missing. I'm sure it's an act though, so as not to alarm the Capitol people to any distress. My mother slouches against the arm of the couch, looking completely exhausted. I reconsider leaving for a moment, knowing Mom will need my help getting to bed. I think of Prim and swallow back my concerns. Dad is here. Faunka is here. Even Mrs. Everdeen could help take care of her if needed. I can spare one evening.

Dad stands in the threshold between the hall and the living room, watching the crew. I sidle up beside him with Katniss and Peeta in tow. "Daddy?" I ask carefully. It never hurts to lay it on a little thick. "Katniss and Peeta and I were thinking about going out for a little bit."

"Out?" he replies.

"Just a walk. We'll probably visit Peeta's older brothers at the bakery." I still haven't lied, technically, though there might be some stops between here and there.

"I don't know," Dad says in a low voice. The record has played itself out and he doesn't want to give the crew anymore reason to stay their welcome. "It's not a good time to be wandering around the district at night."

"We'll be careful. Please?" I beg. "I don't get to spend a lot of time with Katniss and Peeta anymore since they stopped attending school." This is fair, I suppose, considering what they went through. Although, the situation has left me with the option of eating lunch with Vesta and Delly every day, which is not ideal. I asked Dad once if I could leave school too if I passed the exams now. No such luck.

Dad heaves a sigh, like he's taking great thought and consideration on the matter, but I can tell right away I've hit the right note. Dad loves it when I enthusiastically take part in social teenage experiences, enough to set me up on them. He leans toward me and whispers in my ear, "Alright. Go out the back. I'll keep these people detained."

I kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you, Dad."

"Take a sweater," he murmurs.

I don't get a chance to grab a sweater unfortunately, because as soon as we've made pleasantries and said our goodnights to Capitol cretins, the three of us are back in the alley where, surprisingly enough, Gale waits perched against the trashcan.

"Nicely done, Madge," Peeta congratulates me.

"Thanks," I say, feeling a little breathless. This is the most rebellious thing I've ever done—if I don't count the underage at the bar thing or the poaching in the woods thing. And neither of those things was done at night so they don't feel as bad. "Where should we go first?"

"She's probably back at your house feeding Lady," Gale mutters without looking any of us in the eye.

Katniss and Peeta nod in agreement and immediately fall into action, walking quickly in the direction of Victor's Village. They're so focused they don't notice the tall alley-creeper is headed in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" I call out. Peeta and Katniss glance back, but keep moving. Prim takes priority over prickly friends.

"Elsewhere," Gale grunts.

It takes some effort to keep up with him because of my shoes and because my legs are much shorter than his. "Rory and Prim are more than likely together, correct? So what sense does it make to for us to split up?" I ask. The question is, of course, rhetorical. While I'm sure Gale is concerned with finding both his brother and Prim, he never considered himself a part of the "us" in the first place. Gale shoots a scowl at me that would normally make me cringe, but I've got so much adrenaline going my mouth keeps talking before my head thinks better of it. "Come on," I say, poking him in the shoulder. He stops and looks down at his shoulder, like I've done damage to it. "Prim needs you and you're holding up the search party." Gale mutters something worthy of Zeke's graffiti-engraved table tops through his teeth. Then he changes direction, if a bit reluctantly. He can spit and moan all he likes, but he'll have insight on where Rory might be, which means he can help us find Prim.

Katniss and Peeta are at least two blocks ahead of us already. I dash as quickly as my heels and the uneven path will allow, while keeping a steady eye on Gale. I fight the temptation to tell him to suck it up. At least he has boots to walk around in.

By the time we get to Katniss' house she's already blown through the front door and calling Prim's name. We pass Peeta walking out of the house just as we make it up the path.

"I'm going to check my house," Peeta informs us.

Gale and I pass through the threshold. Every light has already been hit and the house is steadily quiet, aside from Katniss yelling her sister's name. When Katniss races upstairs, I conduct a cursory glance through the first floor, but I have a feeling it's pointless. Prim isn't the kind of person who would let her sister worry. If she were here, she'd show herself.

I meet up with Gale again in the foyer where he's leaning on the banister with his arms tightly crossed. He's been doing a lot of that tonight. Sulking. I know Katniss and Gale's relationship is strained right now, but would that honestly deter him from helping Prim? I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, of course, because I don't know the whole story and he does have his brother to worry about, too.

My toes are throbbing so I lean against the wall opposite him. "Where have you looked for Rory?" I ask.

"A friend's house, the Hob, school," he rattles off.

And my house, I think. "Does he disappear often?"

"More than he used to." Gale sighs, slouching against the banister, like there's a physical weight draped across his shoulders. "It's hard on my mom. I'm not home enough to keep him in line."

"Oh," I say dumbly, startled that Gale would confide any kind of confession in me. The girl he can't help but subtly mock at every opportunity—as if I'm too daft to pick up on the joke. The boy must be exhausted. Or perhaps he hit his head in addition to his shoulder on his way to the pavement earlier.

Katniss slips down the stairs quickly, barely a wisp against the wood floor. She relays what we've already gathered. "She's not here."

"Well, let's think," I say, trying to keep a level head. I also stand up straight. A good stance and posture reflect a proper state of mind, Faunka's voice recites in my head. "Where might she go? To the park? Or the bakery maybe? Maybe she went back to your house with Rory." I gesture toward Gale.

He snorts. "Unlikely," he mumbles.

Katniss, who has been listening to Gale's grumblings for years, doesn't miss it. "What does that mean?"

Gale holds his hands up in a defensive pose. "Nothing."

"Gale, if you know something—"

"Prim doesn't come by our house anymore," he snaps. "Why would she be there now?"

"It's not safe for her to walk around by herself. And we both know I'm not welcome."

Gale perks up and gathers close to Katniss, getting right into her face. Katniss doesn't blink. "Do not put this on me. You made your choice," he seethes.

Having very little firsthand information, I don't follow much of their argument. I was under the impression that Katniss does stop by the Hawthorne residence to share her hunting haul. But I also know that Rory goes on his own hunting trips and Gale hasn't mentioned anything about it, so perhaps a lot that goes on at Gale's house that he doesn't know about.

Katniss defiantly breaks away from Gale and moves to the hall closet, removing a heavy wool jacket that doesn't match her dress at all. However, it looks warm and I think about asking to borrow one. She sweeps it around her shoulders in one fluid motion. "You can hate me, but if Prim gets hurt—"

"You think I hate you?" Gale interrupts. His hands form fists at his side.

Well, if the pouting and the sulking and the harsh words are any indication…

"I don't know what you think anymore. You never talk to me. Peeta says if I wait—"

"Do not start quoting the dough boy," Gale barks. "And I haven't said anything because I have nothing to say. So keep on thinking what you're thinking."

I gasp at that more audibly than Katniss does. Sure, there are plenty of people I wouldn't put it past Gale to hate. Me, for instance. I've been victim to enough of his backhanded compliments to know I'm not his favorite person. But Katniss? Why should he hate her? It doesn't make sense. Surviving the Games should have brought them closer. That's what it's done for Katniss and me. But obviously there's something unresolved between them that's holding them back. Something Gale can't seem to forgive. And I have a bad feeling it's Peeta.

Speaking of the baker, he returns from his house a little out of breath. He sees Gale standing in an intimidating pose over Katniss and quickly inserts himself right next to his girlfriend. "What's going on?" he says in a low voice that doesn't match the natural huskiness of Gale's voice, but it's a fair attempt. Gale takes a step back.

Katniss ignores the question. "Did you find Prim?" she pleads.

Peeta touches her elbow, as though physical contact will soften the blow. "She wasn't there."

Fear crosses Katniss' features. I'm so accustomed to seeing Katniss cool and collected, it's unnerving to see her scared. We have to find Prim immediately. "Maybe we should split up," I suggest.

"You just said we shouldn't split up," Gale says.

Oh, really? Now you're going to fight me on this? "The ability to be flexible is an important part of creating a successful plan," I quote. That might have been a mix of several different Faunka-isms. Gale lifts an eyebrow at me. As if he's in a position to judge anyone's behavior.

"Katniss and I will go to the bakery and look around town. Can you check back at your house?" Peeta asks helpfully.

Gale waits a beat before answering. Perhaps he didn't expect the "dough boy" to talk to him so civilly. Then again, Peeta missed the fight. "Yeah. Fine," he says.

"If you find her, meet back here," Katniss instructs. She and Peeta waste no time moving swiftly down the path—Katniss a half step ahead of Peeta because of his limp. Gale cuts across the front lawn without a glance back at me or Katniss and Peeta. Come to think of it Katniss and Peeta don't seem expectant to me to follow either, which leads me to question what I actually meant when I made that suggestion about splitting up. Was I thinking of Katniss or was I thinking of Gale? I mean, I would be crazy to go with the grumpy, sullen, alley-skulker, right? Then again, Katniss and Peeta don't really need my help. Someone needs to keep an eye on Gale.

Crazy it is then.

Unfortunately, I can't follow Gale with much stealth. My shoes completely betray me. First with my toes. Now with the noise. Gale twists around "What are you doing?" he asks, his voice filled with annoyance.

I slow down my pace and approach him slowly—as one might approach a rabid animal. "Looking for Prim and Rory."

Gale rolls his eyes so dramatically I fear he's going to pull a muscle. "Go along with Katniss and the cream puff," he tells me with a dismissive wave of his hand. I'm taken aback for a moment by the variety of the insults Gale has on hand for Peeta. When I catch sight of his back again, I forge ahead. Gale hears the click-clack sound of my shoes coming toward him and stops walking. "I'm going to the Seam," he says to me like I'm a moron.

Now it's my turn to roll my eyes. "I've been to the Seam," I respond.

"Congratulations."

As painful as it is for my toes I can't help shifting my weight to one side and crossing my arms. "I'd chalk your surliness up to your spat with Katniss, but you're always this way."

"I'm not surly. I'm pissed off."

"You don't have to convince me."

Gale runs a hand down his face and groans. "Look, I've had a shitty night and I don't need some prissy townie following me around."

A prissy townie! He calls Peeta childish names, gets into a convoluted, snarky fight with Katniss, and he calls me prissy? I drop my hands to my sides, stand up straight with my shoulders back, shake off any discomfort from my shoes or the cool autumn night, and look him directly in the eye. I'm thankful for my heels as they lift me just above his collar bone. When it comes to intimidation I need the height. "Think of it this way. If we do find Prim, you're probably not in the mood to return her to Katniss. And aren't you fortunate to have a prissy townie on hand to escort her home?"

I don't know what Gale expected me to say, but it wasn't that, and he definitely didn't expect me to stick around when he told me to scram. Funny. You'd think with all that time he spent with Katniss he'd be used to stubborn women.

Gale releases a strangled growl of exasperation, but fails to offer any argument. He's clearly reached the end of his patience, succumbing to surrender.

I walk alongside him since he doesn't tell me to do otherwise. While I have been to the Seam, it's not as familiar to me as my own neighborhood. I've only been on the school trips to the mines. And the tavern; if that counts. But that's the extent of my expertise. And I'd be lying if I said the unfamiliarity and the plethora of criss-crossing dark alleys didn't make me nervous. However, that's not exactly a fair assessment. The only place I've ever been "attacked" was behind my own home after all.

Gale defers far from the main road; the one that leads toward the mines. I try to keep track of the directions but he meanders through so many cut backs and back alleys I get completely turned-around. We're not in the "good" part of the Seam either. This is that slightly darker spot on my father's housing map—darker because the houses are so tightly packed the ink runs together. We pass more than one huddle of miners gathered in the street. Their gazes lock on me every time. I couldn't stand out more with my red dress and red shoes and probably red face. It's so cold my nose starts running. My feet hurt and I barely keep up with Gale's wide strides. Would he take me home if I asked? And why haven't we found Prim yet? What if the news crew really was behind her disappearance?

Finally, we stop in front of a nondescript gray house with no shutters and a horribly chipped front door. "Wait here," Gale says coldly.

Very funny, I think. Throwing that back in my face. He slams the door behind him; however, the latch is worn and it bounces back open a hair. I lean close to the door, hoping to hear something, but the house, much like the neighborhood, is quiet. With Gale out of sight I can truly express my weakness to the cold and my aching feet. I practically fall against the doorframe and hug my body as it shivers. How humiliating would it be if I asked to borrow a sweater? And more importantly, am I willing to suffer any humiliation in the presence of Gale after he accused me of being a prissy townie? Maybe I'll reconsider when my toes fall off.

The door creaks open a smidgen wider. My attention is drawn to tiny fingers holding the door open. One soft gray eyeball peeks at me from the gap. Surprised, I wave awkwardly at the little person. She or he scurries away with the speed of a frightened rabbit. Interacting with young children has never been a natural talent of mine. I haven't had much practice, but I always feel like I bore them. Making that little one run away at the sight of me is a new low.

A few seconds pass and the door opens again. This time a tall, somewhat shabby, yet imposing woman stands in the threshold. The little spy from the gap hides behind her legs.

"Gale? Did you leave a young lady out on the stoop?" she deadpans.

Yes! He most certainly did! Since the question isn't directed at me however, I keep my mouth shut. She doesn't strike me as the kind of woman it would be wise to talk back to.

She opens the door wider and says in a motherly tone, "Come in. Sit down and warm up."

"Thank you," I reply sincerely. The house is surprisingly warm in temperature. Not so much in the décor. Faded sheets pinned to the walls decorate the single room that acts as kitchen, dining, and living room. There's not much beyond the bare essentials: a table with only four chairs, a dusty stove and sink, a couch covered with massive stacks of meticulously folded laundry. Gale's mother is a washerwoman. We've never taken her up on her services because we have Faunka. And she makes me fold my own laundry.

"I don't believe we've met," she says, casting a furtive glance at Gale. "I would remember my son bringing home a girl like you."

I mentally choke on the absurdity of that statement. As if Gale would ever bring me home to meet his family. He didn't even let me come in the house. "Madge Undersee," I say to introduce myself, trying not to let any nervousness sneak into my voice.

"Mrs. Hawthorne. Lovely to meet you, though the circumstances could be better." She gestures to the one open spot on the couch, offering me a seat. The cushion flattens uncomfortably under my weight, but it feels amazing to be off my feet. "So, you're looking for my second born?"

"And Prim Everdeen. She's gone missing from a get together at my house."

"Neither one has been here I'm afraid."

"It's important that we find them both. There's a crew of people from the Capitol in town. And it's just not safe in the district right now, especially at night. My dad plans to impose a curfew, but he has trouble with enforcement, both with the Peacekeepers and with the offenders," I ramble on and on.

Gale and his mother exchange glances. They're doing that horrible Madge said something stupid thing Delly and Vesta do when I say something…well…not stupid, but something socially clumsy. I run the sentence through my head again. Oh god. I ran my mouth about Peacekeepers and lawbreakers in a household of poachers!

"I see," Mrs. Hawthorne says politely. "Gale, may I speak with you in the other room?" Without words, he follows her into an adjacent room. No more than five seconds after they've exited a little boy with a handful of corncob dolls is booted into the living room. He sniffs indignantly but goes uncomplaining around the chairs and under the kitchen table with his dolls and continues playing.

I bury my face in my hands. I can't believe I stuck my foot in my mouth like that. Thank god my family is a regular customer of Gale and Rory's or their mother would think I was trying to get them in trouble!

There's a gentle pat-pat-pat on my shoulder. I lift my head out of my hands to see the little person who spied on me. Her wild, long, and curly hair makes it very apparent she's a girl. I should thank her for telling her mother I was outside. "I'm Posy Hawthorne. You have a pretty face."

It's impossible not to smile back, knowing my nose is runny and my hair is probably a mess. Posy Hawthorne just became my favorite person. "It's nice to meet you, Posy. And thank you."

"And I like your shoes." She points at my feet.

Ugh.These shoes. "They are nice. Or they would be if they fit." I lean forward and slip the accursed things off. I almost faint with relief when I stretch my toes. "They were my mother's."

Posy sits on the floor and pokes one of the heels. "All my clothes are for boys." She pouts. Her pants are rolled up brown corduroys with patches on the knees. Her shirt is a similarly colored brown sweater she has yet to grow into. Poor, little thing in her brothers' hand-me-downs. No wonder I couldn't tell if she was a girl or boy at first. I have hand-me-downs too, but at least they're girls' clothes.

"I guess I'm lucky to have only had aunts." I shrug. The youngest Hawthorne brother hiding under the kitchen table ignores us happily. He keeps to his dolls, which I notice after a second look aren't dolls in the traditional sense. One has four arms and another has sticks coming out of its head like antlers. I had so much more growing up. How can families living only a few miles apart live so differently?

Impulsively, I pick up my shoes and put them in Posy's hands. "Here. You keep them." Posy gives me the side eye. She's awful savvy for a four year old. "It'll be our secret," I whisper. "It will be a few years, but they'll fit you one day. Or maybe your brother can trade them for a dress just for you." Her mouth curls into an adorable grin.

The door to the second room opens and without missing a beat Posy holds the shoes tightly and scurries under the table with her brother. Neither Gale nor Mrs. Hawthorne seems to think anything of it.

"Let's go," Gale says flatly. His mother elbows him lightly against his side. He shoots her a dirty look and then adds, "Please."

"Gale! Wait!" Posy crawls out from under the table and flies at her brother with open arms. He scoops her up with a well-rehearsed move. She cups her hand around his ear and whispers something I can't hear. Gale listens with rapt interest. Then he rolls his eyes.

"Don't worry, Pose-Nose. I'll watch out for her." He kisses her on the temple then sets her back down.

He must mean Prim. Watch out for Prim.

As much as I'd like to talk to Posy a bit more or find out what kind of monsters the little boy has made his corncobs into, we still need to find Prim and Rory. "Goodnight, Mrs. Hawthorne."

"Goodnight, dear. Hope to see you again," she says as she closes the door on us.

We walk a few paces from the house. The ground is cold and rocky, but I'll gladly go barefoot rather than walk in shoes that don't fit. "So, where are we headed?" I ask.

Gale shoves his hands in his pockets. Looks to his right. Looks to his left. "I don't know." He takes off to his right. I guess we're winging it.

TBC

A/N: You won't have to wait long for the second half. It's already written. Happy Thanksgiving to the American readers!