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

Never Too Late

"Look daddy, I caughted a big one!"

Glen holds his fishing line up, hoisting the fish, which is only slightly larger than the minnow he'd been using as bait. He grins at Gale as he awaits his praise.

"Good job, buddy," Gale takes the little fish and removes it from the hook. "But I think we've caught enough for the day. We'll let this one go, okay?"

For a second Glen stares at the fish, which is desperately trying to flop from Gale's grasp, then smiles, "Can I put him back?"

Glad to have avoided a tantrum, Gale is pretty sure he'd have had a fit if his father had wanted to throw a fish he'd caught back when he was Glen's age, he hands the fish to his son, watches as he carefully puts it back in the shallow water at the edge of the pond.

As Glen is waving goodbye to 'fishy' Gale stumbles his weary bones to where Madge is sitting. She's spread a blanket out under a large shady tree, has the baby nestled in her crossed legs.

"Aw, you made him let that whopper go," she teases as Gale flops down beside her.

He shoots her a glare before reaching and taking the baby from her. Once he has her settled in the crook of his arm, still soundly sleeping, he sighs.

"I'm glad he got your temperament." Glen is an easy child, doesn't get mad easily or have fits. Gale remembers he and Rory, Vick and Posy, all having spectacular tempers when they were younger, though from what Gale can tell only Vick seems to have grown out of that particular trait.

"I hope she's good too," he mutters, more to himself than to Madge. He doesn't want their daughter to grow into his quick irritability.

Madge makes a face, "I don't think you're so bad."

She should, he'll be eternally grateful she doesn't, but he knows down in the darkest part of his soul that she should. He leans down and presses a kiss to the baby's head. She squirms a little, but quickly calms.

"I would've had a meltdown if my dad had released one of my fishes when I was little."

"When you were little you were starving. It wouldn't have been practical to let any fish go," she points out reasonably.

While that's true, it doesn't change Gale's mind. "I'd still rather have them be like you."

Madge sighs, reaches across his lap, runs a finger down the baby's face before looking out at Glen who'd started playing some game with an imaginary audience. Her wide blue eyes flicker back to Gale for a minute before settling back on Glen.

"I didn't get to throw tantrums when I was little." A sad little smile forms on her lips, "Who would I have thrown them for? My mother? She wouldn't have noticed half the time and it would've only upset her the other half. I was on my best behavior when my dad was home because I was desperate to spend time with him, didn't want to be punished and miss a minute of his time. The only person I could throw them with was Mrs. Oberst, and…well, you met her." A little chuckle escapes her lips, "I learned pretty quick raising my voice, stomping my feet, having a fit wouldn't get me anywhere."

"They didn't get me anywhere, either," Gale reminds her.

She shrugs, "But your parents let you express your frustration. You could afford to." A little crease forms between her eyes, "I had to be on my best behavior all the time. You didn't put a toe out of line, say what you wanted, act poorly when you could be hosting government officials at any minute."

Sometimes Gale forgets to appreciate that despite growing up with a full belly and warm clothes, Madge was neglected for the good of the District, however little good that was. He still has to prompt her, force her to let her anger and annoyance out. She'd spent most of her youth learning to repress those particular feelings, after all.

As hard as it has been for Gale to dampen his temper, it's been just as difficult for Madge to let hers flare.

He wishes he had been kinder to her, when they'd been younger, wishes he'd known how hard she was trying to protect them all, how her seemingly unflappable exterior, her distant demeanor, were all part of her act. The show she was constantly at to keep the ever present eyes of the Capitol from looking too closely at the District's top family, which would have put the entire District in jeopardy.

Gale reaches with his free hand, pulls Madge to him, presses a kiss to her temple.

"I'm sorry."

He's sorry he hadn't known how suppressed she'd been, how hard she'd worked to keep people who didn't spare her a second thought safe, how hurt she was by the dark looks and cold words tossed her way so easily.

He's sorry he didn't see her when she was invisible.

Despite being a lowly miner, a poacher, a criminal, Gale had never been ignored, never been told he couldn't be upset about his lot in life, even if he'd been told not to, knew better than to, advertise his displeasures with his lot in life.

When he'd been paraded in front of the cameras, first as Katniss' cousin, then as…whatever the Rebellion had labeled him as, he'd hated it, hated being reduced to a prop in someone else's life.

He couldn't have, still can't imagine how Madge has managed to make it out of her childhood as stable as she is when being a prop was her almost exclusive role in life.

"You learn to smile through everything when you're a politician's child," she'd told him once, when he'd asked her how she could stand to be in the presence of so many vile people. "You bite your tongue, you swallow down the bile, and you smile as brightly as you can. You never let them see you break."

Gale still thinks she ties her worth to her ability to bare any situation with a pleasant smile and a vacant look at times. Another wish, he supposes, of his, that he might, someday, be able to get her to stop using that empty look when confronted by unpleasant situations.

Madge kisses his rough cheek, sighs against his skin, "It isn't anything to be sorry for. Things were how they were." She presses her palm to his cheek, forces him to look at her, "But you can't compare how Glen is, how Savanna may or may not turn out to be, to how we were. They're growing up under completely different circumstances, they'll, hopefully, never see fishing as life or death. Hopefully, they'll only ever see it as a fun thing to do with their daddy. Setting snares, learning the bow, will just be hobbies to them. Letting a small fish go isn't going to mean the difference between eating and starving to them like it did you. There's no reason for them to be upset by it, understand?"

He knows she can't see it, that she doesn't see the best of her is reflected in the little boy currently giggling and attempting to catch a frog that's hopping with increasing gusto into the trees to their right, he knows she'd probably say the same thing to him, and maybe she's right. Maybe Glen and Savanna are the pure distillation of what Gale and Madge's childhood had beaten out of them, maybe they're going to be the combination of what goodness they both could have had if they'd lived different lives.

Instead of trying to point it out to her, that with her words she'd just proved his point, that's she's the calm to his hateful fire, especially when it burns Gale himself, that she's where their son got his sweet disposition, Gale pulls her closer, presses a kiss into her soft hair.

"Thank you."

He isn't sure what higher power saw fit to lead him to her, made her understanding enough to look past his many failings and remind him of the good in himself, but he hopes that all the positives, all the rights he's tried to do since the Rebellion have made him worthy.

A sad little smile flickers on her lips, "Thank you." She sniffles, "It's nice to say it out loud sometimes. You know, the things I have to tell myself all the time. That this isn't the world we grew up in. Glen will turn his toy box over sometimes, throw all his stuff across his floor and I have to bite back Mrs. Oberst's words, keep myself from telling him to clean up his mess before his father gets home or they'll be hell to pay. I think of all the people that might come over, judge what they see…" Gale watches as a tear blinks out of her eye, tries to escape down her cheek only to be swiped away by the back of her hand, "I don't want to raise my children like that, I won't, but that's my first instinct because that's how I was raised. I hate that about me, and I fight it."

Gale squeezes her.

"You're a good mother," her murmurs into her hair. "If you weren't you wouldn't fight so hard."

She loves her babies and she's battling against her horrible childhood to keep them from learning to distance themselves, repress themselves, like Madge had.

"And you're a good father. Your parents taught you how to be a good parent, and you're constantly teaching me, because mine couldn't." She lets a watery smile push her cheeks up, make little creases under her eyes, as she looks back out at Glen, who'd caught the little frog and is trying to have what appears to be a very serious discussion with it. "Neither one of us had idyllic childhoods, but fighting against the past is all we can do, and I think we just need to keep reminding each other that."

They aren't perfect and they won't be perfect parents, but their children have the benefit of growing up without the Capitol creating an even more imperfect world.

"I love you," he murmurs into her hair again.

"Love you, too," she whispers as she takes his hand, kisses the back of it.

Glen suddenly stumbles over, holding his newly caught frog out for his parents' inspection.

"Look, I name-ed him Trevor." He grins, little dimples on full display, "Can I keep him? Please?"

Madge makes a face and Gale has to fight off a bark of laughter at the expression. She shoots him a look and Gale is suddenly aware she's doing some very quick thinking.

"I suppose, but remember Katy-Jo Lewes is coming in a few weeks and she likes frog legs so you'll have to keep a veryclose eye on him around her."

Glen frowns, looks down at the struggling frog in his muddy hands, seemingly rethinking his new pet.

"I let him go. I don' wan' Katy-Jo Lewes t'eat him."

Before Madge can even nod her approval of his decision he's jogging off, back to the muddy patch he'd caught 'Trevor' in.

Gale pinches Madge's hip, "That was a little devious, manipulating a little kid like that."

She snorts, "I didn't manipulate him, I just pointed out that we have a somewhat indiscriminate omnivore coming and he would be putting dear froggy in danger."

Her mind is a dangerous place, Gale thinks, mostly because of her childhood. It's also pretty amazing.

"While I'm teaching you to be a parent you can teach me some of your mind tricks. They might come in handy at work." If he can get those morons in charge of updating the rail system to listen to logic as well as Madge got Glen to, his life would be a lot easier. Glen might be a toddler, but he's definitely more cunning than those idiots, Madge's mind tricks should work like a dream on them.

Madge takes him by the chin, pulls him closer as she grins, "I think that's a fair exchange."