Beholden

Gale can be pretty direct, but I still remember how he avoided Katniss and Peeta's return celebration held at my house. I remember it because I dressed up for nothing, and spent the evening wishing I could hide in my bedroom with my disappointment. Instead my dad made me dance with his clerk. - And So We Run Redux Part 1, ch. 12.

Part 7

"Miss Margaret, should you be drinking that?"

I glance down into the glass and the friendly golden liquid reflecting the overhead lighting. I could tell him I'm holding it for someone else. He wouldn't challenge me. But then I'd have to follow through.

"I'm allowed one glass," I try instead. Then I add woodenly, "Will you join me?"

He sniffs. "I don't drink."

"Oh." I don't have strong feelings either way about it, but for some reason his definite attitude has the dampening effect of a raincloud over my mood.

So we watch Katniss and Peeta act madly in love on the dance floor while I take guilty sips of wine and Cole exudes disapproval. Should I take the opportunity to apologize for disappearing? The guilt starts to ebb as a delicious, warm languor spreads through my stomach and limbs. The wine sent by the Capitol feels like liquid light in my mouth. It's not very sweet but the bubbles make it fun. By the time I swallow the last of it, I decide another glass is advisable.

"Miss Margaret…"

I shoot Cole a glare while I cradle the new stemware. "You can tell my father if you want. Go on." Then I can go find a couch to collapse onto and wrinkle my dress some more in peace.

Cole's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, the only outward sign that he might be at war with himself. He won't tattle on me. I don't know why. By all appearances, he's my father's Yes Man, not mine. But his lack of tale-telling does give him one point over Hanna. And some other people I'm worried about.

While I sip my second drink, I see Leven Mellark lead a young woman onto the dance floor. Peeta's other brother is talking with some boys from the wrestling team. These are the people I'm worried about seeing me with Cole. Because they're the sort of boys who do tell tales. And who find someone like Cole very amusing. Well, and someone like me too. Too quiet. Too isolated. Not completely calibrated to please. Easy pickings.

I'm thankful that the upperclassmen don't get recess. Then the teasing will be limited mostly to passing periods in the halls or in classes with teachers who can't control the jocks.

Some might think I can lean on my status as the mayor's daughter for immunity, but I have scruples against that. It seems like a cheap method for getting my way, or of buying protection or people's esteem. But I won't always be the mayor's daughter, will I? Someday he'll retire. Or lose an election. And then what? The flimsy walls built on his status will crumble. And then I'll have nothing.

Because on my own, what am I?

There's not enough wine in my bloodstream to insulate me from the sudden knowledge that Cole Binns and I fall into the same category in this community. I've been sticking my daintier nose in the air all evening, like being with him is a step down for me. But who am I kidding? And who's here tonight to prove me wrong? No one. Not a single cousin.

Somehow my father catches my eye from across the room where he's speaking to Rufus Weidenbach and his wife. Dad dips his head in the direction of the whirling couples. Big hint. Then he glowers when he notices the wine glass. Oops.

I drain the rest of the wine in one swallow — liquid oblivion should not be wasted — then shove the glass into the hand of a passing attendant. A mistake. I feel the room list a little as the alcohol distributes itself in skattershot fashion through my veins. Then I grab Cole's arm. Partially to keep from listing with the room, and partially because I think I'm going to have to be the forward one in this situation.

"Come on, Binns. Swing me around so I don't end up grounded for the rest of my life."

Hm. I had meant to say, Cole, will you dance with me? I guess the wine had other ideas. It talks sort of like Haymitch.

"Miss Undersee?" I can hear Cole retreating further behind formality, probably to protect himself from the mayor's unexpectedly unscrupled daughter.

"Don't you want to dance with me?" I ask, resorting to my father's tactics.

Cole has no polite way to refuse without it sounding like a direct rejection. And he wouldn't risk upsetting my dad. Poor guy, caught between two Undersees. I can't imagine what his life would be like if my mother felt well.

"Are you in a condition to be…"

I shoot him a glare. "Never better."

Cole allows himself to be dragged to the center floor. We stand there, trying to out-wait the other to see who's going to grab who first. I sigh, then stick his hand on my waist before shoving my palm against his. It's formal and old-fashioned, but I think both hands on my waist would give Cole the vapors. For the first time, I'm glad I'm wearing the white dress. The red one would be completely wasted on tonight. And nobody's cousin's around to miss it, anyway.

Just as this can't count as my first date, it also can't count as dancing. Not when I have to do all the moving for both of us. It makes sense, though. Politically speaking, Cole's basically a puppet.

I glance up at Cole who's blocking my view of the floor. "Do you want me to lead?" I ask when we're properly arranged but still standing in place. People have to flow around us. "I don't mind. Only I can't see behind you."

Cole promptly turns red. I guess he has a shred of male ego hiding somewhere amidst the straw stuffing and rags and wire. I don't see why I've poked it. It's not so terrible being steered backward all night. Women have been doing it for centuries. I'd just drive him into a bunch of people by accident, that's all.

He doesn't answer. Just applies as little pressure as possible to maneuver me in time with the waltz. It's one of my favorites. And now I'll never be able to play it again with any pleasure.

All of Cole's attention seem to be taken up with not touching me at all and having to touch me so that on a technical level we're participating in the dance. I decide to stare at the buttons of his dress shirt. Especially after I accidentally catch Bran Mellark's eye as he breezes by with a girl from his year. He smiles crookedly at me and I decide to have the flu following the Harvest Festival.

At least the embarrassment produces one positive effect. I'm glad for an absence of cousins. Especially without the red dress as a suit of armor. Because then I'd be seen with the widest spectrum of males the district has to offer. Niels on the one hand. Cole on the other. And I just bet that someone probably thinks they're both just my type.

I squint up at Cole, whose eyebrows are knit together low over his nose. "Cole, how many cousins have you got?" I ask.

His eyebrows crawl upward in surprise, but he answers, "Two. On my mother's side."

"Two!" I cry. "That's unfair. I haven't got even one. Do you like them?"

For a second he actually squeezes my hand. "No."

"Oh." That must make life much easier for him. I say, "Cole, did you ever like a girl who thought the worst of you?"

"Er…"

"Would you ever ask her out anyway? Or just try to talk to her more?" My face squinches up. "Not because she'll enjoy it so much, but because even a few snide comments are better than nothing?"

Cole's sweating into his necktie when I glance up at him, looking for a reply. "I…w-wouldn't presume."

I nod. "I knew you'd say that. You're a very sensible young man."

"I'm sorry…" He swallows. "Oh, I mean, thank you."

"I wish I was sensible like you," I sigh.

He blinks at me like he wishes that also, but doesn't dare say so.

Two glasses of wine might have been too much for a rookie. It's unhinged my tongue a little. I wonder how much Haymitch has to drink now to get good and mean and drunk. Maybe not much as long as he keeps his liver primed. Which he does.

Cole could use a drink to loosen him up. Sweat rings have started to form under his arms. I can't think why. Now that we're moving, things seem to be going more smoothly. Even if his hand just hovers over my hip. I've got a decent grip on his hand because I'm pretty sure he's the one who's most likely to bolt out of the two of us now. But it's clammy and I'd kind of like to go wash my hands.

"Relax, Cole," I mutter. "It's only a dance."

"I can't," he says, sounding choked. "Your father is watching."

Oh. I hadn't realized. I look around to see if I can spot my father in the crowd edging the floor. He's talking to Mr. and Mrs. Mellark now, but his eyes are on Cole and I.

I wonder if he's expressing his concern about the suggestibility of teenagers who see their former classmates get engaged on television. Hopefully he's not giving any personal examples. I don't need my own father spreading rumors about me. Bran Mellark will suffice.

And I feel badly for Cole. A little. He's looking thoroughly uncomfortable.

"You shouldn't let my father throw his weight around so much, you know," I tell him. "Especially on your day off."

Cole turns red again. "My respect for The Mayor…"

"Don't be silly. He's being a bully." Maybe I am too. "If you'd rather go home, well, go home. He can't fire you for it. I won't mind."

Cole looks at me down his long streak of nose and I realize with a jerk in my stomach that he doesn't want to go home. He's just awkward as hell. And tonight's been all about my dad doing him a favor. The punishment was secondary.

Oh, gad. Just how much of this not-date did my dad plan himself? Some of it. He wouldn't go along if he didn't want to. But I've been thinking of Cole as a victim of my father's fancy. No. He's an accomplice. Or one of them's an accomplice.

And I wonder, when Cole kisses me twenty years from now after he's worked himself up to it, will I end up with caraway in my teeth? Or would the force and ardor required for the kind of transfer take more like forty years for someone like Cole? I should have paid better attention in physics.

Because Cole's going to win, in the end. This timid, polite, sober, dull scarecrow. It'll be a long game but he'll manage it. Because nobody — at least nobody like my dad when his good intentions for me get the better of him, or men like Mr. Weidenbach or Mr. Burdick — can stand to let a man like Cole lose. The good ol' boys look after their own, even if they call it by other names.

And that's how this works for girls like me. No concerts at the Capitol with my healthy mother in attendance. No candy shop. No…anywhere else. Nothing exciting. Cole's going to be mayor. He's going to get the old mayor's daughter. Maybe we'll have some beige children if he warms up enough before I go through menopause. He'll call me Miss Margaret even when we're in our pajamas. And I'll play campaign songs on the piano until I dry up and die.

I'm going to run for it, I think. Slip through the fence and live on pine needles. Avoid poison ivy now that I know what it looks like. Figure out how to use my bra as a snare. I could do it.

Well. Until the part where I have to skin the animal myself. Then I'll just starve.

"Miss Undersee, are you unwell?"

"I only had two glasses of wine," I groan. How did only two glasses of wine put me in the lead over my father for creative paranoia? Then I say, "Call me Madge, for goodness sake."

"I wouldn't presume."

"Then go back to calling me Miss Margaret, at least," I growl before I can check my tone.

A couple nearby gives us funny looks as they sweep by.

He clears his throat. "Miss Margaret, you look piqued. Do you want to sit down?"

Piqued. My future life has just fizzed before my eyes like the bubbles in the wine. Well, maybe more like blurred before my eyes. Of course I'm piqued.

"No," I answer, knowing that my father will find a worse punishment for me if I stop dancing with Cole.

All this because I went grocery shopping at the wrong time.

"Just out of curiosity," I segue, feeling suddenly sober again, "Just how many assault cases in the district are a result of biting, would you say?"

Cole frowns as he tries to keep up with the changes in subject. "Why do you ask, Miss Margaret?"

I glance away at nothing. "I'm writing a paper for school and I thought I'd throw in some statistics."

His Adam's apple performs more calisthenics. "I could look into it tomorrow…"

"Don't be silly. Tomorrow's the Harvest Festival. You should be celebrating. With your family. " Not with me. "I simply thought you might know the number off the top of your head."

"No. Forgive me," he says stiffly. "That's a better question for Head Peacekeeper Cray."

I snort before I can catch myself. Ugh, that wine. I really should behave more like Cole. Then I'd still have filters. And nobody would drag me into an alley unless they wanted me to sweep it out like the broomstick that he is.

"Have you ever been falsely accused?" I ask.

Cole surprises me by quickly replying, "Yes," in a deadpan voice I normally associate with Katniss.

My eyes grow wide as I stare at him. Suddenly he's interesting. "You have?"

"Yes." His turnip face looks grim. "Once."

My heart races a little bit. Judging by his expression and his tone, it sounds awful. Whatever it was. "What happened?"

"My cousin accused me of making a joke when, in fact, I was very serious." He turns his face away as if he can barely contain the shame.

I groan, staring up at the ceiling. How can my father stand to work day in and day out with this?

Cole mistakes my reaction for sympathy. "Yes, Miss Margaret, I felt very distressed at the time too. You see, I never joke about pulling fingers. I have weak ligaments."

Then I have to glance down, biting my tongue nearly in two, so that he won't see my face. Weak ligaments?

"Mind if I cut in? 'Cause if you do, I have the authority to place you under arrest."

Oh no!

My head snaps up. I see a familiar streak of ginger, in his white uniform no less, elbowing Cole out of the way. It's not difficult for the interloper. That's why you hold on tight to a girl on the dance floor! You never know when some rapscallion Peacekeeper might edge you out.

I stare at Darius as he takes me firmly by the waist, slipping us seamlessly into the flow of other dancers.

"We match." He winks at me.

Ugh. I hate this dress.

"Good evening," I say, ignoring the comment. "I know for a fact that you were not invited."

Darius shrugs. "Fortunately, I have connections — specifically, the security detail in charge of the front door, who owes me a favor."

"What are you doing here?"

"It looked like you could use a rescue."

Argh. I'm thoroughly weary of being rescued. "You aren't helping at all."

"No?"

"No. My dad's going to kill me."

"So you aren't happy to see me, then?"

"Emphatically, no."

I'm not sure who I'm more worried about catching Darius and I together so publicly. Haymitch or my father. I decide it's my father, who I suspect isn't satisfied that I withheld the identity of the giver of bruises. And is therefore in the best position to completely misunderstand why Darius has stolen me away from Cole.

"Don't be so hard." Darius grins. "Who got rid of that tall streak of nothing? Me."

I grimace. "Yes, and for that you're going to get us both in trouble."

"I hate to break it to you, honey, but you're already in trouble if that's your date."

"More trouble, then," I sigh.

Darius looks unimpressed. "With whom, exactly? Binns? What's he going to do? Pine after you in the middle of a field while crows hop on his nose? Actually, I've rescued him from perspiring to death."

I laugh despite myself. Cole was getting awfully sweaty. "You're terrible." I shake my head. "No, I mean trouble with my father. He's on the lookout."

"Ah. Yes." Darius loses his normally flippant tone. "I can understand why that is."

I stare at him, trying to read his expression for clues. "You can?"

He pulls me closer so he an speak into my ear. "See, I heard a rumor about Goldilocks getting into a scrap with the three bears. And the way the bears tell it, Goldilocks didn't come out on top."

My heart sinks into my stomach, because I know exactly what rumor he means, despite his coded speech. The three Peacekeepers must have been telling tales in the barracks since last afternoon. As codes go, Darius's lacks precision. Unless there's a version where the bears break into her house and eat her porridge, not the other way around.

And then there's his math. He's one character short. A significant role in the story, in fact.

"Didn't they mention the huntsman?" I cringe, sticking to his choice of coded language. Even if it is ridiculous.

Darius draws his head back, eyebrow raised. "Why? Did one turn up?"

I nod. Then I ask, "Is that really why you're here or did you want to see Haymitch?"

Darius snorts. "Our fearless leader's stretched out under the heels of Effie Trinket, three sheets to the wind and dreaming of pink elephants."

"Then why are you here?"

He tilts his head to the side, giving me a superior look. "Someone's got to make sure all the members of this operation are shipshape. Are you shipshape, Miss Undersee?"

I glance away, but say, "I'll live."

"Good." He squeezes my waist. "We'll talk more tomorrow. Get Goldilocks's side of the story."

Now I frown, trying to spot Cole in the crowd. He's standing next to my father. It doesn't look good for me later.

I swallow. "If she's not under house arrest from here on out."

"Well, maybe Mr. Binns over there can escort her to our secret rendezvous spot. He's a very respectable young man. A pillar of the community. Overflowing with district pride. Extremely available. Devoted, even. It'd make your old man's day."

I wrinkle my nose during this speech. "For a friend, sometimes you're a lot to stomach, Darius."

He laughs. "See, that's what I like about you so much, Undersee. The constant flattery."

"Dad's going to think that I'm sneaking around with you," I complain.

Darius waggles his eyebrows. "The mayor's not wrong," he croons.

"As to motive he is," I insist. "He's looking for the culprit behind a bruise on my throat. Is that what you want him to think?"

Darius's expression turns critical. "Ridiculous assumption for him to make. I like to think of myself as your older brother, slowly corrupting you with my authority and influence. And since I've got almost two decades of service left, chalk one up for our friend Binns over there." He raises his brow. "Or should I say, for our friend the huntsman?"

I blush. "Don't be silly."

"All right," he drawls with a smirk. "The huntsman it is."

"Not this particular one." My voice sounds strangled.

"No? But that's the formula in a tale. Hero saves damsel. Hero keeps damsel. Castle in the clouds. Happily ever after." He says, "It's an improbable universe, but it sounds nice."

"Well, we're not in a tale, right?" I remind him. Real life is run on heart fail. "I don't think that's how this hero operates no matter what."

It's more like damsel owes hero and likely will for the rest of her life if she can't come up with a way to cross paths with the avoidant, jilted cousin.

"You're telling me this fellow's not captivated?" Darius spins me around with enough verve to help me lose the gold ribbon that's been holding my frizzy hair back.

I brush the hair out of my eyes, picturing the fellow's eyebrows of doom. "Darius, whatever the opposite of captivation is, set it on fire and you'd have his feelings for me just about right."

Darius chuckles. "Gotcha." Then he purses his lips, gazing upward. "You know, I can almost picture who we're talking about. But you'll have to reveal his identity tomorrow." He glances at someone over the top of my head. "Because that would be ol' Cray heading this way to reprimand me for skipping out on my beat tonight. So," he spins me around again, nudging me aside so that I'm standing on the side of the dance floor. "Until tomorrow…Princess."

Princess! Darius vanishes into the crowd before I can take my shoe off to brain him for using Niels's nickname for me. I'll have to save that for tomorrow. Yet, despite how careless he is of how I'd feel about him calling me that, I'm struck that he left his post and broke into a private event to make sure that I'm okay. My throat constricts a little as I ponder that and get my equilibrium back.

I'm not given much opportunity before I see my father and Cole trying to cross the ballroom through the squash of people. My brain flatlines trying to scrape together an explanation for Darius's appearance.

I step backward and bump into someone. I glance down. It's the little girl I saw at dinner with straight black hair. She can't be more than four or five years old now that I see her up close. Cake crumbs and ice cream ring her mouth. I wonder where the little urchin-looking boy went who helped her fill her plate during the meal.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," I say. "I didn't see you."

"That's okay." She shrugs. "Pretty dress." She pinches the silky pink sash at my waist, leaving a smudge of what could be…anything. Then she grins up at me. "I like pink."

Before I can ask her name, her brother or accomplice suddenly materializes and drags her away while she loudly protests. An uneaten chicken drumstick pokes out from the back pocket of his school trousers and what I think might be partially crushed cookies in the other. He tows the child toward the back of a tall middle-aged woman who's speaking to Mrs. Everdeen.

Pretty dress.

If she hadn't been so cute I'd probably cry at her word choice. I glance at the smudge on my sash. A blemished dress seems like a good excuse to sneak upstairs to my room. I don't know who the little girl is, but I've decided she's come to my rescue.

The story continues in Repaid. Thanks for reading!

OCs and medea!verse character names:
"Alyss" or "Alyssum" Everdeen: Katniss's mother
"Bran" Mellark: Peeta's middle brother
Cletus Burdick: distinguished notary public
Cole Binns: An iteration of Geeky_DMHG_Fan's Cole Phillips, resident Gale!foil / Unfortunate Soul
Drunk Peacekeepers: Felix, Gaius, Niels
"Gram" Mellark: Peeta's father
Hammond family: green grocers
Hanna: the Undersees' housekeeper
"Henry" Undersee: Madge's father, district mayor
"Leven" Mellark: Peeta's oldest brother
"Marigold" Undersee: Madge's mother
"Margaret" or "Maggie" Donner: Madge's maternal grandmother
Mrs. Stukley: sweet shop owner
Nero Ashfield: A secretary in Snow's council
Rufus Weidenbach: District Clerk (referenced in Dustland Fairytale)