Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.
A Precious Thing
Gale hates the way the men look at Madge.
Their eyes trail up her, follow her, linger on parts of her that they have no business lingering on. It's bad enough when their just out in public, when she's dressed modestly, but when they're at those stupid galas…
He likes to see Madge get dressed up. She's beautiful and has every right to show herself off. That doesn't give those filthy minded bastards the right to oogle her.
Besides, Gale's the only one that's supposed to be doing that.
"She's not off the menu yet," Thom had pointed out one day during lunch, when he was visiting.
Madge had brought Gale lunch, he'd been running late, something that was completely her fault anyway-if she weren't so obliging he would've gotten out of bed on time-and so she'd done the kind thing and brought him his paper sack stuffed with his food up to his office.
She hadn't even been there ten minutes, but considering she was probably the most attractive female on the military campus, most of the men had given her more than a passing look.
It made Gale more than a little irritated, especially when one of the useless twits from the mail room had blatantly stared at her as she'd left. Gale had caught his eyes and made a particularly threatening hand gesture, causing the idiot to walk into a wall.
"You can't blame guys for just looking," Thom shrugged.
"Well she isoff the menu," Gale scowled. They were dating. They lived together. How far removed from the menu did she need to be?
Besides, that was a stupid way of putting it anyway, she wasn't something to be bought.
Thom jabbed a piece of jerky at him, "You've been dating for a while, and you were 'friends' for ages before that." He arched his eyebrows up, "Guys know a pretty girl like that isn't going to wait forever. Especially for someone as cranky as you."
Gale huffed, glared, "Wait forever?"
"For you to get off the pot or do something, you moron." Thom bit off a piece of the jerky, "She won't have any shortage of men if she ever wises up that you're clueless."
It wasn't that he was clueless, he was just being cautious. Madge may not spook as easily as she had in the past, but he'd still carefully planned it out when he'd asked her to move to Two, with the house, the reasons, had an entire explanation for her need to change Districts.
Not that he'd needed it, but still.
They lived together now, had for a while, what reason would he have to convince her to marry him?
As happy as she seemed, Madge was still a politician's daughter, still had the bad habit of playing things close to the chest, despite how much progress they'd made. For all he knew, she didn't want to get married. She never dropped hints or made any indication that she wanted to change their relationship.
He carried the pendant his mother had given him when he'd bought the house with him everywhere, waiting for the sign, like the desk job that had given him the reason to ask her to move to Two, that would tell him to make the next move.
It just hadn't come.
But as he watches the men at the gala, an event Gale hadn't even wanted to attend, staring at her from the moment they walk through the too highly ornate doors, he can't help but wonder if maybe their persistent looks are the sign he's been waiting for.
He's about made up his mind, he'll just take her out on the balcony and ask, that was romantic wasn't it? When someone, a former Capitol stooge, brings up the Rebellion, begins exalting the cleverness of so many of the worst of their plans, including Gale's bomb, especially Gale's bomb, his resolve falters.
Madge wasn't a killer. She never would've conceived of something like Gale had, a bomb intended to take out people who only wanted to help.
Cold dread, an infectious fear, takes up residence in his stomach, creeps up through his chest.
Madge isn't going to want to be tethered, for the rest of her life, to someone as horrible as him. One day she's going to wake up and realize she's sharing a bed with a monster.
Without telling her, he heads for the bar.
##########################################
Madge heaves Gale, she swears he gets heavier when he drinks.
"Step, Gale, step."
Normally he didn't drink this much. In fact, it had been years since he'd gotten to the point of almost being unable to walk. She, and her back, were grateful for that.
They'd gone to another gala, the first one he'd been mandated to attend in several months.
It had been going well enough, mostly Gale had just danced with her, and she remembered thinking he was infinitely better than he had been the first time they'd done so. Then someone had mentioned something about the Rebellion, praised the brilliance of those who'd won the battle of the Capitol. Gale's bomb got special mention.
"It was an ingenuous design," one of the old men, a judge supposedly, had said. "Pity it wasn't used for its intended targets."
Madge had lost him after that. He'd disappeared, back to the bar and its endless supply of drinks, until one of the bartenders had found her and asked her to get him out.
"He's wiped out our Vat 69."
So Madge had wrapped her arms around his waist and heaved him from his seat, pulled him from the barstool and guided him, slowly, toward the elevator.
He's better about getting on elevators when he's sober, just grips her hand and holds his breath until the doors open. When he's drunk though, it's much worse.
When they'd just been friends he'd held her to him during the short little rides, his fingers had dug into her sides and his face had hidden in her hair. Since they've been together though, whenever he's been drunk, he's almost smothered her. His arms circle her, crush her to him. He'll kiss her, a little obscenely for such a public place, no matter if there are people with them on the ride or not. The alcohol brought out the most broken side of him, it seemed, the side that needed comfort, and he would berate himself for hurting her, making her uncomfortable the next morning.
It was hard to be mad at him, though. He was such an affectionate drunk, usually chatty, and adorable. The things he hated to tell her, the dark things that she had to drag out of him most of the time, would slip out on the increasingly rare occasion he would drink.
"I'm s-sorry," he mumbles in her hair. "I jush di'n't-I could'n't lishen to t-them."
His heavy hand smeared tears across his face. Madge felt her heart crack down the center at the sight.
"It's okay, Gale, I understand."
Blinking down at her, he sniffles, nods, tries to upright himself a little, but his coordination is shot and his feet stumble. Madge just barely keeps him from landing face first in the wall by catching him under the arm.
He buries his face in her hair again. "I'm s-sorry."
After a few more near tumbles, she manages to get him to the elevator. He wraps himself tightly around her, his chest against her back, taking shallow little breaths, his harsh, drunken breath ghosting through her hair and across her face. Madge is barely able to breath, his arms are so tight, but she just gently traces lines across his now white knuckles, doesn't say a word.
When they finally reach their floor, spill out onto the highly polished floor of the hall, Madge struggles to keep Gale from taking them both down. He seems to be getting incrementally heavier with each step.
Then he starts kissing her, his wandering hands begin tugging, lifting, searching her as she tries desperately to get the key card out and open the door.
He's found the zipper, begun clumsily tugging it down, when, mercifully, Madge finds the card, throws the door open, and pushes Gale through the opening. She isn't going to be part of some perverted security guards late night watch part on the closed circuit cameras.
Feet tangling, Gale almost pulls her down, but she slips from his grasp and he lands on his butt with a thud.
Grinning up with her, her reaches out, beckons her with grabby hands and half lidded eyes.
Exasperated but amused, Madge takes both his hands in hers and attempts to pull him back to his feet, if she can get him up she can get him to the bed and keep a better eye on him while he sleeps. Gale seems to have other ideas, though, and pulls her to the ground, rolls and pins her under him.
"I love you s-so mush," he mumbles against her neck as he kisses her.
It's sloppy, tastes of the multitude of whisky he's consumed. The carpet rubs uncomfortably against her back and she winces. Her fingers weave through his hair and she presses her lips to his temple before whispering, "We need to get to the bed, Gale."
He grunts, mumbles something unintelligible, but sits up and pulls her with him. With considerable effort, he struggles to his feet, Madge scrambling after him and quickly guiding him toward the bed as he continues to try and divest her of her dress.
By the time they reach the bed he's achieved his goal and Madge's dress slips down. Looking pleased with him, Gale begins trying to take off his own clothes.
It's funny, Madge thinks, that even drunk he's better at getting her clothes off than she is, but can't manage to get much more than his own shoes off.
After watching him try, painfully, fruitlessly, for several minutes, and fighting off giggles at his frustrated expression, Madge takes pity on him and begins helping him get undressed.
"Gale…" She shakes her head. He really shouldn't drink, it makes him helpless.
After unbuttoning his shirt, pushing it away, pulling his undershirt off, Madge moves to the next article of clothing. He continues to grin drunkenly down at her as she begins to tug his dress pants off. She gives him a little shove, back flat to the bed, before jerking them completely free of him. Smiling, Madge folds them and tosses them to the chair behind her.
When she turns back to the bed, Gale is sitting up, his grin is gone, replaced by a small frown. His eyes are still half closed, but they're less drunken, more weary. He studies her for a minute before sighing.
"I'm ss-sorry."
Madge takes his face in her hands, stubble is already growing back, thick and scratchy, on his cheeks. She rubs her thumbs across it and smiles, "What for?"
Nearly giving the security guards watching on the cameras in the halls an eyeful? He should be sorry for that.
"E-ev'rything."
Everything was quite a lot. She squints at him, "What's everything?"
He makes a frustrated little noise, his eyebrows knit together, "I'm'ma mur'drer." His hands come up, push her hands away, then run through his hair, standing it on end, "I dunno why y-you're w-with me."
With a little sigh, Madge begins smoothing his hair back down, presses a kiss to his forehead, "I'm with you 'cause I love you." She catches his chin, "And you are not a murderer."
He was the victim of circumstance, had been at the eye of a storm that had drawn out the worst in him, and those idiots down at the gala who'd praised his bomb, his greatest regret, were nothing but monsters that loved the misery of others.
"Y-you shoul'd'n't," his face droops a little more. "But I'm g-glad you d-do." The look of frustration on his face is almost comical, "I mm-mean-I wan' you…" His hands are back on his face, pressing into his eyes, "I don' wanna los-se you."
He isn't making any sense, and his frustration with her lack of understanding is leaking to her.
"Gale, what do you-"
"I wan' you t'mar'ry m-me!" He finally sputters.
There are several seconds of stunned silence as Madge lets her gaze flicker over Gale's now scowling face. Her heart pauses and her breath catches before she comes to her senses.
He's drunk. He can't possibly really want to marry her. They already live together, what more could he want? He'll sober up in the morning and come to his senses…
"Gale…" Madge lets her forehead come to a rest against his. "You don't want to marry me."
Gale grunts, "Yesh, I d-do."
Tilting her head, Madge feels her mouth turn down as she looks at him, "Why?"
"Be-cosh I love y-you," his eyebrows scrunch together again as he thinks, "and I don' wan' to be with-ou-out you."
She runs her hand along his jaw, the stubble prickles her fingers, "If you wanted to marry me you would've asked me when you were sober."
No matter how painfully honest he is as a drunk, proposals in the wake of a bender are probably not well considered.
A little groan rumbles out of Gale's chest, he pulls her closer, presses his face to her nearly bare chest, "I was-s s-schcared you'd s-say n-no." She feels his Adam's apple bob on her collarbone, the whiskers brush gently against her skin, "But I'm more s-schcared of los-ss-ing you."
Madge feels her heart stutter. She isn't sure why he suddenly has some great fear of losing her, they live in the same house, spend the greater part of their days together. It should be abundantly clear she isn't going anywhere, he isn't in any danger of her going anywhere.
She would marry him in a heartbeat, half of one even. The fear of being like her parents had loomed over her when she was younger, but she and Gale were so different, had so much more communication than her parents ever had, at least to her knowledge, that that fear had dissipated long ago. They're together, though, happy, and having that is enough at the moment. She doesn't need a drink fueled proposal to muddle their relationship.
Before she knows what he's doing, Gale's struggles to his feet, stumbles over to where his clothes are, and begins riffling through his pockets. More than a little confused, Madge walks over to him, hoping he hadn't hit his head and she didn't realize it.
She puts a hand on his scarred shoulder just as he turns, a look of triumph on his face as he holds something up to her. He grabs her hand and presses whatever small trinket he's dug from his pocket to her palm, kissing the tips of her fingers as he does so.
He loses his balance, tumbles into the chair, pulling Madge down with him, into his lap.
Once he's tightened his grip around her waist, settled his chin to her shoulder, Madge opens her hand.
Resting in her palm is a silver pendant with a pearl set in it. It looks to be quite old, probably from before the time of Panem by the delicate look of it, the simplicity. Antiques like this cost a fortune, something Madge can't imagine Gale indulging in, even if he has the means.
"Where did you get this?"
"It's m-my m-moth'er's," he mumbles, his eyelashes flutter into her neck. "She g-gave t'me for y-you."
Madge stares at him, doesn't blink, "Why?"
His eye roll up to the ceiling, "S-so when I as-sked y-you to m-mar'ry me I'd'ave s-s-something."
Her heart stops dead in her chest.
He's actually thought about this, it isn't entirely some drunken proposition.
Gale is serious. He's asking her to marry him.
When she finally takes a breath, long and deep, her lungs burn and her heart jumps back into rhythm, banging furiously against her ribs. She looks, wide eyed, at Gale.
He's a little pale, ashen almost in the pale light filtering in the window from outside, and his eyes are wide, terrified almost. He keeps swallowing, but his overabundance of spit from earlier seems to have left him.
"I kn-know I'm n-not d-do-doing it r-right." Madge can feel him trembling, just barely, as he speaks. "I'm s'posed t'get d-down and s-s-s-say s-some'in stup-pid," he swallows hard, "but I'm n-no good at g-gettin' sh-shit righ', so…"
His eyes begin shimmering and his words get thicker, "P-pleash? I'm s-sorry, I mesh't up, but-"
Before he can finish, Madge presses her lips to his. He talks too much when he's drunk.
Twisting around, she straddles his lap, deepens the kiss. She presses a few soft kisses along his jaw, up to his ear, "That's a 'yeshhh'. In case you were wondering."
Pulling back, he narrows his eyes, "Are y-you mak-ing f-fun of mm-me?"
Madge snorts, wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling into his hair, it smells of raspberries. Someone has been using her shampoo again.
"I would never make fun of a General, Gale."
A little chuckle rumbles in his chest, reverberates through her body.
"G-Good," his teeth graze her shoulder. "But you cou-could if you w-wanted to…"
Her lips move back to his, nip at them a few times before he growls in frustration and puts one of his hands behind her head to keep her from teasing him. His other hand runs a warm trail up her back, quickly finding her bra and unhooking it.
Baffled by a pair of dress pants, but unhindered by a bra clasp. Amazing.
Before she can stop him, he's trying to stand, with her legs wrapped around his middle. Predictably, they end up on the floor in heap, not that that deters him. He just keeps kissing her.
"You're gon-na be my w-wife," he says, a dopish grin forming on his lips.
Madge taps the end of his nose, "Unless you come to your senses in the morning."
Gale shakes his head, "You aren't g-gett-ing out-ta it th-that easy."
################################
Somehow Madge had gotten the bedspread and sheets down to the floor.
Gale feels bad, he's too heavy for her to drag up on the mattress, so she'd just done what she could to keep them from sleeping directly on what she probably thinks is a disgusting hotel floor. He imagines she'd gotten up after he'd drifted off and pulled what she could down to them.
She should've just crawled into bed, made sure she was comfortable, but he knows she would never leave him by himself. He knows she isn't going to wake up and see the monster she keeps letting hold her through the night. All Madge will ever see is Gale.
A ripple of guilt shoots through him, he'd never have afforded her that kindness when they'd been younger, just one more thing that will be weighed against him someday.
Her nose presses into his sternum, its cold against his skin as she lets out a long breath.
Wide blue eyes flutter open, sleepily flicker up to him, a little wary. "How do you feel?"
Like someone beat me with a pick ax. He shrugs, "Not bad."
Her lower lip puckers out, "Do-"
Gale stops her, kisses her.
She makes a face as he pulls back, "I'm sorry, I love you, but you taste like skunk."
He chuckles, kisses her again, "A skunk you'd marry?"
Madge freezes, for a second he thinks she's changed her mind. Then her face brightens, breaks into a smile, "Unless it's come to its senses."
She opens her hand, the pendant has left an indentation in her palm. She must've held onto it all night.
Gale wraps his larger hand around hers, closing it up around the little iridescent stone, "Not a chance."
Madge is off the menu, completely, forever.
He smirks to himself.
Those pervy old men may get to see her all dolled up, may let their eyes settle a little too long on her, but Gale is the only one that gets to see her magnificent bed-head and sleep hazy eyes.
And he's the only one that ever will.
They didn't know what they were missing.