A while ago, I got a request to write Gadge for the prompt 67% for an anon. Hope that anon enjoys it.! :) Also pairings include: Gohanna and Finn/Madge
Johanna didn’t give him a choice, either he come celebrate her aging another year or play boyfriend at her niece’s birthday party. Though, Gale wasn’t dumb enough to make the same mistake twice; being badgered about marriage and kids by her family was not the way he wanted to spend a Sunday afternoon.
Once he arrives at the whole in the wall country tavern Johanna rented out for the occasion, Gale beelines straight to the bar that looks like it was an upright oak that morning. He didn’t bother greeting his coworker with a Happy Birthday, not when he is sure he saw blonde hairs poking out from under the straw hat of the woman Johanna is talking to.
Drumming his fingers on the solid counter top, idly wondering if it could use another coat of varnish, the familiar scent of vanilla wafts up beside him. He was right in his assumption of the owner of those flyaway wisps that curl around her braided, blonde hair. The chime of her sweet voice rings in his ears, making his chest tighten at what he knows is to come.
“Well, I’ll be, what are the chances of us running into each other?” Madge drawls, her lips pulling up in a grin, blue eyes taunting him unbeknownst as they sparkle with excitement. Gale feels the blood in his veins run cold and his heart pulse painfully as it thumps against the wall of ice surrounding the vessel.
He knows she knows he’s painfully aware of the odds of them bumping into each other tonight. Factoring in that Johanna is best friends with Madge’s (current?) boyfriend and his infrequent attendance at parties, the chances are higher than one would expect when it comes to crossing paths with their ex.
“I bet they’re pretty high,” she says from around the lip of her wine glass. “86%?”
Sixty-seven Gale wants to proclaim but he rather let her bather on than say a word, less he say something that drives that percent plummeting to a big fat zero. He misses her and he’ll take anything he can get to see her again, even with shitty odds like 67 percent.
“How are things at the new job? Gale asks, making do with the limited time he has by drumming his fingers against the body of the beer bottle in his clammy grasp.
“Good. The kids are really taking to me, even if some of the older ones seem more interested in my relationship with their homeroom teacher than my lesson.” Madges laughs it off as if the invasion of privacy is a thing to be welcomed.
“Are you still dating Odair then?” Gale lifts the beer to his lips at the perfect angle; blocking the grin the illuminates her face. He remembers when he was the one she’d smile about.
Madge’s head bobbles and nose wrinkles with thought. “Not so much anymore; dating gets harder when you’re planning a wedding.” Gale almost chokes on his drink. She continues without an iota of concern. “We’re having the ceremony and reception right here in the Capitol, then head we’ll fly out west to his beach house for the the honeymoon. It’s going to be unforgettable.”
“I bet…” Gale grumbles as he downs the last drop of beer and turns to the bartender for another. Nothing begs for a drunken stupor like the love of your life permanently slipping through your fingers. Especially, when that someone else is that abnormally modest, kind-natured Adonis that is Finnick Odair. If he was an egotical arse, Gale might have had a chance. Maybe 12 percent?
“What about you, any exciting news? How’s work; have you been seeing anyone?” Her queries have Gale wanting to share one of his intricate lies from the pile he tells himself during those long days at the office. That he has four kids and a beautiful wife waiting at home for him, dinner’s hot and ready on the table when he arrives and he eats at their breakfast nook in silence before going up to help read bedtime stories and tuck their girls into bed. Then wrap up in the arms of his wife and fall asleep watching the news, muted.
Gale’s lips twist in a smile but falls as the second frosted mugs slides across the counter top.
“Hey? Are you oka-”
“I’m fine,” he answers curtly, drawing the amber liquid down the glass and consuming it with large gulps. He doesn’t want to be here talking to her, doesn’t want to see traces of sympathy grow behind her painted lashes. But he knows her, better than her pretty boy fiance does, and in knowing Madge Undersee Gale is aware that she’s resilient to the core.
“Work could be better, hell, the whole profession of crunching numbers and spitting out statistics can be better but it’s not going to ever get better. And no, I’m not seeing anyone.” Huh. Another glass empty. Gale signals for another once the bartender looks his way.
“Why haven’t you?” There it is, the sympathy, vocalized now. Even worse. Fuck.
“It’s hard enough to make time to leave the office to sleep, let alone date. Besides…” He stares right into her eyes, abandoning his qualm with the drips from them oil paint on canvas. “What woman would want to date a man still hopeless in love with his ex.” There, he said it. Took a risk, laid everything out on the line; now all there is is to watch that measly 67% drop one decimal at a time.
Her lip draws between her teeth and eyebrows knit adorably while she ponders a response. “So, you’re letting yourself get in the way by dwelling on your feelings for me?” Madge states bluntly upon finding her words. When she says them, they sound more pathetic. 66. 65. 64.
“Sounds about right.” Gale wants to laugh and cry, not sure in which order.
“An attractive, fiercely passionate man like yourself is a catch,” she says optimistically.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t enough to make you my catch,” he bites just as this third mug of beer is placed in front of him.
Normally, Madge would’ve had something cheeky remark but she just smiles chastely and pulls her blonde braid over her shoulder, undoing the tie and drawing her fingers through her crimped hair.
“Maybe, in some other world we are still together,” Madge says, fingers still combing through her hair refusing to look at him. “Because I’m sure somewhere else another Gale puts me before his career and loves me the way I know he can.”
He feels like a boulder, crumbling off the side of a cliff and plunging into the depths of the ocean floor. Gulping for air, Gale peels his fingers off his beer as he fights against his drowning lungs. They may not have been a quick fix, but they would have been an easy one. How, through the pounding voice of ambition, had he not heard her cry for affection?
“It was good to see you again, Gale.” Madge lifts her gaze. Perching on her toes, she presses a kiss to his heated cheeks. “Please do me one last favour; you have a great smile, don’t forget what it looks like.” And with that she spins on her heel and heads back out into the crowd, forgetting to order the beverages. It didn’t matter though. She finds her fiance easily, as he stands like a pillar above everyone else, who already has a beer in his hand and willing to share.
All that contemplating and calculating balancing odds over and over only for it to come down to chivalry. What were the chances of that being the problem to begin with? 55%? Add the charming Finnick Odair in the equation, make the odds 112%.
He couldn’t be bothered to finish the beer, the smooth amber already tasting thick and grainy on his tongue. Paying his tab plus tip, Gale walks out and into the crisp night air to heads home. Back to his single room, the countless numbers, codes and his playful gray tabby he took in off the street. At least those had a hundred percent guarantee to mend his bruised heart.
Johanna finds him Monday morning in the staff lounge, making a fresh pot of coffee; with those tiny yet strong hands of her’s she rips the pot from his hands and smashes it down onto the counter. Nearly shattering the glass.
“The hell’d you leave for? Now I owe Undersee $50,” Johanna fumes. Well isn’t that just peachy, they were betting on him Saturday night, how wonderful.
“I remembered I forgot to feed the cat before I left,” Gale says.
“Don’t bullshit me! What’d she say? She rag on you for being a broody, miserable asswipe?”
“No...but thanks for telling me how you really feel.” Yanking back the coffee pot, he proceeds to finish pouring his cup of coffee.
“Fuck.” Johanna runs a hand through the spikes of her cropped hair. “Whatever she said is wrong, you aren’t those things.”
“So, I’m not attractive, passionate or a catch? Way to salt the wound, Johanna.” Sometimes, it was fun just to rile her up. Especially when her face flushes with anger. Or so he thought, until her eyes flicker to her feet and she runs her hands through her hair again.
“Guess I gotta take some it back ‘cause she’s not entirely wrong then.” Johanna sighs.
“What part do you agree with?” Gale leans back against the counter with a raised a brow in genuine curiosity.
“The fact that despite you being brainless sometimes, you’re a catch. More than Finn.” She tries to play it off nonchalantly with a noncommittal shrug but Gale see through it. Sort of.
“More than Finn? Is Johanna Mason hung over or is that a compliment?”
“Look, I’ve known Finn most of my life. So when I tell you he'd a basket case, you better believe it. Madge is a trooper...no…a saint for wanting that the rest of her life. Especially when she gave up something better, more solid, less likely to throw himself off a building - even if you are a crazy cat man.” Johanna jabs with a good natured smile. He can’t help it, a smile creeps onto his lips too - wide and without abandon. It feels good to smile again.
“‘Kay, so I didn’t come looking for you just to tell you I lost $50. I really do need someone to come to my niece’s birthday. If I go alone, my brother promised to hitch me up with his friend and I am not in the mood for any more blind dates. Would you please come with me? You basically owe me for ditching the party anyways.”
Petite, fiery Johanna Mason with her tangerine tinted brown eyes and pursed kissable lips. She thinks he's a catch, probably among other things. What kind of other lovely compliments has she kept locked in that head of hers?
“Sure,” he answer with a smirk. Gale couldn’t say no. Not this time. “It’s a date.”
