A/N: Seasons is a series of four loosely related one-shots centering on Gale's budding relationship with Madge, one per season. This was meant to be a follow up to Matched, so check it out on my profile if you haven't already read it, but this can stand alone. I hope you enjoy it!

Summer

...

Hair Gel and Other Related Disasters

It's beautiful. When did the lake become so shimmery? The light from the setting sun reflects off the surface, reminding me of jewels. The brilliance of diamonds. The shine of perfectly cut emeralds. The grass I'm lying in is so soft, so wonderful under my hands, which are occupied with something equally silky and a million times more beautiful.

I turn my head and smile lazily at the girl beside me. Blonde hair I wouldn't trade for all the jewels in the world, even if they looked just like the lake. Hell, they could be more beautiful than the lake, and I wouldn't look at them twice. She's leaning in, and I'm stroking her hair in anticipation. Just a few inches more -

Ring ring riiing

I jerk awake, wondering what in hell could be making so much noise. Screw you! I curse in my head, using a few choice swear words that Madge would kill me for saying. I miss my dream already, and my fists are clenched in anticipation of crushing whatever is making that ringing sound. Oh, the things I'll do to that little...

Ring ring rii -

Sighing, I flip open - what did Madge call it? - the cell phone and arbitrarily punch the keypad. I honestly don't see the use for this thing. Before, when I was in Two, I unplugged my wall phone because the ringing drove me insane. Having a tiny, handheld phone to irritate the shit out of me at every possible moment of the day? Never. But Madge made me, and she of all people knows I can't refuse her.

"You can call me whenever you want," Madge says, pressing the slim device in the palm of my hand. "Promise me you'll keep it, it's safer for you." She's holding her own phone, small just like the one she's forcing on me but green instead of silver.

I raise my eyebrows skeptically. "I can call you whenever I want? Any time of the day I feel like talking to you? Just pick up the phone and dial your number?" I smirk at the hint of fear that crosses her face. Her phone's definitely going to be ringing off the hook. "And why don't I get green?"

She narrows her eyes at me. "Wake me up from my beauty sleep and I'll bash your idiotic little brain in," she threatens. "And you can change the color, for a fee."

A fee? Never mind the color right now. I love it when she says stuff like that - it's so out of place coming from such a deceptively sweet girl like her (ha! sweet girl... I'll never forget the prank she pulled with my coffee maker) but so funny at the same time. "Sure you'll make good on that promise?" I say in a low voice, grinning evilly.

She gives me a little shove and thrusts the cell phone at me. "Just take it. Promise not to destroy it, please?" And then she looks at me, hypnotizing me with her eyes. Blue, like the sea. At least that's what I've heard...

Before I know it I'm nodding, tucking the phone in my pocket, promising I won't toss it in the trash or do anything else drastic. With a sweet smile she bids me good night, leaving me dazed. "I won't do anything to it, promise," I call to her, hoping she'll come back and give me a kiss. But the way she scoffs tells me I won't be so lucky that night.

Later, when my phone rings to announce a call from Katniss - she uses her phone? - I curse Madge's pretty face and sea blue eyes. Why did I ever promise something so ridiculous?

I sorely regret that I can't bash it against the wall like I really feel like doing at the moment, especially when my eye catches the time on the small screen. Nine in the morning? I don't wake up at Nine on weekends, ever.

Then it hits me. Nine. Today.

Today's the day I dazzle Madge, blow her straight out of the water. Literally? Hopefully, if everything goes well. Which it better. With a girl like Madge, it has to be perfect the first time around. Who knows how many guys like Philip are lined up, ready and eager to take advantage of any screw-ups I make?

Shuddering at the thought of her ex-boyfriend, with both a hint of jealousy and more than a hint of fear, I swing myself out of bed, stretching and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. What I'm willing to do for that girl... she better appreciate my sacrificing my sleep for this little project.

I crack a couple of eggs in a pan, sprinkling an unknown amount of salt and pepper on the yellow mass. On a whim I cut a slice of bread and stick it in the toaster, covering my yawns with my left hand. With a flip of the pan my breakfast is ready to go, and I slip it onto a plate. Eggs and bread. It doesn't get much better than this.

As a scarf down the eggs, I hear a telltale ringing from my room. Does the damn thing have an off button? I trudge into the bedroom and tiredly press the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Gale?" A shaky, high-pitched voice greets me, and I almost groan in protest. "Gale! You have to come down to the office! There's someone here, telling me the trip to Four has been postponed to next week, but that can't be true! The inter-district meeting is tomorrow! I have all the paperwork ready, everything's set to go - my calendar says it's tomorrow!"

Kill me now. My idiot of an assistant doesn't know his days of the week or what's going on in the very same office he works in. "Damon? It's Saturday. Tomorrow's Sunday. There are no meetings on Sundays." I wait for this to sink in, letting my voice take on the edge that warns anyone on the receiving end of it to stay the hell away from me. "Besides that, your calendar is as reliable as the mail service. The meeting is next Tuesday. Tuesday. Of next week. Can I trust a miserable whelp like yourself to get that down correctly?"

A pause while he no doubt nods, forgetting I'm on the damn phone, then a hasty reply. "Yes, sir, Mr. Hawthorne, sir. S-s-sorry, sir, I won't bother you again, I promise -"

"Just don't call me again," I say warily, hanging up the phone before I'm forced to sit through one of his long, drawn out apologies in his squeaky voice. I'm going to have to get a new assistant. Later, I have more important things to worry about. Specifically, tonight's date.

After quick shower - whoever thought it would be funny to mess with the water heater is going headfirst into my fireplace - I dress and head out into town, mentally going through the checklist in my head. Task One - the restaurant.

I know I'm screwed when I realize that even after knowing Madge for a month, I don't know her favorite food, besides strawberries. And there's no way I'm taking her on a date to the strawberry patch. First of all, she doesn't like them for the taste. Secondly, I've brought her there already. And thirdly, what kind of guy can survive on a dinner of fruit and greens? It's a good thing I learned to hunt - I'd probably die of rabbit food early on in my childhood if it hadn't been for the game I brought home every day.

I wonder who would know what Madge likes to eat. A voice in my head reminds me that Philip probably knows, but I take a mental ax to that thought. She's friends with Katniss, I know. Which means I have to drag myself to Victor's Village and put myself through the torture that is watching a lovesick Peeta grope his wife. Just the images almost persuades me to take my chances and choose by myself, but the more prominent image of Madge grimacing at my horrible taste in restaurants pushes me to walk in that direction.

Destination One, Katniss and Peeta's house, Victor's Village.

Victor's Village isn't really a village for Victors, anymore. A lot of the wealthier Twelve citizens moved into the empty houses and turned the village into a thriving neighborhood. Katniss and Peeta and Haymitch occupy the two houses towards the back, so I have plenty of time to contemplate my mission. Mission Impress Madge.

I can't help but think about how pathetic I'm becoming if I'm naming missions.

Peeta sees me before I see him, and he calls Katniss out onto the porch where he's painting something. As I get closer I realize the face on the canvas isn't just any face - Katniss' features stare at me from its perch on the easel. How many portraits of Katniss does he have hanging proudly on various walls? Does Katniss ever get sick of seeing herself again and again and yet again, as she goes about her daily activities?

"Gale!" The subject of the aforementioned portraits in question runs down the steps and hugs me. "Hey! You're just in time, Peeta's cookies are nearly done. All he has to do is ice them. Come in, I'll get you something to drink, there's this Capitol drink called soda you need to try -"

Frankly I tuned her out after the word cookies, not at all looking forward to a cheery snack with lovebirds One and Two, but I nod and smile like I've been listening. "Yeah, that sounds great." I know from past experience that Katniss has turned into quite the homemaker and won't register a word of what I say until she's forced a plate of Peeta's latest creation into my hands and I'm seated.

Not that she's lost any of her old fire - I once walked in on her shooting arrows at the wall above Peeta's head the time he suggested they go over to the Capitol and give them the interview they wanted. The expression on his face was priceless. They both knew she could easily pierce his skull if she truly wanted to, but that didn't make the experience any less nerve wracking.

I felt for the poor kid, I really did. At least she didn't take out the knives.

After I've taken a bite of Peeta's cookies and insisted that they're wonderful, not too sweet at all, Katniss looks at me expectantly. "So, why are you here?"

Straightforward as always. "I just have something to ask you," I say vaguely, wondering how to get the information I want without the taunting and teasing I have to endure every time I talk about Madge. The first time we went to one of Katniss' and Peeta's dinners together, their constant snickering and whispering got on my nerves to the point where I was grinding my teeth and wishing I had my bow and arrows. All I had to do was let the string go and bam, no more muttering.

Of course, I'm not that lucky. One, I have no bow and arrow, and two, there's that glint in Peeta's eyes, and upon seeing this I instantly regret coming here. Surely there's another way to figure out what Madge likes. I shouldn't have to brave these maniacs. With this in mind, and I stand up and push my chair back under the table, abandoning Peeta's sugary masterpieces.

"Is this about what I think it is?" Peeta asks, already moving to keep me at the table. "You can just ask, you know." His smile unnerves me. Coupled with Katniss' knowing look, they're a formidable force. Who knew the baker boy could be so intimidating?

"Just stopping by to say hi," I say. "Nice picture of Katniss, by the way, Peeta." My hopes that they'll respond to my way of changing the subject are dashed when Katniss blocks the hallway, preventing me from leaving.

"Come on, Gale, give us a break. It's fun teasing you about Madge. Who would have thought you'd end up with the mayor's daughter?" she says, smiling. It's not a sneaky smile, which calms me a little bit. But the fact remains that she's standing in front of my only escape route, minus the windows. I'd rather not resort to something so drastic, though.

To ask or not to ask? I check my watch. I only have six hours until everything has to be ready. How am I supposed to get the right flowers and the gift and all those other things that my co-workers swear are essential to a perfect date? Hell, this is harder than I thought it would be. "What's Madge's favorite food?" I finally say.

Peeta's smirk widens. Curse you, Mellark. "Why would you want to know that, Gale?" he asks, as if he doesn't already know the answer. Oh, curse him and Katniss. Nosy busybodies.

"I'm taking her on a date," I say shortly, knowing that the longer I delay answering them the less time I have to tend to the other aspects of said date. Flowers, chocolate, candles, other sappy things... and hair gel so I don't look like a ruffian. Can't forget the gel.

Fortunately for me, Katniss notices my discomfort and growing hatred of her husband. Probably fearing that I'll punch him in the face - distinct possibility, to be honest - she deftly moves in between us, leaving the path to the door open. Thank you, Katniss! "You can try the restaurant in town next to the candy shop. She likes pasta, and the desert there is to die for." She glances quickly at Peeta. "Not as good as yours, of course..."

"Take her next door and buy her peppermints or something," Peeta adds, hiding a laugh over Katniss' awkward compliments. "Madge loves peppermints." He's still smirking, but at least I have answers. It'll all be worth it tonight.

"Thanks." I nod at the two and show myself to the door. I brush off Katniss' insistence that I bring Madge over to dinner soon and leave to the sound of badly concealed laughter and whispering.

The woes of Gale Hawthorne, war hero and miserable date-planner.

Remembering Katniss' instructions to the restaurant, I make my way back to town, only pausing to stop by the florist and order a dozen roses. It's not far from Madge's apartment complex, which is good. The restaurant itself is nice enough - small, but the smells emanating from the open windows leave no doubt that the food is just as good as the signs on the door claim.

I push open the door and make my way to the waitress standing near the door at a computer. She's typing away, her head bobbing to the music playing on the speakers, and she doesn't notice me at all when I tap her shoulder. Two minutes and many taps later, I finally raise my voice, not wanting to scare her but needing to make my reservation. When her head turns, I sigh. My day is not going well.

She starts when she sees me. I know that green skin and auburn hair. She's gotten a pair of ridiculous dangly earrings and a set of gold bangles, but there's no doubt in my mind at all.

Crazy lady, we meet again. Could you please refrain from shoving me in dark rooms this time around? Hiding another long sigh, I ask her if I can make a reservation for two.

She nods rapidly, her wide eyes on me, and types something into the computer. "What time, sir? Is six okay for you?" The whole time she's looking at me as if I'll slit her throat, and she jumps at the slightest movement I make. She also likes to mutter under her breath, and I'm almost certain I catch the words "can't mess up again" and "she said...!"

Shaking my head, I finish making the reservation. It's going fairly smoothly until the very end, when she tries to put us in what she calls "The Ruby Room".

"It's for couples!" she insists. "You and Madge would love the room!" Her voice gets squeaky with indignation, and I have to tune her out for a few seconds while I gather my wits about me. No one warned me that dates were this hard to plan.

"I don't want the Ruby Room, though," I say. It sounds ominous to me, and I don't think I trust anything this lady says when it comes to rooms. "I want to sit outside, on the back porch." For the thousandth time, I wonder why I can't take Madge to the woods and kiss her senseless instead of going on this ill-fated date. Kissing or dinner with the green-skinned psycho? The decision is simple enough. But no, a proper boyfriend endures little mishaps like this and arranges reservations and buys flowers and candles and hair gel.

Of course I'm a proper boyfriend. Just look at me, ensuring that our dinner goes flawlessly, at much personal risk. Great personal risk. Extreme personal risk, if this woman is any indication of it.

The waitress does that screeching thing again, going completely off her rocker about my wanting the porch and not the creepy room. "You have to take the room! You're supposed to sit in that room! Oh, what is she going to say when she hears about this -" Tears stream down her face, leaving mascara trails on her cheeks.

Alarmed, I pat her arm awkwardly. "Er, if you really want us to take the room," I say, not knowing how to deal with crying women. "The Ruby Room is fine. Uh, could you please stop crying?"

She nods, finishing up the reservation. "See you here at six! You'll love the Ruby Room! It's amazing, and you two will be completely alone!" Giggling with delight, a sharp contrast from the sobbing girl from only moments before, she smiles and waves at me as I leave, all the while going on and on about the fun I'll have with my date and the wonderful food and the flickering lights installed especially in the Ruby Room.

Flickering lights? Perhaps I'll change the reservation a little later, when I'm sure her shift is over. Flickering lights scream bad electricity, not my boyfriend is so amazing - he brought me to a restaurant where the lights turn on and off at random times! If only, Gale, if only.

With Task One completed, I move on to the next item on my mental list. Restaurant? Check. Flowers? Finally, something straightforward. No way to screw up flowers. I even custom ordered them - twelve pink roses, tied with a silk ribbon. Time to head over to pick them up.

Happy to have something easier to do, my face relaxes and a grin spreads over my face when I think about Madge's reaction to the date. I'll walk her out of her apartment, surreptitiously eyeing one of her fancy dresses and curly hair. She'll gasp in surprise when I lead her to the restaurant, sighing and making those eyes at me when she realizes she never told me about her favorite food. We'll have a quiet, romantic dinner, and then...

Damnit. I just passed the florist. Concentrate, Hawthorne! I double back and enter the small shop, glancing around at the plethora of flowers. I head to the counter, and the man behind it looks up from the bouquet he's working on. "A dozen roses?" he asks, confirming my order. He heads to the back room after I nod and brings out a bundle of flowers, wrapped in crinkly paper and held together by a silver ribbon.

I stare at them, wondering how much a day can suck. "Those aren't Eden roses, are they?" I finally say, resigned to the fact that I'll have to go back yet again after this man gets the order right. No matter, I'll head back after I pick up some stuff at the market. "I wanted twelve Eden roses."

The man slaps his hand on his forehead. "Ah, right! Sorry, sir, I forgot to tell you. We're out of Eden roses. The next shipment from the Capitol will be next week."

I don't even hide my groan. Edens are Madge's favorite type of rose - I know because the last time I was at her apartment I snuck a glance at some of those letters Philip wrote to her before she tossed them in the fire. And the florist just happens to be out, today, of all days. "Can I place an order for a dozen bourbon roses, then?" I ask, remembering that she has a certain fondness for them. "Assuming you have them, of course," I add, hoping I don't sound to pissed.

He nods quickly. "A dozen bourbon roses you'll have then, sir." He takes note of my order on a slip of paper. "You understand that you have to pay for both bouquets though, don't you? This one and the bourbon roses?" He gestures at the abandoned bundle on the counter. The non-Eden roses.

"Are you serious? You're the one who screwed up my order. Why should I pay for something I didn't want in the first place?" Despite my best efforts, I know I sound mad. Very mad. They're just roses, and I can definitely afford them, but it bothers me that nothing is going right today.

Glancing down at the flowers apologetically, he shifts his weight. "Well, sir, no one else will buy these, and to be frank the business isn't doing so well..."

I wonder why, I think dryly. If you mess up orders like this it's no surprise no one comes here. I feel bad about thinking it a second later, but I refuse to take it back. Someone has to take the blame for my shitty day, and here he is, just waiting to take the brunt of my irritation. "Fine," I growl, slapping some coins down on the counter. "This is for both flowers, so don't try weaseling any more money out of me when I come back. And remember - bourbon roses. Not any cheap substitute you have in here."

With that I sweep out of the shop, letting the door bang shut behind me. The children playing outside some of the other stores take one look at my angry face and scurry back inside, making me feel bad about yelling at the old man. I decide to apologize later, if he gets the flowers right this time.

Task Two - done. I'm already exhausted and ready to collapse in bed after running around town buying flowers and fending off waitresses, not to mention Katniss' and Peeta's twisted sense of humor. I consider stopping and getting lunch and possibly a nap in before continuing on my mission - Mission Impress Madge - but then I check my watch. Four hours! Only four hours to finish my checklist.

There goes my nap.

Task Three is chocolate, something I'm cautiously optimistic about. Madge likes white chocolate, obvious from her delight at the white chocolate cookies she sometimes brings home from work. She doesn't like spending money unnecessarily, so she almost never has pure chocolate around her apartment, which I'm determined to change. One box of sugary goodness, coming up.

I turn in the direction of the candy shop, wondering if I should go all out and buy her a huge box or tone it down a little and get a smaller one, since I'll be getting her peppermint after dinner. Big box or little box? I feel like going overboard with the sweets would backfire on me, so I go in and pick up a dozen small white chocolates, instructing the woman there to wrap the box.

Well, that went as smoothly as it should have. Feeling accomplished - as accomplished as I could feel after haggling with a florist over flowers - I think back to my checklist. Restaurant, flowers, and chocolate. What was that I tacked on to the end? Ah, right. Hair gel. The supposed key to causing a girl to swoon, an absolute must when taking a pretty girl out on date.

"That's the key, Gale. The gel! You don't think about your hair much, do you?" Thom looks at him as he would a primary schooler, making me feel like I'm five again, listening to the teacher recite the alphabet.

I scoff. "My hair is perfect," I insist, running my hand through it. Messy in all the right places, but definitely not tangled. Not too long, not too short. It sticks up sometimes, but that's part of the charm, isn't it? And as I stand there, leaning against my desk, I'm suddenly struck by the observation that I've thought about my hair just that much.

I worry myself.

Bristel sighs, shaking his head theatrically. I feel like slapping him upside the head, but I need to hear what he has to say about my hair. "Hawthorne, you're almost a lost cause. Girls love neatness. They love hair that lies flat, that's silky in their hands. They don't like hair that looks like it hasn't been combed in a week."

Offended, I glare at my co-worker. "I combed it a couple of days ago!" I say.

Bristel and Thom look at me for a moment, incredulous expressions on their faces. Then they simultaneously glance at each other and shake their heads, as if in disappointment.

"It's all in the hair gel. Remember the hair gel, and you're set."

At least according to my sources at the office - apparently very reliable sources, considering they all claim to have taken "at least a dozen girls" out to various places, some less savory than others. Of course, it's not like I haven't been with girls before - they always did clamor to join me on the slag heap. I smirk at the memory. Irresistible, even back then. But the smirk leaves my face when I remember that none of those I took on proper dates.

Madge is different. I can't drag her to some secluded corner and rely on my seductive good looks. She's witty and intelligent and deserves so much more than the slag heap. Hence my making a fool out of myself to make this date perfect.

I really do hope my friends at work are right about this.

So, hair gel. Where to get hair gel?

I head over to the general market and sneak towards the back of the store, where I know the hair products are. Not, of course, because I've ever needed hair products. But I've heard Katniss complain often enough about her prep team's obsession with the back aisle of Twelve's market - they still come over to dress her up for interviews and public appearances and all those things Katniss and the other victors get dragged to on occasion.

I shudder at the wide arsenal of female torture products and make my way over to the much smaller men's section. There's something distinctly unmanly about standing in the cosmetic aisle and checking out hair gel, but Thom and Bristel swear by it. Nevertheless, I keep an eye out for anyone heading my way, using my hunter's senses, still sharp after years of little use.

Hair gel is not an easy thing to buy. Even for men, there are at least a dozen brands, all packaged in the Capitol style and claiming that it's just the thing for my purposes. Does anyone in the Capitol even care what we use it for? Hell, this kind of gel is perfect for shining my shoes. But I don't think that was the intended purpose.

Before I can use the default for choosing items like this - bigger is always better, unless you're facing a bear in the woods - I hear female voices approaching me. High-pitched, feminine voices - two o'clock. I immediately melt into the aisle behind me, relying on my still perfect hunter's tread to mask my movement. I freeze in disbelief when I recognize the melodious tones of one of the girls walking nearer and nearer to me.

Madge!

Shit, shit, shit. The bag of chocolates is still in my hand, the scent of roses still on my clothes, and besides that, the aisle I backed into is for feminine products. Hygiene products, specifically. A groan is on the tip of my tongue when I remember at the last second that to give my location away would be setting myself up for the worst kind of embarrassment. It's time to bolt.

"Oh, I needed a new brush." From my awkward position I can just make out the tendrils of brown hair belonging to the girl closest to me. At least there's not much chance of Madge seeing me, if I do this correctly.

Easy does it, Gale. Very slowly, I walk away from the group of girls, aware that the slightest crinkle of my paper bag could cause one or all of them to turn. And that would be the end of Mission Impress Madge.

With my back to the other end of the aisle, I eye the back aisle as I make my escape, making sure none of them move from their current positions. I risk moving a little faster as I become more sure that no damage will be done, and I won't be seen, when I bump into a hard, heavy body. What the...?

"Haymitch? What the heck are you doing here?" It's a valid question on many levels - I thought he never left his house in Victor's Village, and here he is, casually looking at brightly colored packages of feminine protection. Then I catch sight of his face and I know. He's drunk. Very drunk. I suppose it's my job to get him out of the store before he makes a fool out of himself, but a voice stops me.

"What the...?" The brown haired girl mirrors my thoughts quite accurately, stepping closer to me. There's really no time to help Haymitch, and I silently hope that he's able to gather his wits soon enough to get his ass back to his house and sleep off the alcohol.

I sprint out of the door, far enough so the girls can't catch me, earning more than a few bewildered looks and quite a lot of muttered exclamations.

"Sorry," I say to a little girl whose cookie I knocked out of her hand. She gives me the dirtiest look a child so young can manage and runs off to her mother, crying about a crazy man stealing her food, which of course causes her to glare at me as she rocks her daughter. I try to look apologetic, but I don't think I pull it off. "I'll buy you another cookie, I promise!"

After a quick trip to the bakery to appease the girl, I stand in the square with my own pastry in hand. I haven't eaten all day, and it's already almost four in the afternoon. I don't have hair gel, I still need to pick up the flowers, which I only hope the florist didn't mess up, and I'm sure I look a mess. Two hours until my date with Madge, and I'm not ready. Leaning heavily on the side of a building, I finish the rest of the donut, consulting my mental checklist.

The restaurant is set. I'm too tired to run back over and change the reservation so we're not sitting in the Ruby Room with the flickering lights, but maybe my luck will hold and we won't be eating half our meal in the dark. Flowers. I have nothing to say about the horror that is buying roses. At least the chocolate is safely in my paper bag. I'll have to borrow someone's hair gel, though. Who would loan me this most essential item?

Peeta would, but not without an hour of snickering. Because I can't handle a second in his presence at this point, I immediately eliminate him as an option. Bristel and Thom aren't even in Twelve right now - they're visiting friends in Eleven for the weekend. Damon might have a bottle or two, but the last thing I need is his squeaky idiocy. I could wait until I'm sure the coast is clear and go back to the market, but to be honest, I just want to collapse in bed.

Which I do, after picking up the roses - perfectly arranged, and thankfully the correct type. The alarm on my phone should wake me up at five, an hour before I pick Madge up for our date. I sink into a fitful slumber, enjoying the rest but afraid that something will go wrong again, just like every part of my day so far.

When I wake up, I can already tell. Too late. Way too late. Call it hunter's instincts, but the moment I see the sun's rays hitting my blanket at that precise angle, I know I'm screwed. My dead cell phone and the numbers on my watch only further confirm this. It's 5:45 in the evening, barely enough time for me to shower and get dressed, let alone pick up hair gel before I meet Madge. Damnit.

I toss my phone at the wall, satisfied at the sound it makes on impact. Best damn thing I've heard all day. I spare a moment to kick the broken mess that is the remains of my phone before I jump into the shower. With seven minutes to go, I'm clean and dressed. Granted, my tie is slightly crooked, and I'm not happy with the wrinkles in my otherwise impeccable suit, but it'll have to do. I try to flatten my hair with water, but it refuses to lie down, so I leave it. Madge has never had issues with my hair.

With a last inspection in the mirror, I'm out the door, grabbing the bag of chocolates. It's the only thing I can safely guarantee is perfect about this date, and I'm not about to forget it. My watch beeps, reminding me that in five minutes I should be walking up to Madge's door, cool and collected and prepared for what should be a fantastic dinner date.

Perhaps five minutes will be enough to achieve all of that before she sees me.

The walk to Madge's apartment is short and uneventful, punctuated only by the shouts of children still playing outside their parents' stores. When I reach her door, I pause, gathering my wits and going through the list in my head yet again before I summon the courage to knock. It's just a date, damnit. Just a date. I can handle a date.

When Madge opens the door wearing a faded white shirt, sweat-pants, and a towel on her forehead, I find myself seriously questioning that.

"Madge?" She looks miserable - her hair is put up in a messy ponytail, but not in the calculated way that characterized her appearance when she goes to the woods with me. It's lopsided and strands of golden hair are falling out, framing her face. Behind her I can just make out the outlines of a dozen plain bottles, obviously medication. "Madge, are you okay?"

Stupid question of the century! She weakly rolls her eyes and gestures to the chaotic scene behind her. As she moves closer to the door frame, a messy bed, piles of clothing, and a seemingly unassuming plastic bowl on her nightstand become visible. Just thinking about what it might contain makes me want to gag. "Does it look like I'm okay?" she asks in a dry tone. "I feel terrible - the worst I've felt in a long time. And today we were supposed to eat out! When I got back from the store I felt so ill... it must have been the stew Greasy Sae forced me to try, I knew it wasn't safe to eat..."

Sighing inwardly I guide her back to her bed and tuck her in - she wasted too much energy getting the door for me. I'm supposed to be worrying about her, not the ruined date I worked so hard to plan, but I can't help but resent Madge's timing. After hours of tweaking every last detail - I woke up early to plan this! - it's all off. Life has a funny way of dealing shit out.

"Don't worry about it," I say when Madge frets over tonight. "It's nothing, we can do that any other time. Focus on getting better first." Within an hour the bag of chocolates is on the counter, the medicines gathered back into her cabinet, and the clothes back in her closet.

"I was trying to pick something to wear - I figured we might still be able to do what you planned for us tonight -" She babbles about tafetta dresses and black high-heels as she falls asleep, clutching the blankets. She's definitely out for the night, if not the week, which means planning this all over again. Exhausted and irritated, I make an executive decision and fall into bed next to her, pulling her close in the moments before my eyes close.

Three days and sixteen hours.

That's how long I end up staying at Madge's apartment, making food with whatever is left in her pantry and dining on stale bread and chocolate in bed with her in between holding her while she coughs and sneezes and in general feels like shit.

The roses are scattered in pieces all over the floor, after a rather amusing game of "he loves me, he loves me not," which ends in Madge tearing a petal in half and declaring with mock sadness that I do not love her, which of course leads to me doing exactly what will prove her wrong. The petal is discarded along with the remnants of the flowers, and for the next half hour we lose ourselves in my elaborate proof.

When I tell her about my fiasco with the hair gel, she gasps and runs her own small fingers through the mess on top of my head.

"Haven't I ever told you that your hair suits you more than any slicked down hairdo could?"

No, she hasn't. I resolve to slap Bristel and Thom as soon as I get back to work.

Of course she had to show me the dress she bought just for the date, an emerald green number that was supposed to be worn with a pair of shoes that I personally think would trip even the steadiest man - not that I tell her. I instead comment on my preference for her white shirts and comfortable pants, and I'm rewarded with a grin and a sneeze.

"Bless you," I say, ever the charming boyfriend.

She responds by grabbing the tissue box from me.

I stay with her for over three and a half days, and I can't think of any other three and a half days I've enjoyed more. It's hot and stuffy and the faulty air conditioner doesn't help the summer heat at all (soon we're down to eating liquid chocolate, although Madge swears it's still amazing), but I'll take the sweat and germs any day.

Not that I've given up on my perfect storybook date with Madge. Far from it.

Although I will rethink the hair gel.

A/N: Poor Gale.

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Next chapter - the penny drops. What exactly have Katniss and Peeta been doing behind the scenes?