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.
Kaleidoscope, pt 24
Madge has just finished chopping the roots Briar dropped off on her way home, the only bit of sustenance the woods provided, when she hears the front door open and close, letting in a gust of icy winter air as it does.
"Don't track that mud in," she calls over her shoulder. She'd just gotten the last of the muck Briar had brought in swept up.
A few minutes pass before she feels eyes on her and turns, finds Miles standing just outside the kitchen.
"Where's Wren?" She asks as she turns back to the roots, scooping them up and dropping them in the pot.
Normally she's right at his heels, chattering as she unloads her backpack.
Running a hand through his hair, mussing his curls, Miles begins rubbing at his neck.
"She went to Grammy's. Something about a-uh, blanket."
Wiping off the counter, Madge turns and tosses the rag into the kitchen table, noticing the wary look fixed on his face and the white envelope gripped in his hand.
"What's that?" She asks, eyes narrowing on it. "Did you get caught behind the school again?"
Despite what Gale says, once was more than enough. They'd never had this kind of trouble with Sage.
Grim expression cracking for a fraction of a second, Miles chuckles. "No. They won't catch me again."
Madge sighs, uncertain if she should be exasperated he's still sneaking around or impressed with his confidence.
Looking down at the envelope, Miles seems to weigh it in his hand, then crosses the room and holds it out.
"It's for you and dad. Mrs. Ulus gave it to me."
Frowning, Miles is never so somber, Madge reaches out and takes it.
It shouldn't be ominous, just a plain white envelope with the words 'To the parents of Miles Hawthorne' typed across the front. It could simply be a note from a teacher about a wayward child. Miles' tense posture, his tightening jaw, give her the sense that's not the case though.
Turning it over to open it, Madge's heart stops.
A wax seal, gold, stamped with the Capitol emblem, keeps the envelope closed.
Looking up at Miles, hands now stuffed in his pockets, Madge tries to smile.
"Maybe you won another award?"
They'd received an official congratulations when he'd written an essay about a year ago, part of a Capitol campaign, with a stamp signature from some official. It hadn't been quite this...formal, though. The envelope had been the same, but had lacked the seal. Maybe they'd simply decided to expand its use?
He shakes his head, his eyes focused on the emblem.
"Nope."
Trembling, Madge sinks into a chair, stares at the wax seal.
She's seen letters like this, hundreds of times, when she'd been little. The seal was reserved for important formal communication by the government. There were only so many reasons they'd give such a letter to a high school student, and none of them were what Madge would categorize as good.
Taking a steadying breath, hands still shaking, Madge opens the envelope.
The single sheet of paper inside is crisp, black type standing out starkly under the golden Capitol emblem in the heading, addressed to 'Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne'. Madge's stomach rolls as she carefully reads it through.
It's a simple form letter, Miles' name crookedly typed into blanks, sometimes spelled incorrectly. It would've been funny if it weren't terrifying.
After she finishes, she regrets not wanting another letter complaining about 'public displays of affection'. She'd gladly take it now.
Miles has been singled out as having 'exceptional aptitude', a sneaky way of saying they think he's far too smart to leave in the districts without Capitol oversight and direction. They see him as having potential to be molded, given a job in the wide network of bureaucrats dispersed out in the districts to do the Capitol's administrative work, and bear the brunt of disgruntled citizens' frustration. Madge's own father can attest to that.
It's a thankless job. It's a safe job. It's also a job that would pluck her child up and take him away.
Seemingly sensing the worst, his intuition confirmed, Miles gently takes the letter from Madge's hands and drops into the seat across from her, takes a breath, slowly reads it.
When he finishes it, he smooths it on the table, dark eyebrows knitted together in either confusion or frustration.
"So...they want me to go into Capitol services, like Papa?"
Madge nods, her hands still shaking as she picks up the rag, twists it in her hands.
They want to take her baby. They will take him, and she's helpless to do anything about it.
Minutes tick by as Miles rereads the letter, his scowl deepening with every passing second.
"What if I say no?" He finally asks, looking up, desperate for hope. "What if I tell them to go to hell, I'm not leaving my family?"
Madge blinks back tears, tries to smile.
"Oh sweetheart, I don't think this is optional."
The Capitol gets what the Capitol wants, and right now, it wants Miles.
He reads the letter over again, searching for a way out, then forces a smile.
"It says they have to interview me, see?" He points at the letter. "No way they'll want me after that. That Hawthorne charm'll have them running. Briar can give me some pointers on being delightful. Worth a shot, right?"
Despite herself, Madge laughs, watery and sloppy, reaches out and takes his hand, gives it a squeeze.
"Oh, Miles, I wish that were true."
The reality is though, Miles actually is charming.
He's handsome and funny and has yet to meet a stranger in his life. Unless the interviewer is completely oblivious, there's no way they won't love him, and that terrifies her.
Sage would be too quiet for them, Briar too harsh, Daisy timid, and poor Wren too odd.
By the simple virtue of being both exceedingly bright and engaging, Miles is marked.
He gives her hand a squeeze back then stands, rakes his fingers through his hair as he paces.
"Can't run, they'll come after everyone," he mutters to himself. "Can't fight, they'll come after everyone."
Nodding in silent agreement, Madge watches his expressions shift, from defiant to furious to defeated. This isn't a choice, not if he wants to protect his family.
They've got all the power, even if he's got the brains.
Finally, Madge stands, blocks his path.
"I won't go, mom," he tells her, his face set in a scowl. "I'm not letting these assholes dictate my life more than they already do. I'm gonna figure a way out of this."
Madge nods, blinks back her tears. She won't make this harder on him by being weak.
She has no doubt he'll try to think his way out of this, even if it seems hopeless. He's got all Gale's defiance, even if he layers it under lazy smiles and quick wit.
He'll fight to the very end, no matter how futile.
He grins, pulls her into a hug, resting his chin on her head as she feels tears begin slipping down her cheeks.
He sighs a bit dramatically. "And you were worried I was gonna get detention for making out behind the cafeteria."
Madge sputters, her tears nearly choking her.
"Apparently, the problem was I didn't take it far enough. Shoulda just went full slag heap on the grease bin."
Pulling back, Madge wipes her face, shaking her head as she fights off a smile.
"Miles…"
His grin widens and he shrugs.
"Found your smile, didn't I?"
Sniffing, Madge nods. "Thanks."
"Not a problem." His smile slips, settles into an uncharacteristically somber expression. "I'll figure this out, mom. Don't worry."
Reaching out, Madge brushes a few wayward curls from his face, forces a smile.
"Yeah, we'll figure something out."
It feels like an empty promise, she knows it may well turn out to be, but she won't give up without a fight either.
#######
"Exceptional aptitude?" Gale mumbles to himself as he reads over the letter for the hundredth time since he'd gotten home and Madge had tearfully handed it to him. "Are they sure they don't mean 'exceptional attitude'?"
Madge glares at him. Oh all the times for him to try to be funny.
"They like to start singling out kids they think will do well in public service early," Madge explains. "My dad said he was Miles' age when his parents were first approached. And Miles gets his attitude from you."
Running a hand over his face, into his already wild hair, Gale scowls.
"Is it really an option?" He asks, glaring at the letter, willing it to vanish, maybe burst into flames. "Will they care if we tell them to stop watching Miles?"
He knows the answer, he doesn't need her to tell him their opinion means less than nothing, but she tells him anyways.
Madge shakes her head. "Not likely."
The note is a formality, a remnant of bureaucracy of old, a warning, not a request for permission or acceptance.
Setting the letter on the bedside table, Gale rubs his jaw, eyebrows knitted together in thought.
"He could run," he says, an edge of desperation creeping into his normally steady voice. "He's got the-"
"You know he can't," Madge cuts him off. "You know he can't. You know what would happen."
He scowls, looks ready to argue. He doesn't though. The years have given him a better understanding of just how petty the Capitol can be, just how far they are willing to go when denied their prize.
It's like Miles had said, they'd take their frustration out on the family, and that's not something any of them can stomach. Gale still is enough fire to burn the Capitol a thousand times over, but he's also got a father's sensibility now. He knows any fight they put up will only injure them in the end.
The boy he'd been has been battered down by the man he's become, and he knows there's no winning in this game.
Finally, he closes his eyes, flops back on the bed makes a frustrated noise. "What about the asshole?"
It's a sign of how desperate he feels. Mr. Abernathy only gets mentioned when Gale thinks he's backed into a corner.
Sighing, Madge shakes her head, drops into the bed. "He's still in the Capitol. The Tour, remember?"
Mr. Abernathy is probably halfway to oblivion with his drinking. Even if Madge could get him a plea for help, he'd be too far in a bottle to be much good. She doubts there's much he could do anyways, no matter how fond he is of Miles.
Setting next to her, Gale wraps an arm around her shoulder, presses a kiss to her hair.
"We'll figure this out," he mumbles as he rests his forehead against her, his breath ghosting over her ear.
Madge starts to nod, but then her head shakes and tears start trickling out the corners of her eyes.
"No, we won't," her voice cracks as more tears streaming out. "We don't get a say. They're going to take him. There's no begging or bartering our way out of this."
Her father had said as much when she'd gone to see him with Miles, hoping he'd have some plan already prepared for such a catastrophe.
"Oh Pearl," he'd sighed, slumping on the faded couch in his office, rubbing his temples. "This isn't a simple fix. I've no control over their selection for government service."
"You stayed in Ten, though, right? You chose to come to Twelve didn't you?" Miles asked, setting down next to his grandfather, his expression guardedly optimistic. "Maybe I'll just stay in Twelve once I'm trained."
Madge's father smiled wanly, patted Miles' knee.
"I'm afraid not. Your Aunt Chaparral told me-years ago, when she first arrived here-that they've changed the rules about assignments. Recruits are no longer allowed to stay in their home districts after training in Ten. They believe they'll be too lenient with their own people."
Madge shook her head. "That's ridiculous."
He nodded in agreement. "There's no proof in it, that's true, but since when do they need truth to enact a policy?"
It's purely to isolate the recruits. Drop them in an unfamiliar district and give them thankless jobs, force them to cling to other government employees. Though it's hardly working, if her father and Chaparral are any indication.
Miles snorted. "So I'm screwed?"
Her father stared at Miles for a moment, studying him. He was searching for the solution, but there seemingly wasn't one there.
"We still have time." He'd finally said, glancing between them, nodding to himself. "I'll keep thinking."
It had been such a needed glimmer of hope that Madge hadn't poked or prodded. She'd simply hoped his mind was as sharp as it had ever been, that he'd divine some escape from thin air, solve this problem as easily as kissing a bruised knee.
Now though, in the cold dark of a blustery winter, in her drafty bedroom in her threadbare nightgown, the stark reality settles around her.
There's nothing her father can do, nothing she or Gale or Miles can do.
They'll take her baby, and she's helpless to stop it.
"He'll be alive," Madge whispers, leaning into Gale. "At least he'll be alive."
Even if they take him, he'll be alive. Miserable, alone, but alive.
It's cold comfort, but it's the one solid thing she's got to cling to.
"Your dad will think of something," Gale finally says, trying to keep her from falling apart.
Madge nods, but there's no conviction behind it.
Her father hasn't got some magic plan. He won't create a solution with a snap of his fingers.
Pulling her closer, Gale sighs.
"We'll figure this out."
It's not a lie, but it's hardly the truth. Madge wishes it were though. It's as hollow sounding from him as it had been from her.
Closing her eyes, she takes a breath, inhales the scent of winter wind and earth still clinging to Gale, and pretends he's telling her an indisputable truth. There's a way out of this, and they'll find it.
"Yeah," she whispers, willing herself to believe the lie, and hoping it'll become a truth.
#######
It's cold in the school, and a shiver runs up Madge's spine as she paces the width of the classroom.
It's gotten progressively more battered in the years since she'd attended.
The tiles are cracked, dirt settled in the breaks, and there are decades of stains scattered across them. On the walls, the paint is chipped in places, dirty tape from past displays are still present. Loose wires are sagging from the edges of water stained ceiling panels, and the broken windows have towels stuffed into the gaps at the bottoms to stave off the bitter winter winds.
There's no cheer, nothing encouraging about it. It's as grim as Madge remembers.
Stopping, she examines a pin board on the wall, smiles at the photos fastened to it with little silver tacks. Winners of some trivia contest.
There are seven photos, each one with the same drab gray backdrop, each one with a blonde child from Town weakly smiling out from it. Except one.
Miles, with his olive complexion, dark curls, and cheeky grin, stands out.
"It's a very good picture," Madge's father had chuckled, the first time Miles' photo had appeared in the newspaper, alongside his name and the announcement saying he'd won a spelling bee. "That's quite the smile, Miles."
Miles had nodded, lazy grin hanging on his lips as he'd inspected his print miniature.
"Yeah, teacher said I'm a doll."
Madge had known right then and there her youngest son was heading toward trouble. She'd just assumed the wrong kind of trouble.
As the ancient heater kicks on, Madge wraps her arms around herself, rubs her hands on her arms and closes her eyes.
She'd thought Miles being packed off to the mines was the worst thing she was going to have to worry about, once they made it past his last two Reapings. Now she's got the Capitol watching him, planning on how to take him away, maybe forever.
Gale gets up from his seat beside the teacher's desk, crosses the room and tugs her into a hug.
"Let's just get through this. Then we can figure something out."
But there's nothing to figure out, no strategy that'll save Miles.
It's just like he said.
If he runs, which Madge is sure he's capable of doing, the rest of them will have targets on their backs. If he stays, he'll have to join the Capitol's legion. There's no winning. No way out.
But he'll be alive.
Warm tears trickle down Madge's cheeks, smear on the front of Gale's dirty work shirt.
Sniffling, Madge nods, pretends he's got a plan. Pretends this will end in any way but her son being marched away from their family.
Gale tightens his arms around her and she leeches some of his warmth, snakes her arms under his coat and around him and tries to think of anything but the impending meeting.
"Wanna go make out behind the cafeteria?"
Madge snorts. "Did you not get enough of that during school?"
Because if Thom is to be believed, Gale most certainly had.
Freezing fingers graze along the small of Madge's back, and she squirms trying to get away.
"Not with you."
Rolling her eyes, Madge almost asks him whose fault that is, but stops. She knows he wishes he'd treated her better when they'd been younger, and digging at old wounds does no one any good.
"You trying to set a bad example for Miles?"
"You bet."
Despite the situation, Madge laughs softly before backing up, popping up on her toes and pressing a kiss to his jaw.
"Not today."
She appreciates his attempt at distraction, but she's too tightly wound to let him.
He nods, exhaustion and worry still dark in his eyes, before he runs a hand through his hair then settling it at his neck, massaging the knots undoubtedly forming there.
The cold seeps back in, settling around Madge, stealing the warmth Gale had provided, followed by a brittle silence punctuated by the ticking of the ancient clock on the wall.
"Wish this teacher would show up already," Gale grumbles, stuffing his hands in his pockets and scowling up at the clock. "She's ten minutes late."
As if summoned by Gale's complaining, the door opens and the mousey looking teacher hurries in, her too big glasses perched precariously at the tip of her nose.
She's new this year, only a few years older than the students she teaches, and is probably still finding her footing.
"She looks like an owl that's had a rough night," Miles had told Madge once, and she's inclined to agree.
Her brown skirt is too long, a bit faded, and the hem is frayed, probably from getting stepped on. She's got a rumpled looking button up shirt half hidden under an oversized brown sweater and her ashy hair is haphazardly piled on her head, twisted in place with a broken pencil.
"But she's nice," Miles had added. "I try not to make much trouble for her. I don't think she can handle it."
After seeing her, Madge thinks he has the poor girl pegged.
Smiling brightly, the teacher holds out her hand.
"You must be Miles' parents."
Her voice is a bit nasally, and between that and the tissues spilling out her pockets, Madge suspects she may have a cold.
"I'm Mrs. Ulus. I'm, um, I'm Miles' home room teacher, though I'm sure he's told you that."
Pushing her glasses back up her nose, she gestures to the two small cracked plastic chairs.
"Why don't you, uh, sit down, and we can discuss Miles' future."
Stomach rolling, Madge nods and carefully sits, grimacing as the chair makes an creaking noise.
"Now," Mrs. Ulus begins, glasses sliding back down her nose as she scoots her chair to her desk, folds her hands in her lap, then moves them to the desk, "you obviously got the formal letter, so you know that the Capitol sees great promise in Miles. He's a very-a very bright boy. A bit...mischievous at times, but I think that's possibly more to do with getting bored."
Madge nods, gripping her skirt so tightly her knuckles turn white.
"When I filled out the forms-they make us fill them out on all the kids, you know?-well, Miles just jumped off the page! It's no wonder though, your dad being the Mayor and all. Had to get those brains from somewhere!"
If not for the direness of the situation, Madge would laugh at the annoyed expression carved into Gale's face. He's clearly not impressed with her assumption that Miles got all his brilliance from Madge's side of the family.
Mrs. Ulus babbles on, under the misguided impression that she's giving delighted parents grand news.
Finally, as the sun is setting out the window, casting the clouds in pinks and blues, she finishes with the explanation they don't need and giving advice they don't want on what they should do with this 'amazing opportunity'.
Forcing a smile, Madge wills herself not to cry.
"Thank you, Mrs. Ulus, this has been...very informative."
Enthusiastically, obliviously, Mrs. Ulus nods, her smile painfully bright.
"I'm just so excited for you, and Miles, and me! They give bonuses for finding recruits-and you know, District Twelve hasn't had a recruit in ages." Her smile fades as she thinks. "Gosh, I looked it up, and it was Haymitch Abernathy-the Victor of all people- who was the last recruit, not that it lead to much since he was Reaped…"
Madge tries not to let her tacked on smile fall as she glances at Gale.
His expression is stony, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, and arms crossed. He's clearly no more excited by all the praise than Madge.
Mrs. Ulus shrugs, waves away the thought of Mr. Abernathy.
"But we're getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we?" Her smile broadens again. "We still have to talk to the committee, take the placement test, get his medical clearance-not that any of that'll be an issue. Miles is just such a charmer, and so smart! He's going to just breeze through all that!"
"I'm sure he will," Gale mutters, trying and failing to look annoyed by her assessment of Miles.
It's a dire situation, but hearing that their son is exceptional has always been a highlight for Gale.
Finally, mercifully, Mrs. Ulus stands, her chair making a harsh noise as it grinds on the tile, smiles as she starts to lead them to the door.
"It was really lovely to meet the two of you," she tells them, pushing her glasses back up her nose. "I'll send the official correspondence home with Miles to keep you up to date on the next exciting steps!"
Somehow Madge keeps the smile frozen on her face until they've left to room, made it down the hall and nearly reached the double doors leading out before it slips off and tears begin stinging her eyes.
"Madge?"
She shakes her head, keeps her feet moving, rushes out the doors and into the chilly winter wind.
Then she crumbles.
Her knees give out as she collapses against the rusted metal railing, presses her palm across her eyes.
Gale crouches down beside her, silently watching as she furiously wipes at her eyes, breath stuttering in her chest as she tries to calm herself.
Reaching out, he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, forces a lopsided, half smile as he settles down beside her.
Madge leans into him, resting her head against his shoulder as more tears run down her cheeks.
"Two years, Gale, two years and…"
She can't even bring herself to say it.
Two years and they'll take her baby. They'll pack him up and ship him away and she'll never see him again. If she's lucky she'll get letters, but her broken heart and her broken family will hardly be the Capitol's foremost concern. Keeping her in contact with her son will be a low priority.
"I know," Gale half whispers, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer.
Closing her eyes, Madge feels the sting of tears and imagines a clock, counting down the seconds and days she has left with Miles.
It's a special kind of torture, one only the Capitol could think up.
"What're we gonna do?" She finally asks, voice hoarse, cracking.
Gale doesn't offer her lies-it'll be okays or we'll think of somethings-just presses a kiss to her hair and sighs.
No answer is an answer.
There's nothing they can do.
#######
AN: So, if anyone is still reading, sorry. I've just not been in the writing way lately. This is going to be an arc, probably 4-5 chapters long. I wasn't sure about this, both because I wasn't sure I'd have the energy, and because I wasn't sure anyone would find this storyline interesting, to be honest. This is the thing I kept coming back to though. So...sorry.