Author's Note

Wow. I have fans. Only a handful, comparatively speaking, but I honestly didn't expect any. :) Response continues to be wonderful! To those of you who review - thank you a million times over again for your feedback (I will start responding to you eventually as soon as I really get the hang of how this site works; I'm still floundering in the dark somewhat). Keep the opinions coming!

...

I hold Gale's gaze for a moment and try desperately to appear calm and unsurprised. It is perhaps one of the most difficult things I have ever done. Because though neither of us moves, I am reminded immediately of the way I had seen a hawk perched on our garden fence track a dove on the wing. Then, with predatory grace, he pushes himself off the door jamb and moves toward me. I hate to admit it, but I'm pretty sure my calm exterior cracks a little as I shrink slightly into my chair. It's hard to say for certain as I have to concentrate very hard on basic functions. Breathe, Madge. Blink. Breathe again. I hope he can't tell. I know it won't help his opinion of me. But then, I'm sure those eyes don't miss much.

He sits across from me – in Katniss' seat – implacable as ever, and pins me with his stare. I don't think I could move if the building burned down around us, and though I steel myself for the worst, I don't think I'd even want to. Just don't cry, Madge, whatever you do….

His eyes flicker downward for the briefest second, and when they come back up to mine they have lost a bit of their edge. I can breathe again without having to remind myself, so I lean in just enough to appear inviting. I hope.

"Have you heard anything?" he says evenly.

I blink once, twice, grateful that he has shocked another reflex back into working order with a marked lack of hostility. He isn't friendly, but civility is leaps and bounds ahead of where we'd been before. We. Ha. Don't get carried away, Madge. He and I. Yes.

I sigh and shake my head. "No." I wish I had.

He looks away as if mildly annoyed. At least he's not angry. "Worth a shot," he mutters.

Ah. There it is. It stings that he just lowered himself to my level – which is somewhere above pond scum but below snails – and it turned out to be a waste of time and effort. I slump a little and lean an elbow on the table. He doesn't know me, has fair reasons for not wanting to, is worried for a friend who may die soon, and is now charged with the survival of two families. So I forgive him. Again.

"I thought maybe…." He trails off, as if he feels the need to further explain the trouble taken to speak to me. Clearly he would never do such a thing unless he had a very, very good reason. I guess Katniss qualifies. I wonder if she knows how lucky she is.

I shake my head again. "Not yet," I answer as gently as I can. "The Opening Presentation is tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know." He shifts in his chair and rises. It's like watching water fall upward. For the tiniest moment, the exhaustion and grief that he carries with him shows on his face.

"She has a chance, Gale," I offer as he turns to leave.

"No she doesn't, Undersee," he says flatly without looking back.

Maybe it's my own exhaustion, or the sudden burst of resolve I've felt today, or a sense of protectiveness for my friend. Maybe it's the grating friction caused by the thrill that he actually knows my name (I've long wondered) and the irritation that he addressed me by my surname only. I tack Knock Gale Hawthorne Down A Peg onto my to-do list. "She'd resent that, you know," I snap. "She'd hate you for it." Oh God, that was cruel. I surprise even myself. I regret the second half of the statement the moment it passes my lips.

But it gets him to turn around.

As he walks back toward me, I seriously question the wisdom of my actions. If it weren't for the fact that I'm a girl and there are a lot of witnesses in the cafeteria at the moment, I'm certain that he would strangle me here and now. I get up from my chair in a vain attempt to appear less vulnerable; he's still a head taller than I am, at least. He leans over me like a tiger over a housecat that's gotten a bit big for its britches. Which, to be honest, is exactly what I've done. I give him my best defiant stare, because it's that or sob and I already promised myself that I would not cry. In front of him, anyway.

"You speak for her now?" he snarls through gritted teeth. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I'm her friend," I say evenly, "and she has a chance." The swell of pride that comes when I realize that my voice does not waver brings with it a reckless courage. "You," I continue, punctuating the word with an index finger to his chest, "know that better than anyone, Hawthorne."

"Oh? Because all the kids from twelve come back in one piece?" His tone drips venom, his eyes could freeze water on a hot summer day. But under all the anger is a flicker of despair. Of heartbreak.

I soften a bit, because despite the fact that he hates me more than any other living thing that draws breath, his pain pains me. "Because she isn't playing by their rules," I say quietly, begging him to see it.

He falls silent, and after a second something about the way he is looking at me changes. The anger and disgust and sadness are still there, but there is a subtle difference nonetheless. After a moment, he straightens himself, his eyes fall away again, his jaw clenches. He exhales deeply. Silver eyes meet mine again, and this time they are only intense.

I realize I've forgotten to breathe again when I try to smile faintly, hoping with everything that I have left in me that he understands that I am on his side. That I –

Before I know it, he is gone.

….

For the first time in nearly a week, I feel something like a glimmer of hope. Not quite hope, but something like it. Real hope is still too much to ask for. Katniss has a chance. I should know that better than anyone. This feeling should hardly bring on a wave of anger and shame, but it does. I had written her off as already dead. I can't deny it, as much as I want to. I hadn't even consciously realized it. And yes, she would resent it. Hate me for it.

And Madge fucking Undersee had to be the one to throw it in my face.

I almost feel bad for tearing into her after she tried to offer words of comfort, but I'm not in the mood for more guilt, so I get over it. Still, I have to give her credit, she stood her ground and wouldn't be cowed. She stuck up for Katniss, and I can only respect that. If roles were reversed, I'd have done the same. Except I probably would have hit somebody.

I completely miss the afternoon. I have no idea what classes I went to. For all I know, I didn't even go to the right ones. Bristel has to ask me three times if I'm busy tomorrow before I realize that someone is talking to me, and even then when he tells me he needs help fixing something I'm not sure what it was that he said needed fixed or if I told him yes or no. I nearly start home without my brother, and it's only when Vick flings himself into the side of my leg that I remember that I have two. I look around for Rory, and find that he's already all the way down the street. Something at the back of my mind says that only a few minutes ago he had dashed past me and said "See you at home!" But I'm not a hundred percent on that. How could I forget that fast?

When I get home, I mumble something like "Hello" in my mother's general direction and collapse into a chair. She seems to understand to leave me alone; she, like everyone else, knows the Opening Ceremony is tomorrow. When the boys begin a wrestling match in the middle of the floor, I don't even intervene – I just glower at them both and point at the door. They know better than to argue, and scoot outside without a peep. Rather than run her usual circles around me, Posy reins herself in and simply climbs into my lap.

She places a hand on my shoulder and stares at me with remarkable gravity for someone so small. "Don't worry," she says seriously, "Catnip will be okay."

I give her my best attempt at a smile, which to be honest must be a pretty pathetic one. "You know, you're right," I say, because it's easier to say now. I don't quite believe it, but I almost do. And I want Posy to believe it. When I hug her against me I mentally recite a well-worn vow that I will give my life to make sure she never ends up where Katniss is.

I still feel twisted up inside, so I stand up and dangle her by her ankles, which makes her giggle. "Help mom with dinner for me?"

"Yes! Yes!" she squeaks. "Put me down!" She says it because she's supposed to, not because she means it. I lower her until her hands touch the floor and walk her wheel-barrow-style to my mother.

"Posy is going to help make supper," I announce as my sister collapses in a fit of laughter. My mother understands me perfectly; this is code for I'm giving her something to do besides boss her brothers around and cause an argument. "I'll be back later."

Mom smiles and nods, and I think she's a little relieved that I'm getting out of the house for a while. I know she's been worried about me since Reaping Day. Hell, I've been a little worried about me.

For the first time in days, it feels good to be outside in the early evening. I still don't feel good, but the fresh air helps today. Down the street, I find that Rory and Vick have joined a raucous game of tag with some of the other neighborhood kids and while I watch them for a few minutes I envy the joy they both seem to get from it. I realize with sudden clarity that my vow of protection for my siblings is inadequate – it's not enough to make sure they never end up where Katniss is. No, I don't want them to end up where I am.

I wander for a while and consider finding something constructive to do, but I don't get that far. Instead I find a space in the meadow, lay back with my arms folded behind my head and watch the stars come out while I chew a few mint leaves. I try to think of Katniss, but for some reason she makes me think of Madge. Madge, with her blue eyes ablaze and fair skin flushed pink as she put me in my place about Katniss. Put me in my place. I try hard to be angry, and I almost get there. But the fire I saw in her today – that I hadn't known was there – has burned the anger in to something more like an ache.