Author's Note:

Apologies for the long time between updates again... This chapter was very difficult to write. In the interest of not giving away too much before you read it, I'll just say that my aim was to create two very similar experiences that occur under somwhat differing circumstances. Please review, because 1) it tells me if I'm doing this right, and 2) it makes me very happy :) Thank you for reading!

I come home from the woods on Sunday to an empty house, and immediately suspecting the worst I dash to the Everdeens'. We never go to visit this early in the day; something must have happened, they must have thought Prim would be upset…. Had Katniss' condition suddenly worsened? Had another Tribute found her while she languished in that pit in the trees? Had a surprise, Gamemaker-induced thunderstorm dropped buckets of water into the arena, filling the little hole where she lay and drowning her while she was still unconscious? A thousand bizarre-but-possible scenarios play out in my mind in microscopic detail as I sprint down the street. It must be hell to be in the Games – but living through them on this side of a television is near as bad.

I crash through the door without knocking and nearly trip over my own feet. "What happened?" I demand before I even survey the scene, and it's a split second later that it hits me – how completely the sense of panic had overtaken me, how easily the pieces had fallen apart. A roomful of people stare at me like I've lost it (which I have, whether I want to admit it or not), and I see that they are all in fairly good spirits considering the circumstances. Two of them are Prim and her mother. Four of them are my mother and siblings. Two more are a Seam lady and her small son, whom I don't even know. And one, of course… one is Madge Undersee.

"Nothing! What?" my mother asks in alarm before it all dawns on her. "Oh, I should've left you a note, I didn't think that you'd worry..." she says apologetically.

Posy hops off her perch on the couch and walks toward me, waving a colorful, mangled disc in one hand. "Catnip is awake!" she chirps, and I see that her lips are pink and green. "And Miss Madge brought cookies!"

So that's what that thing was. "Did she." One by one, I start sweeping up the pieces, fitting them back into place, promising myself that the next time the glue will hold.

"Well, they're actually from Mr. Mellark," says Madge. "I just carried them here."

"Oh," I say stupidly, because the pieces rattle a little at the sound of her voice. I choose to focus on my sister for a minute, to pull myself together before I ask for details about Katniss. Just because she's awake doesn't mean she's entirely all right.

"Yep," Posy says before spinning in a circle. "And she brought me flowers, too, see?" She points a frosting-covered finger at the back of her head to indicate a cluster of pale pink flowers pinned into her ponytail. When she spins back around to face me again, she leaves a thick smear of icing in her hair.

"Pose, did you get any of that cookie in your mouth?" I sigh. Her small brow creases in confusion and my mother stifles a laugh.

"What else am I supposed to do with it, Gale?" my sister says with a theatrical eye-roll.

I look to Prim and Mrs. Everdeen, who are standing at the kitchen table with the two strangers. "Do you have a towel or napkin or something?" I ask.

Mrs. Everdeen, who never smiles, almost starts to when she nods and points Prim toward a cupboard behind her.

"I didn't mean to barge in and yell at you," I offer when Prim brings me a threadbare dishtowel. "I just – we never come over here so early."

Prim smiles at me. "It's okay," she says. "Madge came by with a whole box full of cookies from the bakery, and we thought we ought to share." She shrugs lightly. "So we walked down to your house to invite the kids over." I look at Rory while I try to wipe some of the frosting out of Posy's hair, wondering if he thinks he's been lumped in with the kids and has taken offense to it; I don't think Prim necessarily meant anything by it, but he hangs on everything she does. He appears to have missed it altogether, likely because in his eyes she cannot possibly do anything wrong.

"If you want a cookie," Madge adds, "you better go get one. There may not be any left for you if Posy has anything to do with it."

"I'm good," I say quickly, and I force a half-smile to show her that, for once, she isn't the thing that's on my nerves. I may be getting over the fact that Madge Undersee brought the cookies, but I don't want a gift from Peeta Mellark's family. "Eat up, chickadee," I tell my sister, "just try to keep it out of your hair." I give no more than moment's thought to cleaning up her face, too, because as long as there's icing still within reach the effort would be a waste. Might as well wait till she's done. "So, Katniss is…?"

"She's awake," says Prim as she goes back to helping her mother. "She looks a little tired – I guess it took a lot out of her – but so far she seems okay."

"Gale, that reminds me," says Mrs. Everdeen without looking up from the boy sitting on the edge of their table, whose arm she is examining closely, "next time you're on the other side of the fence, could you bring me more coneflowers? I'm down to a handful. You know the ones, right?"

"Yep." They're one of the plants that are easy for me to identify. I can gather those without help.

"Pull them up by the roots," Prim adds as she stirs a small jar of ingredients into a thick paste. Her mother eyes the concoction and nods approvingly, and dots a tiny glob of the stuff inside the boy's elbow. "It's the most important part."

Her interest piqued, Madge twists in her seat, folds her arms on the back of the couch, watches the Everdeens with interest. "What do you use them for?" she asks.

"Oh all kinds of things…" Prim says as she tightens the lid on the jar and gives it to the boy's mother.

I force myself to watch the television so I don't have to pay so much attention to the way Madge cocks her head when Prim begins listing the uses for coneflowers. After a while, the cameras come to Katniss as she pulls an arrow from a slain rabbit. Good, I think, show them you can shoot, give them another reason to bet on you. She needs all the help she can get right now; she is alive, awake, alert, but too thin, too pale. Angry welts still mar her cheek and neck where the wasps stung her. But there is a stubborn determination about her. A spark.

….

I concentrate very closely on my conversation with Prim to keep myself from concentrating on Gale. Though Katniss' sister is animated and the knowledge that she so loves to share is actually pretty interesting, it's a trying task; even when he is only sitting there, silent and motionless, I don't want to miss a moment of it. But I'm certain that despite being turned to the television right now, those sharp eyes would not miss me staring at him, and the thought that he would notice is horrifying enough to keep me focused on Prim.

"I think we have some of those in our garden," I tell her. "The next time we thin them out, I'll keep them for you. I had no idea you used them for all that."

She smiles at this, nods enthusiastically. "Hopefully my sister remembers this is one of the plants we use for this kind of thing," she says, as she indicates the boy on her table. His mother had knocked on the door not long after we'd come back with the Hawthornes, and asked Mrs. Everdeen to treat his nasty spider bite. "Tracker-jacker stings probably need something stronger than this, but it'd probably help a little and they should be pretty easy to find."

Prim offers the boy a cookie while his mother pays them for their expertise with a few pennies and a quarter of butter. He hesitates before taking it from her, and stares at it reverently as they leave; it occurs to me that it is likely the first time he's ever been given such a decadent treat. Even Gale's brothers and sisters, who I imagine are better fed than most in this part of Twelve, had been awestruck when I opened the box for them, and Prim had nearly cried. I regret for a moment agreeing to deliver the gift for Mr. Mellark; he asked me this morning when I visited his bakery and mentioned that I'd shared the last few loaves of bread I had bought with Prim and her family. He'd have loved to see how happy and surprised they were himself. But then, I got the impression he didn't want his wife to know that he was being so generous. Even now I feel tears prick my own eyes.

Prim announces that she has to go feed her goat, and Rory jumps up, eagerly offering to help. She accepts the offer happily, but seems to be utterly blind to the fact that he's head over heels for her. It's cute, funny, and sad all rolled into one. I guess I can relate. But at least she doesn't despise him.

I suppose Gale doesn't exactly despise me anymore, I think as I steal a glance at him. He had been downright friendly yesterday, even after I had been downright whiney, which had surprised and thrilled me to the point that I finally had to give up on practicing my etude because I was so distracted reliving what he'd said to me. Even today he didn't seem to mind when he saw me here. I decide to indulge myself for a moment, and try to make it look like I'm watching the Games broadcast while I study his handsome profile. I wonder if he knows he's gorgeous. He absolutely knows, I answer myself dryly as I call to mind the girls that flirt with him at school, the things I've heard whispered when he walks by. I wonder if he thinks I'm pretty. That wouldn't make him love me, I know. Many of those whispering, flirtatious girls were prettier than I am, and none of them ever lasted long. But it wouldn't hurt. I wonder if….

"Can I have another cookie, Miss Madge?" Gale's sister snaps me back to reality with her request, ostentatiously posed to me because she knows what the response will be from Hazelle.

"Well…." I stall, hoping her mother overheard.

Hazelle turns from the television to face us. "No Posy, you've already had three. And that's two more than you really need at once," she says with a small chuckle. "You'll make yourself sick."

"She had three?" squeaks Vick. "No fair!"

"How isn't that fair?" Hazelle asks. "You all got the same thing."

"I only had two!"

Hazelle raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Vick Hawthorne, if I find out you're lying to me…."

"He isn't lying Mom," Gale says. "You'd know if he was. He's terrible at it."

"Would I?" she says, eyeing her youngest son carefully.

"I'm not lying, Mom. I only had two."

"Remember when that pitcher of milk got spilled all over the kitchen floor, the whole thing, and he said Rory did it?" Gale asks. "Did you think for even an instant that it was really Rory?"

Hazelle struggles mightily to keep a straight face. "One, no more," she says as she gets up from her chair.

"Give me one of the ones with the candy pieces," Vick says. "Posy can have the ones with the icing – those are her favorite."

I am amazed at – and a little envious of – this exchange. One moment complaining that his sister ate one more cookie than he did, and the next making sure that he didn't take one of the ones she liked best. I feel like I've somehow missed out by being an only child.

Prim and Rory come back inside, laughing hysterically about something until we all look at the two of them, at which point they stop abruptly. Prim recovers after a second. "So, what's for dinner, Gale?" she asks.

"The fattest brace of rabbits you've ever seen," he answers.

She looks at me. "You're staying for supper again, right? Two rabbits – there'll be plenty to share…."

I hadn't planned on staying too long today. My initial motivation for visiting was to get a chance to speak to Prim and explain myself before she sees any of my interview, which is sure to air soon. She had been more than understanding, which made me feel a little better, and Mr. Mellark's box of cookies provided a convenient way to end on a positive note. Plus need to go home, and have an uncomfortable conversation with my mother. Which I am dreading. Putting it off a little is tempting, to be honest, and if I stay late enough, maybe Hazelle will make Gale walk home with me again…. "I can stay a while, sure."

….

Of course she can, I think as I get up and retrieve the rabbits from my bag. After I shoo Prim away from the kitchen so she doesn't have to watch me skin the animals (I left them whole today, so I could feed her ugly cat), it occurs to me that the snide thought was more force of habit than genuine sentiment. I'm not really all that bothered that Madge agreed to stay with us.

I look over my shoulder and see that Rory has produced a pair of hand-made dice from a pocket, and the kids start teaching Madge how to play a game with them. She'll keep them entertained, at least. I take my time dissecting the rabbits, in no hurry to watch any more of the Hunger Games right now. I'm glad that Katniss is back on her feet, but it's hard to watch her in this condition. It's hard to watch knowing that Peeta Mellark saved her life.

I peer at the box of cookies out of the corner of my eye. His son saves Katniss in the arena, so the baker sends her family a gigantic box of baked goods. How does that work? It irks me to no end. They're sitting next to the sink where I'm working, and after a couple minutes of trying to resist the temptation I lean over to look at them out of curiosity. They look amazing. There are probably a half dozen different kinds, and a hefty pile of each one. They even smell amazing. Which annoys me even more.

I hear Rory shout from across the room. "Oh, just eat one, Gale!"

If there weren't six other people sitting there at the moment, my brother would have had a bloody rabbit pelt flung at his head. Instead, I count to five and answer calmly, "I said I'm good. Maybe later." You know, like three days after hell freezes over.

I look back down at the cleaned game in my hands and wonder for the first time why I'm bothering. They may be two fine rabbits, but how does this even begin to compare to the extravagant display sitting just to the side of them? Nobody jumps up and down and beams with joy over a rabbit. Nobody has to be kept out of a kitchen because baking cookies is an ugly process. I sigh and lean into the counter for a minute, close my eyes, remember that I promised myself that the glue would hold this time.

Eventually I hear the chatter in the living room behind me quiet, then stop altogether, and I feel a light hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes when I hear my name.

"Gale." The voice belongs to Madge, and I am simultaneously relieved and furious that of all the people here she is the one I find standing next to me right now. I don't want it to be her, but I don't want it to be anyone else either. "Are you all right?"

I look at her without moving my head, and see her eyes flicker over my face, my bloody hands, the mess in the sink, the baker's box on the counter. Suddenly, something in her face tells me that she's at least partly got the pieces together. Which is awful. And humiliating. She may have said she doesn't pity me, but she also doesn't get it, either. I grit my teeth, wait for the condescending words of comfort that are sure to come.

But they don't. "You look a little dizzy. Did you eat breakfast this morning? Here, I'll clean the rest of this up – go sit outside and get some fresh air for a minute."

"I can-"

Madge gives me look that tells me not to argue, and turns on the faucet. "Rinse off and sit outside a minute." She points to a bowl on the table that contains a few (slightly shriveled) apples. "And I think you need to eat something, it'll make you feel better."

As much as I'd enjoy arguing with her, the thought of getting away for a few minutes is even more appealing. I pick up an apple as I wonder how she'll handle quartering the remaining whole carcass. On my way out the door, I look at her over my shoulder; she wipes up the blood and sets to jointing a leg without batting an eye. I have to say I'm reluctantly impressed.

Outside, I take a seat on the fence next to Lady's pen. The goat swings her head my way, and her nostrils twitch as she detects the apple. "Nope. It's mine," I tell her when she eases toward my side of the fence. I look down at the wrinkly apple, grateful that Madge told me to take it instead of giving me one of those damned cookies. "Split it with you, though. How's that? You want the core?" Lady sniffs the air again and bleats softly. "You got it." I take a bite of the apple, find it to be a little on the mushy side, try not to think about the reason why I'm sitting out here. I'll finish eating, go back inside, act like nothing is wrong. It's what I've been doing for years now, right?

After a few minutes, Madge appears and she approaches me timidly, rather like the way I approach a wounded animal with very sharp teeth. Ah, here it comes. The questions, the conversation, the pity I've been dreading. She leans against the fence next to me, but keeps a respectful distance as she offers a cup of cold water. "Feeling better?" she asks.

Yes and No don't seem to be satisfactory answers to the question, so I shrug and say, "Fresh air helps."

She smiles a tiny bit, nods, and surprises me entirely. "Okay, well, take your time. I took care of everything and cleaned up, so…." And she just walks away.

I stare at the place where she disappears around the corner of the house long after she is gone. No questions. No conversation. No pity. Maybe, just a little, she gets it. Maybe I do owe her something after all. Maybe it's just the benefit of the doubt. And maybe that's why it's been so hard for me all this time.

….

It's a long time before Gale rejoins us. I hope that no one presses him too much about the reason he sat outside alone for so long; I had an inkling as to why he needed to get away, and I sensed that it would be unwise to even try to talk to him about it. When he does return, Gale is mostly taciturn. It takes a while but his brothers and sister eventually get him talking, even laughing a little, and things are almost back to the way they were. I'm relieved, because I can't bear to see him hurting, can't stand to think that he doesn't feel that he's good enough.

In the meantime, Katniss has acquired an adorable and quite resourceful ally in a little girl from District Eleven, and Prim and Mrs. Everdeen are elated when they see her treat Katniss' stings with a handful of leaves. Peeta has not fared so well; he looks weaker and more feverish each time they show him onscreen, and has taken to hiding in a shallow ravine near the stream. Why doesn't Haymitch send him medicine? I think angrily. Surely he's earned enough sponsorship money for at least a small supply. My faith in our victor wavers a little – our plans will be wrecked if he lets Peeta die in the arena. The remaining Career Pack is up and about, too, but they are not quite fully recovered yet, thank goodness.

About halfway through dinner, when the Gamemakers decide that the action has ground to a slow enough pace, they begin to air clips of interview footage between shots of various Tributes in the arena. My appetite vanishes. Oh God no, not while I'm here…. A boy from District One angrily declares that the scrawny little weasel from Twelve will regret picking a fight with his Career-Pack brother. The parents of the slight, red-haired girl smile cautiously as they say that they are still confident that the rest of the Tributes are unprepared for how clever their daughter is. Mr. Mellark's voice cracks as he tells a reporter that he is proud of his son while his wife stands behind him silently with downcast eyes. Prim is tearfully grateful for Peeta's courage. And last, of course, comes my two cents. I set down my fork and cover my eyes, unwilling to watch. Seeing myself on television is embarrassing enough as it is, never mind the show I know I'm about to put on.

I groan when I hear myself gush on about romance and tragedy, how lucky Katniss would be under any other circumstances, that Peeta is sure to survive because, you know, love conquers all. I even say certain words with just a trace of a Capitol accent – I nail it perfectly after having listened to it for so long in my own home. It's sickening, and it's not even to the worst part yet.

When I hear myself sniffle after a long pause, I brace myself. I had to say something to win over the wealthy Capitol sponsors – and maybe win a little more than that. "I just hope they can be together," I say onscreen, "this is the best Hunger Games ever."

Even though I still can't find the courage to remove my hands from my face I feel a roomful of people staring at me. How am I ever going to look any of them – anyone in the district – in the eye again? "I'm so sorry," I whisper.

Prim – or at least I think it's Prim, because hers is the voice I hear – pats me gently on the shoulder. "Don't apologize," she says, "I think you just got them buckets of money."

The dinner plate I have balanced on my knees wobbles, and reflex pulls my hands from my eyes. I still can't look at anyone yet, not after they all heard the words I said. I carry my plate to the sink and start cleaning up to give myself something to do. There is nothing I want more than to run out the door, to escape. But wouldn't that be the perfect icing on the cake, to take a share of what little this kind family has and then disappear? I can only imagine what Gale must be thinking. I knew that interview would be be broadcast soon, I shouldn't have stayed. But I was so caught up in the hope that he might walk me back to town again that I didn't think it through very well. It didn't occur to me that he'd be stuck doing it after watching me say "Best Hunger Games ever" on national television while his best friend is fighting for her life. Good God, love makes you stupid, Margaret Undersee.

Finally, after I can't stand it any longer, I turn back to the two families in the living room and am surprised to see that things have returned mostly to normal. The kids have gone back to their game and Prim has joined them. Posy pesters her mother for another cookie while Hazelle pointedly ignores her in favor of a quiet conversation with Mrs. Everdeen. Gale watches the scene carefully, one eye on the television as always, waiting for more news. I wait a moment for him to at least glare icily at me, but he is inscrutable as ever.

I feel like I don't even deserve to draw comfort from the fact that no one had become overtly hateful yet. I thank Prim and her mother for their understanding and their hospitality again, and tell them that I have to go to take care of my mother before it gets much later. I wave good-bye to the Hawthornes, and the youngest ones thank me for bringing the box of treats.

And then, unexpectedly, Gale gets up and follows me to the door. Not prodded by his mother. Of his own free will. I seize up for a moment, unsure what to do, expect him to tell me to never come here again.

"It'll be dark by the time you're halfway back," he says flatly.

I fight the urge to check my own pulse. I can hardly believe I've survived this moment. But then, it's a long walk back to town. He'll probably wait to let me have it when there's no one else there to listen. So I just nod timidly and walk outside.

I tiptoe on eggshells in the silence. It's a warm evening, but it feels like it could snow any moment. The verbal lashing that I expect – kind of deserve – does not come. Which is a hundred times worse than if it had. Part of me aches to speak to him, to tell him to remember what I'd told him yesterday, but I'm sure it would be a wasted effort. He may have listened then, but that was before he actually heard the horrible words I'd said. At the very least I want to apologize, but I know that absolutely no good could possibly come from opening my mouth for any reason, apology or otherwise.

He doesn't utter a single syllable, doesn't look at me once the entire way. He is a shadow in the twilight, no more. It is not until I reach down to unlatch the garden gate that he pays me any attention, and though I try hard not to do it I feel like I cower a little under his intense scrutiny.

"Thanks," I say, "Especially since I know you'd rather not be here…" Don't cry Madge. Don't you dare cry….

He cocks his head a little, narrows his eyes as they catch a faint touch of the amber from the light up on the porch, and studies me closely. "No. It was – Prim was right, I think." He pauses for a second, and adds, "That was brave." He seems to consider his words carefully, and then nods as if deciding that he actually believes it now that he's said it out loud.

A soft (but still embarrassing) choking noise escaped my throat as the sudden flux of emotion takes my breath away.

"G'night, Madge," he says. And he walks away. But I don't think he knows that he takes a part of me with him.

Footnote: Coneflower is the common name for Echinacea. It is native to most of the eastern United States, and has lots of medicinal uses. Its efficacy in treating the common cold – the use for which it is most famous – is under continuous debate. However, it is fairly effective as a topical treatment for insect bites, especially in combination with other soothing or anti-inflammatory ingredients. It likes sun, and is easily identifiable by its large purple daisy-like flowers, which have plump cone-shaped centers.