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

Nettling, pt 2

Gale didn't understand why she was so defensive.

He'd only been trying to help her, protect her from that filthy lecher. The old man, he was old enough to be her father, had been leering at her, chatting her up all night, slowly wearing her down to a dance. Gale had watched him the whole time, trying to catch the man's eyes and warn him to keep his hands where Gale could see them, to no success. He didn't touch her inappropriately, but he was thinking about it, had the look of a man wanting to make a move, so when he cornered her and Gale saw her step away, hemade his move.

The bastard had the gall to tell her he would help her get on a committee.

"If she wants on a committee I can help her."

Gale pressed her to him, wrapped an arm protectively around her middle, let the man know Madge wasn't as alone as he thought. He was happy to see the old man pale a little, stumble over himself as he took in the woman he'd thought was such an easy picking and the intimidating man letting him know she was anything but.

"Of course, General. I didn't realize Miss Undersee was, ah, with you."

Damn right she is.

As soon as the man scurried off Madge rounded on him.

"Gale!"

She looked mortified, her cheeks bright with color though she hadn't had even a sip of alcohol.

"He was staring right down your dress!" He defended himself. How could she possibly be mad? He was helping her!

"Like you don't stare down girls' dresses all the time," she grumbled.

Do not!

"Fine," he growled back. "Next time I won't help."

Her fingers began rubbing her temples. "It isn't the help-"

"Whatever."

He didn't care. Let her get rubbed on by those dirty old men she was too polite to tell off. Gale wasn't going to ride to her rescue again.

He threw his hands up and left, concentrating on keeping his already confused feet from tangling with each other. When he turned back he saw her furiously storming out.

She was gone.

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The barkeep had eyed him warily when he asked for the strongest stuff they had and to 'keep it coming'.

"She'll come back," the blond barkeeper told him. He looked annoyingly like one of Mellark's brothers.

With a roll of his eyes, Gale turned his glass up, trying to get the last drops from the bottom. What did he know? Madge was the champion of disappearing, she might be half way back to Ten, Nine, Three, by now, who knew?

She hadn't yelled, but then she rarely did. Her eyes had blazed though. She was more annoyed than he'd seen her since the first Games, when he'd been so awful to her…

"She will," the barkeeper told him again. "You didn't have much to worry about, you know? You're a good looking guy, she was just making nice with the old man."

Gale leveled him in his unsteady gaze. What was he talking about?

The man must have noticed his confusion, was probably use to drunks losing track of their conversations with him, because he smiles.

"You're girlfriend. She was just being nice with that guy. You didn't have to mark your territory, he didn't have a chance."

His sluggish mind slowly processed the lost Mellark's words.

"She isn't my girl-girlf-friend." Gale finally manages to stutter out. "And w-what'd'ya mean 'mark my territory'?"

The man laughs even though Gale doesn't see anything funny about the situation.

"Not your girl, huh? Coulda fooled me." He smirks, "You glared every guy down that came within ten feet of her, looked ready to blow an artery when the old man danced with her, then practically hiked your leg and peed on her when he started putting the moves on."

Gale glared at him.

He had not. He'd only been protecting her, helping her.

Madge was his friend, his good friend, his very pretty friend that was too nice to assholes that didn't know their boundries-

"Oh."

The barkeeper gave him a sympathetic smile. "You didn't know, did you?"

Gale shook his head, a bad move, the room began to swim.

He liked Madge.

Of course, he liked her, she was his friend. He wouldn't have spent time with her, worked with her, gotten her back out into the world if he hadn't.

He knew she was pretty, he'd always known that, had appreciated that she was attractive even back in Twelve when he couldn't stand her. He'd never really minded seeing her, with her pretty dresses and ribbons, wide blue eyes and soft curves.

He'd even developed a little crush on her, a mutual flirtation, for the durations of the Games, something he'd squelched out with each reminder of Katniss and his long standing attraction to her.

During the course of the last year and a half he'd grown more affectionate with her. He would admit it, he liked touching her, keeping her close to him. He'd told himself it was for comfort, she had an aura of calm around her constantly, a well practiced façade from years of being hostess to Capitol idiots. Much as he hated to admit it, he needed that tranquility, he possessed none of it himself.

But he likedher. How had that happened?

She traveled with him, helped him to not alienate the morons that permeated the official positions within the government, guided him through the strange new world he was helping to create with her knowledge of the old one. He had the sudden, horrible realization that she was helping him to survive.

He groaned.

The barkeeper chuckled, "She's pretty. She seems to like you, she wouldn't be here otherwise. Why so upset?"

"Because," Gale rubbed his hand over his eyes. This was a disaster.

"Because?"

"Because this happened last time." And it hadn't ended well. He'd fought for Katniss, thought he had the upper hand, might even have had it at some point, but she'd picked Mellark. Maybe because of Gale's bomb, maybe because Mellark was just the better guy, the guy Katniss couldn't survive without.

"Last time?" The barkeeper shrugged, "Well, what's different thistime? Anything?"

There's no other guy fighting me for her attention.

Not really, old men didn't count.

He presses his finger to his eyes, racks his brain.

Madge was quiet, like Katniss had been, though for a different reason. Madge's was learned, controlled, while Katniss' had been stunted, born of the trauma of her father's death and her mother's retreating into her own mind.

Katniss had been the figurehead of the Revolution, made television appearances, grand moments of unfiltered her that spurred the country to fight back. Madge was in the background, not among the puppet masters that had so used Katniss, but not quite beyond their control either. Her moments were small, tiny efforts to make even the smallest of differences in the lives of the people immediately around her. Her true self was always filtered and muted, to protect the ungrateful people of the District who would've been so easily squashed by her misbehavior.

They both had shied away from physical affection. Despite all the kissing he and Katniss had done, though, she wasn't as pliant as Madge. Perhaps because Katniss had Prim she hadn't been as starved for attention as Madge had so clearly been. Before her father's death, he'd been a positive force for Katniss, and her mother had been well then. Madge didn't seem to have benefited from that. Her parents seemed to care for her, but her mother was sick and her father busy. She wasn't a push over, their spat over the sleeping situation made that abundantly clear, but she wantedthe attention so much more than Katniss had.

It made is stomach turn, to realize he'd used her clear need for affection to fulfill his unconscious desire for a physical anchor.

Gale downed another drink. He was too sober for this shit, and he didn't want to be if she didn't come back.

################################

When she turned up next to him, he'd breathed her in, just to make sure she was real. Only Madge smelled like Madge.

He could only remember snatches of the conversation.

"I'm not a possession. You can't just scare off anyone I talk to."

In his drunken state he couldn't process her words as well as he would've liked to, but later he would remember them, try to keep them in mind.

He didn't want to lose her.

Because after several uncounted drinks, before the barkeeper had cut him off, he'd come to the crippling realization that he needed her. Losing her was unthinkable. She'd become the one thing he couldn't survive without.

Vaguely he remembered taking the stairs, a stupid move that had caused Madge to fall, hurt her elbow. Much as he hated the elevator, he would rather brave it than chance knocking her down again.

She'd helped him undress for bed, something he knew most people wouldn't have done, considering his behavior and how much it had upset her. He'd watched her with a grin as she'd unbuttoned and unzipped him, his mind selfishly wondering if he'd ever get the chance to have her help him out of his clothing for a reason other than sleeping.

When she started to pull him to the bed he'd remembered how irritated she'd been and backed away, only to have her tell him to 'just stay on your side and I'll stay on mine'.

Then they'd settled down and she'd turned her back to him. His heart stuttered. He needed to see her, not her back, her. So he'd apologized for making her fall, hoping that would keep her facing him. When she started to turn over again he panicked and remembered her comment about looking down girls' dresses.

"I don't look down girls' dresses."

She seemed confused, but was important she know. His mind tells him she needs to know he isn't looking at other girls. Just her. Only her.

Her response is muddled, he tries to think on it, but he's tired and drunk and only can register that it sounded positive, like she believed him, so he nodded. "Good."

There's nothing left for his mind to formulate, he's exhausted, so he keeps his hand on her. He wants to keep her in his vision for as long as he can, in case she's gone in the morning or this is a dream. She's just so pretty, in her nightgown, with her hair down, and her heavy eyes…

#######################################

Gale woke when his pillow gently nudged him off. Normally it didn't; in fact, he didn't remember any of them ever fighting their way from him.

Sleepy and a little annoyed it was messing up the best night of sleep he'd had in ages, he nuzzled deeper into it, clutched it a little tighter to him. It made an uncomfortable noise.

Why is my pillow so fussy tonight?

"Gale."

Now it was talking to him. He needed to lay off the drinking.

"Gale." It poked him in the shoulder. "Gale, wake up. I…need to use the bathroom."

He craned his head up, squinted into the dark at his talking pillow, which sounded strangely like Madge.

He could see her blue eyes, flickering with the pale light from the security light outside, wide and watching him. Gale flopped his head back down; he didn't need to know that.

"Then go," he shrugged.

Unless she was going to take a shower and needed help with cleaning some hard to reach places he wasn't venturing in there.

He felt himself being heaved over, albeit gently, then his pillow, soft and warm and sweet smelling, slipped away from him. Groaning, he sat up, blinked groggily, and found Madge straightening her nightgown beside the bed.

"I'm going to the bathroom," she told him again, a little more breathlessly this time.

He nodded, watched her back away, then collapsed back down. His pillow wasn't nearly as comfortable now.

Sitting up again he examined the bed and frowned. He didn't remember much from the night before, but he was certain he'd gone to sleep on the other side of the bed.

It took a minute, but the alcohol had mostly worked its way through his system and he was a little more clear headed as he finally piece together why Madge had felt the need to wake and inform him of her need to use the toilet.

"Shit." He runs his hands through his hair, letting them settle on his neck.

Gale really needed to get a handle on his body.

He considered moving back to his side, but decided against it. She might only not be mad because she thought he was still drunk or too tired to know what he was doing. He was torn between being grateful for her graciousness and annoyed that she still was letting a man throw himself, quite literally, at her and still being too well-mannered to tell him off. Even if that man was him.

Blinking, his mind flickered back to when they arrived, how irritated she'd been about the bed. Then she'd gotten angry about what he now recognized as his slightly possessive, somewhat jealous attitude with the old magistrate.

She had told him off. She'd been defensive and stood up to him, even tried to tell him why he'd annoyed her. Albeit in her own, somewhat, he felt, indirect way.

Gale felt a smile slip onto his face

He understood, at least a little, why she was so irritated, so defensive. She didn't need to be rescued.

Madge was a little in need of attention, craved it even, but she wasn't defenseless, he should've remembered that from when she'd punched him. She simply picked her battles more judiciously than he did.

She probably had a better grasp of what was going on than he knew, she was the one teaching him to survive it after all, and that knowledge made him a little easier about her being at the galas and functions.

Madge let him push her boundaries further than anyone else was allowed, but if she wanted to put a stop to it, she would. He could sense that now.

This wouldn't be a repeat of Katniss, he wasn't going to make the same mistakes this time. He and Madge weren't surviving like he and Katniss had, there was no looming threat of death or starvation, no Reaping or Games. They were surviving as people should, he told himself, with the chance of better things ahead, not just a bleak future.

He flopped back down, pulled her pillow to him and inhaled the scent of her hair that still clung to it, proving she was really there. She was just in the bathroom. She would come back.

Not because she was a pushover, too polite to say anything, but because, maybe, probably, he hoped, she wanted to.