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.
One for Sorrow
AN: So this is another story that falls into the 'Madge in the games' universe. It'll probably get incorporated into the follow up story, when I get around to it. Sorry, I wrote this fast and since I don't hate the outcome I figured I'd put it up.
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Madge feels herself sway under the steadily warming sun as she waits for the girl's name to be called.
She'd hoped these Games, this Reaping, would be less stressful than the last. It hasn't shaped up that way though.
Last year's Reaping, the Quarter Quell, had been nothing short of a nightmare.
Everyone's names, twelve years of age and up, had been thrown in the bowl. Madge's parents included.
She'd been sick after they'd announced the twist for those Games, inconsolable, certain one or both her parents were going to be Reaped. It had been set in her mind.
"You've done everything you've been told," Mr. Abernathy had assured her. "They've got no reason to go after 'Tilda or Danny."
That hadn't been her only worry though.
Gale, his mother, and Rory, had all had their names in that bowl.
A dark part of her mind had convinced her that if her parents were stolen from her, then Gale would.
He was her rock, the person keeping her sane, and she had been positive that Snow would steal him from her just to show her he could. Because Gale made her happy, and Victors aren't allowed happiness, not even in secret
Her heart had been thrumming in her chest, right up until the old woman that sold Mr. Abernathy liquor and a sickly old man from the Seam were drawn.
After that, guilt had overwhelmed her when she hadn't been able to even buy the two of them a little bit of time in the arena. They'd been sacrificial lambs, whisked away to feed the bloodlust of the Capitol, to save people like Madge's parents and Gale, and she'd owed them better than she'd been able to provide.
That fear of failing more innocent people, children this time, haunts her.
No wonder Mr. Abernathy drinks.
Something warm and rough wraps around her fingers, giving them a squeeze, and when Madge cuts her eyes down, she finds Mr. Abernathy's hand around hers. He's trying to lend her what strength he has, however little that may be at this point.
She mentally scolds herself. She should be comforting him. He's had to weather this alone for decades, she's young, she should be stronger than this. That isn't how it is though.
Squeezing his hand, Madge forces a smile. She owes it to him to pretend.
Finally, Ms. Trinket finishes her little speech, a long, trilling thing that Madge barely listens to, and smiles cheerfully out at the crowd.
"Let's hope this year's young lady is as shiny a diamond as last years," she tells them, apparently hoping to bolster them. It doesn't work and she only gets blank stares in response.
"Well then," she sniffs, her smile faltering for half a second before reappearing. "Happy Hunger Games!"
Her horribly pink nails dive into the bowl, raking around the bottom for several agonizing seconds before she pulls the unfortunate girls name out.
Madge holds her breath.
Prim had taken out tesserea recently. She'd told Madge when she'd come up to sell her cheese only a few weeks back.
"Katniss was furious," she'd said, biting her lip as she settled on Madge's back step. "She yelled at me. Katniss has never yelled at me. I just wanted to protect her, like she's always protected me. It's dangerous for her to go into the woods. I just don't want to see her get hurt. Can't she see that?"
Nodding, Madge had patted her back and told her to give her sister time. She loved Prim more than anything, she'd forgive her.
Katniss, when she'd come up to sell to her during the weekday, without Gale, had still been silently fuming.
"It was a stupid move," she'd snapped when Madge had tried to defend Prim. "She put herself at risk. I never wanted her to take out tesserea. The less her name is in that bowl the better."
Madge hadn't pointed out that she had as few slips as anyone, and she'd still been Reaped. It wouldn't ease Katniss' mind.
Now, as Mr. Trinket opens the small slip, those precious few with the name 'Primrose Everdeen' is all she Madge think about.
"Chesney Shumard!"
A brief flicker of happiness flares in Madge's chest, only to be doused at the realization that she knows that name.
It had been a very real possibility that someone she knew would be Reaped, Madge knew that, but the reality of it, seeing Chesney slowly walking through the parted people, face pale and eyes wide, finally sets it in stone.
They aren't exactly friends. Chesney is a gossip, and more than once Madge had been the topic of her taunts and speculation. Still, she's a person. A sister and a daughter. Even if she isn't the most pleasant person to be around, Madge can't sit back and let her walk to her doom.
She's going to have to try to save Chesney, a girl she's gone to school with her whole life. She's going to have to advise her, even though Madge hasn't got the foggiest idea what tidbits of wisdom she might impart on her one time classmate.
Failing all that, she's going to have to watch her die.
It settles like a stone in her stomach, bubbling up acid that burns her throat as she tries to swallow it down.
In that moment she wants nothing more than to hide from all of this, go back to her too big house in the Village and curl up in her bed, wait for Gale to come and comfort her. Whisper lies like 'it'll be okay' and 'I'll protect you' to her until she falls asleep.
That isn't a luxury she has though. Madge is bound for the Capitol to watch a slaughter, no way around it.
Her eyes search the crowd, finally settling on stormy eyes and messy dark hair, watching her worriedly.
His shirt is a little worn, one he'd inherited from his dad apparently.
"My mom held onto a lot of his old stuff for me," he'd told Madge when she'd asked about his battered lunch pail. "None of it was worth anything anyways."
It was all heavily used, tattered and repaired fairly obviously in several places, but there's something about it that seems distinguished to Madge. Despite the wear, it's nice, and it only serves to make Gale look that much more handsome.
Holding his gaze, she blocks out Ms. Trinket asking for volunteers, the lonely noise of a square full of silence, and finally Chesney's shoes shuffling on the wood as she steps back, panic and confusion still etched on her face.
"Oooh! So exciting!" Ms. Trinket squeals, stepping to the next bowl. "Gentlemen's turn!"
Her hand sinks into the bowl, clicking ominously against the glass as she digs for the 'lucky' boy before her smile widens and her hand reemerges with a slip clasped between her fingers.
Smile never dimming, she opens it up.
"Vick Hawthorne!"
For a moment the earth seems to stand still. Birds stop singing and bugs stop chirping, the wind stills, everyone in the square seem to be holding their breath. Madge's heart stops.
Blinking, Madge feels her breath try to suck in, fill her lungs, but it can't. She's frozen. A statue of flesh and bone, unmoving and helpless to stop the horror unfurling before her.
Vick. Vick Hawthorne. Surely it can't be the same boy. There must be more Vick Hawthornes in the Seam.
It can't be her Vick.
He's only Twelve. Twelve year olds are so rarely picked that this has to be some kind of mistake.
Like Katniss, Gale has flat refused to let his brothers take out tesserea. He works his hands bloody, hunts in what little time he has, does everything he can to keep them from it. This can't happen after all he's done to prevent it…
The air seems to shudder around Madge's head, all the noise and heat rushing back at her, almost pushing what's left of the breath from her lungs. Reality whips around her, harsh and hot and painful.
"Vick?" Ms. Trinket calls out again. "Vick Hawthorne?"
For a fleeting moment Madge thinks maybe Vick has made a run for it, dashed out of the square for the woods. Gale will find him, make sure he's safe.
That's what's happened. Vick has run, she tells herself.
A second later though, Vick appears through the crush of twelve year old boys.
His dark hair has been carefully combed, probably by his mother, and his shirt is pressed and clean, a state Madge has seen him in so rarely that she almost doesn't recognize him. His pants are a little short, probably washed and worn by both Gale and Rory, shrinking them up just slightly.
For a second Madge entertains grabbing the microphone and using it to swing at everyone near, fighting her way off the stage and grabbing Vick, making a run for it.
He's Gale's brother, and that makes him hers as well. She has to protect him.
The mad thought evaporates almost as soon as it forms. She'd fail, get herself, Vick, and probably more, killed.
There's no saving Vick that way.
Instantly her mind starts seeking out a solution. There has to be a way around this.
She'll make Birdy help. If anyone knows how to manipulate a situation, it's her. They'll have to come up with a story, something to catch the Capitol's attention, make Vick the son they all want. They have to make him irreplaceable, loveable, perfect.
Vick is all those things and more already, they'll just need to amplify him.
While her mind is reeling, building a Vick the Capitol won't be able to part with, a fight breaks out in the crowd.
At first she's certain it's Gale, and she feels panic start to build in her chest. He's going to be killed.
Eyes darting, Madge finds him, still standing at the front of the ropes, holding his mother and Posy. His eyes are angry and hard, his expression cold fury. The Capitol has taken so much from him already, and now it's taking his baby brother and all he can do is comfort his sobbing mother.
Searching the fray, Madge finds another boy with dark hair, struggling against Peacekeepers.
"Vick!" Rory shouts his face twisted in fear. "Vick!"
Vick, stiff and terrified, turns and looks back.
They both look so small, so much like the little boys they are, and Madge almost lets the tears that had started building in her eyes when Vick's name was called fall.
The façade stays in place though. She's unfeeling and cold, a pretty picture for the cameras to focus on amid the ugliness of her home District and nothing more. Letting them see through her mask would give them something over her, and that can't happen.
Though, she thinks bitterly as her eyes stay focused on Vick and Rory, maybe they already have.
For a second they stare at each other, Rory trying to shake off the Peacekeepers holding him back, and Vick being gently pushed toward the stage by the one at his side.
Something seems to snap in Rory, shatter into a million pieces, as he stares at his little brother, his shadow, his best friend.
"I volunteer!" He finally yells, voice breaking, pushing a Peacekeeper away. "I volunteer for him!"
Vick instantly starts shaking his head, backing away and toward the stage. Madge almost thinks she hears him say no, but she isn't sure.
"Young man you can't volunteer yet!" Ms. Trinket scolds him. "There is a protocol to be followed!"
Rory doesn't care though, squirming away from the Peacekeepers and running straight at Vick.
He catches him, locks him into a fierce hug, clearly telling him something before pushing Vick back toward the Peacekeeper and running for the stage.
Before anyone can stop him, he's up the steps, huffing, eyes red rimmed and filled with tears. "I volunteer! I volunteer! I volunteer!"
Ms. Trinket starts to chastise him again, blubbering on about protocol and rules, but Madge's father gently stops her.
"What does it matter?" He says warily. "Let the boy be."
He's looking far too old. His hair has thinned almost to the point of being almost completely bald and his face has new worry lines almost daily.
Giving Rory a pat on the shoulder, he smiles weakly, first a Rory, then, almost absently, at Madge.
I'm sorry, Pearl, he seems to say.
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The rest of the ceremony is a blur, it must go as all the ones before it, but Madge can't lend it any attention. All her focus is on Rory.
His shoe was untied as he shook Chesney's hand, the bottom of his shirt has a stain on it, probably from wiping his sweaty, dirty hands on it, and sweat is glistening in his dark hair as he stares out, defiant, at the crowd, at the Capitol.
Rory is far braver than Madge had ever imagined.
When they usher them off the stage and to the Justice building, Madge wants nothing more than to go to Gale, assure him that she'll move heaven and earth to get Rory back to him, but she can't. It isn't allowed.
"They'll know you're gonna do your best," Mr. Abernathy assures her. "We're gonna do everything to get him back."
Madge just nods absently, still grasping around at the edges of her mind for a way to save Rory.
Mr. Abernathy had done who knows what to get Madge home, he'll help her save Rory. She knows he will.
Closing her eyes, she can picture Rory being interviewed, smiling and laughing, using his peculiar humor to win over the crowd.
Her stomach jolts. The Rory she pictures on the stage looks entirely too much like Gale, and she realizes, that's because he resembles his brother a little more than she's ever noticed. He's handsome, if young and a little gangly. Fourteen years old, the same age Finnick Odair had been when he'd won his Game.
The thought unsettles her.
She doesn't want to save Rory just to toss him to the hungry hands and wallets of the Capitol.
That's what would happen though. He isn't like her. Good looks are a curse to Victors, and there's no way to downplay what will clearly be Rory's winning trait.
Shaking her head, she pushes the thought away. What comes after will have to wait. One disaster at a time.