Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee

Gale is obviously out of breath when they top the last of the low slopes. His face is ruddy and there's heavy sweat trickling along his face, down his neck, disappearing into his shirt as he puts his hands to his knees, doubled over.

Madge stops and turns back as she waits for him, a grin wide on her face.

"Don't you have to be shape to be in the military?" She teases.

A scowl flickers across his face. "I amin shape," he grumbles. "No sane person runs ten miles in this-" he waves his hand up and out at the soupy landscape, "crap."

It's humid, muggy, swampy, however you'd want to put it, Madge would admit that. Summer had ambled in lazily and settled over the open grasslands heavily. The air was constantly thick with moisture, walking outside resulted in taking on the appearance of someone dunked in a lake. Most tried to get as much done in the early hours or late in the evenings when the swelter was more tolerable.

This morning, like most, was sticky and disgusting, but there was almost an undercurrent of chill in the air that the locals had warned Madge meant they'd probably get rain later in the afternoon.

Madge snorts, "There's a nip in the air. This is downright pleasant compared to what'll come later."

He doesn't look encouraged by this.

She watches him arch his back and try to stretch out his muscles.

He keeps coming back to District Ten to see her. She doesn't know why. Some kind of morbid curiosity or maybe he just wants some kind of tether to the past that isn't his family, she isn't sure. He doesn't have Katniss anymore. She doesn't know exactly what happened there and she isn't entirely sure she wants to know or if she is entitled to ask.

They aren't exactly friends, she isn't sure they ever really were even back before the Rebellion. He doesn't hate her, though they'd moved past that, for the most part, during the 74th Games. Madge isn't sure what they are to be honest. He's a guy from her home District and she's a girl from his and he visits her when he's in town, giving a title to whatever their relationship is proves to be an impossible task.

"Why do you run?" He asks her once he's a slightly less crimson color.

She shrugs, "Dunno."

That's the honest truth. She loathesit actually. She hates the burn in her muscles and the stitch in her side. She hates how long it takes. She hates the sweat and the stink.

…but she kind of loves it too.

She loves the ache when she takes a new path and the drumming of her heart. She loves the solidarity, just Madge and her thoughts. It's invigorating.

"Masochism?" She finally offers.

He frowns.

"It means I lik-"

"I know what it means, Undersee," he tells her. She doesn't really think he does, but decides not to press it.

She bounces from foot to foot, then crouches down slightly and throws a little mock punch at him. It makes a small popping noise as her fist collides with his arm.

"Come on, Hawthorne, not gonna let a lil girl out run you are you?"

She turns and takes off, jogging down the incline. She's several yards off when she realizes he isn't trailing behind her.

"I can't carry you," she yells back at him.

Gale is standing on the high ground, arms crossed and a funny look on his face.

Madge huffs and runs back up to him.

"Where'd you learn to box?"

It isn't a question she expected and she freezes up.

"What makes you think I can box?"

He narrows his grey eyes at her, "I've been on the receiving end of one of your punches, remember?"

She lets out a nervous little chuckle. She did indeed remember punching him. He'd caught her trying to escape, trying to keep him from seeing her, and a deep, basic survival instinct had kicked in. It had been a rather lovely right straight that had collided with his nose, not breaking it, but bruising and bloodying it magnificently.

"Lucky shot?" She offers not expecting him to believe her.

He doesn't.

"Just now, you had the proper stance. I recognize it from training. They taught us the basics. Who taught you to box, Undersee?"

"Television?"

His eyes roll heavenward.

Really, it's not a secret. But she feels it's personal. A little nugget of herself that she isn't sure she wants to share with anyone.

She had punched him though, and she had taunted him into running with her…

He's watching her, waiting, and for a moment she considers running off. He hasn't earned the right to know the little highlights of her life. Her memories are all she has left of her old life.

Finally, she balls her right hand into a fist and examines her knuckles.

"My dad."

Confusion flickers across his face. "Mayor Undersee? Why?"

She plants her feet and raises her fists, assuming the proper stance she'd learned a lifetime ago.

"When I was about eight some boys caught me after school. Knocked me around pretty good. Cut my knee, tore my dress, made me cry…" She drops her fists, "Deserved it, didn't I? Mayor's kid? Not like I had any feelings to hurt."

Tears well in her eyes and she blinks them back.

She'd gone home looking a mess. Her mother had gone into hysterics ("My baby, my baby, my baby…") and upset Madge even more before her father was able to get home and settle them both down. After he'd bandaged her knees and cleaned her up he'd taken her to the basement and begun teaching her the very basics of boxing.

"Life won't be kind, Magdalene. You have to learn to take care of yourself. Fighting isn't always the answer, but if worse comes to worse, you'll have to defend yourself," he'd told her when she asked why the boys had been so mean and why she needed to learn to bob and weave.

Now it seemed, her life was mostly bobbing and weaving, ducking and dodging. He'd done a good job then.

"You didn't deserve it, Madge. You were a little kid. They shouldn't have hurt you. They were assholes." He makes a face, "Guess I was an asshole to you too, huh?"

She brushes it off, "Gale-"

"No. I was. Why you ever bothered being decent to me I'll never know."

Madge wants to laugh, tell him 'sticks and stone may break my bones, but words will never hurt me'. Honestly, though, the words, the glares, all the ill will slung at her for something she had not one iota of control over had done far more damage than that group of bratty boys could have ever hoped.

"Why didn't you teach Katniss and Peeta how to box? Before the Quarter Quell?"

It's a good question. She should have seen it coming. Her mind is already forming all the ways he's going to be furious at her for this, for withholding something that could have potentially helped Katniss during the Games.

"Sometimes, in fighting, you need to know when to throw a punch and when to watch for them to make a move. Wait for an opening." She runs her hand over her sweaty hair, "I didn't think either one of them was ready to learn that. I didn't want to be the one to teach them the skill that got them killed. They needed to focus on building on what they were already good at, not try to hobble together a new ability. So I gave them something I thought was infinitely more valuable, support and what little information I had."

Gale doesn't look entirely happy with the answer, and truthfully she isn't either, but it had been her justification at seventeen and so she offered it.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he sighs.

"Alright," he nods. He takes deep breath and looks around; maybe he's planning on leaving her.

He chews on his lower lip, "I-I don't understand, not really. It made sense to you though…and, I guess, in the end, it didn't matter. It's irrelevant."

Madge can only stare, waiting for him to change his mind.

"You're-you're letting it go?" She can't keep the edge of suspicion out of her voice.

Gale nods slowly, "Yeah, guess I am."

Madge wrinkles her nose, "Really?"

"Really."

Tiny smiles creep onto both their faces. They stand there, in the early morning light on the knoll in the middle of the prairie, and take in the much more pleasant warmth of what they both felt had finally happened.

Their relationship, by whatever name they decided on, wasn't as brittle a thing as Madge had imagined. It didn't shatter with the revelation that she hadn't been as helpful as Gale felt she could have been, that she had place emotional support above tactical maneuvers.

Maybe they're friends after all.