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.
Chapter 4
AN: Once again, many thanks to Fortunefaded2012 and Nursekelly0429 for their patience.
#######
Madge is banned from meetings the next day.
"You can't kick her out," Mr. Abernathy growls, lowly, dangerously glaring back at a steely eyed President Coin. "I need her."
"Do you?" Although, Madge knows isn't a question, despite the inflection. Mr. Abernathy is more than capable of attending meetings on his own now; the worst of his withdrawal is past she thinks. If he's up to taunting Katniss over her pitiful propo then he's well enough to do his own listening and writing.
Whether he likes it or not.
Madge doesn't say it, but she's the smallest bit relieved. The meetings are tedious, and the more she knows of the inner workings of the rebellion the less she likes those running it. They're Capitol. Drab and gray, a backwards image, but Capitol.
As much as she'll miss hearing things firsthand, and using her own judgment to determine what something might or might not mean, she knows Mr. Abernathy will continue to use her as his sounding board. Her flow of information will change, but not stop.
Besides, the less proximity to Gale she has the better, especially if Katniss is going to be their vaunted Mockingjay.
"She can go back to the kitchens with her mother," Coin tells him, a chilly little smile toying at the edges of her lips.
Mr. Abernathy spends the better part of an hour yelling at Coin, ticking off reasons why he deserves to keep his assistant.
It's a shock to Madge's system, hearing him yell. Not that he's never been loud before, but he's normally not quite so angry when he is. She chalks it up to not having alcohol to even his nerves.
Despite his many points, recounted and explored endlessly, Coin still refuses.
"It's okay," Madge tells him when they finally exit the office. "I miss spending time with my mother."
So instead of being allowed to attend the brainstorming session ("Your input will only be redundant," Coin had told her), Madge is sent to the kitchens.
The afternoon is whiled away making gumdrops and orange slices, not nearly as sweet as the one's Madge remembers making with her Poppa, sugar is rationed like everything else, but good none the less.
She's settling back in nicely when her mother's happy humming stops, cuts the flow of the work to nothing.
"Hello Haymitch."
Madge looks up, wrinkling her nose and snorting. "Miss me already?"
He doesn't smile, not really, just watches her for a minute before crossing the small space and picking up one of the cooled orange slice candies and popping it into his mouth. "They're sending me out."
"Out?" Her mother echoes. "Out where?"
His eyes, gray and dark from sleeplessness, flick up, just enough for Madge to catch it.
Her shoulders slump. He's getting to go outside. "If I'd have made it one more day I could see the sun?"
Mr. Abernathy shakes his head. "You don't wanna see it like this, sweetheart."
He flops down on one of the creaky stools, it groans in protest, and explains to them, in a tone just above a whisper about the brainstorming session, about the plan, about going to Eight.
"That's dangerous!" Madge almost shouts. "You know how close they watch her. If they get even a scent that she's out where they can get to her they'll-"
"I know!" He snaps, the edginess from his fight with Coin still simmering at the top. Madge takes a step back. He wouldn't hurt her, she's certain of that, but he's still touchy from the lack of drink. When he realizes he's yelled at her, he runs his hand over his face, eyes her warily. "Sorry."
The sincerity in his voice, something so often hidden, makes it easier to forgive him. Maybe she was being too critical.
"She can't perform under their conditions," he explains. "This is the best we can do."
Madge feels her mother take a step back, turn and begin gathering up small handfuls of candies into a small paper sack. When it's full, she comes back, takes Mr. Abernathy's hand and gently places the parcel in his palm. She smiles brightly at him. "For luck."
#######
Madge keeps in mind never to let her mother give her candy for luck after what happens in Eight.
She's called down to the hospital wing, pulled from her duties of wrapping little candies for the school children, by a large man in clothes designating him as a hospital worker. White and stark and stiff.
"Magdalene Undersee?" He says, somewhat out of breath. He must've run.
She nods, an unpleasant gurgle rising in her stomach.
"Come with me," he tells her, gesturing. There's such an urgency in his voice, a grimness in his eyes, that Madge doesn't question him, just gets up and follows him as he leads her away from her little room. She doesn't even leave a note for her mother who's cleaning baking sheets with Josephette a few rooms away.
The hospital wing is drab and gray, just like everything else, smells of antiseptic and cold.
The man leads her past rows and rows of empty and occupied beds, through a set of curtains she knows are reserved for the most ill.
"Where's Mr. Abernathy?" She instantly asks, stopping before she's through the curtain. This has to be about him, he's the only person in her life unaccounted for at the moment that they would have any reason to fetch her for. A knot forms in her throat.
"Miss, come along," he tells her evenly. "You're his medical alert person."
Madge shakes her head. If she's going to have to identify a body she won't. She won't be the person to sign his death certificate, tell the world he's gone. She'd known the trip to Eight was a bad idea.
Tears start falling, hard and fast. Mr. Abernathy is dead. He was the only person left that cared, really, truly cared, about her and her mother, and he's dead.
Visions of her father fill her mind, burning up in the fire from the bombs. Her lungs tighten in her chest, as if the smoke is back, soaking into her skin and suffocating her from the inside out.
It's inexcusable. He wasn't well, not at all, and Coin shouldn't have sent him out without help. This is her fault. This is Madge's fault, she should've put up more of a fight to stick with him until he was completely better. This is Katniss' fault. If she'd have just done the damn propo well enough on the soundstage then they could've stayed underground, stayed safe…
She almost drops to the floor, guilt and memories too vivid to handle overwhelm her, but someone, she suspects the hospital orderly, catches her and holds her up as she sobs.
He begins combing his fingers through her hair, shushing her softly, and in a moment of clarity, Madge realizes this is a very bizarre thing for a stranger to do, even for a crying girl.
Almost leaping back, she falls into one of the little rolling table, sending the metallic tools and basin of rubbing alcohol to the floor with a deafening crash.
In front of her, battered and bloody, smelling of disaster and heat, is Gale.
He watches her, eyes reddened and tired, for several seconds before he speaks. "You okay?'
Madge doesn't answer, just stares at him, cataloging every scrape and nick in his skin, every tear in his clothes, all the singes…
This is Katniss fault, she thinks again. Katniss had got Mr. Abernathy killed and gotten Gale injured, Katniss and the idiots who think that the only way to win this rebellion is through the same ploys as the Capitol.
Before her anger can get the better of her, she knows deep down that she's being unfair and unreasonable, she flings herself back onto Gale, letting her sobs begin again as she awkwardly clings to him, assuring herself he's alive.
His breath, short little pants, ghosts over her scalp as he begins combing his fingers through the tangles her hairnet had left. "It's okay."
Her body shakes as she tries to tell him it isn't, it will never be again, but the words won't come.
Finally, the crying slows, the inevitable hiccups come, and Gale loosens his hold on her.
His hand, a bit dirty, black and brown and cut up, comes to her cheek and brushes the tears away with his knuckles and he gives her a slight smile. He straightens up, and gestures to the curtain. "Come on, I'll take you back to the asshole."
Madge's heart stops. "He's alive?"
Gale cuts her a look. "Of course he is. We couldn't get that lucky."
While Madge doesn't appreciate his jab at what she increasingly feels is her only friend in the dungeons of Thirteen, she doesn't say anything. Her voice has once again left her. Gale's presence has that affect on her it seems.
They weave through several 'critical' beds, set up and waiting for the next disaster, until they curve back, to the left, to a closed row of dingy white curtains.
"He's in there," Gale tells her. "Had a bit of a-I don't know what you call it-episode? Maybe? After Eight."
There's more to it, Madge imagines anyway, but she doesn't press, she's just grateful he's alive.
Pulling the cuff of her shirt down, Madge rubs her eyes, trying to erase the tear tracks from her cheeks. Mr. Abernathy has enough troubles without knowing she'd had a meltdown thinking he'd died.
Gale reaches out, pushes one of the wild strand of hair from her face. His expression tightens. "The kids miss you."
A sharp pain hits Madge in the guts, twists them up and tugs at them.
The kids miss her. Not Gale though.
She almost says 'they'll get over it', because they're young and the blessing of being young is forgetfulness, but she bites her tongue. He wouldn't appreciate her thoughts on the subject.
Besides, she knows it's not true. The moment Vick and Rory catch wind that she's no longer under lock and key, Mr. Abernathy's shadow, they'll be back in the kitchen begging for scraps and for her to come visit them.
Instead of saying anything, she just nods.
"If it's me…" he rubs his hand over his face, lets out a long sigh. "If you don't want to see me-"
Madge's head shakes before he's even finished.
"I-It's just-"She tries to get her mouth and mind in agreement, to tell him that she's trying to preserve what little bit of her heart she has left. She's trying to be graceful, bow out for Katniss' sake, even if at the moment she can't spare a kind thought for her friend, but it's an impossible task with him standing in front of her, the faint smell of smoke wafting off his clothes and a five o'clock shadow forming on his cheeks.
She's weak and she knows it.
"It isn't you," she finally manages. Even though, really, it is, just probably not how he imagines it.
Gale's eyes cut away, and she can tell he's heard something behind him. Years of hunting has made his hearing much sharper than hers.
His jaw tightens and his breathing catches, and suddenly, horribly, Madge knows just what he's listening for.
Katniss.
It's always Katniss.
Mentally, Madge slaps herself. Katniss is probably hurt, possibly badly. This is no time for petty jealousy. There are more important things happening than Madge's crumbling heart.
Squashing down her anger, her sullenness, Madge reaches out for the curtain and gives Gale a tight little smile.
She steps through the curtain, letting it fall closed behind her with a light rustle, without a goodbye.
#######
It's dark behind the curtain, and she sees Mr. Abernathy curled on his side, his back to her as she takes the few steps to the bed.
"Mr. Abernathy?"
He stirs, but just a little, tilts his head around and squints into the artificial twilight of the room.
"Madge?"
It's odd, hearing her name from him. She's always 'Pearl' or 'sweetheart' or 'kid', never 'Madge'.
He flops over, rattling the bed as he does, tosses and grumbles until he's on his back and looking at her. His hand shakes as he reaches out for her.
Uncertainly, Madge takes his hand, steadies it until he pulls it back to his face and presses a scratchy kiss to it. "Madge."
"Are you drunk?" She finally asks, wondering where he'd gotten a hold of anything. They're tight with even the rubbing alcohol.
A lazy grin forms on his scraggy face as he stares at her. "Gave me a sedative. Just as good."
"Why?" It seems like a backward step at this point.
He makes a harsh noise, somewhere between a laugh and a snarl, and squeezes her hand.
"Damned girl went running into the fight. Threw her earpiece and ignored me," he tells her, a deep scowl forming on his face. Clearly they didn't give him enough sedative.
Instead of telling him he ought to be used to it by now, Katniss has surely disobeyed him before, it would be a shock if she hadn't, Madge just leans in and presses a kiss to his temple. He doesn't need to be grumbled at, he needs comfort. That's why he picked her to be alerted for his admission. Her mother would weep and be a general nuisance, but Madge has dealt with illness her whole life. She knows what to do for a person who isn't feeling well.
With a small sigh, Madge gives his hand a squeeze back and smiles.
#######
It takes until well after midnight to convince the doctor that Madge knows how to take care of the still tipsy Mr. Abernathy.
"I know what to do," she tells him and the nurse, a mousy headed girl with a button nose, for what feels like the thousandth time as she wheels Mr. Abernathy between the rows of beds.
"Yes but-"
"I'm not staying," Mr. Abernathy barks at them, causing several nurses to loudly shush him.
Finally, they make their escape, down the winding halls and down the elevator, to the rows of identical doors.
When the door opens, swishes loudly, Madge is greeted by her mother, sitting on the floor, sobbing and clutching one of the thin, gray blankets to her chest.
She looks up, eyes red rimmed and puffy, nose running. "Madge?"
Before Madge can process what she's seeing, remember that she'd left her mother without an explanation, she's crushed in a hug, her sleeve getting soaked with tears and snot as her mother clutches her to her chest.
"D-didn't know where y-y-you went-t-t," she cries. "Th-thought they'd st-s-stolen you!"
"It's okay," Madge tries to comfort her, pats down her fly-away hair as it floats wildly around her head. "I'm alright."
Her mother pulls back, still sniffling and crying, takes Madge's face in her hands and inspects her for injury. Then, out the corner of her eyes, she spots Mr. Abernathy.
Lip quivering, her sobs rekindle as she covers her mouth and blubbers unintelligibly.
With a little effort, Mr. Abernathy pushes himself up, causing the wheelchair to creak and groan, straightens himself out and reaches out. He pulls Madge by the shoulder to him and carefully shifts her mother's sobbing frame from Madge to himself.
"Shush, 'Tilda," he whispers, gently patting her back. "Everyone's okay."
It takes nearly an hour before she calms enough for Madge to explain what had happened.
When the small clock on the wall signals two in the morning, Madge's mother finally drifts off, still sniffling occasionally, on Madge's shoulder as the three of them sit on the uncomfortable little sofa.
Mr. Abernathy sits opposite Madge, gently twirling a loose strand of her mother's pale hair between his dark fingers.
Madge watches, contemplates telling him to stop, but when she spots the relaxed expression on his face, she stops herself. He isn't hurting anything.
Slowly, her own eyes drift shut.
She wakes a few hours later, tucked into the bed with her mother curled into her side.
Mr. Abernathy is gone. His wheelchair is in the hallway, being used in a game by the children.
#######
The propo is powerful, at least from what Madge is told by the few kitchen staff that are released to go to the first viewing.
A remembrance. Different from the fiery battle cry they'd created from the disaster in Eight.
"Her boyfriend is quite the looker," Constance tells them, her thick eyebrows arching as she remembers Gale.
Madge almost snaps and tells them that Gale isn't Katniss' boyfriend, but there isn't much point in it. He's at her side constantly, fawning over her, protecting her, of course they think he's her boyfriend.
"Pity about Peeta though," Josephette sighs, mashing her gums together in dismay. "They were such a charming couple."
It reminds Madge of Mrs. Oberst gossiping with her friends, Mrs. Mellark and the cobbler's wife, about the Capitol programs. Who was with who, and who had been with who, and who did they expect to couple off next or be in the next love-triangle.
It's sickening, even if old Josephette and Constance are a far cry from Madge's old housekeeper.
Katniss and Peeta and Gale are real people. This isn't some stupid program, scripted to the moment and without any real emotional fallout. This is real life.
Head swimming, Madge sloshes water around in the enormous sink she's washing the flat sheets in, loudly enough to drown out the chatter of the kitchen staff behind her.
#######
Vick and Rory catch her as she slinks off to the apartment, dishpan hands in the pockets of her pillowcase dress.
"Do you want to come play poker?" Rory asks, wagging his eyebrows.
Madge appreciates their efforts, they're probably not supposed to be out at this time, but she shakes her head. "I need to get home to my mother. She got a headache earlier."
They look disappointed, but understanding.
Vick links his arm with hers and Rory bounces as he walks backward, telling Madge about their classes as they escort her home.
"-and they teach us about the bombing, and nuclear power-" Vick rattles off.
"Nothing about coal though," Rory adds with a roll of his eyes.
"If you'd like I can recite my seventh grade paper over ancient mining techniques for you," Madge offers, laughing when Rory gags.
They squeeze through the other second and third shifters, coming and going to their appointed posts, until they reach the apartment and Madge slides her card.
The boys follow her in, inspecting the inside with wide, disappointed eyes.
"I thought it would be bigger," Vick finally says.
"I thought it would be nicer," Rory adds. "I mean, you have Haymitch. We just have Gale."
Madge shrugs. "I don't think they have a concept of that kind of hierarchy here."
She's about to offer them a cup of tea, they've already broken the rules, she might as well reward them for their efforts, when the door to the bedroom opens and Mr. Abernathy quietly pads out. He eyes the boys for a second, as though he isn't sure what he's seeing, then presses his finger to his lips before shutting the door behind him.
"'Tilda's sleeping," he explains. A scowl forms on his face. "They wouldn't give us anything for her headache so I just made her some tea. Just got her to settle down."
Madge gives him a grateful smile. Her mother has been so well lately that she'd almost forgotten how bad she could be. It's like dealing with an infant really.
Giving the boys an apologetic look, Madge gestures to the exit. There'll be no visiting tonight.
"I hope your mom feels better soon," Vick tells her as he hugs her. It lasts a little too long and she has to break it with a cough.
Rory holds open his arms. Madge just shakes her head.
"Fine," he grumbles.
Vick widens his eyes, juts his lip out just enough to not seem childish. "Will you sit with us for dinner tomorrow?"
It breaks her heart to tell him no, but there's no way she can. It's bad enough seeing them when they sneak off and find her, but actually inviting her source of pain into her life is another story completely. She shakes her head and Vick deflates.
"You can't say no forever," he tells her.
Madge just smiles. She most certainly can and she most certainly will.
When she steps back into the apartment Mr. Abernathy is back on the couch, a glass of water rolling between his hands. He looks up, worry etched into his features, and Madge's stomach sinks.
"What's happened?"
#######
It isn't a surprise that Peeta is being used to jab back at the Rebels and their propos with Katniss. It's brilliant really. Fire with fire.
It's also brilliant that they managed to cut the broadcast to most of Thirteen. Peeta's first propo had caused such a stir, cutting his audience in Thirteen down significantly had spared him further bad press. There were still people muttering about him being a traitor from the last one.
"Did Katniss see?" She asks without thinking.
He shrugs, rubs his hand over his eyes. "Dunno. Plutarch said she didn't, said the television was off when he got to the hospital wing, but…"
Madge nods, she understands. Even if Katniss had seen she doubts she'd tell the people in charge. They're untrustworthy and secretive, surely Katniss would've already sensed that?
A chill runs up her spine. Maybe Katniss doesn't realize how shifty, how self-preserving Plutarch Heavensbee and his ilk are. It makes the air in Madge's lungs sting. She's clever, she should've made more of an effort to help Katniss, forced her way into her new life instead of letting herself be ignored.
It's past now, no changing it, and so Madge just weaves her fingers together into a painful knot.
"They're going to go to Twelve tomorrow," Mr. Abernathy tells her, eyeing his glass. Probably imagining it filled with white liquor. "I'm not going. Not without a drink."
Madge snorts even though, really, it isn't funny.
A ghost of a smile flickers on Mr. Abernathy's face and he pats her knee.
#######
Mr. Abernathy spends the day in the kitchen with Madge and her mother.
Sometimes he helps, occasionally dropping blobs of candy onto the sheets for them, other times eating their efforts up before they can even properly set, but mostly, he just watches them, content to doze or make little comments as the day rolls by.
Vick and Rory make their appearance, helping Mr. Abernathy eat a dozen lemon drops before Madge finally shoos them out.
The day is so pleasant, and so is the next, that she doesn't expect the evening. It blindsides her.
She's selected, much to her disappointment, to be one of the second shifters to be allowed to leave for the viewing of the newest propo. She wishes she weren't.
Peeta is a mess, not like her mother, always in a sweetly pleasant fog, but a terrified, glossy eyed wreck.
As the footage of Katniss in Twelve is interspersed with Peeta, he grows increasingly agitated, slips further from sanity.
The static and the noise of the crowd, the back and forth make Madge's head spin and her stomach turn. She starts to back out of the room before the battle even ends.
Then she hears it.
"Dead by morning!"
Madge spins so quickly on the heels of her plain little shoes she almost ends up on the ground. The screen flashes back and forth, between a still of Katniss and Peeta, being roughed up, tossed to the ground.
He screams in pain, Madge's stomach clenches up.
Then his blood splatters on the pristine tile and the screen goes dark.
#######
It takes only a few minutes for the alarms to sound, a painful siren that silences every grumble and gasp.
Before they can begin to force them down, to the lower levels of the compound, Madge runs back toward the kitchens. She has to get to her mother.
Skidding on the freshly cleaned floors of the cafeteria, Madge barely keeps herself upright as she rushes through the slowly exiting kitchen staff.
She finds her mother hiding under the long metallic table they roll their sheets of candy out on, curled up in a ball, her fingers plugged into her ears, humming.
"Mom," Madge crawls under the table, tries to pry her mother's chin from her chest. "Momma, please!"
She tugs on her, pulls her from the underside of the table, still curled in on herself.
"Momma, please!"
Her mother just shakes her head, the sirens are too much for her.
The low rumble of humanity is fading, Madge can't hear the dull footsteps anymore. They're alone. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen and no one is going to care because Madge isn't important and neither is her mad mother.
Tears start leaking out the corners of Madge's eyes as she collapses beside her mother. There's no point in trying anymore.
Then a cool hand brushes against her cheek, pushes tear soaked hair from her face.
Looking up, Madge sees her mother, face still screwed up in pain, but looking anxiously at the door. "Come, love."
She stands, shaking, and holds out her hand to Madge.
Before she can collapse again, curl up into a ball and dissolve in front of Madge's eyes, Madge scrambles up, grabs her hand and begins pulling her out of the room, through the kitchen and down the now vacant halls.
It's eerie. Thirteen is never empty, not like this. It's dead, a tomb.
There are flashing lights, directing them downward. The noise, ceaseless and grating, dulls as they go lower until it's almost gone, or maybe Madge's ears just grow too used to it.
As they turn a corner Madge sees a set of doors beginning to close, shut them out and seal their fate.
"Stop! We're coming!" She shouts, half dragging her exhausted mother.
They just barely make the cut off.
"Lucky pair," the man tells them as he directs them, points his stubby finger into the dim of the lower level. "Go check yourselves."
Her mother clinging to her, Madge drags her to the check in point and scans their arms. Once they're accounted for, they follow the cranky man directing the late comers to their temporary shelter.
She's still squinting into the yellow lighting, through the milling people chatting and gossiping, when someone grabs her from behind.
"Where the hell have you two been?"
Mr. Abernathy's face is screwed up, as though he might shout some more or burst into tears. He may do both.
"Oh, Haymitch, make them stop that awful racket," her mother pleads, her hands pressing over her ears and her eyes pressed painfully shut.
His face drops as he watches tears start, or maybe continue, Madge isn't sure, to slide down her mother's face. He looks around for a second, then jerks his head toward what looks to be a hole in the wall. "Come on."
Once they're in, he pulls the little door shut and yanks a single chain, casting the room in yet more yellow light from a naked bulb. He forces up a smile as Madge sets her mother on the lower bunk and smoothes her hair. "Better, sweetheart?"
Weakly, her mother sniffles and makes a soft noise. "Better."
He stands across from them, looking down at them, for several seconds, then the sirens really do stop.
It's an unnatural feeling, like the moments right before a rainstorm. They're in a limbo, expectant and uncertain of what exactly they're about to receive. A gentle shower or a downpour.
Then it begins.
It shakes them, rattles them right down to their bones.
Madge's mother curls up again, pulls Madge with her and huddles against the back wall of their temporary shelter.
Madge closes her eyes and holds her mother tightly, trying to sooth her, but the lights flicker, on and off, on and off, before Mr. Abernathy gets frustrated and gives the chain a pull, plunging them into darkness.
The cot shifts, and Madge can almost make out his silhouette with the sliver of light from under the door.
"It's gonna be okay," he tells them as the earth seems to shudder around them.
Blinking into the darkness, Madge wonders if this is what life was like for Gale in the mines. A deep, dark hole of uncertainty.
It isn't, she knows that. Thirteen's bunker is much safer, much more stable than any mine in Twelve, but the idea is the same. A hole in the ground, tunnels and shafts deep into the earth.
A tomb.
When the shaking ceases and Coin makes an announcement, a grim almost thank you to Peeta and that more bombs are likely to come, Madge sits up. Her mother has cried herself to sleep.
She doesn't know why she says it, but the words slip out anyway. "I hope Gale is okay."
Despite the dark, she catches Mr. Abernathy's arched eyebrows and downturned mouth.
"Because of the mines," she covers. "It's like the mines. His dad died in a mine collapse and-"
He shakes his head and sighs. "Pearl, you need to get that cousin out of your head. He's no good for you."
"I'm-He's not in my head," she counters a bit weakly.
"Is so," he grins.
"You're infuriating." No wonder Katniss-
Madge clamps down on the thought. She doesn't want to think about Katniss or Gale or anyone anymore.
She lets her eyes wander so they can adjust properly to the dark. As she takes in the room, she cringes. There's a bunk above them, she's making Mr. Abernathy take that one, and not much else. A little sigh escapes her lips.
"Do you think you'd've liked being a miner?" she suddenly asks. It's more to get his mind and hers off Gale than because she's really put any thought into the question.
"No," he answers flatly.
Madge tries to imagine Mr. Abernathy, dressed in a miner's uniform, grumbling through the Seam to the mines. He might've been Gale's foreman. She snorts. They would've killed one another.
"That funny, Pearl?"
She grins, even though he can't see her. "Yeah."
Her mind wanders and she pictures him with a wife, dark-haired and gray-eyed, and maybe a kid or two, working for a living instead of drinking his days away. It makes her grin widen.
"What?" He asks, his eyes apparently used to the dark by now.
"Trying to picture you with a kid," she answers.
He scowls at that. "Why's that so funny?"
Madge shrugs. "Just is."
Her image of Mr. Abernathy's imaginary children is suddenly replaced with one of Peeta, sweet, wonderful Peeta, terrified and beaten, and she tries to blink the image away.
Mr. Abernathy has no one, except for maybe Madge and her mother, Katniss and Peeta-
Crawling over her mother, Madge settles herself next to him and wraps her arm in his, letting her head come to a rest against his shoulder.
Peeta is his kid, she'd said as much to him back before the Quarter Quell. He's Mr. Abernathy's kid and they're both hurting.
"They won't kill Peeta," she whispers. "They need him."
They need leverage against Katniss. Until she's gone, Peeta will live.
"I hope you're right, Pearl," he sighs. "I hope you're right."
She hopes she is too..