Author's Note: Here we go with another drama filled chapter. And Gale is in this one! I did say this is a slow burn, so expect a long drawn out romance going on between them. Please drop a review if you like this and want me to keep going! I really hope this is interesting for people and engaging to read. I'm really trying to get back into writing, but I recently have had a ton of life changes. However, I do want to engage more with what readers think and sharpen my writing skills, so I enjoy feedback immensely. From now on, I'll do my best to update this roughly every two weeks, so check back regularly if you're interested!

Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games. That is the sole property of Suzanne Collins. I do lay claim to my own thoughts, plots, and OCs.

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Chapter Three: Clarity and Ignorance

Ava outdoes herself in the kitchen and I tell her so.

As she is clearing away the dessert ware, my birthday cake boasting only my nickname since being cut apart (which I am thankful for), my father beckons me outside.

I remember back to this morning, how he casually situated his glasses atop his nose while mentioning a walk in the garden. The gesture was an indiscreet signal. We developed it when I was ten and there were certain things that couldn't be spoken of in certain places. I haven't seen it often, especially over the last few years. I feel dread growing with every step as I wonder what my father has to say.

He comments flippantly on the weather and how old I've gotten, but it is only once we are out of earshot of the house that he truly begins to speak.

"I'm sorry, Madge. I didn't want it to be this way - to make you do this. I didn't have a choice." He clasps a hand on my shoulder and I stare into his earnest, blue eyes. "They told me two days ago. This is the first time I've been able to get away from the office to speak with you personally." I take a deep breath, processing this information with a level head. There is more to this impending marriage than simply the arrival of my sixteenth birthday. While I am not anymore accepting of the idea than I was previously, it does give me clarity to the reason behind this decision. That clarity helps to dissipate some of the resentment I have towards the man - my father - standing in front of me. "President Snow is questioning my allegiance, so the Council has unanimously decided to marry my only child off to an official's son from another District as a show of my unity to all of Panem."

Some of the emotions erupting from me earlier, escaping my body in bile and tears, were anger and betrayal. They were aimed at my father. I was upset at him for not better protecting me, for not better preparing me for this step in life. I realize now that this decision is as sudden and surprising for him as it is for me. He likely had as much say in it as I do now. It is freeing to let go of those feelings towards my father and redirect them towards the person who actually deserves them - President Snow.

"I understand," I finally say, the reply simple and collected.

He breathes a sigh of relief and instantly swallows me in a hug. I breathe in the smell of his cologne, the starched fabric of his shirt, and faint cigar smoke. I close my eyes.

My father must fear that one day I will end up hating him for this world he has brought me up in. The pretty dress on my back is proof he is desperately trying to apologize in the best and only way he can. Katniss's wise words from earlier echo in my ears.

"So you don't have a choice then." I know this to be true, for both my father and myself.

"The whole process will be rather swift. I'm sorry to ruin your birthday this morning, but I needed to tell you as soon as I could, so that you can prepare. I can at least sway their decision in who they pick. It's not customary for women to choose suitors for themselves in these circumstances, but I don't give a damn about that. I want you to have a say in your life," he says as he releases me, the words rushed. My head swims with bits and pieces of information, but I do my absolute best to pay attention. "I've been arranging a way for you to review your suitors. By the end of the week, you must have your answer for me then, that is the deadline, Madge." The end of the week - I am to choose a man to spend my life with by the end of the week. "There's a boy from District Three who seems promising. His family was one of the first to put in a bid."

"A bid."

I can't help but curl my lip up in disgust. I will be auctioning myself off to whoever I deem the best bidder. Regardless of whoever it is, whatever their status, they will be a stranger. I will be picking my husband out of little more than a list of names.

"I know this isn't much, but I want you to have a choice in this, in some way," he says softly - sorrowfully.

I swallow the lump in my throat and throw all my worries out the window for the moment. My father is risking himself for me - even if it's not outright refusal it's still something. He's giving me a fighting chance at my future at the cost of his own. I embrace my father again, squeezing him tightly for the briefest of moments, before letting him go.

"Thank you."

"I want you to be happy, Madgie May. I'll do everything I can, I promise. I love you."

"I love you too."

It is early the next morning. My tutor has just left, impressed with the homework that I managed to complete correctly this morning in record time before he arrived.

I sit at the table, opting to finish my exercises now rather than waiting to do them until an abominably late hour. Once I have solved every problem, written a short essay, and a poem, I set my pen down and stare out the window.

The weather is kind and the sun boasts a cheery yellow. I look longingly at the flowers growing in the garden.

I am about to stand when Ava walks into the kitchen. A thickly wrapped parcel, with brown paper and a twine string tied around it, is clutched to her skinny chest. She places it in front of me on the table and I stare at it dumbly.

I have no idea what it is and I wait for her to clue me in. For some reason, I am already dreading opening it.

"Mayor Undersee has sent this for you, Miss." I feel the color drain from my face, but try to keep calm and steady breaths.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I wasn't permitted that knowledge, Miss. A package handler delivered it only moments ago, along with a short note from your father with strict instructions to give this directly to Miss Madgerie Undersee."

It's obvious what must be wrapped inside the brown paper. I don't want to think about what it might be - what I know it to be.

I hide the package away in my room and pretend I never saw it in the first place. I banish the brown of the paper from my memory.

There is an old District Twelve saying: death doesn't seem so scary if you don't see the knife before it strikes.

I opt to sit on the porch, basking in willful ignorance a day longer and waiting for our new gardener/handyman to arrive.

Ava outsourced the work, with my father's approval, to one of her neighbors. Our previous worker, forty year old Benjamin Davis, serviced the garden for over nineteen years until he injured his leg in a mining accident a few short months ago.

I am surprised to see Gale Hawthorne strolling down the road, his gait smooth and confident as he heads determinedly in the direction of my home. He is tall and broad and dark haired. My heart thuds quickly at the sight of him, then dies down.

Gale is one of many people who hate me. There are quite a few of them, encompassing most of the population of District Twelve. Perhaps people hate me for who I truly am, but it is far more likely they hate me for what I have (although I have a suspicion that Delly Cartwright would have disliked me regardless of who I was or what I had). I try not to hold grudges against anyone for the way they treat me, especially Gale, who I know is Katniss's best and closest friend.

Still, I can't help that some of the things he says truly get to me. It hardly matters, as the mask I wear has only become stronger throughout the years, armoring itself with each blow delivered from Gale Hawthorne - or anyone else. My mask gives away nothing.

"Hello, Gale," I greet politely, if a bit timidly. I have no ill feelings toward this boy - this man - standing in front of me. However, experience has taught me to be wary of him so I instantly prepare myself for the worst. "How may I help you?"

He bows stiffly before speaking. "Good morning, Miss Madgerie Undersee. I'm sorry to bother you. Ava Sherwood told me there was work for me here for as long as Mister Davis is injured."

I am lucky he mentions nothing about my frilly, ironed dress. I am lucky he doesn't comment on the chilled orange juice in my hand, an exotic luxury to say the least. I am lucky he doesn't say anything except a curt, professional greeting. Yet, hearing him call me 'Miss Madgerie Undersee' sounds strange to my ears.

No one calls me Madgerie - except for my father. The only other person to call me by my whole name is Ava, who even in her position knows me well enough by now to call me Madge. I suddenly feel out of place, jolted into a reality that I never truly understood before.

While 'Miss' is a term used casually when addressing others, Gale has never done so before - not with me. It is common for workers to never drop prefixes when speaking to their superiors, particularly within the Mayor's household. This is why Ava refuses, to this day, to call me simply by name. I am always Miss or Mistress, even when we are alone.

Gale spoke to me very formally, as one appropriately does to their employer, he even bowed. Never before have I had a classmate or peer approach me so formally, as a servant would. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth. It makes the darkness and the hollowness in my heart feel heavier and emptier. I hate it.

I can't help how much I hate it.

"You don't need to do all that." The words come out of my mouth calloused and cold, an accidental outburst on my part. I see his surprised, then narrowed eyes, accessing me in a certain way that I have grown used to. He is clearly put off at my untoward response, searching for the weakness behind it. I clear my throat. "I mean, the bowing and the titles and everything. That's not necessary," I explain, my voice a lighter, if still strained. I've been carelessly swept up in my emotions lately, letting them guide far too many of my words and actions. My mask has been cracked and it's a little harder to repair it than I thought it would be. I flash him a fake, toothy smile to recover. "Please, come inside. Ava's in the kitchen."

He follows me somewhat reluctantly, trailing behind me and gazing up at our tall, alabaster double doors in a way that suggests he likely hoped to never step foot in this building.

We turn left, from the entryway, cutting through the dining room, with its high ceilings and extravagant oak table, and into the kitchen. This room is more modest than the rest of the house, which must always be lavishly decorated and fully furnished, since it is often on display for potential guests.

The kitchen is large and fully equipped so as to be able to serve a table filled with guests a full course meal, but bleak in color and decor.

"Miss Madge!" Ava greets immediately, stopping her task, which is customary when one's employer walks in the room. It feels improper being anyone's superior and ordering people around, much less with Gale to witness me do it. "Oh, I see young Mr. Hawthorne is here. You're early," she says, her tone slightly scolding.

"Yes, but it's no matter. Will you please relay any information regarding his duties, hours, and pay to him? Then perhaps, a tour of the areas he'll be tending to," I direct, trying not to let the heat of Gale's glare melt right through my skin.

"Of course, Miss Madge," she says, but I notice the way she hesitates in her movements.

"What is it?" I ask, able to read her tells well after so many years of service.

"Well, Miss, if it wouldn't be too much trouble… could you show him around?" she timidly requests. Her eyes dart around briefly before she continues. "Mayor Undersee telephoned that he needs immediate preparation of the guest quarters. The whole west wing has yet to be aired out since last summer. After that, I must iron and starch all the sheets as well."

I wonder about the way she says this - is she warning me? I blanch as paranoid suspicions about our future visitors overcome me.

I recover quickly. People, likely maintaining important positions within the government, will be here soon. I can only hope it doesn't concern me, but even if it does, I must do my part to play along.

"Not a problem, Ava. I'll leave you two alone to discuss the specifics while I fetch the shed keys."

With that, I flit away quickly. I am not eager to be around Gale any longer than I have to, especially with the impending arrival of strangers. This is a lot of stress to keep under wraps. My mask barely withstood yesterday's blow, how many more hits can it take before it breaks? I certainly can't allow a steely hunter - that sometimes bites out insults a little too harshly - to do me in.

I return from my father's office, trying not to notice how my steps nearly slow to a grinding halt as I do. I manage to find myself back in front of the kitchen door, though my feet strongly protest moving further forward. I absently retie the ribbon in my hair, stalling.

I take a deep breath. If I can't keep it together around Gale, how will I handle these upcoming visitors? This will have to be my practice round. A slip up during the real deal will result in backlash a lot more fatal than a brutal quip from a fellow classmate.

Rearranging my mask, I smile politely as I re-enter.

I notice Ava is wrapping up her introduction speech, with a few special do's and do not's pertaining to house rules, such as entering exclusively through the back servant's door. She also makes sure to inform Gale that there will be an envelope of money at the end of the week for all of his hard work. She notes that certain days of the week he is to be here at eight in the morning and leave by four.

I clear my throat and hold out the keys, jangling them lightly. "These go to the shed out back. Just knock on the door in the morning and Ava or I will retrieve them for you. The same goes for returning them. You can, uh, follow me now."

With that, I turn my heel, hoping that Gale will indeed follow. I feel stiff and awkward and completely out of place telling Gale Hawthorne to do anything. Though his large feet are so light I barely detect them, I do manage to hear the floorboards creak as someone trails behind me.

He is quiet - stoic and unreadable - as I give him a tour. I do my best to give concrete directions and details. I am limited in knowledge, but having been out here quite often, I can identify quite a few species and their seasons. When I was younger, I was allowed to help Mr. Davis a few times, pulling weeds or trimming rose bushes while he worked on other landscaping projects.

I let him know how often to water the foliage, and point out certain exotic species of flower that need more care than others. Weed eating, grass cutting, landscaping, and more, are a few other tasks we discuss, but I can feel my voice waning in volume and passion. I have never spoken so many words in one sitting, much less to Gale Hawthorne. I can tell by the way his tanned, olive skin tightens at his temple and jawline that he too is growing tired of hearing me speak.

We finally come around to the back of the property. A shed, out of sight and out of mind, rests in the shadow of my large home. It has enough tools and equipment to keep the yard and garden well maintained - tools that would likely fetch a quite a nice price at a place like the Hob.

I turn to Gale, extending the keys to him. "Here you are," I say, jangling them lightly. "If you have any other questions, feel free to ask." He takes them from me smoothly, making sure not to let our fingers touch. It is apparent he has no further questions for me because he remains silent, chiseled face expressionless.

I suppose that is the best I can ask for and we both turn away from each other at the same time, content to let that be the end of our interaction.

I know I am eager to escape his scrutiny and I'm sure he is eager to escape being with me.

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Well, there we go! What did you think? Did you like it? Supposedly, in the bombing the Undersee family had two workers die with them. So, I kind of based the maid and gardener roles off of that, but I also kind of just wanted to write them anyway. The garden is somewhat non-canon because it's not really in the books or movies, but I imagine the Mayor's mansion having an extensive, walkthrough garden with exotic flowers and lots of trees and rose bushes and shrubs all around it - simply because I want it to.

Anyway, please follow, favorite, and review! Thanks for reading!