AN: Well, you've been waiting forever for a new update and here it is. Sorry I haven't given you anything happier yet, but by now you really should know not to expect that sort of thing, haha.
"I want everything back, the way it was. But there is no point to it, this wanting."
I don't care that he doesn't care, thought Madge, as she viciously stoked the flames of her bedroom hearth. I don't care, I don't care. She meant to burn his letter. First she would tear it apart and then feed it to the flames, shred by shred, as she should've done the day he gave it to her. She never should have read the damn thing to begin with. I don't care, I don't care, I really don't care. The fire spit embers from the grate. She stomped them out before they caught on the carpet. If only it was so easy to stamp out the anger and hurt burning in her breast. She fished the letter from the front of her blouse, clutched it in her trembling fist a moment, and glared into the flames. I don't care, I don't care, I…
The tears started up again and there was no stopping them. She thought she might cry until she shrivelled up, turned to dust. No matter how many times she told herself otherwise, she cared more than she could endure. She held Gale's letter over the fire, but couldn't make herself let go. Besides, what good would burning it do, when every word was memorized? No matter what I try, he'd written, we keep coming back to the same place.
Slowly, as she stood there, the gutting pain of his rejection became an ache, still agonizing, but not all-consuming. She was able to think more clearly about all of the things that didn't make sense. If he didn't care about her, then why had he written the letter? Why had he offered to sacrifice himself, rather than keep hurting her? Their last night together in the Justice Building, why had he brought flowers?
Madge closed her eyes and focused hard on picturing his face exactly as it had looked when she told him about the pregnancy. She studied him in hindsight and saw what she'd been to anxious to see before. Fear in his eyes. But fear of what? He was free, whether she was pregnant or not. She looked harder, desperately searching, so tired of all these questions and inconsistencies, and then...there it was. Fear in his eyes, not for himself, but for her.
Madge pulled the letter away from the fire and clutched it to her chest. Gale Hawthorne was a liar. He cared, she knew that he did, felt the truth of it without any proof, unless she counted the letter. She read the very last line, I trust you to make this choice for us. He cared about her, about what happened to her, and he'd made a decision for the both of them to chase her away, maybe for her protection, but she didn't believe it was for his own. Whatever his reasons, she didn't care. Evening was turning to dusk. She didn't care as she bolted down the empty hall, down the stairs, out the backdoor, along the garden path, into the street, running fast and hard back to the Seam.
He cares, she thought, becoming more certain with every footfall. He was stupid, thought she needed protecting, but he was wrong and she meant to tell him. His misguided protection was the last thing she needed, or wanted. With or without him, she would suffer, and bleed, and be at risk, and she would much rather it be with him than without him.
From the stoop steps, Gale watched black thunderclouds swarm across the summer sky. He hadn't slept more than a couple of hours in the past week. He was so tired, his body heavy as rock, but he knew if he tried to sleep now, he'd only dream of the glimpse of Madge's face he'd caught before he turned his back on her that afternoon. I don't care. His own words rang in his ears. He hadn't felt so wretched since the months after his father died, only this, this feeling of absolute shame and self-hatred, was almost worst. At least with his father, he only blamed the Capitol, not himself.
Maybe he could've done things differently. Maybe he could've found a way to help her, if he'd only tried harder. But no, there was no other way. Being pregnant put Madge at enough risk. He didn't need to add to her danger by breaking the Capitol's rules. He wished he could explain to her why he'd said what he had, wished he could write another letter, but even that was taking too great a chance. It was better if she hated him, if she stayed away, because he doubted he was strong enough to reject her for a second time.
Thunder clapped in the near distance. The storm would soon reach them. Gale waited. What else did he have to do? Inside, his mother was finishing the feast she'd put together to celebrate his last day of school. Posy's laughter wafted through the open window. It passed over him, caught on the wind, and blew away. He thought of Madge laughing, wondered if she'd ever laugh again, wondered if he'd ever get another chance to hear if she did.
Lost in thought, his gaze raised skywards, he didn't notice Thom approaching until it was too late to run and hide. He didn't want to talk to his friends, or his family, or anyone. He was too tired to move.
"You look like shit," said Thom. Gale grunted, kept his eyes on the stormclouds, still waiting, not entirely sure what for. An end to the torment? Rain to wash him clean? Even if it flooded, he doubted it'd be enough to cleanse him of his guilt.
"You should get some sleep before the bonfire tomorrow," said Thom. Again Gale said nothing. Somehow he'd forgotten about the start-of-summer bonfire, though it was all Thom and Bristel had talked of for weeks. Before Procreation, he'd been looking forward to it just as much as them. Now he couldn't remember why. There'd be too many smiling, happy people. Everyone in the Seam would be there. It was the only time of year they allowed themselves to have a good time.
Thom nudged his calf with the toe of his boot. "You alright?" he said. Gale nodded. Thom frowned. He'd never seen Gale this way before. Usually when he was upset, he raged, but now he was only lethargic. "I take it your chat with Undersee didn't go well," said Thom.
Gale finally stopped staring off into the distance and looked at his friend. "How did you know about that?"
"How do you think she found your house?" said Thom. "I brought her."
"Why?"
Thom shrugged. "She asked me to."
A spark of anger flared in Gale's stomach and quickly died out. He turned his eyes back to the stormclouds. "You shouldn't have done that," he muttered.
"It's not like I was going to say no to the mayor's daughter," said Thom. He sat beside Gale on the stoop. There was hardly enough room for the both of them. "Besides, it was about time you talked to her. What happened? Did you tell her how you feel? Did she-?"
"Nothing," said Gale. "Nothing happened. Nothing is going to happen."
"But-"
"But nothing."
Thom fell silent. Just go away, Gale thought at him. Either Thom didn't pick up on the message, or more likely chose to ignore it. After a minute, he said, "I know you've got this idea in your head that it'll never work between the two of you, because of who she is, and who you are, and where you're both from, but I think you're just scared. She came looking for you today. I've never seen her so determined. If you'd only-"
"She's pregnant," snapped Gale, knowing no other way to get his friend to shut up. He didn't look to see Thom's reaction. He didn't need to. Another long silence passed between them. The first cold drops of rain began to fall, stirring up the dry dust.
"Oh," said Thom at last. "That changes things."
"Yeah," said Gale, "it does."
In a month, everything had changed. He would kill to go back in time, to before Procreation week, before being locked up in that awful, white room with Madge Undersee, before touching her, opening himself up to her, letting her in after years of keeping her out at all costs. To go back to the days where he didn't imagine what a future with her could've been like, waking up beside her in the mornings, watching her sleep, golden hair fanned out on the pillow beside his, watching her wake up and smile at him, happy and peaceful and...A moment never to be, a nightmare that could have been the most wonderful dream.
Suddenly, he wasn't tired anymore, he needed to move, to run, escape. Gale leapt to his feet, ignored Thom calling after him, and gave himself over to the rain, falling faster and harder with each passing second, until he couldn't see an arm's length in front of him or behind. Just let me drown, he thought, please just let me drown.
Madge couldn't remember the way she'd come with Thom earlier that day. The rain distorted her surroundings. She could see outlines of houses, but couldn't tell them apart one from the other. Still, she didn't turn back. She didn't know which way was home anymore. She thought of screaming Gale's name, in the hopes he would find her, but a crash of thunder swallowed her voice when she tried.
Finally, she just stopped where she was, soaked through to the skin, shivering in a cold rain on a hot day. She felt she'd stood there for ages, when someone grabbed her arm. For a moment, she hoped that somehow Gale had heard her, after all, but when she turned, it wasn't him.
"Stupid girl," growled Haymitch Abernathy, tugging at her arm and giving her no choice but to stumble after him. He led her to a nearby house, shoved her across the threshold, and slammed the door shut behind him. The house only had one room. There was an unmade cot in the corner, an overturned crate that, judging by the empty bottles piled on top of it, he used as a table, and not much more. The air was stagnant, reeking of liquor and sweat. Shaking rainwater from his long, uncombed hair, Abernathy crossed the room to his cot and left a trail of footprints in the thick layer of coal dust over the floor.
Madge stayed by the door. A puddle gathered at her feet. Warily, she watched him wipe clean a small glass with the hem of his wet shirt. This was the last place she'd expected to end up. If her mother knew she was here, alone with Haymitch Abernathy, in his home…
"Drink?" he said, holding the glass out to her.
"I can't," she said, wrinkling her nose at the stinging smell of white liquor wafting clear and sharp across the room. Then, without thinking, without questioning why she was telling him, a man she'd never spoken to, she said, "I'm pregnant."
Haymitch shrugged. "All the more reason to take it," he said. But she didn't move any closer, so he downed the glass for her and then continued drinking straight from the bottle. For a long time, they were silent. Wind and rain lashed against the thin wallboards. Madge waited for the roof to collapse on them. It seemed a miracle the house remained standing against the storm. She expected to feel uncomfortable, alone with him. Oddly, though, she didn't. She felt they were old friends, that they'd been in this situation before. She felt connected to him now that they were in the same room together. In a way, she supposed they were connected, and always had been, by a past she knew so little about.
"Do you know who I am?" she said.
Haymitch snorted and looked at her like she'd asked if he knew what color the sky was. She took that as a yes. Again, not thinking, she asked the next question that came to her, a question that had lurked at the back of her mind for years. "What happened with you and my aunt?"
If the question pained or surprised him, he didn't show it. He took a long drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then said, "I'm sure your dear, old mother's told you the story."
"She doesn't talk about you," said Madge. That wasn't entirely true. Mrs. Undersee had mentioned him a few times, in her morphling deliriums, but only ever to curse him. "I know you were breeding partners," she said. "That's about all."
Haymitch studied her for a moment. Madge didn't think he would answer. He didn't at first. Instead he said, "You look like Maysilee. When I saw you out there, I thought…" He shook his head, took another drink, cradled the bottle in his shaking hands. "You want to know what happened with me and your aunt? Well, you don't need me to tell you that story, girl. You're living it now."
Madge looked at him in confusion and he laughed. "You came out here looking for the Hawthorne boy, right?" he said.
"How did you know?" said Madge.
"Just because I don't talk to anyone, doesn't mean I don't hear and see things. I saw you earlier today."
Madge turned bright pink. If Haymitch Abernathy had seen them, who else had? A Peacekeeper? A Capitol spy? Someone who might report back to her parents?
"Let me give you a word of advice," said Haymitch. "Go home. Leave that boy alone. If you care about him, even a little, let him get on with his already miserable life."
And suddenly, standing just a few feet from him, Madge saw what she never had from a distance. He loved her, she thought. That's why he glowered at everything and everyone around him, had shut himself off from the rest of the world, and was so bent on drinking himself to death. He had loved Maysilee Donner and he hadn't been able to save her.
"You'll only bring trouble down on the boy," he said. "He can't save you. No one can."
Madge felt sick. She held her stomach, waited for the nausea to pass, but it didn't. If anything, it only got worse. She stared at Haymitch, his sallow face, and wasted body, and imagined some future version of Gale. Is this what he'd become if I die? The thought terrified her. She didn't want to think of Gale, so full of life and fire, turning into the shell of a person sitting before her.
Haymitch was right. Just an hour ago, she'd been furious with Gale for lying, for pushing her away, to protect her, but now she understood. He'd done it because he cared, that much she'd worked out. The part that dawned on her now was just how difficult it must've been for him, because she cared about him, too, though she didn't know in what way, and she knew what she had to do, though it went against everything she desperately wanted. She had to walk away, leave him alone, protect him from the Capitol, from herself, from the thing growing inside of her. She had to get through this hell on her own. It wasn't fair, not at all, but it was the right thing to do.
Her decision made, she felt...almost at peace. Confusion still lingered, but she knew one thing, without a shadow of doubt. She didn't want Gale to end up like Haymitch. She didn't really want him to suffer at all.
"You're wrong, Mr. Abernathy," she said, a newfound strength resonating in her voice. "I
can save myself."
She would have to. There was no other way. At least there was no other way without anyone else getting hurt.
