Present Day — Four Weeks After The Bombing of District 12

Location: District 13

...

Gale awakes in a cold sweat. He lets out a shaky breath and resists the urge to scream. Goddamnit, another dream with her in it. Third time this week. His hands dart up to the back of his neck and he ruffles through the thick hair there.

Gale Hawthorne has never been as confused as he is now. Did he love Madge? If so, how does he feel about Katniss now? Does he love her too? Oh, this is all so confusing and he doesn't know what to do! He can't talk to his mom about it, that'd be too weird. Vick and Rory are out of the question, and Posy doesn't even know what happened in District 12.

And he definitely can't talk to Katniss about it, not after how she reacted the last time Gale talked about Madge.

Somehow, he knows that he can't keep it to himself either. He needs to tell someone. And after racking his brain, he settles on the only two people he can think of.

...

Thom and Bristol Reed sit across each other, hunched over an open textbook. The two cousins are in the only library in District 13, attempting to remember the different parts of the hovercraft's control system. Here in District 13, everyone gets assigned to an occupation based on personal strengths and weaknesses. Thom and Bristol both scored Hovercraft Flight Crew.

Basically, their job is to sit back and let the main pilot take care of everything and be ready to help out in case of emergencies. Which is perfectly fine by Bristol, the girl seeming to pick up concepts easy enough. In fact, she's even considering training to be an actual hovercraft pilot after she's done. Thom on the other hand... is less than thrilled.

Thom points to one of the gears featured in the diagram of the book. "That's the Variometer, right?"

Bristol looks over to where his finger is pointing through dark lashes. "No, you idiot," she says with a scowl. Her hand went up to pinch the top of her nose bridge. "How many times do I have to explain this to you?" She points to where Thom was previously pointing. "That's the Altimeter." She moves her finger just a tad higher. "And this is the Variometer."

Thom rolls his eyes at her. "Well, sorry, Miss Bossy Boots."

The girl rolls her eyes in return. "What are you? Five?"

Just as he's trying to figure out a good response, someone sits on the bench across from them.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," the person says, and both cousins immediately recognize the voice.

Thom looks up and finds Gale Hawthorne staring back at him. "Hey, look, it's Gale!" he cheers, jabbing Bristol hard in the shoulder.

The girl jabs in him back before looking up at Gale. "If it isn't Commander Hawthorne," Bristol says coyly.

Gale smirks. "I'm not a commander yet, and you know it."

Thom closes the textbook (much to the annoyance of his cousin who yells, "you didn't even save the page number") before leaning over the table to give Gale a hug. "You haven't even visited us since being in 13, you know that?" he says.

Bristol nods her agreement. "Yeah, we thought you forgot about your favorite pair of cousins." She drapes a shoulder around Thom, and the familial resembles truly shows at that moment.

"I didn't forget about you," Gale says fervently. "There's just been... a lot going on recently."

Thom snorts. "Yeah, no kidding. I mean, with our district burned to the ground and most of us 6-feet-under, we've really been through the wringer these past few—"

An elbow jab from Bristol gets him to shut up. She looks at Gale, noticing the uncomfortable look that has settled over his expressions. Bristol grows uneasy. Gale always wears that look when something really horrible has happened. It's the same look he wore during his father's funeral; the same look he wore when Katniss got reaped.

It's one of frustration and bitterness.

"Is something bothering you?" Bristol questing, tipping her head to the side.

Tom suddenly stops glaring at his cousin and turns his face to Gale, concern soon overtaking his features. "Yeah, you look kinda glum."

Gale gives a sharp inhale, and he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. "I don't know, man. I guess I just kinda need someone to talk to, and you two are the first people that came to mind."

Thom gives a half-smile. "Well, shit — me and Bossy over here are flattered —"

Another jab from Bristol cuts him off. "Don't call me that," she hisses at him before looking at Gale. "Tell us what's bothering you."

"Let's say there's this girl, right? This girl that you thought you didn't like — in fact for the longest time you hated her — but then she kissed you, and now you're not sure if you like her or not, and now she's dead. And there's this other girl that you think you like — thought you were gonna marry her and everything — but now you're not sure who you like and it's all getting confusing and—"

"Gale," Bristol's sharp voice cuts him off. "I love you — we both do — but you're going to have to give us a little more detail."

He scratches the back of his neck. "Right. Sorry." He takes a sharp inhale. "It's about Madge. Madge Undersee."

Thom's eyes widen slightly. "Madge Undersee? The Mayor's daughter?" He frowns. "Well, she used to be the Mayor's daughter, anyway." He turns to his cousin. "Bristol, wasn't she the one who brought the morphling to the Everdeen house?"

Bristol nods. "She showed up at the Everdeen's door looking like an angry winter spirit, snow coating her hair and everything. Man, was that a nasty blizzard." Bristol makes a 'tsking' noise with her tongue and the roof of her mouth. "Poor thing, we haven't heard a word from her family since the bombings."

Gale blinks. "Wait, what blizzard? And what morphling?"

Bristol's brows furrow. "You mean nobody's ever told you?"

"Told me what?"

Bristol and Thom exchange glances. It's Thom who decides to speak next, though. "Nobody's ever told you who brought you that morphling that night?"


Present Day — Four Weeks After The Bombing of District 12

Location: District 12

...

When Madge wakes, she feels rested for the first time in weeks. She decided to sleep on the ground last night (borrowing a dead person's clothes felt wrong enough, and she wasn't going to sleep on a dead person's bed.)

Her stomach no longer growls, and her throat is not dry. She's clean and fresh, and she feels almost normal. Almost as if she's back at her own home, and her father was going to walk in any moment and tell her to get red for school.

Buttercup the cat yowls from downstairs, as Madge forces herself to her feet. She needs to find Katniss' bow and arrow and teach herself how to fire that thing. Madge vaguely remembers Katniss telling her about the weapons she used in the Games, and how she was able to keep them. If that's the case, there should be a quiver of arrows, a bow, and a throwing knife somewhere around the house.

She just needs to find it.

She stumbles through the rest of the house, heart tightening as she notices the scattered toys in Primrose Everdeen's room. She passes through Mrs. Everdeen's room quickly, taking quick notice of the several photos scattered on top of the nightstand. One photo shows a man who Madge assumes to be Katniss' late father, others show off Katniss and Primrose, and others are of people Madge assumes to be Mrs. Everdeen's parents.

Then, at the back of the nightstand, Madge spots a photo of three smiling blonde-haired girls. The one in the middle resembles Mrs. Everdeen, and the other two girls are flanked by her side, their arms slung across each other's backs. Madge realizes that the other two girls are her mother and Aunt Maysilee. Though they were twins, Madge could spot the differences between Maysilee and her mother.

Even in the photo, her mother's eyes are a muted, dull blue. Not as muted as they were after migraines claimed the last bit of life from them, but muted nonethless. Her mother's nose is also sharper, more angular than Maysilee's. And for the first time in her life, Madge finally understands why everyone told her she resembled her dead aunt. She understands why sometimes, in the height of her morphling-induced delirium, her mother used to call her by her sister's name.

She sets the picture frame back on the nightstand carefully and promptly exits the room. She continues searching the house until she stumbles upon a storage closet. And there, hanging on the wall, she sees the bow alongside a quiver with about a dozen arrows in it. Resting on a table beside the bow and arrow, Madge spots the throwing knife. She smiles despite herself.

She takes the weapons into her hands and slings the quiver over her shoulder.

Then, she turns sharply on her heel and starts heading towards the woods.

...

Madge's fingers ache as she pulls the string of the bow back tautly. She releases the arrow and, like the past fifty attempts, it goes flying into the bushes instead of hitting the tree. She gives a huff of frustration as she goes to retrieve the wayward arrow.

The afternoon sun is already hot on her back, and despite her practicing all morning, her archery skills are not improving. Her knife-throwing skills are slightly better, but not by much. Out of the at least thirty times she threw the knife, it hit the tree once.

It can't be this difficult, Madge thinks to herself. How Katniss managed to fire an arrow with such precision, Madge will never understand. She remembers asking Katniss about it once, as well.

"How'd you learn to do that?" Madge had asked her once, awestruck after watching Katniss fire an arrow through the eye of a squirrel. "Fire an arrow with such accuracy, I mean."

Katniss had given her a wry smile, "Desperate people are the quickest learners."

Aren't I desperate enough? she thinks to herself as she recocks the arrow into the bow and pulls back tautly.

She remembers Gale attempting to teach her how to fire the weapon, how his warm hands had guided her gently. In those moments, she could almost pretend like they were friends. And maybe they were. Of course, whatever semblance of a friendship they shared was thrown out the window the second Katniss came back.

After another wayward arrow, she sighs and drops the bow, and shrugs off the quiver. Perhaps she'd have better luck with throwing the knife.

She fetches the knife and slips it into her hands. It can't be that hard, she thinks to herself. Or at the very least, it had to be easier than firing an arrow. Madge's hand grips the knife tightly, playing around with different angles. She raises her hand above her head and flings the weapon forward with a flick of the wrist.

The knife hits the bark of the tree with its handle rather than the point, and it falls to the ground.

Madge can't help but grin. At least it hit something.

She ditches the bow and arrow and uses the knife instead. The rest of the afternoon, she neglects the bow and arrow and practices with the throwing knife. As her hand grows more accustomed to the weapon within it, Madge starts flinging it with relative ease. Of course, the accuracy is in desperate need of improval, but at least the weapon feels natural in her hand.

When she finally hits the tree three times in a row, the sun is about to set and her body is aching with every movement. Turns out, throwing a knife is harder than it appeared. Madge had to get the angle just right or else the handle-side would hit the bark. By the end of the day, she finally figures out how to throw it, and sweat is dripping from her brow and her lungs never feel satisfied.

Though joints throb and her headaches, Margaret Undersee has never felt more alive in her entire life.


A/N: Thoughts on this chapter? I didn't want archery to come natural to Madge, but at the same time, I wanted her to learn how to use some sort of weapon. And I just thought that throwing a knife would be easier for Madge to pick up. As always, I love hearing any criticism/feedback/suggestions.