Another request linked to this fic.
Three weeks pass before Gale is called back down to Madge's cell. The doctors mutter things to him in quick order about safety, a new call button installed. Today, he and Madge will be the only ones in the room. They are trying something different. But, they want to make sure he is safe. They want no repeats of Peeta's near murder of Katniss. But Gale doesn't really listen to them. He wonders about the flowers he sent. He wonders about the letters that followed, day after day. Would she even read them? Did they throw her into a panic? Will he ever have the woman he loves back?
They usher him in and slam the door behind. The sound of metal on metal is absolute. He is back in Madge's cell. Things look different. Madge looks different. A little healthier. A little less crazed. Breathing patterns a little less erratic. A bucket of ice water sweats in the corner. In case of a spell, they said. He doesn't know, but Madge is the one who asked them to put it there. Madge is the one who asked for a new panic button. Gale would never have the heart to use either and he will have no use for them either way. But Madge doesn't know that. So, she requests new safety measures for him.
The door clicks. But Madge ignores Gale completely. Madge gets up and walks across the room, to her table. A pair of handcuffs scrapes across the surface. She slips one on. Click, click, click. She pushes until it locks. Then, she crosses to her bed and loops the chain around the metal frame. She sinks to the floor and snaps the other cuff on. Gale deflates. He thought she was different now.
"I don't want to hurt you," she explains.
"I just can't stop the pictures."
Her neck shakes back and forth, her chin dipping. Her blonde hair curtains her face. Gale struggles to keep control of his body. He cannot rush to her side. Not now. Gale shoves his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. Madge's features contort. A cuffed hand rises to the side of her face. Her nails dig into the flesh as though she could pull reality from the skin. She is trying so hard.
"I just want to know what is real. No one will tell me what is real."
The words come out half choked. Half sob. Entire heartbreak. Madge wants so badly to believe in loving him. She wants so badly to wake up one morning, read one of his letters, and see nothing but goodness.
"I wish I could see what you see," she whispers.
His memories are pure. His memories are beautiful. Madge cannot believe what he writes. But she wishes she could. She wishes his truth is something she could just accept. But she can't. Her body, her instincts, fight her heart. And Madge is so tired of fighting.
Gale thinks of lightening the moment. Of mentioning that small progresses...Hey, at least she isn't trying to kill him yet. But he doesn't. His heart is too split for that. He could not pick up enough pieces for a joke. So, he crosses the room and sits before her. Not close enough to touch. But just close enough.
"What's real?" The words are breathy, "Well. Your name is Madge Undersee. Mine is Gale Hawthorne-"
She cuts him off. A shiny haze casts over things. Parachutes. Explosions. Screams. The phantoms of jacker venom burns through her veins.
"You killed a lot of people in the war."
The pause she takes here is punctuated by her steel blue eyes cutting his. There is betrayal and confusion in her.
She is hoping he will deny the whole thing. She is hoping he didn't kill Prim. She is hoping that he wasn't the mastermind behind the bombing in Twelve. They told her it was his fault. He was an explosives expert. Her blood sears at the memory of the venom. She snaps her eyes shut. Her body starts to curl in on itself. The ghosts of pain burn her blood. Her mind aches at the strain.
A sharp intake of breath hits Madge. She gulps hard. She tries to move away from him. The cuffs keep her in place.
Instinct drives Gale closer to her. Madge is in pain. He should help. But then, her words remind him of reality.
He scrambles to his feet and walks away from her, though everything in him begs to stay. His head swims. He presses the exit button and waits for an orderly to release the locks. His shoulders are slumped. His chin dips. Madge's words come unbidden.
"I'm sorry, Gale," she mutters.
Gale turns to her. And on the way, he catches sight of something on her table. A book whose pages are falling open in the conditioned air. Stuck in the middle of the pages is a single yellow wildflower. A smile brushes Gale's lips. Hope inflates him.
"I love you, Madge. That's the only thing that matters. That is what's real."
Locks release on the metal doors. He turns the handle.
Madge whispers it, half hoping that he would ignore her and move on. But he releases his hold on the door. Every muscle tenses. He nods without turning. If this is her way of saying goodbye, he cannot look at her. Not this way.
"Then would you stay? Just a little longer?"
All Madge ever wanted was someone to tell her the truth. So, Gale does. A little while turns into an hour, which turns into an evening. Which turns into a lifetime.
