Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Summary: Being in District 12 after the rebellion was completely forbidden in Gale's eyes. But he had to see it - the memorial, dedicated to all those lost in the war, and the name that he knew would be on it. GaleMadge, oneshot

Okay, so I had gotten hung up on GalePrim for the longest, and I just wanted to write a GaleMadge. I think I pretty much pair him with anyone - specifically those two. But anyway, I hope that y'all enjoy my first attempt at GaleMadge. I love these two together, so…yeah. The idea wouldn't leave me alone! Thanks for reading!

Along With the Ashes

His footsteps are fast and furious, silent and velvety against the dusty ground of District 12.

His breath puffs in and out and forms a cloud in front of his face. It's one of those days where it's so extremely cold, but not a snowflake falls from the clouds. None at all. The coal-tinged, gray slush of his former home is just a memory. He's grown since those times, since his permanent departure. But he's back now, different and aged but still the same old Gale Hawthorne.

The hood on his head is pulled up to cover him. He feels so exposed that this seems to be a necessity. He passes everyone without a glance, looking at his feet. That act in and of itself is an odd one to be associated with the normally confident hunter.

He knows it's here somewhere. He'll have to find it soon, or he feels like he's going to explode, burst into flames, and the like. It's almost like he can't be on District 12 soil for longer than a day or he'll be exposed, Katniss will be notified, and he'll be want for anger management classes.

Gale knows the place like the back of his hand, and when he starts to get closer to the area he's looking for, his back starts to itch. Scars that never fully went away seem to awaken when in the presence of the place they were created.

The dark instruments from before have been replaced with a beautiful, dark granite creation. Black, with white writing, in the shape of a stake. It's nothing massively overtaking, however, the monument is just a bit taller than he is. The names stick out at him, and he looks at the onyx creation with awe. Flowers are scattered every which way around the base of the thing, and a small tugging begins in the center of Gale's chest, a fondness for District 12 that he had pushed away is starting to surface yet again, accompanied by images of its occupants - former and current.

He looks toward the top of the structure, head cocked to the side. His hood falls just a bit off-kilter and he fixes it quickly. The last thing he needs is for someone to recognize him here of all places.

Gale remembers first finding out about the series of memorials done for the people lost in the rebellion. Watching television was a privilege now that he could never really get used to - he usually kept his off most the time - but when one of his District 2 friends came in his house and told him about what was going on, he had to turn it on.

Sure enough, in his new district, as well as his old one, and every other district in Panem, memorials were being erected.

Certainly took long enough, Gale had thought, and then it hit him.

The urge to go back to Twelve was so strong that he found himself constantly tapping his feet, walking around. He could hardly do his job, hardly focus. He was antsy, moody, wanting out and about and to be able to see the proof in his home.

And he finally made the decision.

He wasn't sure what made him come back. Sure, the memorial was the catalyst, but he didn't have to see it -

Liar.

His eyes raze over the slick, smooth, stone structure in front of him, looking for that particular name that has all but eluded him over the years. He finds Prim's name by accident, and it's like a concrete brick has been hurled at his stomach. He finds that he can't breathe for several moments, but tears his eyes away from the youngest Everdeen's name.

He keeps searching.

For a moment, he thinks that they've forgotten her altogether - which enrages him to the point where he feels his nails pop through the rough skin of his palms - but then he sees it, carved along the bottom of the stone, right underneath her mother's and father's names.

Madge Undersee.

He stares at it for a moment, as if trying to decipher if it's really there or not - if he's dreaming or hallucinating or whatever. His eyes trace across the letters over and over again, and soon he is kneeling in front of it, his finger lightly finding its way to the peak of the M. Somehow, he's mesmerized, and as if just touching her name set off a chain reaction all its own, her face emerges in his thoughts. He's denied seeing her lovely face for so long, even in his memories, that the very sight of her is like a jolt of ice water being injected into his veins.

And, as if that very water has turned to acid, he starts to burn.

He's being foolish, he knows. Gale knows he's being the epitome of some kind of lovesick teenager, when he has passed that stage so long ago. But being here, in District 12, kneeling at the memorial that is all that is here to commemorate the dead… it's enough to make any grown man fall to his knees and clasp his hands and pray, believer or not.

His knees are numb from crouching for too long. As a hunter, he's learned to ignore the instinct to get up at move around. For what seems like the longest time, he stares at the stone, his eyes never leaving her name. He doesn't want to picture what the District looked like, all lit up in flames, smoke billowing thicker and blacker than anything he'd ever seen. He doesn't want to picture what Madge's last minutes must have been like, but he does. Oh, he does. He doesn't want to think of her so scared, cuddled up in her house, doesn't want to think of the fire…

He gulps and feels the same thing he felt that day - the feeling of lead settling in his stomach when he realized that he didn't save her. Gale tugs his hood over his face, eyes stinging despite himself.

He isn't sure when he realizes that he should probably leave. He knows that people are passing him more and more often, whispering. He thinks that they might know who he is, and he knows he has to wrap this up.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he digs out a small little gift. Not anything special, but something they had once shared. The bright fruit is firm and ripe in his strong fingers, and he places it down at the base of the memorial, right in front of her name.

The red of the strawberry is a bright and bold contrast to the gray coloring of District 12.

As Gale walks away from the memorial for what is his first - and possibly only - time, he thinks that the brightness describes Madge, too.

End.