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.

Must be cried

When Madge doesn't come to school on Monday Gale knows something is wrong.

Her mother had come home from rehab just the month before and sometimes Madge skipped school on what she called 'bad days', to keep her mother company. Their neighbor, Mr. Abernathy, helped too, but seeing as he's a raging alcoholic, Madge tries not to depend on him too much. She always texts Gale before she skips though, asking him to pick up her homework, so she doesn't get behind in class.

When he sees Peeta in the halls between first and second hour he stops him. "Hey, you heard from Madge?"

Peeta frowns, shakes his head, "No. She not text you?"

Gale's lack of response makes Peeta's frown deepen. "Maybe she just overslept…"

Neither one of them look like they believe that line of thinking.

Gale tries to call her at lunch, texts her several times before heading back to class. A knot forms in his stomach each time he checks his phone and doesn't see a response.

The moment school lets out he heads to her house only to find it empty. They hadn't even locked the door when they left.

Stepping through the doorway he finds a mess, sheets and pillows have been strung along the upstairs walkway, just visible through the railing from below, a single shoe, it looks to be Madge's mother's, sets forlornly at the bottom of the stairs, someone's coat has been discarded, tossed without thought, into the normally perfect front living area. Something had rammed into the wall, taken a chunk out of the drywall, scraped a long line of paint off, and knocked one of the paintings to the floor.

The house, usually a careful façade of perfection, is nothing short of a disaster.

"Madge?" He calls out, not certain if he wants to hear her answer or not.

He's only met with empty silence.

As he's about to take a step, venture up to her room like an idiot, he should call the cops, clearly they've been robbed and god only knows what he's going to find upstairs, someone bursts through the door behind him.

"Gale!" Peeta, looking frantic and wild, panting, stares at him.

His heart stops.

Peeta rides with him to the funeral home. It's a silent ride. There's nothing to say.

It's silent when they enter the building, cold and empty. It smells of cut flowers and something ancient that Gale can't quite place.

A man, maybe Gale's father's age, comes out, looking appropriately somber.

"Good afternoon, may I direct you to someone?"

Just as Gale opens his mouth to tell the man with the soft voice the name 'Donner', a voice cracks with his name behind him.

"Gale?"

Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy, her hair looks like she hasn't combed it since she woke up, which if what Peeta had told him was true, then she may not have. She's in a pair of running shorts and a wrinkled hoodie with one of her sloppy night shirts peeking out from under it.

Before Gale can utter so much as a 'hey', she's thrown her arms around him, has started sobbing into his shirt.

Gently, he guides her to a bench, lets her curl into his side.

Peeta drags another chair so that he's across from them, offers Madge a small smile, "Hey."

She lets a watery smile flicker to him, "Hey."

The air gets heavy after that. The three of them just sit in the hard seats, each one waiting for the others to break the silence. Both Gale and Peeta know they need to ask, that Madge both needs them to ask and doesn't need them to ask what happened. No one wants to breach the topic though.

Finally, Madge takes a shaky breath, swallows hard.

"His neighbor found him," She begins, her voice so soft Gale has to strain to hear it. Brushing her messy hair from her face, mouth downturned in thought, she sighs "They tried to resuscitate him but he was, um, 'down' too long. His brain didn't get oxygen for too long…"

Tears are leaking out the sides of her eyes, trickling down her cheeks like rainwater. Her eyes, puffy and shiny, are trying to blink them away. She keeps sniffling, shaking, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.

She's lost. Her grandpa, who from what Gale has seen was the only constant in her life, is gone.

She looks so small.

Peeta stands, wipes his face in his shirt before speaking, "I'm going to go get you a coke, okay?"

He doesn't wait for a response and Madge doesn't make any noise of acknowledgement as he leaves, off to find a vending machine somewhere, leaving Gale wondering if funeral homes even have snack machines.

Gale runs his hands through her tangled hair, smoothes it out in the back.

Then her face crumples again, the tears quicken, and garbled, chocking noises come from her throat.

He isn't sure what to do, he's never been good with crying people, and for a second he considers yelling for Peeta. He's much more capable at this than Gale.

Probably those magazines he's always reading.

Before he can yell, though, Madge has slumped over into him, has started soaking his shirt with her tears and snot again.

Carefully, he wraps his arms around her, pulls her into his lap and tightens his grip on her. He buries his face in her hair, inhales the fading scent of her shampoo as he murmurs nonsense to her. It doesn't seem to matter what he says, just the vibration of his voice, the soft timbre, seem to sooth her, make her sobs a little less painful.

"He was doing so well," she murmurs hoarsely, once the worst of the crying has stopped. "He was walking every day. He was eating better." Her voice breaks. "We were supposed to go to the farmers market this weekend. Why would this happen?"

She isn't sobbing anymore, but Gale can feel her tears still coming steadily down, further soaking his shirt.

He wishes he had an answer.

Her grandfather was old, he was sick, everyone dies eventually, but telling her those things won't help. She doesn't really need answers, she just needs to be held.

He barely knew her grandpa, but he was nice, and he was always there for her. That made him a good guy in Gale's minds.

"What am I going to do without my Poppa?"

Madge takes a shuddering breath, rubbing her nose, a few more tears slipping down her cheeks from her red rimmed eyes.

He feels something wet on his face, reaches up and smears some moisture across his cheek. Why is he crying?

Instead of trying to figure out why his body was overreacting, mimicking Madge's tears, he pulls her tighter to his chest, presses a kiss to her head. He starts to tell her that it'll be okay, but stops. He doesn't know if it will.

#######

Madge doesn't want to leave Poppa, but he's gone. There's nothing left to do for him.

It had been a long twenty-four hours.

She'd gotten home from school the day before, had dinner with her mother and Mr. Abernathy, pizza, then they made ice cream, banana and pecan, before going up to bed.

When midnight had rolled around, Madge had woken as she often did, thirsty for a glass of water, so she'd quietly padded into the hall, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. Her late night routine had recently started including checking on her mother, only recently back from her latest stint in rehab, so as she headed to her own room she opened the door to her mother's room and peeked in.

It was dark and cool, just the way her mother had always liked it, and Madge had to squint to see her.

Ever since she'd been very small, since she'd once found her mother passed out and barely breathing one afternoon in the living room, she'd checked her mother's breathing. It was a comfort, to see her chest rise and fall.

As she squinted, let the dark outline in the bed come into focus, she held her own breath until her mother let out a deep sigh.

She'd just barely made it back to bed when the phone had rung.

It had been her Poppa's neighbor, frantically telling her that Mr. Donner was on his way to the hospital. They needed to get there.

Time seemed to slow after that. She's sure the phone simply fell from her hands, is probably beeping on her bedroom floor.

In a panic, she'd run to her mother's room.

"Mom!"

Madge had grabbed her mother's shoes, she was always forgetting her shoes. It had seemed like such an important thing to do at the time, though looking back it was a bit silly. She hadn't even made it to the hospital with both.

They'd knocked the picture from the wall as they'd run, knocked things over and forgotten to lock the door.

Mr. Abernathy had come to his door, bleary eyed and crabby, but he'd sobered quickly, driving them to the hospital, breaking a few traffic laws on the way.

Then they'd waited, called Madge's father, who was out of town on business again, told him what they knew at the time.

"I'll get the first flight out I can, Pearl."

The doctor, white-headed and with a bristly mustache, came limping out shortly after Madge hung up with her father.

He sat her down, put his ancient hand on her shoulder and gave her a look that told Madge all she needed to know.

"I'm sorry," he started. "He was down too long. His brain went without oxygen…there was nothing we could do."

And just like that, Madge had no Poppa.

She had always thought moments like that, like the death of someone so monumental, someone so important, were supposed to be larger, not such a tiny thing in a hospital room with an ugly flower painting on the wall.

It felt painfully small, though.

Mr. Abernathy took the seat beside her, sat with her in the frigid emergency department room, sniffling and coughing as he tried to comfort her inconsolable mother. It could've been minutes or hours that they stayed there, Madge lost the concept of time, it simply drifted by her as the people in scrubs buzzed by, like a hive of hyperactive bees.

"I should call my dad," she finally said as she stared down at the phone.

She got half a dozen text from Peeta, and three times that many from Gale plus several calls, but she just didn't have the energy to answer them.

Clearing them off, she shakily began dialing her father's number.

A pair of weathered hands covered hers.

"Give it to me, Pearl. I'll tell him."

Mr. Abernathy gently pulled the phone from her clammy hands before standing, giving her a small pat on the shoulder, and walking out of the room, leaving her to her to her silently sobbing mother.

She wasn't sure when he came back, if he said anything to her, all she knew was he had plopped down beside her and pulled her into a bone crushing hug before she'd dissolved into a heap of tears.

They stayed in the room until the chaplain, a thin man with glasses too large for his face came and talked to them. Poppa couldn't stay in the morgue forever.

Mr. Abernathy made the arrangements, he'd probably discussed it with Madge's father, though he never says as much.

He took her to the funeral home, mostly because her mother insists on doing so. It's pointless, but there's something about following the car with Poppa's body, one more ride with him when there are so few left, that calms her.

"I'll be here," Mr. Abernathy tells her when Gale and Peeta offer to take her home. She needs to be away, even if it's just for a few minutes. "I won't leave her, okay? I'll call you when Danny-boy gets here." He pulls her into a hug, gives her a rough kiss on the cheek, "Get some rest, Pearl."

More than a little reluctantly, she goes.

They drop Peeta off at his house before turning up the street, the wrong way from her house.

"Gale, I thought you were taking me home?" She needs to shower, change her clothes, brush her teeth…

"You don't need to be there by yourself," he tells her firmly. "I already talked to my parents. You're going to stay with us tonight."

She covers her face with her hands before running them up into her greasy, tangled hair, "Okay fine." He won't change his mind anyway, "But I need to pick up some stuff."

"You didn't lock the doors," he cuts her a look. "My mother and Posy went and grabbed some of your things."

Madge feels her face heat up. Gale' mother had seen their disaster of a house, sheets and pillows and clothing strung down the hall, and Madge's room…the less said about the state of it the better.

She almost laughs at herself, worrying about something as silly as her messy house when her Poppa is dead. It's so pointless, so stupid.

They spring up, cascade down her cheeks. Her nose begins running again, shouldn't she have run out of snot by now?

God, she must look like a horror movie extra.

Gale pulls her closer, rubs his rough hand up and down her arm, traces a pattern with his fingers at her elbow. That, combined with the hum of his truck, the gentle rumble of the road under the tires, and her creeping exhaustion, lull her into a light nap.

The moment the truck stops, though, she snaps awake.

"Shhh, we're home."

No, Madge thinks, we're at your home.

Her home is falling apart, crumbling at her feet, had been for years.

He must pull her from the truck, lead her into the house, because she doesn't remember how she gets in. She's just suddenly in his kitchen, his mother, alive and warm, is hugging her, telling her she's so sorry.

Madge wishes it were more comforting, it just isn't though.

All the 'sorry's in the world won't make a difference. They don't make the ache in her chest any less sharp, make any of her thoughts less painful.

Still, she folds into Mrs. Hawthorne, lets her hug her and tell her she's 'going to be okay', even though Madge knows she won't, nothing will ever be okay ever again. She's sure of it.

Everything is in a fog, her brain has stopped working, she doesn't remember taking a shower, washing her hair or brushing her teeth, but she must've because her skin is moist, her hair is damp, smells like Gale's shampoo, and her mouth has a familiar mint flavor in it.

Hours pass, or maybe only minutes, she isn't sure, when Mr. Abernathy calls, tells her that her father is at the funeral home, tells her to stay at the Hawthornes'. They get some food down her, tomato soup she thinks, then try to put her in Posy's bed.

"No, the couch is fine," she tells them.

They try to protest, tell her it's too noisy, but she's so exhausted she falls asleep before they can convince her to move from their battered couch.

She wakes a little confused, unsure where she is, not really remembering the past day.

Then it comes back to her.

Tears begins silently sliding down her cheek, quickly soaking the pillow that's somehow found its way under her head. Pressing her face into it, she tries to muffle herself, keep from waking anyone.

The couch dips, though, a rough hand begins smoothing her hair then rubbing small circles on her back, "Shhhh."

Gale had somehow heard her. She hadn't been that loud, had she?

Looking over, she spots a blanket kicked to the ground in front of Mr. Hawthorne's patched old recliner. Gale must've been sleeping there.

She sits up, tries to rub the tears away, but it only makes more come. Shouldn't she have run out of them by now? God she's tired of crying.

"I'm sorry."

He looks exhausted. She's wearing him out with her problems and it just makes her already horrible day, night, whatever time it is, that much worse. He deserves so much more than to be her snot rag.

Gale blinks, his doughy looking eyes work on focusing on her before he scowls. "There's nothing to be sorry for."

There is though. So much for her to be sorry for. Things she can't even think about at the moment, her brain is so sluggish.

He sighs, a long, almost pained sounding breath, before pulling her into his lap, pressing his lips to her neck. "You need to sleep."

Tipping her over, he wraps his arms around her waist, presses her back to his chest and stomach.

It takes what feels like hours to fall asleep, her mind is too busy, running over all the signs she might've missed, all the things she could've done differently that might've saved her Poppa. There's nothing though.

Finally, though, she slips into a heavy sleep.

#######

She wakes to the smell of bacon, the tantalizing sizzle of it coming from the kitchen.

Madge forces her heavy eyelids open, squints into the pale morning light forcing its way through the blinds.

Gale is gone from behind her, his warmth is noticeably absent and her chest starts aching.

Afraid she's about to start crying again, she's done with crying, she rolls onto her stomach, buries her face in the pillow again.

"You okay, Madge?"

Turning her face, she finds Posy and Vick, staring down at her. They both have appropriately somber expressions on their little faces.

"I made you and your momma a picture," Posy thrusts a coloring page, something with flowers and fairies on it, at her. Someone, it looks like Vick, has written, very carefully and in very childish scroll with a pink crayon the words 'deepest sympathies'.

Vick chews his lip, mumbles something that sound like 'sorry' to Madge as she sits up and takes the paper from Posy's grubby hands.

The tears speed up, Madge presses her hand to her mouth to keep the garbled noises in, hopefully keep from terrifying Gale's youngest siblings, but it seems the damage is already done. Fat tears are already dripping down Posy's round cheeks, her little lip is trembling. Her face crumples, "I'm sorry!"

"You made them cry!" Rory, who's appeared from the hallway, shoots his youngest brother an accusatory glare.

"No I didn't!" Vick tells him, his nose scrunching up.

Madge tries to defend him, but her words come out as a sloppy, garbled noise.

Posy runs off, to the kitchen, Rory chasing after her, both presumably looking for one or both of their parents.

Vick stays, though, hops onto the couch next to her and sighs. His gray eyes flicker up to her, then down to his hands as they pick at the little sprigs of fuzz on his Thor pajama pants.

"I'm sorry about your grandpa."

They sit there in silence, breathing in the warm smell of bacon, for several minutes, before she feels like she can talk without dribbling snot and tears all over everything.

"Thanks."

Mrs. Hawthorne comes in, quickly shoes Vick into the kitchen before dropping into his vacant spot beside Madge.

"How are you feeling, dear?"

Like shit.

She shrugs, "Fine."

Gale's mother doesn't seem to buy that though, she pulls Posy's picture from Madge's grasp, sets it on the coffee table. "I'm sorry about that. She doesn't really understand."

She shouldn't have to. Madge thinks it's not something that someone Posy's age should have to process, it's barely something someone Madge's age feels able to process.

How can someone that was alive and well, planting a garden the day before, be gone?

Mrs. Hawthorne wraps her arm around Madge's shoulder, gives her a squeeze.

Putting her elbows to her knees, resting her face against the palms of her hands, Madge takes a deep breath.

A watery chuckle escapes her throat, she presses her fingers to her eyes and bites her lip. She needs to stop crying, it's giving her a headache.

Gale's mother wraps her in a tight hug and she breaks.

The sobbing starts again, her head pounds with each gasp, her lungs burn.

"Why did this happen?" It isn't fair! Her Poppa was her rock, what is she going to do without him?

"Shhh," Mrs. Hawthorne runs her hands through Madge's hair, gently pats her back.

She doesn't tell her it'll be okay, which Madge appreciates. It might not be okay, it might never be okay, it certainly feels like it won't ever be okay again.

#######

It's sunny the day of the funeral, which Madge finds strange.

She's miserable, her mother is miserable, shouldn't the world be miserable too? Her Poppa was well liked, shouldn't mother nature mourn him too?

Maybe, Madge thinks faintly, this is his farewell. Poppa is smiling, warm and sunny, on her as she says her final goodbye.

Her mother is broken, her tears are dried out, replaced with an empty stare and lifeless eyes.

Madge doesn't remember what the preacher says, she doesn't remember the songs played, she doesn't even remember the ride to the cemetery, it's all a blur of flowers and headlights.

The sun makes her dress a little too hot, and by the time the preacher dismisses everyone, Madge can feel her makeup melting away.

People trickle by, strangers pat her hand, give her hugs, tell her she's in their prayers before vanishing into the spring afternoon.

Her parents leave, but Madge lingers.

"I just-I want to say goodbye. I'll walk home," she tells them. "It's not too far."

For a minute her dad looks like he might argue, but then gives her a faint smile and kisses her cheek. He understands her at least, her need to be alone.

She stays rooted in her seat, under the canopy, on the plastic grass they'd placed under it, staring at the casket as they drive off.

Her body aches as she stands, walking over to the piles of flowers and plucking a carnation out.

"I'll press it for you," she tells him.

Tears start to well in her eyes again and she tries to blink them back, swallowing down a lump. Walking around, she looks at the headstone, at the name 'Herschel Oliver Donner' already etched next to 'Elsie Emile Donner'.

"I'm gonna miss you so much, Poppa," she finally manages to choke out. So much.

Something crunches a few feet away, and she looks up.

Gale is standing sheepishly just under the canopy, his hand in his pocket and his expression somber.

His hair is combed nicely for once, not in the wild tangles she's come to love. Hazelle had probably encouraged that. Madge wonders if she helped him with his tie too, now half undone, dangling around his neck loosely.

"Sorry," he murmurs. He jerks his head toward his truck. "Need a ride?"

Her dad might've told him her plan, probably had, but even if he hadn't, Gale probably would've waited for her. Despite the fact that she's done nothing but cry and ruin his shirts for the past few days, he's still here.

It finally hits her, as he waits for her by the fold up chairs, his hand combing through his hair, sending it back into its naturally unruly state, that he loves her.

She's known it, somewhere in her mind and in her heart, but it wasn't until now, that's she's put him through her emotional wringer that the enormity of that hit her. He loves her. When she's been up without sleep, is dressed in ratty pajamas, has cried to the point that her eyes swell shut, he loves her.

She love him too.

Smiling down at her Poppa's name, Madge rubs her nose and nods. "Yeah."

Slowly, she makes her way back to him, each step heavy, taking her a little bit further from Poppa.

By the time she reaches him, the tears have started again.

"Shhhh," he murmurs, pulling her into a hug, kissing her hair.

Wrapping her arms around his middle, she presses her face into his chest and inhales his scent, letting it sooth her.

"It feels like there's a hole in my chest," she finally whispers, her voice thick and sloppy. "It hurts."

Gale nods.

He doesn't give her the empty platitudes everyone else has been tossing her way, he's in a better place, heaven needed an angel, he isn't hurting anymore, it's going to be okay, Gale just holds her, kisses her hair and rubs her back. He lets her cry.

It's what she needs, and he knows it.

"Let's go get a snow cone," he finally tells her. "Strawberry cheesecake."

Madge nods.

Life doesn't stop because someone you love, someone important, even just to one person, dies.

Her Poppa is gone, taken in one small moment in an ugly hospital waiting room. His funeral is over, his life summed up in an hour, and now Madge's life has to carry on, even if it hurts.

"Strawberry cheesecake sounds good," she whispers back.

Gale pulls back, kissing her forehead before wrapping an arm around her shoulder and steering her away from the canopy.

Madge glances over her shoulder one last time at the flowers, slowly wilting in the afternoon sun.

"Bye, Poppa."