Title: On What Grounds

Rating: T. Mild swearing.

Summary: Sequel to my story, "Rebel Like You," which explored the possibility of a Gale/Madge relationship developing in the background of Catching Fire, and ended with the firebombing of District 12. Post-Mockingjay AU where Madge is alive.

Disclaimer: Not my characters, I'm just borrowing them.

A/N: Mockingjay left me sad for countless reasons, one of which was that Gale got such an unsatisfying ending. Madge volunteered to give them both happier resolutions because she's helpful like that.

Chapter 1 – Snared

The map is wrong. That's the only explanation. Gale squints at the flimsy, rumpled paper and knows for certain that the map has betrayed them. It brought them to this cliff side that is decidedly lacking 1) the valley, 2) the equipment, and 3) the rest of the squad.

"Figure it out yet?" Milo asks, leaning lazily against the jeep's hood and looking through binoculars at a rocky outcropping on the next mountain.

Gale plucks the binoculars out of Milo's useless hands and tosses them back inside the jeep. "We're not sightseeing."

"I'm doing reconnaissance." Milo grins cheekily, and not for the first time Gale wishes he outranked the guy and could order him to shape up. Unfortunately, they're essentially equals and have been partnered together for the duration of this assignment.

"Scoping out climbing routes is not recon," Gale says and pulls out the junk map again for one last look. "Try using that local knowledge for something useful." He can't keep the sarcasm out of his tone; part of Milo's role as a District 2 native is to help navigate the numerous unmarked roads and unnamed little villages that all look the same to Gale as an outsider. But Milo's from a different sector of the district and has been wholly unhelpful in navigating this morning.

"Relax, we're still early." As if to make his point, Milo reaches his arms behind his head in a stretch and turns his face into the sun, reminding Gale of one of those unfamiliar lizards he keeps seeing at the lower elevations. "We can just double-back."

Crumpling the useless map into a ball, Gale gestures for Milo to get back in the jeep. He backs up in a Y-turn a little more aggressively than the situation calls for, trying to tune out Milo's chatter about a new type of climbing harness, and drives back along the dirt road to the last turn. Knowing that they're not late yet doesn't alleviate his uneasiness at not knowing where they are. It's a general feeling he still hasn't gotten used to: not being sure where he fits into the world anymore.

Milo props his feet up on the passenger side dash, still going on about the harness. Nothing phases the guy, which is a benefit for their particular project, but his civilian casualness when they aren't actually working can be annoying. Command has recently taken to pairing military units—like Gale's squad—with local civilian units who helped the rebels during the war but never went through formal military training (which is most of the rebels, actually). The idea is that the two groups will more effectively rebuild damaged infrastructure and ensure no bombs or other traps are remaining now that the last Peacekeeper holdouts have been neutralized.

Gale volunteered for the assignment the second he heard there was a way he could keep civilians safe from the Capitol's unexploded ordnance and other lingering trickery. Added bonus that it's dangerous work. His family and Katniss are safely tucked away in 13 and 12, and are better off without him; if he dies in the line of duty at least it will have been for a good reason. He's also grateful to have useful tasks each day to keep his mind off… everything.

"Here," Milo yells, pulling his feet off the dash suddenly. Gale spots the turn-off and swivels the steering wheel in time to make the turn. A cloud of the infernal ever-present District 2 dust swirls up behind the jeep, obscuring the view behind them. No matter; Gale tries to not spend a lot of time looking backward these days anyway.

They reach the mouth of the valley about ten minutes later, and Gale's relieved to see that the others are only just arriving as well. He parks next to one of the transport trucks, still offloading the squad, and surveys the surroundings. A road leading to one of the abandoned quarries passes through this sparsely settled valley, and residents reported seeing Peacekeepers burying landmines before they'd been evacuated to the fortified nearby towns. A few homes are scattered along the slopes of the valley, but according to the pre-briefing materials none of the residents have been allowed to return yet. Not until this sweep has been completed.

Milo's rummaging around on the floor of the jeep, mumbling about not being able to find his badge because Gale's such a wild driver. Gale leaves him to it. They're returning from a multi-day training session in one of the other villages so they could learn new defusing techniques and Milo had treated the assignment like a vacation, spending every non-working second either at the bar or the rec hall or sleeping off hangovers. As usual, Gale had shunned every invitation and retreated to his quarters. Among other reasons, he'd seen too many reporters prowling around. With a quick scan of the vehicles parked nearby in this valley, he suspects there are a few too many reporters here as well.

Finally Milo locates his badge and reattaches it to his uniform. Crooked, of course. They walk over to the tent where Commander Riggs is preparing to brief everyone on the mission.

"Hawthorne and Ventus. Nice of you to join us."

They salute, and Gale hides his annoyance. On time is late in Commander Riggs' world, and excuses don't fly. Gale subscribes to the same philosophy so he silently takes his place in the tent and waits for the briefing to start. Even if he doesn't stick with the military, he doesn't want to disappoint Riggs and for now this is a place to be. A place that's not 12.

Fully briefed on the plan for the day, Gale takes his group out for the initial sweep for explosives. When he first returned to District 2 after the war officially ended, his commanding officers had quickly noticed his knack for predicting the most likely locations for 'souvenirs' the retreating Peacekeepers had left for the rebel forces and civilian inhabitants. The remaining landmines are just variations on traps, and Gale doesn't like to dwell on wondering if the others realize that he's a little too good at thinking like the enemy.

After the main road and shoulder areas are clear, he joins Milo near the far end of the valley, where a tesserae storage silo has been built into the rock wall. So many of the crucial features in this district are part of the rocks—it's why someone who knows so much about the local geology like Milo is necessary for this type of operation. And he is actually useful—when it matters, he becomes serious and focused and Gale trusts him. They exchange a look, both aware that this silo is a natural target. Gale gets that suspicious feeling in his gut that it's been rigged. It's what he would do—lay a trap in a food source. Supplies to District 2 had been so limited during the final days of the war, there would have been a high likelihood that someone would be desperate enough to break into a locked silo. Maybe the Capitol even rigged it before the war, since stealing is punishable by death: instant, cruel justice.

They split up to look for the triggering mechanism and Gale easily spots it: a trip wire connected to the dispensary door. "Over here," he calls, pointing to the wire. "The explosive must be inside."

Milo swears as he inspects the structure. "This is going to take hours to dismantle. And see that fracture?" He points to a small crack in the adjoining rock wall near one of the silo's support poles. "It destabilizes that whole overhanging ledge above. That ledge could fall with even the slightest detonation. Bastards."

Gale looks at the ledge and sees how if it collapsed, it could generate enough debris to block the road. Another benefit to rigging this structure… He leaves Milo to plan out the dismantling while he circles the other side of the silo. Like he suspected: a second detonation trigger. This one is linked to the loading chute system at the top of the silo, another potential access route to the grain.

As far as the bomb technology goes, it's pretty straight forward stuff. He motions for Specialist Yates to come over and work with Milo's people, and then continues to the bridge at the end of the valley. The bridge traverses a small ravine to the quarry and is surely rigged as well. Gale gets so immersed in his inspection of the bridge he barely notices the afternoon slipping away. The way the series of fuses are connected to one another under the bridge is something he hasn't seen before…

Suddenly the air is filled with an all-too-familiar sound: the chest-rattling thunder of a detonating explosive. During the microseconds it takes Gale to register what's happening, his mind is flooded with memories of the destruction of 12. Buildings half-blown apart, smoke so thick it's barely possible to make out the body parts, the excruciating sounds of pain and death. The images are quickly followed by a chaser of the television footage he watched when he woke up in the hospital after the war, featuring in a starring role the double-exploding bomb that ended the war and destroyed so many lives.

He freezes, waiting for the second explosion, but when it doesn't come his brain catches up and he realizes he's in this valley, not 12 or the Capitol, and is supposed to be keeping all these troops safe. Shaking himself back into the present moment, he turns around and sees it was the silo that blew. Orange flames and a plume of black smoke are rising from the roof, and rocky debris is still tumbling into the road.

Within seconds, he's in a full sprint to the burning structure. Everybody had sense enough to get back. Everybody he can see, at least. Two members of the explosives team are already attempting to extinguish the fire, but they're clearly outmatched and can't even get close enough to the flames thanks to the rockfall accompanying the blast.

"Report!"

"No bodies, no parts," Specialist Yates says. No casualties and no injuries. "We thought it was a C-type detonator, but it was actually an M-type. They purposefully put it in a C-type casing."

Add that to the list of tricks… "What about the shield?"

"We had it up and were remotely disarming… Trying to, at least. Grain inside's lost, though."

Screw the food; it was tesserae anyway. He doesn't know what he'd do if he lost anyone else to a bomb. He's the one who was supposed to be injured or almost injured by this detonation, not the others. This didn't seem like one of the risky bombs, which he always ensures he handles. His legs start to feel wobbly and he props himself up with his rifle.

"Did you already disarm the other detonator?" He asks tersely.

"Yes. Although there's a chance it was also in the wrong casing…"

"Retreat," Gale orders. "We let it burn out on its own." He hollers up the valley for the rest of the squad to return to the staging area in the mouth of the valley. Once he's sure all the squad members are a safe distance from the flame-engulfed silo, he starts walking back as well.

He's still close enough to the silo that the displaced air from the second explosion knocks him face-first to the ground, almost before he hears the accompanying boom. As the fine dust from the road bathes him, he debates whether to get up or not. He can feel the heat and the crackling sounds of the fire approaching, spreading along the roadside's dry grasses and scrubby bushes… It would be especially fitting if he died by burning, and as long as there was a closed casket it wouldn't be as devastating for his family… But actually picturing his funeral and his mother having to explain what happened to Rory, Vick, and Posy snaps his mind back into place; he can't inflict that on them after all they've been through. They don't deserve that.

He pushes himself up from the ground and starts to stagger away, only to find himself emptying his stomach behind a large boulder. It could be because of the shock wave, but this has been happening more and more frequently lately and he's starting to suspect his body is rejecting him, too. Trying to purge whatever it is inside that's rotten.

When he stops shaking, he continues back to the tent to report to Riggs about his latest failure and endangerment of others. The troops are milling around the transport truck and casually watching the silo burn. Gale finds Riggs and Milo in the main tent, inspecting schematics of what look like the different types of detonator casings.

"Clear," he reports. "The fire isn't going anywhere fast enough to be a serious threat. But the grain's lost and the road to the bridge is blocked."

Riggs nods. "Fine trade-off in my book." He frowns and hands Gale a canteen. "Looking a little green, Lieutenant."

Gale's no blusher, but he wouldn't mind shriveling into a pebble that someone could chuck into a canyon never to be seen again. How mortifying: his commanding officer can see that he's a mess. He never used to be this way, could handle any hardship that came his way because he had to protect his family, or because any war-related stress put him one step closer to getting rid of the Capitol. But now that the Capitol's gone, he can't seem to shake the haunting memories of the past year, even when he's not actively remembering them. The insulating layer of hate has melted away, leaving him exposed and uncentered. Or maybe it's more that the hate is directed inward now.

"I'm fine," he insists, trying to hide that how much pressure he's putting on the chair in front of him so they won't see that his legs are wobbly again.

"Ventus is going to oversee the fire extinguishing and I need to report to Command about this setback in the schedule," Riggs says. "They've been on my ass to get this road cleared so they can start using that quarry again." Gale's aware of the need to start using the stones for the reconstruction of the many buildings that were destroyed in the war. "I need you to go talk to them." Riggs gestures behind him toward the mouth of the valley.

Gale nods. He always appreciated updates when he was a Soldier before his promotion—he knows they're probably wondering if they're staying here for the rest of the day or leaving early, whether they're coming back tomorrow, and whether any of that means they can live it up tonight at the rec hall on base.

"Any special orders?"

Riggs squints. "Orders?"

"For the troops?"

"No, talk to the press." He snorts. "Don't I wish I could order them to get the hell out of here."

Gale stares blankly at Riggs, hoping he's not serious. Being on active duty in the field again has sheltered him from having to deal with reporters, camera crews, and all the associated nonsense. He went through so much agony with those scumsuckers during Katniss' trial, and he's been grateful for the respite. They can't get onto the military bases, can't harass him for interviews, can't pester him for details about Katniss…

"Hawthorne. That's an order. It means get your ass in gear and get those jackals out of our hair."

"And say what?"

"Flirt with them for all I care, just get them out of our way. Their vans are blocking the road and the fire relief is going to be here soon."

Gale salutes and makes sure to take his rifle with him in case he needs to use it to steady himself again. Or threaten someone. But he isn't shaking anymore; when he's angry—an emotion reporters never fail to inspire—he's fine. He walks out to the road where the news vans are parked, annoyed at the flirting comment and trying to catalog what's worth sharing about their mission. The camera crews are filming the leaping flames and snaking plume of smoke, so visually they'll be satisfied. Maybe they're concerned that food supplies will be further impacted by the loss of this silo…

A knot of reporters are standing near the barricades and when they spot him they train their cameras on him and perk up. There are too many reporters and not enough news, leading to situations like this where they trail behind fairly routine military missions in the hopes that something will go wrong. Like today. They could be doing something useful like covering the Reconstruction Committee's first week of business; but footage of old windbags sitting in meetings and squabbling in fancy language doesn't make for exciting television the way burning buildings do.

"We need you all to clear out," he announces brusquely when he's close enough to be heard. "The fire vehicles need to come through this way."

Two of the reporters start murmuring to one another and he inwardly braces himself—he knows what's coming next. They've recognized him. He never thought he'd be famous for being Katniss' sidekick and hates that he's become one of the most familiar faces in the country.

"Lieutenant Hawthorne!" A red-haired man around Gale's age waves his arms above his head as though he desperately needs to be rescued. "Is this a high priority mission for the army?"

"Securing the safety of roadways is always a high priority."

"Is your personal involvement indicative of this being a high priority mission for the Mockingjay?"

Gale stares at the idiot, not willing to entertain such a stupid question. "All soldiers care about the safety of public roads."

"Has the Mockingjay deemed District 2 transportation issues of higher importance than other districts' reconstruction?"

Does the Mockingjay give a rat's ass about any of this? No. Is the mockingjay a destroyed shell of a person thanks to her supposed best friend? Yes.

But they didn't ask those questions. They never ask the right questions because they're cheap, headline-seeking bottom dwellers. He scans the crowd and asks, "Does anyone else have questions that might actually lead to useful information?"

The red-haired reporter tries again. "Lieutenant, does the Mockingjay—"

"All right, anybody but this joker," Gale interrupts, turning away from the idiot. "You," he says, pointing to a short man who looks to be in his 40s. "What do you want to know?"

"How many roads in this sector still pose threats to safety?"

"Enough that I wouldn't go wandering unless you have a death wish. Anything blocked is blocked for a reason."

"When will the army be finished clearing the roads?"

"Longer if you keep distracting us from real work. This is routine. And no, nobody was injured, thanks for your concern. Now clear out so our fire vehicles can get through and go find some real news to report." He glares at the reporters to discourage additional questions, and then spins and marches back to the tent.

Riggs is just logging off the video monitor that allows communication with Command. "They gone?"

Gale glances back and sees the vans pulling away, or at least clearing a space for the fire trucks to get through. "Looks like it."

"Good. Brief the troops that we're quitting for the day and will resume at 0700 tomorrow."

#

Milo is a certified weasel and somehow tricks Gale into a night at the rec hall on base, arguing that they need to celebrate that nobody was injured in the fire and that if they don't toast the fire crew, they'll be shunned from proper soldiering society. He'd rejected Gale's excuses that the mission was a failure and that Gale could care less about his standing in the military social circles, but Commander Riggs overheard the exchange and made an offhanded comment about setting a good example for subordinates, leaving Gale no choice but to go and fake a good mood.

He's embarrassed to see his face on the news on the television in the rec hall. The gossip news, not even the real news. God, he hates televisions. What have televisions ever brought him but trauma from Hunger Games broadcasts, propaganda battles, and sidelining him from getting to fight in the war? Some idiot analyst is speculating—authoritatively—about how upset he is over Katniss because he was rude to the reporters today. A second talking head is rehashing his testimony at Katniss' trial, complete with footage of him yelling at the prosecutor who was questioning him. He's seen that scene so many times he feels like he was watching it along with the rest of the country rather than having lived it.

"Turn that off, will you?"

A soldier he's seen around the base before turns up the volume. "Not a chance, Hawthorne. They're promising an exclusive with that blonde they caught you with last week. Apparently she's having your love child—"

Gale pushes roughly past the jerk and changes the channel himself. Coverage of the grand train station opening is going to have to satisfy everyone. Made-up stories about him and the mail delivery woman he helped last week when she sprained her ankle on one of the many potholes in this stupid district will have to be ignored. He confiscates the remote and hides it behind the bar, helping himself to another drink since he's already there. The thought of his mother having to watch these tawdry broadcasts makes him ill. And Katniss... Well, she probably wouldn't touch a television with a ten-foot pole and most likely isn't seeing any of it.

In general, he tries not to think of anything Katniss-related. He unceremoniously slides into an empty stool facing away from the television and scans the room. Mistake. A girl he only vaguely remembers talking to in the commissary a few days ago is walking toward him and nothing about her makes him want to continue their conversation. He'd asked which brand of soap was better—they were both the cheapest, leaving him confused about which to buy—and she took it as a sign of interest. Virtually every interaction he has lately leaves him feeling lonely, since he's automatically suspicious of anyone who gets too friendly with him. They probably want to get caught in a photo or by one of the ubiquitous television or tabloid cameras.

"You disappeared the other day," the soap expert says in what she probably thinks is a seductive tone, setting her drink on the counter. He thinks she just sounds whiny.

"Emergency." He looks around the room for an escape route, or at least someone else he knows who'd be marginally less annoying than this girl.

She leans in closer to him and he catches a whiff of something… artificial. "You should learn to relax… All that hard work protecting the people of the district…"

He takes a deep drink from his glass, buying himself some time to debate whether he should just leave now. She's annoying, but she's also Not Katniss. Fair-haired and pale, devoid of any spark of color aside from whatever she's painted onto her lips and eyes. And the reporters aren't allowed on base so she's not actually angling for a moment in the spotlight; well, for now.

He's saved from having to respond by the appearance of a young messenger, saluting him eagerly. The kid clearly lied about his age to get this job on the base; good for him.

"Lieutenant Hawthorne! You're to report to Main 105 immediately!"

"Duty calls," he says mock apologetically to Not Katniss, turning away from her before he can see her reaction. He doesn't care. As he leaves he sees Milo holding court at the pool table and decides he doesn't need to say good-bye; he'll figure out soon enough he's been ditched. Probably expected it sooner, even.

The cool night air is refreshing after the overly warm interior of the rec hall. Spring is just getting going and seems to arrive later in District 2 than it ever did in 12, possibly because of the elevation. Not that there's much hint of spring in the urban parts of the district where the town center and military base are located, where drabness and stone dominate the landscape. But the Bomb Squad spends a lot of time in the outlying villages and Gale's been lost frequently enough to have noticed the beginnings of wildflowers popping up in some of the open areas and along the roadsides.

He finds the Commander in room 105, looking over some papers at one of the flimsy army desks. Commander Riggs is sturdy, a former quarry man, and makes the desk look like it's too small and made of cardboard. Gale salutes the Commander and studies the rank insignia on the man's lapel, wondering momentarily if he'll stay enlisted long enough to get that many bars on his uniform. Or stay alive long enough. He knows he doesn't want to go back to being a miner, but the idea of having choices has been surprisingly paralyzing. His main criteria for life decisions lately are what will hurt the least number of people and what will allow him to do that other than sequestering himself in a cave.

"At ease, Lieutenant. I know you're off duty. New assignment, special request from President Paylor."

Gale finds himself suddenly anything but 'at ease.' The last special assignment had involved a trip back to the Capitol to watch Katniss execute Snow, end up murdering Coin, and then try to kill herself. And then the trip had turned into an extended stay so he could testify at her trial. Every second was an acute reminder of how much Katniss hates him now and how heartily he agrees with her. He says a silent prayer that the assignment doesn't involve anything related to Katniss or District 12, not wanting to inflict himself on her in person. He'll desert if necessary.

"President Paylor wants you to serve as one of the military representatives on the Reconstruction Committee," Commander Riggs says. "Specifically, she wants you to interface with the press corps. We're already sensing public resistance to the Committee's credibility. You think well on your feet and you're a familiar face on the broadcasts as the Mockingjay's most trusted companion. That continuity could be important toward building support for the reconstruction efforts."

Gale realizes he must not be hiding his disgust for this idea, because Commander Riggs adds, "I understand your reluctance. I'm a soldier, too, Lieutenant. But the fighting is largely over. Think of it this way: this is the next front of the war, and this is the best way for you to contribute."

'Contributing' sounds suspiciously like something Madge would have latched onto. But no way is Gale going to be a televised jackass.

"Sir," he begins his protest, and then pauses, not sure how it will be taken. You don't argue with a commanding officer about your assignment… Especially if it's coming from the president. But the Commander gestures for him to keep talking, so he figures it's all right to discuss the posting. "I'm not the right person for this job. I was pretty short with those reporters today in the valley."

"What do you think inspired these new orders?" The Commander has the gall to grin at Gale's discomfort. "President Paylor wants you to abuse the press all you like. The public is just as suspicious of government and the media as you are, and that's why she wants someone like you in this position."

While Gale wonders how forcefully he can insist that he not be given this new assignment without appearing to be declining orders, Commander Riggs continues talking. "All the Committee members are… shall we say, more seasoned than you. Necessarily, since they have the expertise the new government needs, but the Committee is lacking a youthful voice, a particularly dangerous omission considering the average age of the rebel soldiers." Well below the average age of the Committee members—people like him. He's all too aware of the griping amongst the enlisted soldiers on this same topic and it sounds like the big wigs have been listening, too. "The president wants someone skeptical—an embodiment of the rebels—to be critical and to accurately report on the Committee's progress. Or lack thereof. Understandably, the Committee is also a little thin on members from 12."

Gale glowers in the direction of the table between them, still horrified at this idea. "Sir, what about my current assignment? The district isn't safe yet."

"Getting closer, and that work will continue without you. Ventus has picked up on your tricks and can carry on paired with a technician." Riggs steps closer and puts his hand on Gale's shoulder. "Between us, Hawthorne, I think some time away from bombs might do you some good."

Gale starts to protest, but Riggs steps back and holds up his hand. "I'll remind you that these are orders, not suggestions, Lieutenant. Get packed. You're to report to the Committee tomorrow morning. Dismissed."

The Commander returns to his cardboard desk and picks up the phone, eyeing Gale expectantly until Gale forces himself to turn and exit. He numbly walks back to his quarters, trying to digest how his attempt to pay back some of the damage he inflicted during the war has been twisted into yet another media spectacle. He signed up for another tour of duty partially to get out of the public eye, and now he's being ordered back into it as one of his primary duties.

It's cruel, and Gale decides that it's actually appropriate: at least this assignment will ensure that he's miserable and suffering like he deserves.

A/N: I know, where is Madge? Next chapter! And yes, Gale is depressed and negative. MJ has that effect on people.