Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
AN: So here's the final installment of the 'Madge in the Games' story. It's going to take a while to finish, unfortunately. My energy for it is low, but existent, and I have the story more or less plotted out so that bodes well. After February, I'll be a little more focused. Basically I'm posting this to motivate myself to write and not let the story just waste away.
Anyways, thanks to Nursekelly for putting up with me.
To jump or fall
Madge cups her hands and splashes icy cold water onto her face.
For a few seconds she grips the cold marble edge of the counter and stares at the empty sink before looking up at the mirror.
Her makeup is still perfect, no smears or running mascara. She's painted, a doll that can weather any storm.
Makeup that can withstand even the most violent tears is the brainchild of one of her fellow Victors, a fact that almost makes Madge laugh. Of course a Victor would be the one that would create makeup that can stay in place even after a good cry. In the Capitol, they need it more than anyone else.
This isn't the time to marvel at the genius of her fellow Victors though; this is just a moment to catch her breath. There's still a show to put on.
Behind her the heavy oak door glides open and Madge prepared herself for squeals of delight from someone 'lucky' enough to catch her in a rare moment off stage.
When no giggles or shrill words of excitement reach her though, Madge thinks she's managed to slip under at least one person's radar.
A few last beads of water trickle down her cheek and off her jaw, into the sink, before she blinks and takes a steadying breath.
"Oh, Magdalene, you look just delicious," a voice drawls behind her.
Spinning so fast her heels almost slip on the tile, Madge finds herself face to face with Egard Glaive.
He's spindly, pale with silver hair and a cold smile. The descendant of a former Victor with position and pull within the Capitol despite his unpleasant personality.
How he'd slithered across the room without notice Madge isn't sure, but she doesn't care. All she wants is to get away. The last place she wants to be is trapped in a room with any member of the Glaive family.
Birdy's never gone into specifics, but the Glaives are rotten to the core.
"Never let them get between you and the door," she'd warned her, back when Madge had first had the displeasure of meeting Egard and Evlyn after a concert. "And if they touch you, don't hesitate, knock their teeth out."
"But-"
"No buts," Mr. Abernathy had cut her off. "Listen to Bird."
Madge wrung her hands. "But Finnick-"
"Finnick's playing a different game, Madgie," Birdy quickly told her. "Different rules. Never forget that."
And Madge hadn't. She was spun glass, an ornament not to be touched, and she had sharp edges. They'd bleed if they tried to do what wasn't allowed.
Giving Egard a small nod of acknowledgement, Madge starts to step past him only for his boney hand to shoot out and wrap tightly around her upper arm.
"My sister and I have requested your company, but it turns out you're quite popular."
Grinding her teeth, Madge nods.
The patrons of the arts were few, but they were a powerful group. Madge's concerts had saved her from the dark fate that Finnick, Cashmere, and Gloss shared. Her music saved her from the Glaives.
"I need to get back to the stage," she tells him curtly, trying to pull her arm from his grip.
He squeezes tighter. "I don't want long."
His thin lips twist up as Madge tries again to pull herself from him.
"Let go."
Egard chuckles. "No."
It's a joke to him. She's nothing but a toy he's been denied, and now he's going to take his turn. Permission or not.
"Let me go," Madge grinds out, her eyes locked on his, narrowed, hoping he can't sense the fear in her.
His nails dig into the diamond dust speckled skin on her arm as an answer.
Before she can worry herself out of it, Madge lets her instincts take over. She balls her free hand up and plants a foot before swinging at Egard's still grinning face.
Blood erupts from his mouth, crimson spurting out and onto the floor.
It's enough of a distraction to get him to let go of Madge's arm and she stumbles back, tripping on her heels and falling into the wall.
"That wasn't very ladylike," Egard growls, spitting blood onto the floor. He grins. "I like it."
A shiver goes up and down Madge's spine and she tries to find her footing again, but she's too slow, too scared and shaken, and before she can bolt for the door Egard is back on her his body pressing obscenely against hers and his hands begin groping and squeezing, tugging at her skirt.
Madge tries to bring a knee up and hit him in the groin, but he stomps on her feet, pinning them down as he chuckles.
"I love that our little diamond has some edges," he hisses, his hot breath against her neck.
There's no fighting him. She's nothing and he's everything. All the power and privilege, and she's only a pawn in this game. She should give up.
Gale's face, smeared with coal and sweat, is suddenly in front of her, looking fearful and disgusted.
Fight, she almost hears him say. You're a fighter, you're smarter than this.
Madge half wants to shout at him that this isn't about being smart, this is about strength, and she hasn't got any, but then in the periphery of her vision she sees a glint of Egard's ruby earring.
The thought is only half formed when she acts on it.
Her teeth grab Egard's earlobe and rip the jewel out, eliciting a pained scream as he stumbles back, holding his ear.
"You little-"
Madge swings at him again, her stance more solid this time and her hit landing firmly on his nose.
He crumples in on himself, stumbling back and cupping his nose, voice muffled as he curses her.
Looking up, his face smeared in blood, he snarls, "Bitch!"
Seemingly out of nowhere, an arm wraps around his neck and green hair appears beside his face.
Birdy sighs dramatically, her expression exasperated.
"Egard, if I've told you once, I've told you a million times." Something glints in the rose colored light of the bathroom, thin and sharp, pressing into Egard's neck. "Guess you'll never learn."
Without so much as a breath of hesitation, the dagger jabs deep into Egard's flesh, sending blood gushing out and quickly soaking the crisp white of his suit.
Birdy lets him go and he stumbles as he tries to press his hands to his neck in a vain attempt to keep his life from spilling out before slipping in the already impressive puddle of blood at his feet.
He reaches a bloody hand out, pleading with his wide, panicked eyes for Madge to save him. She doesn't though. Whether out of shock or disgust that he would expect her to help him after what he'd tried to do, Madge doesn't move, frozen against the wall.
"Will you just die already?" Birdy finally asks, stepping up behind him again and covering his mouth with one hand and pinching his nose with the other.
He struggles against her, all the while still trying to hold pressure on his gushing neck, but the fight is too much. The color drains from his already pale face and his movements slow before he finally goes limp.
Rolling her eyes, as if to say 'took long enough', Birdy lets him go and he drops lifelessly to the tile with a sickening slap.
"Miss Ala-"
Madge's question dies on her lips when the door open again and in spills several Peacekeepers, guns drawn and boots banging loudly on the blood splattered tile.
"Thank god you're here," Birdy says, stepping over Egard's body as she pulls out her compact and begins fixing her hair before gesturing behind her. "Someone has murdered Egard and Evlyn Glaive."
Too stunned to speak, Madge looks toward the heavy door, now propped open by a potted fern, and spots a slumped figure against the wall.
Evlyn Glaive, Egard's creep of a sister.
She's a strange gray in the light, her blood pooled around her and saturating her evening gown, hands limp at her neck, trying to postpone the inevitable. It had clearly been a vain effort.
"We did everything we could," Birdy takes Madge's hands and smears blood on them, "but it was too late."
It's a show, part of whatever game Birdy is playing, and Madge wishes she knew the rules.
The Peacekeeper nods, his eyes tracing over the blood stains on her dress and dropping to the pool of blood around Egard's body. "Clearly." He looks around. "Round up the usuals. Family-"
Birdy snorts. "They'll be thrilled."
"-friends-"
"There's a short list."
"-and enemies."
"And that's a long list."
Turning back, the Peacekeeper jerks his head toward the exit.
"We've got this ladies, you should head home."
Madge feels herself nod, but she's rooted in the spot, eyes focused on the puddles of blood and the crimson footsteps being spread around the once white tiles.
They're dead. They were vile and sick, but they were people, and now they're dead.
It had to have been a setup, somehow, someway, by Birdy, and Madge thinks she should feel angry that she's been used as a pawn in another Victor's game, but she isn't.
There are two less monsters in the shadows, lurking and waiting to swoop in and destroy the fragile stability of those they prey on.
Even if she hadn't set out to help, Madge had. One good deed among her failures.
Despite that feeling of accomplishment, the coppery scent in the air, the squishing sound of the Peacekeepers' boots in the blood, cause Madge's stomach to roll. Bile stings at the back of her throat and her vision swims in front of her.
Leaning over, she puts her hands to her knees and tries to breath.
"Madgie?" Birdy's eyebrows scrunch together in concern as she leans in. "You okay?"
Looking up, Madge tries to speak, but her tongue feels leaden and no words form.
The room spins, Egard and Evlyn's lifeless bodies rise up and are thrown around, blood splashing, forming strange patterns on the walls as the Peacekeepers continue to work, their movements in exaggerated slowness.
"Madge?" Birdy asks again, her voice echoing, muffled, like she's trapped underwater.
The blood begins to fill the bathroom, inches and then feet of warm red liquid spills out over the toilets and escapes the stalls and pours from the faucets. No one else seems to notice.
"Miss Alameda!" Madge tries to shout, but no noise comes out, just more blood.
Birdy tilts her head, looking perplexed, and Madge tries again.
"Miss Alameda!" Why is she calling her that? She hasn't called her that in years…
When she only shakes her head in confusion again, Madge screams.
Birdy's mouth moves again, but it isn't Birdy's voice.
"Madge!"
She shakes her head. None of this is right…
"Madge!"
This has already happened…the Glaives have been dead for years...
"Madge! Wake up!"
Eyes snapping open, Madge shoots up, heart pounding and breath short, staring out into the dim yellow light from her bedside table as it illuminates her room.
Her room, in her house, in District Twelve.
A pair of warm, calloused hands run up and down her arms, then a pair of chapped lips press into her hair, her neck, then her shoulder as she finally relaxes back into Gale's chest.
She takes a ragged breath and when she licks her lips she tastes the familiar sting of tears.
Swatting at her face, she tries to wipe them off before Gale notices, but it's a pointless attempt.
"You're safe," he murmurs as he cups her face, wiping his thumbs under her eyes and smearing the tears away before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "It was just a nightmare."
A dark chuckle rumbles in Madge's chest.
If only it were just a nightmare.
It's not though.
It was a memory, crystallized and perfect for all of eternity, Madge's to relive until the day she dies.
A wave of exhaustion washes over her and the fragile threads holding her together come undone. A battle had been won, but the war still rages on around her, and she's just so tired.
Hot tears begin pouring out her eyes, dripping off her face and soaking the front of her nightgown.
"Madge," Gale wraps her in his arms and buries his face in her hair, mumbling more comforting nonsense to her. It doesn't matter what he says, he could be swearing a blue streak at her for waking him and she'd be happy. All that matters to her is the sound of his voice, the rumble of it through his chest, vibrating against Madge, warming her to her core.
It takes a few minutes for the sobs to slow, dwindle down to a trickle of tears and hiccups, but it's still faster to die out than it had been after her Games.
It isn't perfect, but it never will be.
Time and effort have helped her heal, little by little, but the scars are still there, still stretching and ripping open occasionally. More and more often recently, forming into violent memories that ruin what little of the night she has with Gale.
Having Gale there to hold her and remind her she's safe, at least for one golden moment, has helped her hold the pieces of her mind together more than anything else.
Mr. Abernathy tries, but the Capitol has done him so much damage over the years that Madge hates to inflict herself on him if she can help it. Her mother is already so fragile that Madge can't imagine trying to confide all her anxieties in her, and her father has been so busy…
Madge winning the Games had brought an unwanted spotlight on Twelve. The fence is up, humming with electricity, more than it had been since its construction, and the Peacekeepers are more volatile. Time has eased some of the initial harshness Madge's Victory had brought down on them, but the relatively passive life that had existed before is gone now, and there's no getting it back.
Gale's hand settles on Madge's back, holding her firmly against him and she nuzzles into his chest, inhaling the warm scent of soap on his skin.
She's hurting him, she knows that, but she's certain she'd fall apart without him and she's convinced herself he needs her too. He loves her, how would they survive if they were pulled apart?
"Don't be so dramatic," she almost hears Birdy say. "You'd survive just fine without him."
Madge shudders against Gale's warmth.
She'd survive, but it wouldn't be worth it. It wouldn't be living.
A cold wind howls outside, rattling the windows and causing the house to creak and groan in protest.
Snuggling closer, Madge closes her eyes and slows her breathing, willing herself to sleep, for Gale's sake. He needs rest before another day in the mines.
"I love you," Madge whispers, pressing a kiss to his chest.
"I love you, too," she hears him mumble through a yawn, his arms tightening around her.
Blinking back tears, Madge nods to herself.
It's not perfect, it can't keep her safe, not in reality and not in her mind, and it never will be.
That's okay, though.
It's enough to hold them both together, and that's all she can hope for.
For now.
#######
Gale's eyes squint into the darkness of Madge's room, fixing on the faint silver glow growing around the window.
He'll have to get up soon, and the thought makes his bones ache.
It's spring technically, but the mornings are still winter icy and he dreads leaving the cocoon of warmth that is Madge's bed. Everytime he has to untangle himself and pull on his chilly clothes he hates the mines that much more.
Still, it's part of the illusion, and if it keeps Madge's nightmares even a little less frequent, he'll happily do it for the rest of his life.
Which it seems he's going to have to do. She's had a resurgence of nightly terrors the past few weeks.
As quietly as he can, Gale slowly, gently, begins rearranging the comforter and pillows before shifting Madge's slight weight from his chest and into the nest he's built and crawling from the bed.
Instantly, he shivers, the loss of Madge's warmth twice as painful when his bare feet touch the frozen floor.
Gale shuffles around and grabs up his clothes before ducking into the bathroom and softly closing the door.
He tries to make his morning exits as silent as possible. Madge loses enough sleep fighting monsters in her mind, she rarely gets a full night, and he doesn't want to steal anymore moments of rest from her by being a noisy morning wakeup.
"I want to say goodbye though," she's told him, more than once. "I've got all day to sleep."
Gale almost laughs at the thought. She'd like him to believe her days were easy, but he knows they aren't.
"She practiced the whole time," Vick had told Gale. "When she messed up she'd start crying. Rory and me had to keep her from smashing her fingers with the cover a couple of times."
"We made her stop and help us with our math homework," Rory added, looking thoroughly disgusted at the thought that Madge would find school work relaxing compared to simply playing the piano.
"Haymitch said she tried to bake a cake or something for us," Vick informed him on another day. "She messed up though, and there were, I dunno, thirty cakes when we got there."
Her days were filled with constantly chasing an unachievable perfection.
If she baked something, it had to be perfect.
If she practiced, she did it until it was flawless.
If she folded her laundry, hours would drag by as she ensured the creases were sharp.
Her mind demanded nothing less than perfection, and if something wasn't, she'd repeat it. Again and again and again…
Gale blames the Capitol. Everytime she's sent there she's forced into a mold she has no hope of ever filling. People aren't meant to be perfect, but Victors are expected to be more than human.
It's an ideal that's created cracks in Madge's mind, and all Gale and anyone else can do is steer her out of the repetition when she slips into it.
Gale finishes shaving, inspecting his jaw before wiping the last of the water and foam from his face and sighing before grabbing his coal dulled shirt, pulling it on, and flipping off the light.
As he opens the door he finds Madge sitting up in the bed, the comforter gathered around her shoulders and her hair a mess around her head. It's the best sight he'll see all day.
Yawning, Madge squints at him. "That time already?"
Her voice is so soft, barely a whisper breaking the cold air, and Gale almost doesn't hear it.
He does hear her though, years of tracking in the woods have sharpened his ears, and even her soft voice doesn't escape him. Nodding he walks back to the bed as he buttons his shirt.
"I'll be back early tonight," he tells her as he leans in and catches her lips in a soft kiss.
She's going to need him, as much time with him as she can get, that much he knows. Time is slipping by, and her next concert is in a few days. The train will be there for her and Haymitch in the morning, ready to whisk her off to the Capitol before Gale even has to be up.
"I wish you didn't have to go," she whispers again, before he can pull back and finish buttoning his shirt.
Gale kisses her again, a little more forcefully.
He wishes he didn't have to go either. If the choice were either of theirs he'd get to pull his clothes back off and crawl back into the bed with her. Being a kept man had never held much appeal to him, he liked being active, doing things and being useful, but that was before Madge. Spending an entire day in bed didn't seem like such a shabby way to spend his time when she was in it too.
More than he'd like not to be going to his miserable job though, he wishes she weren't being taken away again. The mines seem like a fun day trip compared to the shimmering hell that is the Capitol. Plus, Madge's exhaustion has almost doubled in the past few weeks, creeping up on her like her nightmares. She's getting sick, he just knows it, and the Capitol doesn't give a damn.
If there were any truth in winning the Games, if Victory weren't an elaborate myth, the choice would be theirs. They'd get to spend the rest of their lives tangled in Madge's soft sheets, on her comfortable mattress, not playing parts and learning ever changing rules in a game they don't understand. Not playing games and making Madge ill to please freaks.
It is all a lie though.
Gale pulls back, just as Madge's chilly fingers have crept out of the comforter and tangled in his hair.
Nose bumping her cheek, Gale sighs before pressing another kiss to her lips.
"You're making this really difficult, you know?"
Fingers unweaving from his hair, Madge smiles sadly, eyes shining as her fingertips trace along his jaw. "I'm sorry."
He isn't. The memory of her hands and her lips will keep him from going stir crazy during his shift.
Still, he's going to be late.
Sighing, he presses one last soft kiss to her lips before straightening up.
"Vick and Rory will be up after school," he reminds her.
And Haymitch will be over when the sun comes up. She won't be alone for long.
It's cold comfort, he knows that, but it's the best he's got for her.
"I know. I'll be okay."
Gale nods.
He knows she will be. She's survived worse than a few hours loneliness, but if he had his way she wouldn't have to suffer even a moment of it.
It isn't his choice though, so he forces a smile.
Despite his protests that it's too cold for her to be up and about, she crawls out of the warmth of the bed and follows him, bare feet padding on the hardwood floors, down to the kitchen.
"Mom made you something," she tells him through chattering teeth, opening the icebox and pulling an overstuffed sandwich from its depths and walking it over to him.
Much as he likes the food, he wishes Madge's mom wouldn't insist on trying to make him lunch.
Her meals are too much, more food than Gale would ever be able to afford.
For the first few years he'd simply eaten whatever his own mom had packed him and saved the sandwich for Vick and Rory to split for school.
When Posy started up though, things had gotten more complicated.
She's the only member of the family on the outside where Madge is concerned.
Posy is too young and too chatty to be trusted with Gale's secret. She'd accidentally tell one of her little friends or the teacher and then the fact that Gale spends his nights with District Twelve's most recent Victor would be common knowledge, and that's something he can't risk.
These past few years they've been careful, obsessively so in fact, about keeping their relationship secret.
Mellark knows, but he hasn't told a soul, not even Katniss.
Vick and Rory know, but they care enough about Madge, and are scared enough of Gale, to keep their traps shut.
"Besides, if we tell anyone we'd have to share her with people," Rory had pointed out.
While socially isolating Madge isn't what Gale would call a positive of the secrecy, if it kept Rory quiet he'd keep that thought to himself.
When his brothers had first made Posy a small lunch from the sandwich she'd questioned just where the meat had come from.
"This isn't rabbit or deer," she'd pointed out. "Where did it come from?"
"I traded for it," Gale lied.
That worked for a while, cold cuts and cheese from Town and candies from Matilda were passed off as amazing trades, until Posy began to want to meet Gale after work to go with him to trade.
"Maybe we can get them to give us more. I'm very pretty," she explained, batting her eyelashes ridiculously and nearly causing Rory to shoot water out his nose.
Even if Rory thought it was funny, the thought of Posy getting the idea in her head that her looks could get her things turned Gale's stomach. His dad's sister had ended up selling herself off just to keep their family afloat after their dad had died, and the image of Posy ever thinking of doing the same thing had been enough to make Gale realize he couldn't keep lying about trading.
Posy's lunches would have to be just what Gale killed himself.
After that Gale had begun leaving the sandwiches in a hollow of a tree for his brothers to gather up before school.
He hated leaving Posy out, but he compensated by making sure she got extra candy on the weekends, to make up for his no longer 'trading' after work.
Forcing a smile, Gale takes the sandwich and tucks it in his lunch pail.
Leaning in, he catches her lips again.
Despite knowing he's going to have to jog to make it on time, Gale's hands begin to wander, inching their way under the blanket Madge has haphazardly wrapped around her and tugging at her nightgown.
The responsible part of his brain, the part that kept him and his family alive for years, tries to shout at him that he's going to get a reprimand for being late, he's going to have to stay late to make up time, he might even get docked pay.
That voice is drowned out by another, much more pleasant one. It purrs in his ears, urging him on, telling him that even if he loses a day's pay it will be worth it.
Somehow Madge ends up pinned between Gale and the kitchen island, his hands wrapped around her thighs and hoisting her onto the countertop as he continues to kiss a line down her neck.
He's about to lift her up again, carry her up to the bed and tell the foreman he's been sick, when Madge pulls back, her eyes bright and her lips swollen.
"Gale, you've got to go to work," she reminds him, her voice a breathless gasp.
Grunting, Gale dives back in for her lips again. To hell with work.
She stops him with a cold palm pressed to his mouth and a sad smile.
"Work, Gale."
Chilly air finally begins to seep between them, filling the creases and crevices with cold reality, forcing all the burning thoughts and desires from Gale's head.
He has work. He has a family to feed still.
Sucking in a long breath, Gale nods. "Yeah."
"Tonight," Madge tells him, her hands wrapped in his coat, keeping him close enough to smell the tantalizing scent of her shampoo but too far for another kiss. "I promise."
Reaching up, Gale pushes a wild strand from her face.
He'd come back without it, but it's another happy thought to drag him through the day.
"I love you," he whispers.
A real smile twitches up on her lips. "I love you, too."
With one last kiss, too quick and too soft, Gale heads out, warning Madge to lock the door behind him.