They are given a house on the Coast, and Gale hates it. He should love it, really, since it is everything he could have wanted. The rooms are vast, the walls are bright, the windows bleed sunshine. But...there is the ocean. That vast, angry ocean. Gale sees it every morning and it creeps on him throughout the day as he sits at his desk, peering through his window. The sounds of the waves lull him to sleep.

Gale does not fear much. He does not fear hunger. He does not fear poverty. He does not fear death. He does not fear war. But he does fear those waves. He does fear that ocean.

Water is powerful. He remembers Madge in the hospital. The doctors were convinced that water therapy would snap her out of her hijacked state, and they weren't wrong. It worked, but not without consequences. Water is a trigger for her now, a memory of nightmares gone by. Madge hates the water; she cannot even take a bath without Gale nearby. Sometimes, he stands under the stream of the shower with her, fully clothed, and holds her in his arms just to remind her where she is.

So, he avoids the ocean. He avoids the water outside, hoping on hope that Madge will grow used to its presence. Ease her into it, Finnick said. Apparently Annie had similar problems. Problems that only time could heal. Gale could give Madge time. And he does. Because Gale is afraid of the ocean. But he was afraid of losing Madge more.

"I know what you're trying to do," Madge says one day.

He looks up from his work. The blueprints hurt his eyes and beat at his head. Madge stands in his doorway, bathed in mid-morning light pouring in from the window. Her arms are folded and her eyes are focused; she means business. Gale tries to diffuse, giving her a half-smile.

"What am I trying to do?" He asks, a joke in his throat.

He stares down at his work lightly. He gives it minimal attention, as he always does when she is around.

"You're trying to keep me from the water," she says, numbly.

It isn't a lie. Gale has done everything in his power to keep her away, to keep her distracted. He sends her on errands. He asks her to paint, to decorate, to cook. Anything to keep her separated from the dangerous clutches of the deep blue ocean. Gale doesn't want her near the water. Gale doesn't want her to suffer. Madge pushes away from the doorframe.

"We live on a beach, Gale. You can't expect me to never go out there," she intones.

Madge may be terrified, but Madge is also practical. Rational. Gale will protect her to the ends of the earth, he knows that, but he cannot protect her from living her life. He relents.

"Let's go."

Not five minutes later, Madge is standing on the beach. The ocean is calm today, still and flat in the sunshine. It laps up on the shore in time with Madge's breath. She and Gale cling to one another. The energy from one passes tangibly to the other through their clasped hands. The fear is palpable. But Madge knows it must be done.

"We can go back inside any time you want," Gale mutters.

Madge shakes her head.

"You can't be the only one trying, Gale."

Madge pulls him toward the water. With every brush of ocean against her toes, Gale rewards her with a kiss. They gradually drift inward every few moments until they are finally knee deep in ocean.

"Look," Gale breathes against Madge's lips.

They look out into the distance, almost unaware of the water swirling around their legs. Madge's breath catches in the chest. The sun in setting in the distance. Madge hasn't watched a sunset in a year. The light plays in Madge's remarkable blue eyes and Gale smiles. Perhaps the ocean is not so bad after all.

Perhaps they'll be okay.