Christiana Greene, PK, THG123, and other anonymous persons: Thanks for leaving reviews! I'm always happy to hear from you.
Also, many thanks to all of you who nominated my stories for the 2010 Hunger Games Fic awards. I appreciate your support and I'm happy that so many of you have enjoyed Gale and Madge. Results are forthcoming. (Maybe?)
Chapter 8
Madge's POV
"You…enlisted," I repeat woodenly, staring off into the shadowy dimness of the Hawthornes' living room.
"Yeah. It's not a difficult mission, Madge." Gale shrugs. "We're just going in, yanking Peeta and a few others, and hightailing it out of there."
"Who's we?"
"Haymitch, Finnick Odair, your Quintus McFarlane, and a woman named Nevada," he lists. "We're a pretty slick team, what with the Capitol know-how and brawn. Nothing to worry about."
Gale's words of assurance hang in the tension-filled space between us like a bad radio transmission. I barely register his veiled ribbing about Quintus. We've separated ourselves to the farthest antipodes of the couch in direct contrast to our earlier position when Gale sandwiched me to the cushion and dropped the bomb, there's something else I should tell you.
Whoever came up with that phrase should be hanged.
I remember thinking once that there's a thin line between enthusiasm and lunacy. That was the same moment I came to regret informing Gale that a rebel movement existed, because I knew he'd have to have a hand in it. And that scared me, down by the river when I saw his eyes light up as I revealed Madge the paper-pushing rebel. Hell, it still scares me to death because I realized I'd never be able to rein him in if he stepped one toe into the resistance's circle.
"Madge?" Gale asks uncertainly after a prolonged silence.
I lift my head from where it's resting on my fist. The coppery taste of blood flavors my mouth where I've been biting the inside of my cheek.
"What's the matter?"
"I'm afraid," I tell him. "You could get hurt."
"I'll take care of myself," Gale says with his usual bravado. He looks at me, sidelong. "Don't you want Peeta rescued? I got the impression you were rooting for him."
Who wouldn't root for Peeta? He's one of the best men I know. And of course I want him saved - I'm relieved that they're planning a rescue. Not just for Katniss, but because he deserves it. But...but..."Is there some other way? Why do you have to go?"
"Just how it is, Madge."
I don't buy it…and maybe that's what else bothers me about this situation. I don't know how to say it without sounding incredibly selfish, but either I'm a part of this family or I'm not. And if I am, then I need to be included. I can get over Gale choosing to spend time with his ailing friend over me. He's right, I am stronger right now. But I'm slowly starting to realize that Gale doesn't understand that his actions have consequences that affect his family and me, as well as himself.
"There's something else, isn't there?" he asks, breaking into my thoughts. "Let's have it."
I shift uncomfortably on the cushion, tucking my legs up under my chin. "You didn't ask me," I say with a voice as flat and thin as the old bottles of club soda in Haymitch's old mansion.
Gale's eyebrows pucker together and he frowns. "Ask you?" he rasps, sounding affronted.
"Not for permission, I don't mean that," I say quickly, padding his fragile male ego. "I meant, you didn't ask me what I thought or how I felt about you becoming a rebel soldier before you made the decision. Did you think of me at all before you rushed into this?"
"Of course I did," Gale grouses. "I'm always thinking about you and my family. That's my job. But it doesn't make a difference," he says to the two fists in his lap. "I'm going."
It's so typical of him I almost laugh. Almost.
"Gale, you aren't single anymore," I continue, trying for that calm, neutral tone my father so often used. "Your decisions don't just affect you. I might feel a little bit better if I had a share in the dialogue."
"I know that this affects you," he grouses, furiously scratching the side of his head. "You think I don't know that?"
Gale repeats again how he's acting in Katniss's stead. How unstable and unhappy she is, and how much she needs Peeta. He's already committed. Too late to back out now. They'll train him the best they can.
"So why bother talking about every little thing when nothing's going to change?" Gale finishes in a monotone voice.
"I don't know…respect?" I snap. I would have appreciated a chance to try and talk him out of it, even if it didn't work on him. "You're taking away my ability to engage with you when you don't share important choices like this one. I mean, how powerless would you feel if I decided to do something similar and didn't tell you? Maybe I'll become a pilot all of a sudden and hop in a fighter plane. It's a noble cause, the rebellion, so why not? Are you telling me you wouldn't be a little upset that I didn't talk to you about it?"
Gale shakes his head. "That's different."
"How?" I demand.
"You don't know anything about hovercrafts," he shoots back.
"And you've never used a gun! Nor have you been to the Capitol." And what I am too tactful to bring up: the way he threw up after he killed Liquor. Gale wears a mask of control and indifference, but I don't know if he really has it in him to kill without it damaging him. He can say what he likes – he's not ready to raze his way through the Capitol.
"I don't need to be familiar with the Capitol when I've got Haymitch, Finnick, and Quintus tagging along," he points out curtly. "And I can learn to use a gun a hell of a lot faster than you can learn to fly a hovercraft."
I take a deep breath, slowly, concentrating on the feel of my lungs contracting and expanding like little balloons. At three in the morning it's difficult to maintain a thread of patience. I can imagine the triple-play length of yarn held taut by a weight, the weave fraying apart and each thread snapping one by one.
"You're missing the point, Gale," I say, trying to rub out the tension headache forming. "I want to be included when you make decisions like this." Gale closes his eyes and turns his head away. "Are you falling asleep when I'm talking to you?"
"How can I when you're screeching in my ears like Mrs. Mellark?" he mutters angrily.
It feels like he slapped me and I gape at him. My heart pounds in my chest already from the arguing, but now it feels like he's stuck one of his arrows into it. I'm not nagging him, not the way that woman used to dig into her husband in front of customers. Mrs. Mellark was famous in the district for behaving like a fishmonger's wife. I'm stunned that Gale thinks I behave anything like her and I'm hurt that he isn't listening to my concerns.
Without a word, I grab our dirty teacups and duck into the kitchen, away from Gale, and busy myself by washing them out before I say something I'll regret when I'm rested and reasonable. I don't bother turning on the light, since the last thing I want is for Gale to get a better look at me. This is the first big blowout we've had since I screamed at him for not abandoning my parents. We've come a long way from that cold war relationship we had back in Twelve, but it still looks like we can be nasty fighters.
The warm tap water feels good against my chilled skin, at least. When the cups are clean and drying in the rack, I lean over the sink and just stand quietly in the dark for a moment, composing myself. Gale's soft footfalls carry into the kitchen. The trim around the door creaks slightly when he rests his upper body against it. I feel his eyes on me. I close mine.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," he apologizes. "I'm not used to having anyone question my decisions so much."
Hanna called fights like this growing pains when she gossiped about her married children to me while I did my homework in the kitchen after school. Learning to fit somebody else into your life is hard work. But necessary work. That's what she said.
"You're going to have to get used to it," I murmur.
"I'm seeing that," he replies. "And I get it. You're worried. I didn't include you. I'm sorry. Right now there isn't time for indecision. An opportunity is coming to save Peeta and I have to jump on it."
"I don't know if I should—I don't—what am I supposed to do?" I jump back into the earlier argument. There's a tremor in my voice and I hate it. "It doesn't make sense. I don't understand why Haymitch would allow you to go when your space could be filled by a trained soldier," I say. "And you don't even like Peeta. Your face turns purple at the mere mention of his name."
"No it doesn't," Gale grumbles. "Sure, he's not my favorite…person, but Madge, everyone in leadership is interested in Peeta because of his connection to the Mockingjay – Katniss. Someone needs to go who's interested in saving Peeta for the hell of it. If something went wrong that risks the rebellion or the Underground, who's going to stop them from pulling out before saving him? As long as they have Katniss, he's not that important. Heavensbee and Haymitch are only trying to make her happy, but they aren't going to keep that up forever."
"That's a very noble speech for a guy who frequently calls Peeta the 'Dough Boy'."
Gale crosses his arms. I can see the muscles bunching as his body tenses with his mood. "I can't believe you, Madge. You were part of this rebellion before I even knew it existed. I thought you'd be more supportive."
"What if you get killed?" I plead.
"I won't."
"You won't?" I ask, laughing bitterly. I try to control the trembling in my lips. "So what? You're God now? I'm not prepared to lose everything, Gale. Not again."
Gale crosses over to the sink. His warm hands cup my shoulders, making me turn toward the dark outline of his body. "I made a promise that I have to keep."
"And after?" I ask, staring at the buttons on his clothes. "Will you be done?"
Gale's dark eyes bore into mine. "What good is it if I sit down here and hide?" he asks steadily. "I might as well be skulking around in the mines back home for all the good it'll do. You took risks once for this rebellion, and I bet you didn't ask for your father's permission first."
No. I didn't. But I wasn't playing with guns. And look what the rebellion's cost me. It didn't save my family. It didn't save Darius. And now Haymitch has willingly accepted the help of the one person I'm beginning to love the most. It's not that I don't want to help anymore...I just...I don't know.
"Now it's my turn, Madge," he says. "Everything's going to be fine."
The sharp pull on my stomach and the tingling along my spine tell me otherwise. It won't be fine. I can feel it won't.
"I feel like something horrible's about to happen," I murmur.
Gale frowns thoughtfully. "Maybe we shouldn't talk about stuff like this in the dark," he says, gently drawing me back toward the living room. "Come on, I can barely keep my eyes open." He yawns for emphasis.
We're not done with this, but neither one of us has the energy to keep up the argument. And if we did, it's only bound to get messier. I sink onto the couch and sit with my head in my hands. He offers to stay out here with me instead of retreating to his room where, honestly, he'd probably find some relief.
It's a strange feeling, to be this angry with someone and love him at the same time, torn between shaking him and holding him. I still need him. I guess that's why I don't give him the cold shoulder and run back to my empty bed in the dorm. Gale's long legs spill over the armrest and off the side of the couch as he reclines on his back with an arm tucked under his head. I lower myself on top of his torso, laying my head over his beating heart. He murmurs something about grabbing a blanket for me, but I wrap my arms around his chest and pretend I don't hear. He's fast asleep in a blink anyway.
I envy his luck. Although I'm sapped of energy, closing my eyes doesn't keep my anxious thoughts from spooling through my head as the blue light on an electric clock blinks away the three quarters of an hour.
This isn't working.
Gale's sleeping like a dead man, wafting strands of my hair with his steady breathing. The buttons of his shirt dig painfully into my breastbone. I don't want to move away from him, but I need to. The couch springs creak when I shift my position over his body till I'm lying wedged between his torso and the back of the couch.
He's a Mockingjay soldier.
I have to prepare myself for more than a shredded back. Bullet holes. Knives. Broken bones. Fire? My arm tightens around his waist, as though I could anchor both of us to this couch and he'd never have to leave for this rescue mission.
And the worst part is that I'm the one being selfish in this scenario. Who else in this convalescing sewer gets to keep all their loved ones safe? It's like the people of Thirteen are bred for one purpose alone, to man the rebellion. And now that we've escaped the firebombing – what – that exempts us from further harm? I can expect Gale to kick back and relax? But I didn't lie when I said I can't lose everything again.
And it's not just any mission. He's going to save Peeta, I argue with myself. And I promised to help him with Katniss. We don't get to be done.
And then comes the feeling. It's like nausea deep down in my bones, like the marrow's liquefied into sickness and poisoning the rest of me. I've never felt this kind of fear. This impending doom.
I have to shake it. I'm the sort of girl who feels better when I can sit quietly and sort things out in my mind, but right now my thoughts run in useless circles.
I need to move. And there's one place I might find some relief – and maybe a chance to stop this train wreck.
I find the energy to push myself up. Gale must be exhausted because my most careful attempt to get off the couch, over his body, is still clumsy at best. But even almost falling on him doesn't wake him up. I sort of feel sorry for arguing with him for so long.
I stretch out when I'm back on my feet and try to comb my hair through my fingers. The boys' room door cracks open and Vick stumbles out with his hair askew and no shirt on. He scratches his stomach in a half-asleep zombie sort of way. He's halfway to the bathroom when he notices me and startles.
"Good morning, Vick."
He looks at Gale sleeping on the couch.
"Are you staying here?" he mumbles.
I shake my head. "I need to go actually," I say. "When Gale wakes up will you tell him I've gone to see Katniss?"
Vick nods his head and looks uncertainly at the clock. He's wondering who in their right mind would go visiting anyone at this hour.
He might be right. Katniss may well be asleep. But my visit's been long overdue.
TBC
AN: Sorry this is so short, but I'm starting to feel overwhelmed with finishing this story before MJ. Er, I don't think it's going to happen. But I'm trying and will be publishing shorter chapters to keep the crazies from setting in. Thanks for reading! And thank you, Ceylon, for beta!
