Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.
Nettling
Madge was already annoyed with him and the day had just begun. He'd talked her into sharing a room with him again, they'd done it on their last few trips, but this time he'd booked one with only a single bed.
"I told them two beds," he explained to her, trying and failing to look innocent.
Madge had crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. After she'd gone to the desk to demand another room, only to find them all occupied, she'd returned and tossed her bags onto the little couch.
Gale grabbed them off and put then next to the bed.
"You take the bed. I messed up, I'll take the couch."
"You won't fit on the couch." He'd end up with a crick in his neck and she wasn't in the mood to rub it out.
Things had gone downhill from there.
When they'd gone to dinner one of the local magistrates took a sudden shine to Madge, talking to her for most of the evening and asking her to dance several times; something that hadn't sat well with Gale when she'd finally accepted one of the offers.
"You really should leave Ten," he'd told her as the evening died. "It's just a dead end for someone with as much promise as you. Your father was a mayor, am I right?"
Madge nodded, backing away from him. He wore too much cologne and ate too much of the seasoned dip, the combination was nauseating to her.
"Perhaps you could join one of the committees? If you wanted a position there are some avenues I could direct you to."
She felt a hand slid around her waist, settle at her hip, and pull her back against something solid.
Gale's hand pressed into her, wrinkling her dress slightly, as he held her to him and glared at the magistrate from over Madge's shoulder. "If she wants on a committee Ican help her."
The man had nodded, looking a little flustered. His eyes flickered from Gale's hand clutching at Madge, to Madge's fancy dress, then to Gale's irritated glare. "Of course, General. I didn't realize Miss Undersee was, ah, with you."
Madge felt her face heat up. Gale was pressing her into him almost obscenely. Like she was his toy and the man had dared to try and play with her.
He'd rushed off, casting frightened looks at Gale as he did.
"Gale!" She narrowed her eyes at him, pushing his hand from her and backing away.
"He was staring right down your dress!"
"Like you don't stare down girls' dresses all the time," she huffed.
It was a low blow and she knew it. Gale was much less dirty minded since the Rebellion, less inclined, at least since she'd been reacquainted with him, to have wandering eyes and hands than he had when she'd known him before. Still, she wasn't fairly positive the man hadn't been looking, though she wasn't completely certain. Either way, she didn't need a bodyguard. She could take care of herself. She always had, and it nettles her for him to think she couldn't.
"Fine," he growled. "Next time I won't help."
She pressed her fingers to her temple. "It isn't the help-"
"Whatever."
He'd thrown up his hands and stormed off, already a little tipsy, she'd later realize.
She'd gone on a walk around the golf course behind the hotel, over the lighted bridge on the lake on the grounds, then through the garden of prickly plants before heading back in with the plan to shower and go to sleep, hoping for a better tomorrow.
Her feet were halfway through the lobby when she glanced over and saw Gale still sitting at the bar. It was well past midnight and the poor hotel workers, a group of pimply facedt, exhausted looking youths, were eyeing him warily.
"He won't get up," one of them told her when she asked.
"The bar cut him off half an hour ago and he just won't leave."
So, in the interest of saving the staff from the wrath of Gale, Madge had taken up the seat beside him. He was staring at his now empty glass, clutching it in his hands.
"Gale," she whispered, "it's time for bed."
He turned his unfocused gaze to her, trying to steady her in his eyes. "Madge?"
His mouth turned up and he released his glass, reaching out and pulling her to him, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply.
"Are you smellingme, Gale?"
"You smell nice."
He smelled like alcohol. Reeked of it. She wondered how many glasses he'd downed before they'd cut him off.
She stood and pulled him from his seat, letting him lean into her.
"Lift your feet," she grunted. He'd gotten heavier since the last time she'd helped him stumble drunkenly anywhere.
His face stayed pressed into her hair, "I was-sh trying to hel-lp you."
She nodded, "I know."
"Why d'you get s-so mad?" His nose pressed into her cheek and his harsh breath filtered past her nose, she cringed.
"I'm not a possession. You can't just scare off anyone I talk to."
He grunted and she sighed. Maybe she'd try to talk to him about it when his hangover abated…in a couple days.
She tugged him toward the buttons for the elevator only to have him make a strangled noise and pull her to the stairwell door.
"We are not taking the stairs." He was nowhere near steady and she wasn't strong enough to lug him up them.
"No elevator."
His eyes flickered over the silver plated doors as the little bell signaled it had reached them before he yanked Madge by the arm through the door to the stairs.
Feet unsteady and painfully off balance, he began climbing the steps, dragging Madge behind him.
"Gale!" It was seven floors up. He was drunk and she was in heels. It was a bad choice in all directions.
"No elevator." He grunted again, giving her a tug up the step.
They'd made it up to the second flight when Madge's right heel slipped. She started to fall, but managed to catch herself on the railing, screaming, hitting her elbow, and guiding herself down in a controlled slide to the landing. She sat, feet still propped on the lowest steps out in front of her, catching her breath and wondering if the hotel had cameras in the stairwell.
Gale must've seen her fall, because before she's even started to get up he's stumbled down to her, dropping to his knees and hovering over her.
"God, Madge, you'v-ve got to be more careful."
She's seconds away from telling him if she hadn't been being dragged by a drunk up seven flights then she would have been careful, when he begins running his hands along her ankles, up to her knees, then grabs her hands.
"What are you doing?"
He reaches over her. "I-uh heard s-something hit."
How he heard that over her yelp she doesn't know. She rubs her sore arm. "It was my elbow."
Gale takes her arms and runs his fingers over the reddened area gently. She hasn't even formed the words 'thank you' when she feels his lips press to it, feather light.
"All better."
Before she can stop herself she grins at him, "I hurt my butt too."
Madge is eternally grateful he's always been a mostly good-natured drunk when he snorts, "Well r-roll ov-er."
She laughs as she looks at the stairs stretching upward. They'll never make it up.
"Gale," she pulls her legs back to her, crosses them, "can we please take the elevator?"
He can't make it up the stairs himself and she really doesn't want to try it again.
A few seconds pass and he stares at her elbow, he's still holding it, rubbing his thumb over the mark. His eyes flicker up the stairs then back to her, softening on her arm, thinking.
"It reminds me of the mines."
Of course.
Madge feels her mouth go dry. She hadn't even made the connection, probably wouldn't have. The mines hadn't been the looming terror in her life that they had in his.
She scoots closer to him and runs her hands up his arm, "I'm sorry. I didn't even think about that."
"Of cours-se you di-didn't," he snorts.
Her hand yanks back. She should've known better than to offer her poor comfort.
She starts to stand when he pulls her back down and to him. "I d-didn't mean it like it s-s-sounded-d."
They sit on the landing for several minutes, Gale stroking Madge's hair, fingers slowly working the loose waves out. His breathing is a little uneven.
"Every day we got on them. Down. Up. Every day. I'd pray they kept working. I used to wonder what would h-happen if they decided to cut the electricity while we w-were down there. I thought I was going to die down there. Like my d-dad." He sighed, rubbed his free hand over his eyes as he sat back against the wall. "They made all thes-se noises. Always thought the cables-s would sn-snap. And they'd-d jerk, make you feel l-like you w-were gon-na fall."
He stares off, remembering the dark pit he'd been lowered into day in and day out.
Madge wrapped her arms around his waist, awkwardly, and gave him a little squeeze.
She holds him for a few more minutes, waiting for his breathing to steady out, thinking about what she wants to say.
"These aren't elevators to the mines." She cranes her face up to look at him, "I'll be with you. The whole way."
His eyes drift closed and she worries he's passed out. She's begun planning how she's going to get him out and up to their room, when he jerks, lumbering up. He stretches, his dress shirt hikes up a little and she catches a glimpse of the muscles of his stomach before he turns back to her and grabs her hands, hauling her to her feet.
"Let's go to bed."
################################
Gale's eyes flicker from the seam of the doors to the lighted numbers as they wait for the elevator to slide open for them. His hand, fingers laced with Madge's, is clammy.
When the bell chimes and the doors open his face pales.
After a moment's hesitation he nods and walks on, still crushing Madge's hand.
As the doors shut he lets go and curls his arm around her shoulder, pulling her to his chest. He toys with her hair as he continues to watch the numbers tick by until they reach their floor. He pulls her, practically picks her up and carries her bodily off, just in case the doors decide to shut or the cables snap.
Her hand wraps in his again and she pulls him to the room, keying in the access number, and leading him in.
"Get ready for bed."
She changes in the bathroom while he drops to the couch and begins trying to take off his boots.
By the time she's put on her pajamas, undone her hair, and brushed her teeth, he's only managed to take off one boot.
"Oh, Gale."
She drops down in front of him and unties his other boot, yanking it off, before helping him unbutton his shirt. He watches her fingers quickly work each one through their hole, then her hands slip under his shirt, over his shoulders, pushing it off.
"You should've l-let me help you get undressed," he mumbles with a smirk.
Madge leans forward and rubs her nose with his, "No, and you're on your own with your pants."
He groans.
She pulls down the sheets, smoothes them, and fluffs the pillows before turning to find him struggling to pull his dress pants off.
"St-stupid mat-erial."
Madge covers her mouth to keep her amusement in. He's going to hurt himself, twisting and fighting on the couch with his pants.
"Stand up," she tells him as she crawls over the bed and jumps in front of him.
She pulls him to standing, notices he hasn't even unbuttoned and unzipped, and shakes her head.
"You're a helpless drunk."
Her fingers quickly unfasten and unzip him before tugging his pants down.
"Sit," she commands, and he complies, falling back to the couch with an amused grin.
With a final tug he's in his boxers and undershirt and she's tumbled back onto the floor. He stares at her, eyes running along the hem of her nightgown and the hints of her sleep pants underneath. Her face warms.
"You must think I'm pretty st-stupid, huh?"
She snorts, "No, those pants really had a strangle hold on you."
His face flickers with annoyance as she gets to her feet. He reaches out and takes her hand.
"I meant ab-bout the elevator."
His hand tightens around hers, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles. Madge reaches her free hand out, runs it through his hair, smoothing the back.
She can't even imagine what it must've been like, to be lowered into that hellhole day after day. To never know, with any certainty, if he'd come back up, see sunlight and breathe fresh air ever again. To have to go into the same endless misery that had taken his father.
"Never."
He watches her, grey eyes fixed on blue, searching for any hint of insincerity in them.
A little yelp escapes her lips when he suddenly yanks her forward, arms crushing her tightly to him. His face presses into her stomach, she can feel his hot breath through the fabric of her nightgown. It sends goose bumps up her arms and a shiver down her spine.
After a few stunned seconds, her pounding heart and uneven breathing calm slightly, and she manages to wrap her arms lightly around his neck and shoulders where they press into her. He's actually much more manageable at this level. She toys with the ends of his hair that tease at the nape of his neck.
They stay like that for several long minutes before Madge hears Gale softly snoring against her.
When she pulls back, tries to tug him with her to the bed, he blinks blearily up at her, hints of confusion in his drunken eyes.
"No," he shakes his head. "I m-messed up. You get the b-bed."
She crouches down and heaves him up, his shoulder over hers, guiding him to the bed.
"You're too tall for the couch."
"Bu-"
"You-just stay on your side and I'll stay on mine, alright?"
He freezes and looks down at her through his dark lashes, waiting for her to say something else.
"Serious?"
She nods.
His mouth starts to turn up, she can see the little traces of his dimples forming. In one smooth move, much smoother than his drunken state should've allowed, he tosses her to the bed, sliding in after her.
Madge scrambles away, causing him to laugh at her scandalized look.
He's on his stomach, has his pillow tucked under his cheek, arms wrapped around it, as he watches her crawl to the far side of the bed and pull the covers up to her chin. She rolls to her side, back to him. Normally she sleeps on her back or on her other side, but since she doesn't feel like staring at him as she drifts to dream land this is the best decision. She mutters, "'Nite, Gale."
Eyes closed, heavy and burning, she's seconds from sleep, when she feels his calloused fingers in her hair. At first she ignores it, pretends to have already gone to sleep, then he reaches under the blanket and gives her a pinch. She yelps.
"I know you aren't asleep."
Madge rolls over and glares. "How's that?"
He's grinning, like he has some secret. "You breathe different." The grin slips, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry you got hurt."
Gale's fingers reach out and run over her elbow. It's perfectly fine now, she may or may not get a small bruise.
"It's fine." She starts to roll back over, but he stops her.
"What?" It's annoying. She's tired and sore and her eyes burn. He may be drunk and chatty, but she isn't.
"I don't look down girls' dresses."
For a moment she just stares at him. Of all the thing for him to bring up…Madge snorts.
"I know Gale. I'll never besmirch your honor with such slander again."
His eyes narrow, his sluggish mind trying to work through what she's said, then he nods, looking satisfied. "Good."
She thinks that's the end, but his hand stays on her, resting on her elbow, fingers wrapping around it and keeping her from turning her back to him. His eyes drift shut and his breathing slows.
Annoyed as she is that he's clinging to her, but comfortable none the less, Madge closes her eyes.
Her mind tells her to uncurl his fingers from her elbow, but she finds she likes the security it offers. Warm and rough against her cool arm, the weight of it providing something solid for her to hold onto as her other hand sneaks up and comes to a rest on his.
Heavy lids drift shut and she feels the bed shift a little as her mind shudders into sleep. Weighty warmth covers her, wraps around her, and she sighs into it.
Her irritation ebbs. It isn't his fault he's anxious about the elevators, it's something they can work on. She can't make it up the stairs in heels, especially if he makes getting drunk a running occurrence. She sincerely hopes he doesn't though.
It isn't his fault the hotel gave them only one bed, though he'd been talking about sharing for a trip or two now, so she suspects he may have been lying in some way or another about that.
She'll have to work with him over his possessiveness too; she can't function if he doesn't trust her judgement. She's taken care of herself for years; she needs a friend, not a knight…especially not an inebriated one.
Madge sighs again and pulls the solid warmth closer to her.
They'll talk in the morning.