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.
AN: I know y'all are probably sick of this universe, but it's fun for character work and...I really just like it. Sorry.
Kaleidoscope, pt 18
Madge tugs Miles along begins her, holding the ragged edge of her coat to her face to fend off the bitterly cold wind.
In the distance she sees the Hob growing, the edges of its silhouette blurred by the mist hanging in the air. It amplifies Madge's uneasiness about the place.
She's only ventured inside once, and it had been awful enough to turn her off the place for good.
It had been a simple enough adventure. She'd only wanted to hunt down yarn for a new cap for Gale, when the twins had still been toddlers. The only old woman that had any had refused to trade with her, telling Madge to go 'get it the same way you got your husband, on your back'.
"What's that mean momma?" Briar had asked as Madge usher her and Sage out. She wouldn't expose her children to that awfulness if she could avoid it.
"Nothing, sweetheart. She just-it's not a good time to trade is all."
Madge hadn't cried in front of her children, or given that awful woman the satisfaction of seeing her break, but when Vick had stopped by after school she'd crumbled.
"I thought-I just-why can't they just let me try?" Shed asked him as she'd sniffled, eyes swollen and red, watching the kids playing in the backyard. "What else do I have to do?"
Gale was happy, her in-law all liked her, her kids were as Seam as anyone. What more did they want?
Vick had slouched lower, casting her a sympathetic look.
"I don't know."
It was a lie. He knew as much as anyone what the problem was, why nothing would ever be enough.
She didn't belong.
Instead of telling her that, he'd taken the jar of preserved summer squash and traded it off for her, and they hadn't mentioned her ill-fated trip to Gale, even when he asked her where she'd gotten the yarn.
"Vick," Madge answered. It was the truth. There was no reason to upset him.
She'd set herself up for mockery the second she'd stepped foot in the Hob. She didn't belong there, so she'd stay away.
The memory of that trip, the way the women had snickered at her as she'd left, muttered about her as she walked past, and the looks of confusion on Sage and Briar's faces, make her stop just short of the entrance.
Words and looks, people's thoughts, they can't hurt her, not really, but she dreads them just the same. As tough as she thinks she's learned to be, it still stings when people whisper behind her back, laugh, make up stories.
Ignoring it is easier if she doesn't walk right into it. Ignoring it is easier when her children aren't there to hear it.
Miles tugs at her hand, looks up at her as he brushes dark curls from his face, squinting as he frowns.
"What's wrong, momma?"
Forcing a smile, Madge reaches out and runs her fingers through his hair, brushing wayward strands out of his face.
"Nothing." She pats her stomach. "The baby is just making me tired."
He scowls at her middle, points a little finger at it warningly.
"Stop baby. Bad."
Laughing, Madge gives him a gentle nudge toward the door, pulling it open and hurrying him in.
Inside is warm, smells of wild meats cooking at Greasy Sae's stall and dust. It should be a relief, but the memory of being turned out pricks at her conscious, casting the place in a forbidding light. She doesn't belong here, she never will.
Gripping Miles' hand tighter, she pulls her stocking cap lower and keeps her head down, slowly making her way through the sparse crowd.
She's on a mission. This is for Miles.
His birthday is only a few days away and Madge had promised him pecan pralines. She wasn't going to disappoint him just because of the possibility of being harassed.
She'd saved up and bought enough of the sugars, Gale had gathered pecans that she'd saved during the fall, and Mr. Abernathy had given her vanilla during the summer. The only things she lacked were butter and cream.
Normally she'd have asked Gale to barter for her some, or asked her parents and Mr. Abernathy, this was for Miles after all…
But the winter had left both her parents ill. Her mother had been battling pneumonia for a month and her father had a nasty cough, she didn't want to risk exposure. Mr. Abernathy is in the Capitol. Then Gale has been working long days at the mines, mandatory extra hours to make up for a week they'd missed during an ice storm.
He's been bone tired everyday for the past two weeks, barely able to make it through a meal before stumbling off to bed. She couldn't ask him to push himself further just because she was wary of a bunch of hateful people.
If she wants Miles to get his birthday treat, she has to gather the last ingredients herself.
She will.
Turning a corner, she glances around, trying to spot a promising booth while still keeping Miles close.
She finally spies a table with a crudely fashioned sign with the words 'fresh butter' spelled out in block letters on it. Sighing, she makes her way to it.
"I need just a cup," she tells the old man, still keeping her head down. "And do you have any cream?"
He nods, cataract covered eyes staring at her but not really seeing her as he shuffles tinkling glass under his table, finally producing a small bottle.
"Whatcha got?" He asks, flashing her a smile filled with browned and rotting teeth.
Digging in her bag, Madge pulls out a jar.
"Beans," she tells him, pressing the jar into his hand. "I grew them."
As he takes the jar, holds it to his face to utilize what little vision he may have left, Madge feels Miles tug at her sleeve.
"Momma, momma, musics," he tells her pointing behind him at a box with what looks to be faded books of music piled in it. "I-I can go look."
Smiling warily, Madge sighs.
Miles loves music. He's constantly running to the piano at her parents' house, asking her to play, tapping out scales beside her.
He doesn't understand the notes on the pages, but that doesn't stop him from enjoying it. Just the knowledge that Madge can decipher it, turn black and white print into something beautiful, is enough to make him happy.
"Just be careful with the pages, okay?" She tells him, brushing a wild curl from his face.
Nodding enthusiastically, Miles hurries to the box and begins carefully picking through the sheets, jabbering to himself as he does.
"One jar?" The old man asks, sniffing the lid, drawing Madge's attention away from her son.
Smiling despite the fact that he can't see it, Madge starts to pull out another jar, this one with apricot preserves, but freezes when she hears the tittering of laughter behind her.
"Someone should warn him. She probably can't can anything properly," someone whispers loudly.
"I certainly wouldn't eat anything she preserved."
They're being deliberately loud, and when Madge looks up from her bag, at the old man, he's giving her a sympathetic smile.
"Jokes on them," he softly tells her. "I've got an iron stomach. You couldn't kill me with preserves if you tried."
Madge snorts and passes the jar to him, ignoring the women as they continue to not so subtly insulting her abilities.
"Well, they're safe just the same."
He chuckles and packs up the butter and cream.
Madge has barely placed them in her bag when she hears Miles' little voice over the low din of the Hob.
"You are very, very wude."
Spinning on her heels, Madge sees her son's face screwed up in a scowl worthy of Gale, one little finger shaking accusingly at the women who'd been laughing and doubting her.
He'd clearly heard them, though that's no great shock. They'd done their best to make sure everyone heard. Even though Madge doubts he really understands the meaning behind their words past the face value, he's definitely determined it's not flattering.
"Stop. Tha's mean." He puts his hands on his hips and glares. "Don' laugh at my momma."
They do stop, but probably less because he's told them to and more due to shock at being told off by a toddler.
Her thank you to the man forgotten, Madge grabs Miles and drags him toward the exit. This isn't his fight and she doesn't want the women to start saying worse things in front of him.
She shoots the women a dark look as she passes them, silently cursing them while Miles continues to tell them they're rude.
"We needa tell they mommas an' daddies on them," he tells Madge as he trots beside her, back out into the cold and the wind.
Stopping, Madge picks him up, forcing a smile.
"Maybe later," she assures him, pulling his hand-me-down coat more tightly around him. "Lets get home and make your candies."
He looks dubious, as if he knows she's putting him off, but finally wraps his arms around her neck and kisses her cheek.
"You a good can-ner momma." He glares at the Hob, now shrinking in the distance. "They stupid."
Swatting a tear from her cheek, Madge chuckles.
Squeezing him tighter, she presses a quick kiss to his hair.
"I know, baby."
#######
By the afternoon, Madge thinks Miles has forgotten the laughing women, drowned the memory out with the excitement of making his birthday treats.
"We'll eat them on Sunday. When Daddy's home," Daisy reminds him as they inspect his and Madge's handiwork, once she, Briar and Sage get home from school.
"Do I hafta eat them?" Briar asks, eyeing the candies with disgust. "I don't like pecans."
Madge sighs. "No, but I can't-I'm not making anything else."
She'd used what little sugar there was all up.
Huffing, Briar mutters 'fine' and continues to glare at the candies, as if she can make them change into meringues through sheer force of will.
"Mr. Abernathy said he'd bring me chocolate from the Capitol anyways," she finally grumbles, casting the candies one last irritable look.
Madge reaches out, adjusts her ponytail a little, then pulls her into a hug.
"When it's your birthday, you can pick what you want, okay?" She presses a kiss to her cheek. "But this is Miles' treat."
Hugging back, Briar sighs. "I know, but it's still gross."
Laughing, Madge lets her go and tasks her and Sage with setting the table, while Daisy fills the cups.
"Dad gonna be late again tonight?" Sage asks, though he looks to already know the answer.
They set Gale's place anyways, covering his meal of weak broth and day old tesserae rolls with a towel once dinner is over.
Madge lets them stay up a little too late, waiting for Gale to get home, wanting to give them a chance to see him, even just for a few minutes, but when the clock chimes nine, she sends them to bed.
She tries anyways.
"You have school in the morning," she reminds them.
"Just a little longer, please?" Briar pleads. "We haven't seen him all week."
Daisy and Sage nod in agreement.
"Please."
"Please, momma."
She knows how they're feeling. Madge has a hundred lonely memories of waiting up well past bedtime just to see her father for a few minutes. She'd never regretted one tired morning, and she doubts the kids will either.
"Get your blankets and come in here and lay down," she tells them. "But if you don't get up in the morning you're going to bed early tomorrow."
#######
Miles is the only one that stays awake to see Gale.
Briar nods off first, despite desperate attempts to keep her eyes open. Sage begins snoring after, then Daisy, curled up next to Miles as he pretends to read her a story out of a library book.
Madge almost drifts off, only shaking off the stupor or tiredness when a blast of cold wind knocks her knitting from her hands.
Gale hurries in, quickly shutting the door behind him before turning, an amused expression forming on his lips.
"I miss something?"
Snorting, Madge shrugs. "They were trying to stay up to see you."
Miles wiggles out from beside Daisy, jumping over Sage before vaulting into Gale's arms.
"Daddy," he whispers loudly. "I stay'd'ed awake for you!"
Chuckling, Gale gives him a jiggle. "I see that."
Pushing herself up, Madge goes to the kitchen to warm Gale's dinner as Miles begins jabbering nonsense at him.
It takes a few minutes to warm the broth, then she uses what's left of the butter on the roll, before carrying them back to the living room, cup of water cradled in the crook of her arm.
She freezes when she hears Miles' little voice floating to her before she even crosses the threshold back into the living room.
"-and I tolded them to stop-because it's not nice to laugh at people-we haf'a tell they mommas they was being wude, daddy."
Though she can't see him, Madge can imagine the scowl etched into Gale's features as he listens to Miles' tale.
"Yeah," she finally hears him say. "I'll take care of it, okay bud?"
The coach groans, and Madge hears small feet being set on the floor.
"You did real good, defending your momma," Gale tells him.
"I know," Miles agrees through a yawn.
Madge almost laughs at the certainty in his voice.
Gale chuckles. "Yeah, go lay down, okay? I'm gonna go eat."
Miles must nod, because Madge hears his little feet shuffle around, then he loudly whispers a goodnight.
Turning, Madge sets the bowl back down, then the cup and roll, keeping her back to Gale, intent on pretending she hadn't heard the conversation. He might let it pass.
"You went to the Hob?"
Or not.
Madge forces her expression to stay neutrally tired as the turns back to him. "I needed butter and cream."
He nods, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows pulled together in worry.
"You'd think they'd've moved on."
A watery little laugh bubbles up, escaping before Madge can catch it as she covers her mouth.
A few tears form at the edges of her eyes and she quickly swats them away before shrugging. "Guess not."
In two steps Gale is in front of her, his arms around her, muttering comforts into her hair.
"Hateful old hags," she hears him mumble. "Jealous and ugly and-"
Madge pulls back, swats at her eyes.
"It's okay," she tells him, reaching up and taking his face in her hands. "I'm just hormonal."
Which is true. Mostly.
There's no changing people's opinion of her. Despite having had two more children, and another on the way, Madge will always be the girl that roped Gale into marriage. No matter how far she comes, it'll never be enough.
She doesn't belong. She never will.
"I like the other kind of hormonal better," he mutters, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Madge rolls her eyes, gives him a playful smile. "Is that why you keep knocking me up?"
He scowls.
"That's a better reason than the truth." That when it comes to being careful about not getting pregnant, they've got a terrible track record.
He studies her for a moment, the eases in, resting his forehead on hers. He knows she's trying to get him off subject. He knows her too well, all her tricks.
"I'd go raise hell if I thought it would help," he finally grumbles, not letting her sidetrack him.
It wouldn't though. He's pitched fits before and nothing has changed except the volume of the jabs.
Leaning in, Madge presses a long kiss to his lips. "I appreciate that."
But there's no sense in it. Even if she knows it'd make him feel better.
Letting out a long sigh, a small smile ticks up at the edges of his lips.
"I'd've paid to see their faces when they got out classed by a three year old."
Madge snorts and rolls her eyes before telling him to sit down and eat. Morning will come quicker than he thinks. They don't need to waist their few moments together on hateful women.
So she just tells him about Briar winning her foot race during gym, Sage acing his spelling test, Daisy reading the most books in her class, and Miles reciting the alphabet.
"We're raising good kids," Gale finally says, pushing his empty bowl away. "And you're the best canner I know."
"So you're comparing me to Thom?" She teases.
He huffs. "Fine. You're the best canner in the district, maybe all of Panem."
Madge greatly doubts that, but she appreciates the attempt.
"It doesn't matter," she sighs, pressing her fingers to her eyes, ready to be done with the subject. "I just hate it when the kids have to-when people are like that around the kids."
Whatever they feel for Madge, she wishes they'd spare her children. Nothing of it is their fault.
People don't spare them though. Briar, Sage, and Daisy have all come home with cuts and bruises, tear stained cheeks as a testament to just how cruel people can be, evidence that what they feel for Madge is always going to trickle down to her babies.
"Me too," Gale sighs, pushing his chair out and getting up, popping his back before pulling Madge from her chair.
He cleans up, then settles down on the couch, curling around Madge, one hand on her belly.
"I think it's a girl," he tells her through a yawn.
Madge laughs, soft and sleepy. "You always think it's a girl."
She feels his chuckle through his chest, probably trying to think of a defense, but he's too tired, and before he can string together his thoughts he's snoring.
Snuggling closer, she's seconds from sleep when a small hand is tapping on her head.
"Momma, momma you seepin'?"
Rolling over, squinting into the dull light of the fireplace, Madge finds Miles, frowning at her.
"I'm trying," she whispers. "Go to sleep, sweety."
He leans in, nose inches from hers.
"Daddy gonna tell they mommas and daddies?" He asks. "I stay'd'ed up all night to tell him-to tell him they need in trouble 'cause they mean."
She wishes he didn't feel like she needed defending, but he's got as much Gale in him as Briar. He protective to a fault, and she's afraid it'll lead to him having as many battles in his future as his sister.
But for now, he believes his daddy is a hero who can fix anything, and that mommies and daddies are the ultimate authority. She's happy for that to be his world, even if for only a little longer.
"Yeah," she nods, giving him a tiny smile.
He grins "Good."
Before she can stop him, he's crawled over her, wedging himself between her and Gale.
"'Nite momma." Reaching out, he pats her belly. "'Nite baby. Be nice to momma."
Laughing quietly, Madge wraps her arms around him, snuggles closer to Gale, and drifts off to sleep.
Here, she belongs.