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

Warning: Implied hanky panky, if that bothers anyone. Nothing graphic or explicit, just really, really, really implied.

Let It Go

Gale liked to sleep on top of her.

She'd known he was a stomach sleeper. His back had healed, the nerves were numb, but he still had phantom pains shoot through it occasionally and sleeping or lying on it only aggravated things.

That first time they'd shared a bed, simply for sleep, had been back in District Twelve. He'd just needed the comfort of her warmth, her heartbeat and breath, to assure him, after watching Peeta nearly die and Katniss' panic, that he had worth. He'd been a little selfish, he'd even admitted it at the time, to use her as his security blanket. He'd know, somewhere in the back of his thick skull, that she cared about him.

During the night he'd pulled her to him.

It had panicked her, waking to find his weight on her, stomach to stomach, his cheek to her sternum and his breath ghosting over her nightgown.

After he'd found her again, after the Rebellion, she'd refused for months to even share his room when he took her on trips with him. After months more she'd acquiesced to a shared room, then finally the bed. It didn't make any sense, he'd reasoned with her, to take up more room than they needed to. There were other officials and men with the military on those journeys, and the few hotels were quick to fill, she was taking up important space. He'd attempted to use the somewhat same logic with the shower, conserve water, not be wasteful, but Madge felt she had to draw the line at some point

Later she realized he just liked having her in the room with him, and in the bed even more.

She'd woken again to find him nuzzling into her chest, an extension of his 'handsy' behavior she'd still had trouble with from time to time. His hands had wandered up her nightgown, one between her shoulder blades, the other on the small of her back, again, his fingers just below the band of her sleep pants.

Quickly she'd crawled out from under him, pretended to need to use the bathroom. He'd groggily, unaware of what his mindless hands had been doing, nodded to her before falling back fast asleep.

Eventually, she got use to waking with him pressing his nose just below her bust, hands in places she didn't notwant them, but that weren't appropriate for him to touch anyway.

It was how things were. Simple as that.

She really hadn't been paying attention. She was so good at reasoning things out on other people forother people, but when it came to her own relationships she was hopeless and blind.

Then he'd kissed her and things had changed again.

She was terrified. She didn't know what he expected or what she even expected.

Relations, with anyone, had always been a distant, highly unlikely possibility. The only actual talk she'd ever received on the subject had been with her mother, telling her she shouldn't use latex, and Mr. Abernathy warning her against a bevy of diseases, real, imagined, and impossible to transmit through intercourse.

She'd not shared his bed in Two, Hazelle wouldn't allow it, so she'd escaped the inevitable for a while.

Then they'd gone to Six for another military gala.

It was an unpleasant District. Dirty and filled with concrete, hardly a plant or animal in sight. The hotel was every bit as filthy. Ancient with dark brick and a neon red sign, probably taller than she was, that simply read 'Hotel' on top.

He'd taken her hand and led her, to the elevator, then down the hall with shaggy ruby carpet, then to the room.

When they crossed the threshold she surveyed it. The bed was large enough, larger than her parent's bed had been back in Twelve, there was a squishy, comfortable looking couch, and, oh look there, a quite large bathroom for her to lock herself in when this inevitably went south.

Gale seemed oblivious to her discomfort as he started stripping off his outer layers.

She decided to play dumb.

"Gale?"

He'd looked up at her, an expression of perfect innocence on his face.

"Gale there's only one bed."

He frowned, looked at the bed, nodded, then looked back at her, "Yeah."

"Where am I going to sleep?"

"In the bed," his brow creased a little more.

"Then where are you going to sleep?"

"In the…bed?" he seemed utterly confused.

She nodded to herself, "So…we're both sleeping…in the bed."

He probably thought she'd lost her marbles. "Yeah, guess we are."

Her stomach churned and she was certain she was turning the color of that awful kelp the people of District Four always insisted on eating.

Madge retrieved her bag, it had come ahead of them, and prepared to race into the bathroom once Gale finished. She bustled past him when he emerged clad in only his boxers.

Once she had stripped off her dress, tossed the painful shoes away, and pulled those awful hose off her legs she examined herself in the mirror. She was pale and lumpy and she hadn't even worn her nicest underwear. That was the least she could've done, package herself in a little more appealing way. This was going to be a disaster.

The schools didn't teach them about this, which she finds far more important than the many fabulous uses of coal.

She'd watched Capitol programs with the staff, particularly Mrs. Oberst, and they were a little too informative. She also hoped they were a little inaccurate. She's certain she wouldn't survive those acrobatics.

Her hand drug through her hair and tugged out the dozens of pins preventing it collapsing on her and she thought. Her worried mind suddenly jumped to a solution.

District Six was notoriously chilly. Madge had, very brilliantly, brought several sets of long underwear and sweaters. She, less than brilliantly, decided that putting all of them on was the remedy to her problem.

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It wasn't until she opened the door and saw the look of utter bewilderment on Gale's face that she realized how stupid she must look.

"Were you cold?"

She nodded.

As casually as she could, Madge walked to the far side of the bed, picked up the covers, and slipped under.

She was at the very edge, just barely on the mattress, and when Gale reached over and lightly tapped her shoulder she panicked, flailed, and slipped off.

"Madge!"

He dropped off the side down to her. She rolled over, she had on so many layer she felt like one of the turtles she and Posy had seen at the zoo just a few months ago that had flipped on its back and been stuck there until someone flipped him back over.

Gale pulled her up, into a sitting position, and gave her a hard look, "What is wrong with you tonight?"

She could feel herself shaking all over, "Gale, I'm s-sorry."

No tears were falling yet, but she was trembling terribly, like she'd been pulled from a frozen lake. Gale pulled her into his lap and against his bare chest, began rubbing circles on her back, and muttered something that sounded like 'crazy girl' into her hair.

"I can't do it, Gale. Not yet. I'm too scared."

He froze and pulled back, examining her as if she'd just told him she had murdered someone and hidden the body in the closet.

"Madge, you know that's not what I meant. I actually meant we were going to sleep."

Her fingers press to her eyes, "But…"

She's back against his chest and he's chuckling, it tickles her ears, and she forces her face up so that she's looking at his face. He must read the question in her eyes because he kisses her, just a quick reassuring thing, and sighs.

"When you're ready, okay. Not before."

He isn't going to mess this up. She can hear the promise in the tone of his voice.

A weak smile finds its way onto her face.

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It was during an ice storm in Nine when she was ready.

The trees were encased in ice, making them fragile. They shimmered in the sun and reflected the lamp light in the little town they'd gotten stuck in.

They'd lost electricity during the night and Gale had woken and started a fire in the little fireplace by the tiny bed.

Madge had curled into the tiniest ball, trying to conserve her body heat.

"Come here."

He'd crawled back into the bed, back on top of her, pressing his lips to her neck.

"You are freezing!" She'd yelped when his cold nose had nuzzled into her collarbone.

"You hog all the blankets," he murmured against her ear.

Madge rolled her eyes. Even if she did steal all the blankets he was right on top of her, they wouldn't get too far.

Then he reached down and lifted the hem of her gown. Before she could stop him he'd put his face in her stomach, kissing it and blowing raspberries.

It tickled!

"Gale! No!" She'd laughed.

It wasn't fair. He had the high ground.

Slowly the raspberries became less, the kisses more frequent, higher on her stomach, then her ribs, then between her breasts…

Her gown was gone and she was pressed to him, his lips at hers, then her eyes, her jaw, her neck…

She was breathless when he pulled back, nose to nose, a sweetly questioning look in his stormy gray eyes.

Madge took his face in her hands and pulled herself up, kissed him with more ferocity than she'd ever known herself to possess. Her arms found their way around his neck, forcing him down with her.

"Don't you dare stop, Gale Hawthorne."

When it was over they collapsed, neither one so cold anymore. She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers combing through his hair and traveling the lines of his scars and he'd nuzzled contentedly into her neck. Then they fell asleep, with him on top of her.