Chapter 3

Madge's POV


The last of the ground crew exits Hangar 1. I quietly leave the shadowy alcove I've tucked myself into and wend my way around neatly stacked bins and crates until I reach Ethel. She's an older model, a bit heavy-set and tarnished. Hovercrafts today are made with a single carbon-fiber frame. But Ethel's an aluminum grandmother. I wish we had an Eagle, with its light frame, high speeds and cloaking device. But what Ethel lacks in gadgets, she makes up for in gumption and character. And, well, if I ding her on the hanger roof, well…who'll guess? She's tiny too, that's for sure. Stealthy. But, there's enough room for the three of us, with seats for a pilot, copilot, and two passengers in the cramped fuselage they'll have to share with the raised engine.

Unslinging the bag of food that couldn't be stored ahead of time, I rest it on the lined tarmac. I look over my shoulder once or twice, then unlatch the storage compartment and stash the goods. Then I close it again and make doubly sure it's secure. If Peeta and Katniss want to bring anything else, it'll have to fit under their seats.

After getting a good look under Ethel's skirt, I hop into the cockpit and perform a quick check there. A bottle full of something clear lies on the floor. It's not hard to see that this is not a water bottle. Good thing Haymitch doesn't actually fly this thing himself. Ugh. I pick it up and stash it somewhere out of sight.

And where's my rendezvous team, anyway?

I jump down quietly and skirt around the nose of the hovercraft when I hear uneven footsteps. Katniss moves silently, but I can hear the limp in Peeta's gait, even if I can't see him. "Hey, you two are just in time—oh!" I gasp. "You…"

Ominous eyebrows. Familiar, ominous eyebrows less than an arm's length away. Gale glowering at me. Glowering at Peeta and Katniss.

"What is this all about, Mellark?" Gale barks just as I cry, "He's not part of the plan!"

Katniss looks abashed and confused, but Peeta calmly says, "Slight change of plans, Madge. We couldn't leave him behind."

A slight change? This is a huge, freaking change that I am not mentally prepared for. But I clamp down on my tongue because this is so not the time to get into an argument about Peeta's motives and subsequent secrecy. We're seriously running out of time before the maintenance crew shows up to bust us.

Katniss steps around Gale. "Is that a…"

I plaster a grin to my face. "An official Underground hovercraft corvette? Yeah. Retired Peregrine-61. You can call her Ethel." I don't have to fain my affection as a I run a hand over her battle scars. "A bit dented, but she flies like a beaut."

"Dented?" Gale sneers. "It looks like someone tried to clip her wings."

"Don't be silly," I huff as I flip the latch. The hatch lifts with a wheezy hiss. "Well, don't just stand there!"

"Wait. What's going on here?" Gale asks uneasily, as I step away from the hatch and gesture for them to get in.

"What does it look like?" Peeta says helpfully. "We're breaking out of the joint."

"That's the surprise?" Katniss asks Peeta. She gapes at him like she still hasn't figured him out yet, after all this time.

"Do any of you even know how to fly this thing? You two don't," Gale points out. The fabric of his shirt stretches across his shoulders as he crosses his arms over his chest. He rounds on me. "And you're just a waitress for pity's sake."

Just a waitress? Ugh, of all the pigheaded… I round on Katniss. "Yes, this is the surprise," I snap, even though she isn't the one I'm frustrated with. "Peeta and I cooked up a way to get you out of the Underground. As for your question, Mr. Hawthorne," I jab him none-too-gently in the arm with my finger, "I am more than a waitress and I can fly this beast with my eyes shut." Autopilot. Hello.

I glare at the three of them, daring for more comments or insults or changes to the plan. Peeta gives me a lopsided grin and jumps in without hesitation, pulling Katniss into the fuselage seat with him. Gale just balks at the open hatch.

"Afraid, Hawthorne?" Peeta challenges.

"It's illegal to fly one of these without a license," Gale replies, sounding every inch the honorably discharged sergeant that he is. Then he adds, sounding more like the boy from District 12, "Besides, I have more limbs to lose than you, dough boy."

"Shut up and get in before I run you over," I gripe, all but pushing him up into the remaining seat at the helm. When we land, Peeta and I will have words. Short ones, with lots of punch.

"I'll fly," Gale says, resisting my effort to budge him.

I snort. "Not a chance."

"Madge."

"Gale," I mimic his plaintive tone. "I know that you flew war birds for the rebellion, but I am not about to hand over Haymitch's beloved Ethel to your capable hands."

"Why not?" he cries, completely unable to fathom why I'd reject his reasonable offer.

"Well, because historically speaking, the owner doesn't like you, and you don't like the owner. And since this is already a pretty bad situation should he find out, I think it's better that I am the one handling the corvette." I give him the innocent smile I've been practicing for Haymitch when this shindig is over.

Gale shudders, then grabs the handle within the doorframe. "All right, everybody out of the hovercraft. As the responsible adult…"

"We're over eighteen," Peeta replies drily. "By a good two years."

"Come on, Gale. It's the same thing as sneaking under the fence in the old days," says Katniss. There's a wistful note in her voice and for a fleeting moment I see it mirrored in Gale's grey eyes before he climbs into the copilot seat. But then his face makes it clear that he's acting under extreme duress. Yeah, well, you're not the only one, buddy. This is why plans should be made and stuck to!

"If it makes you feel better," I chime in snidely, "we can ask Quintus to fly us in his Besra-77. Either way, we're getting you out of the Underground."

Gale glares at me from the seat. "Who's Quintus?"

Peeta leans forward in his seat. "That mildly attractive pilot with the green-tipped hair and facial piercings; former Capitol citizen, now entertaining hopes of liberty and a brighter future for his children as yet to be born."

Some sort of nonverbal man-code passes between them. "Ugh. Why would you ask some Capitol tool to break a hovercraft out of the Underground?" Gale asks accusingly.

I smile with a touch of venom. Who is Gale Hawthorne to question what I do? "He's the guy who showed me how to operate this thing."

Gale looks mildly suspicious. "Why would he do a thing like that?"

I shrug. "He was the available instructor when I registered for my permit."

"I'll bet he was."

"Stop being petty. I'm flying because I have connections if we get caught—crap. Speak of the devil." I slam the hatch shut on Gale's inquisitive face, turning to see Quintus striding toward me. He looks pleasantly surprised.

Good thing the windows are tinted.

"Hello, Margaret," he calls, a good few yards away still.

I give him a nod. "Quintus."

"What are you loitering around for?" he asks curiously.

I lean casually against Ethel. "Oh, Haymitch asked me to come up and give the old girl a once over. He wants to take her out soon, so I told him I'd check her. If he'd promise to take me with him, of course." I practice that smile again.

Quintus stops just shy of stepping on my toes. His hand creeps up the side of the hovercraft until it's level with my shoulder. He leans on it, tucking one foot behind the other. "How dutiful of you."

I shrug. "Yeah, well, it's nice to get aboveground sometimes. Uh. So, what are you doing here?" I drop my voice into a presumptuously friendly tone. "Don't tell me they never let you go home?"

Quintus flourishes a hand. "Oh, my quarters are too dull for me. I hate being alone." He throws me a winning grin. "Don't you?"

"Um. I'm a homebody," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

His elbow bends so his hip connects with the aluminum plating, bringing him even closer to me. "Fascinating." It is? My nose wrinkles with disbelief, and he laughs. "I'm always finding out something new about you. What is it your friend called you last week? Madge?"

I nod. "That's right…uh…."

"Well, Madge, do you need any assistance? I do know an awful lot about these birds, of course. I could help you inspect the engine. In a small craft like this, it's usually in the fuselage…"

No kidding, professor. Flight lesson #1: Guts and Airframe. But thanks for the offer. I need an excuse to get rid of him. "Oh, uh, Haymitch is very particular about who he lets into old Ethel. Um…" Yep. I still suck at lying.

"Is he? Well, you know him better than I do." Still, Quintus doesn't budge. "Anyway, I've been thinking." He slicks his tongue over his bottom lip, idly playing with the steel ring, while he leans in closer. I could easily brush my nose against his, if I were so inclined. "Maybe we should try for something off site for once? How about a drink, on me? We can discuss when to fly next."

"Hmm, that's an interesting…proposition…Quintus." His subject leaps make my head spin, and I need to think before I agree to something that I'll regret. I feel caught in a vice between Quintus's slight frown and the daggers I can feel coming from the other side of the hatch. I need to get rid of Quintus pronto, and get the sick puppies out into the open air. Screw thinking. I need a short cut. "Actually, that sounds great. Tonight won't really work for me. How about tomorrow? When would be a good time for you?" Smile. Bat lashes. Good.

Quintus actually blinks for a moment before he says, "My last lesson ends at seven. I know this great place called the Broken Oar…"

"A sunny spot for shady people. Great. It's a date." I nearly give him a thumbs up – cool it, Madge. Overkill.

Then I bite my lip as an afterthought creeps through my mind. "Oh, and we should probably not mention this to anyone seeing as how you're still my instructor. People are weird about stuff like that."

Quintus smiles in a leering sort of way that good-looking guys can get away with. "My lips are sealed."

Isn't that the name of a book? Maybe. We didn't actually have books in D12. Maybe it's a song?

And then he smirks. "Although, maybe they need some encouragement to stay that way."

Some kind of suggestion hangs in the air, but I'm not sure what it is. "Like a pinky swear?"

The thought, he meant a kiss, you dope, circulates through my mind a few paralyzing moments after his lips press into mine. The arm that isn't anchoring him to the corvette hooks around my waist and draws me into his chest. His lip ring is kind of an odd sensation, but on the whole, he's doing pretty well for himself. Way to go. I give him a three and a half on a scale of five. I'd probably give him a four if I knew him longer than two months. And oops. We have an audience. I'm supposed to be getting rid of him. I remember that I have arms and hands, and use them to gently push away from his chest.

"Um…wow…uh…thank you?" I say with piercing eloquence. "I hope there aren't any security cameras. Heh. Well, I better get back to checking on old Ethel before the maintenance guys come to yell at me." Smooth, Madge, smooth. It's not my fault, though. Maybe if I were kissed more often I wouldn't get so dopey.

And it was a good kiss.

And Quintus is a good smirker. Definitely. It nearly makes my knees buckle. He lets his hand fall from my waist and stands up straight again. "I'll leave you to it, then. See you tomorrow for our next lesson." The wink he gives me suggests that he might not necessarily mean the flight lesson. Wow. He walks away, and for a moment all I can do is watch his retreating figure. Too bad I won't actually be around for tomorrow's lesson. I hope he understands. I mean, deep down I know he's just a schmoozer, but who doesn't like to be schmoozed once in a while? And, dammit, I've felt a little neglected the last few years! It's nice to receive a little appreciation instead of glares. Or nothing at all, which has been the case for longer than I'd care to admit.

There's something I'm supposed to be doing.

Oh yes…dirty looks, it's time to peel myself off the frame and fly this circus out of the Underground. I take the long way around the back of the craft so that I can have a few seconds to cool down. I mean, of all the weird things to happen – Quintus just showing up and trying to kiss my lips off. I wish I had a gas mask on right now to hide the blush I'm sure is still there. I pop the hatch open and hop up into the seat. "Okay, everyone read to go?"

Silence.

Awkward. I try untangling the safety restraints without looking at anyone.

And then Peeta says, "That's—"

"Quintus. I got it," Gale growls.

"Must be the hairstyle, huh," I babble distractedly while I wrestle with my restraint belt, which is way too long. "Dead giveaway. I know."

"Friendly guy," Katniss mutters uneasily.

I hear a mutter that sounds distinctly like Capitol tool. When I look around, Gale's arms are folded across his chest, and he's staring stonily out the windshield. What is his deal? Does he despise Quintus off the bat because he's from the Capitol? That's not really fair, because Quintus fought alongside Mockingjay soldiers against Jabberjay forces. He even has a shrapnel wound somewhere that he refers to frequently.

The silence continues without interruption as I power on. Immediately, all the needles and gauges on the control panel spring to life. Ethel croons. Then coughs. Then croons again. Good girl.

Then I give her some juice and with only the slightest of grandmotherly groans, we rise off the tarmac. So far so good. Although, I wonder if I should warn them now that this might be a bumpy takeoff?

Nah. No sense in alarming them until they should really be alarmed.

"So, what are the plans for this stolen corvette?" Gale asks Peeta and me as we coast past the other parked hovercrafts toward the mouth of the hangar.

"Oh that word." I cringe. "I prefer preemptive borrowing."

"I don't approve..."

I shoot him a glare. "Oh, because you're such a conscientious citizen, Gale, what with that poaching record and shady dealing."

He scoffs. "Selling produce door to door is not shady."

"What about the Hob. Black market. Hello." I roll my eyes.

"Who does this belong to anyway?" he snaps, changing the subject. It takes me a second to pick up on the fact that he couldn't overhear my conversation with Quintus through the hatch.

"Haymitch," Peeta supplies when I don't.

"What?!" Katniss and Gale cry at once.

"You didn't honestly think I'd preemptively borrow something from someone I didn't know, did you?" Honestly. Only crooks borrow from people they don't know.

"Haymitch owns this?" Katniss asks. "How?"

"What else did you think he did with all that Victor income?" Peeta asks.

Gale mutters, "Squander it on drink and unsavory company?"

"Please. Haymitch is a slob, not a man-whore like Old Cray," I retort, coming to the man's defense. After all, he's sort of a guardian. In a lousy, hands-off sort of way.

Just before we clear the mouth of Hangar 1, I check to make sure we're clear on all sides. I notice Gale observing me. "What is that?" he asks, pointing at my clothes. I think. I look down at myself. Either that or he's offending my feminine attributes – but that's unlikely. I have good genes in that department. And they're accentuated in the tight, black getup I'm wearing.

Oops.

The craft lists sharply as my hands accidentally guide the controls toward the hangar wall. I hurriedly overcorrect it and we veer the opposite way. I hear Gale's head connect with the hatch and a consequent oath. Gyah! Why does someone always distract me when I'm trying to take off?

"It's a uniform," I hiss through clenched teeth as I try to regain control of Ethel and not clip the hangar in any direction.

"How did you get a hold of a Mockingjay uniform?" Gale asks as his hands scrabble for something to hold onto.

Why is he talking when I'm clearly distracted? "Uh, I nicked it."

With a few more strangled curses and seriously painful, white knuckles, we clear the hangar and shoot out into the twilight. I concentrate on shifting gears and following coordinates until we've reached our altitude. Then I punch in the navigation code and set the autopilot.

I release a long sigh of relief as I lean back deeply into the seat. I'm not the only one. The synthetic hide upholstery makes a rude noise as Gale slumps down in his chair. Ignoring him for a long moment, I allow myself to enjoy the rare sight of the open sky, fading to purple as the sun dips below us.

With another, slightly more content sigh, I swivel around, chancing a quick glance in Gale's direction. The dear boy sits there, ashen faced. "There's a bag under your seat if you're going to hurl."

"I thought we were going to die," he says in quiet staccato. Then his eyes sharpen into grey daggers. "Some of us still might."

Peeta has the grace to look chastised, but I huff. "You're fine."

"Actually, that was the most fun I've had in weeks," Katniss says, matter-of-factly. And then she smiles, unbuckles her restraints, and stretches her limbs like a feline.

I find myself smiling back. "Just wait till we land."


TBC

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