Author's Note

Sorry for the delay…. That was especially cruel of me. However, thank you all for your kind restraint – I expected more outrage ;) Have fun reading, and as always thank you for reviewing!

I can hardly believe it. For a split second the shock threatens to overtake me. Are you sure? I almost ask him.

"Ohmygodyes." The words smear together as – all-consuming, unrequited love notwithstanding – I swoon a little from sheer gratitude. I've been rescued. His mouth twists in the most adorable way as if he is stuck between confusion and laughter at my reaction, and I swoon all over again. Yes, rescued, and by the man of my dreams, no less.

I almost step outside without thinking and suddenly remember that there are other people inside who might wonder where I went. Like my father. I stop and hold up my hands as if to freeze Gale in place. "Wait out here a minute."

He looks suddenly offended that I explicitly said that he should wait outside rather than invite him in, and I panic. "No! I didn't – it's not like that! I have a houseful of Capitol reporters," I hiss.

"Oh," he says, and leans back against the porch railing as if satisfied by this explanation and content to remain here if it means avoiding my houseguests.

"I'll be right back. You have no idea how badly I want to get out of here right now."

This makes him smile a little again, so I close the door partway and hide behind it for a moment, take a deep breath, regain my composure. Because what I really want to do is squeal for joy and jump up and down. But that would be horrifically embarrassing, and since I'm feeling a touch dizzy, I'd probably just hurt myself.

I rush back into the parlor, and make a point to bring a hint of the panic with me. As I flit around the room collecting a notebook and a pen from the den and a lightweight jacket from the rack by the door, I explain that I was supposed to have been working on a group project for science class tonight and, goodness, I just plain forgot since all my other homework was done early and there was all the excitement with the new media team! I tell my father that I should have been at Elaine Poole's house almost an hour ago, and she came to get me herself because I was so late and she was beginning to wonder. He offers whispered condolences, and I laugh and tell him that the teacher assigned the groups; my choice of alibi was based on the fact that I know he can't stand the Pooles, and would therefore be disinclined to verify my whereabouts because that would mean he'd have to engage in conversation with one or more of them.

After a few polite-but-hurried goodbyes, I dash out the back door and wave for Gale to make a quick getaway with me. "Hurry up," I tell him, "I told Dad I'm doing some group homework tonight."

He frowns as he trots up next to me. "Ashamed to tell him who you're with?" he growls.

I roll my eyes. "Don't be obtuse," I snap, my patience worn thin by hours of exercise, "we've had this conversation. The truth wouldn't go over very well because you're a boy, Gale, not because you're you."

"You're not a kid," he says, less offended but still a bit surprised that my father might be so strict. "He doesn't let you…?" He trails off, presumably because of the implication that this might be construed as more than just an evening stroll. Is it? Or did he just suddenly become afraid that I might mistakenly interpret it that way?

"It really hasn't come up until now," I say flatly, "but I took a wild guess and assumed that any run-of-the-mill father might react poorly if his daughter came out and said 'Hey, Dad, I'm going for a little jaunt with an older boy, in the dark, alone.'" We turn the corner at the end of the street, so I slow down and turn to face him fully. "So please, stop being difficult and give me a little credit. I just lied. To my father. Because I didn't want to have a debate in front of a roomful of people, and I wanted to come with you." I avoid the question altogether about whether I ought to consider this a date. I don't really want to hear the answer, because I'm pretty sure I know what it is; he likely only wants to get away from the events of today's Hunger Games. But not hearing it out loud will make it easier to pretend for a while.

He studies me carefully for a few seconds, and I force myself to stand my ground under his intense stare. His handsome features are unreadable as usual, until a subtle smile pulls at his lips. "I'll take that," he says.

We start walking again, and I let him take the lead. After a moment he leans toward me and asks, "So, what would he think we were doing?" My heart leaps past my throat and into some very cramped space behind my eyes at the thrill of it, but his mischievous tone makes it clear that he says this entirely in jest.

I brace one hand against his arm and shove him playfully. "Use your imagination," I say as I start to laugh, "I'm sure you've got one somewhere in that thick skull of yours." He lets his head fall back as he laughs with me, and I hadn't thought it possible but it makes him even more beautiful. Oh, if only he meant that. But then, I don't know who I'm kidding. I'm not really that kind of girl. But he makes me wish I was.

…

Do I ever, I think, which is immediately followed by where did that come from? Truthfully, I know exactly where it came from. I'm just not accustomed to the stirring of emotion that comes with it. It hadn't meant much when she was just another pretty girl. The sudden compulsion to say something flirtatious feels strange, not because it is anything new to me but because once I say it, I realize that her reaction actually matters. And I don't really appreciate how much I wanted the reaction she gives me until I get it – she smiles, laughs, plays along… flirts back?

"How long do you have before you need to go home?" I ask.

Madge shrugs, and the smile creeps back to her lips. "I'd like to be late enough that the media team is already in bed by the time I get back," she says. "Dad said he's going back to work for another late night, and Mom is doing better so I don't have to worry about her too much. So I guess I've got plenty of time."

"Perfect," I say. "It wouldn't do much good to get all the way there and have to turn around and come right back."

"Where are we going?" she asks curiously.

I look at her sidelong. "I thought we'd visit Lady, you know, make nice and all."

Her blue eyes widen, and I can tell she's trying desperately to decipher what the most honest but least offensive response might be. After a moment, she says, "I can't tell if you're serious or not."

I try to hold it in, make her believe that I actually meant it, but the concern that etches her face is too much for me and I start to chuckle. Her eyes narrow at me, but her perfect lips curve into a smile. "What?" I say as innocently as I can manage, which is admittedly not very. "You're wearing pants today."

"You'd love to see that, wouldn't you?" she says dryly.

"Fine then," I say as I look upward to judge what little is left of the fading light in the sky. "Change of plans."

"To what?"

"Don't get too excited," I warn. "It's not that spectacular." Her eagerness causes my confidence to ebb a bit; certainly she will only be disappointed. Even after the power outage had cut off the Games I still felt the need to escape, so once I had helped my mother shepherd my brothers and sister back home, I left. I had every intention of going to the meadow, as has become my habit, but it wasn't until I was halfway to town that I realized that I passed it by. I hadn't felt any particular desire to turn around, and it wasn't until I unlatched the Undersee's garden gate that I realized why. And I had no idea what I would do with her until Madge opened the door. That was when the memory of the first night walking her back to town came rushing back in, the way her eyes lit up in the darkness…. Each time she speaks to me, looks at me, it gets easier and easier to forget that she the most privileged girl in the district. That what little I have (which isn't even really mine) to offer her will be a letdown. Always. Why am I doing this to myself?

But then, when she rolls her eyes at me and shakes her head, I wonder if maybe she won't be let down. She has every reason to not want to be here with me right now, had any number of reasonable excuses to decline my invitation, but here she is. Maybe….

Madge is quiet as we walk along the road that leads back to the Seam, but the silence between us is not awkward; it is simply as if neither of us feels the need to fill the space with unnecessary chatter. It is enough not to be alone. By the time we reach the first row of ramshackle houses we have lost the last of the sunset twilight, which is what I'd hoped for. I tell her to watch where she's going, because the moon is darker tonight and the road isn't in the best of shape. She keeps her eyes carefully downcast, and it gives me a chance to look at her as we move between the shadows. Though she is paying close attention to where she places her feet, I can tell the wheels are turning, trying to figure what I'm up to. Even in the darkness she is made of sunlight. I wonder again what her skin feels like, or the loose curls at the end of her ponytail, or the pink arc of her lips; I force myself to look away, in case I find myself any more tempted to do something stupid than I already am….

At the edge of the meadow, I beckon for her to follow me as I walk ahead. "Be careful," I tell her, "the ground isn't even." I choose a fairly level place in the grass and watch her pick her way carefully toward me. "I thought you'd like a chance to look," I say as I point upward, "when you can take your time and you don't have to worry about being somewhere."

She follows my hand toward the sky. Her lips form a soft O as she takes in the view, then melt slowly into a smile. "You brought me all the way out here just so I could see the stars again?" she says, and I feel a twinge of regret because I can't tell of she is awestruck or annoyed. Then her eyes meet mine, and I see that the smile is not condescending or cruel. She is elated. Elated. "How could you ever say this wouldn't be spectacular?" She looks up again, turns in a slow circle, beams a little brighter.

"I see it all the time," I say.

She shakes her head. "Maybe so, but I can see, what, eight whole stars in town? So this is pretty spectacular, Gale." She frowns a little. "Which direction am I facing? I'm all turned around. And there's so much up there I can't tell what I can usually see."

"Well, there's the Bear," I say, pointing upward and to her left, "it's one of the easiest to find, so start there."

She turns to look, but I can tell she is still overwhelmed. "I – I don't see it."

"Up more. See? Four bright ones in a square. Three more in a line from the top corner."

She is very still and quiet for a moment; she is trying hard to follow me. "I see it," she says at last with confidence. "What else is there?" she asks eagerly.

I have to say that I am probably the last person who ought to be teaching a lesson on astronomy, but I can pick out most of the easier constellations, and her enthusiasm is contagious. They teach us a handful at school, and my father had shown me more when I was young. And then there's all the time I've spent here staring at the night sky, while I just wanted to be alone. And in this moment, I'm glad I am not. "There's all kinds of things," I say. "Here, look, above the bear's body, there's a line in an S." I trace the pattern with one finger. "All the way over to… there. That's the Snake. See? His head is the diamond."

"There?" she asks, pointing to something that I am fairly certain does not belong to any constellation, much less the one I'm actually trying to show her.

"No. I don't think you followed the line far enough."

"There? Because that doesn't look like –"

"Because it isn't," I say. "Madge, you need to look where I'm pointing."

….

Gale steps forward and takes me by the shoulders, spins me around and pulls me back toward him. To my everlasting disappointment, there is absolutely nothing romantic about the way he does this. His actions are borne of frustration, though at least he is gentle when he touches me. He reaches one arm skyward over my right shoulder, just to the side of my face so I can better judge the angle and direction. "Here," he says with forced patience as he indicates the pattern that he wants me to see. It doesn't do much good; the stars above us swirl dizzyingly because the only thing that draws my focus is the warmth of him close to me, the weight of his hand on my shoulder.

"I see it now," I lie. The moon could fall out of the sky right this very second and I'd probably miss the whole thing.

His hand disappears from my view, his fingers slip off my shoulder, and I feel him step away from me. Say something, I think furiously. Even if it didn't mean anything, having him so close to me was exhilarating. "Show me the other ones," I say.

"Sit down first," he answers, "you're looking a little wobbly. It's hard to look straight up for so long while you're standing. I don't want to explain what happened if you fall over and break something."

Looking at the sky doesn't have a damn thing to do with it, I think privately while I hope the dim light hides the blush that warms my face. I toss my notebook in the grass and sit down, expecting him to choose a spot as far from me as possible. Gale waits until I am settled, and sits next to me instead, close enough to almost touch, but not quite. "Okay," he says, "if you look up above the Bear, kind of inside the arc of the Snake, that's the Little Bear. See it? It's the same but smaller, and upside down."

I try hard to find what he is pointing at again; as near as I can tell, there are Snakes all over the sky, so the specific one to which he refers doesn't give me any frame of reference. It takes me a minute, but I get there. Or at least I think I do. "It looks like a raccoon to me," I comment.

He looks at me, then upward again, back at me. He seems vaguely surprised by this.

I suspect that I know what he is thinking. "Yes, Gale, I know what a raccoon is."

"I… didn't say that," he offers diplomatically. "I just… I guess you're right. It kind of does look more like a raccoon." Then he surprises me entirely by shifting onto one hip and leaning toward me, just behind my shoulder again, close enough that I feel his warmth at my back. I try to remind myself to breathe as he points out a Hawk, a Goose, a King, his voice low and soft in my ear. Then he describes an Archer and it makes me smile.

"Like Katniss," I say. Perhaps it's a good omen.

I sense him tense a bit behind me, uneasy with the memories and worry it must have stirred in him. "Yeah." He pauses for a moment. "You can only see it this time of year."

Horrified that I may have destroyed this perfect moment, and worse caused him undue pain, I try to change the subject a little. "What can you see in the other seasons?" Surely he does not want to go back to dwelling on the Games. That is, after all, the reason we're here.

"Some you can see all year. But a few months ago, there was a Lion and a Girl. Soon, in the fall, you'll be able to see the Horse. In the winter, a Rabbit, and…" he stops as if thinking hard about it, then finishes slowly, "a Hunter, and a Princess."

Something about the way he says this quickens my pulse. I crane my neck to look at him, and my breath catches in my throat as I see how close he actually is to me; the end of my nose nearly brushes his cheek. I force myself to speak, hoping to keep him from noticing that I'm suddenly even more flustered than before. "How can you see all that up there?" I manage. "It's beautiful, but all I can see is a mess of stars."

I feel him shrug, and though he doesn't look at me directly, he does not withdraw. Could he be enjoying this closeness? "Practice. Some of them are still hard for me to find. You sit here and watch the stars come out enough times, it gets easier. I come here all the time. You know, to get away from everything."

I let my head fall to one side as I study him carefully for a few seconds, and begin to think that I understand him a little more. "This is your music," I say. When his silver gaze settles on me curiously, I explain. "This for you is what my piano is for me, I think. Lock the world in a box for a while so there's just… this."

He considers this for a few seconds, then nods slowly. "This is my music." Somehow, I understand this to be an intimate revelation. I find that I am suddenly afraid to speak, to move, afraid that I might inspire him to leave, vanish into the shadows here that suit him so well. I am amazed that such a powerful and aloof creature would alight here with me and remain, unhooded and unjessed. More than anything I want to continue to keep him near. Nearer, even; one less inch between us and…. God, how can I crave something I've never even had?

He smiles faintly and leans back, but not to get away from me, more to look up at the blanket of stars above us again. So I do the same, and stop asking questions for now I so can just enjoy the view, and the night sounds, and the company. After a few minutes I hear him laugh quietly and at once I am intensely self conscious that his eyes are upon me again.

"What?" I ask.

"You're finally beginning to stop thinking so damn hard about it." He folds his arms behind his head and lies back in the grass. "Quit trying so hard. Would you expect me to be able to learn to play the piano in a day?"

"No."

"So, just watch for a while."

I lean back and brace myself on both hands and try to take in the sky. He's right – the view is better when I'm not so worried about picking out the constellations that come so easily to him. But I still enjoyed it more when he was right at my side, making me forget to breathe. Such a beautiful distraction. I can't help but wonder at this new show of kindness, and even more at his openness with me (or at least what qualifies for openness with someone like Gale).

"Relax, Madge," I hear him say from beside me. "Your neck is going to hurt from sitting like that."

I've been sorely tempted to lie on my back like he did, because it's becoming uncomfortable to sit. And because he is there beside me. But the thought of lying completely down in the long grass in the dark, where any number of crawly things could be lurking, deterred me. But I'll be damned if I let him know that. So I take a deep breath and flop down next to him, reminding myself that I will probably never get this chance again. It turns out that it's worth it – when my shoulder brushes against his arm, I forget that there is anything out here but the two of us.

….

I am still surprised by the ease between us, her willingness to stay so close, my willingness to let her. After a few minutes, she snickers softly while she winds a long blade of grass around one finger and asks (because she's been dying to know) what I did to Bristel the other day. I describe the creative use of a bucket of water and a length of wire, which is admittedly not my most original work, but the results were especially satisfying. This makes her laugh, and I find that the sound of it makes me want to make her do it again. I remember how she smiled the day I had commented on her piano performance, so I ask if she has a song for this, the stars in the night sky, like she had a song for autumn. She bites her lip through a shy smile, as if I've somehow read her mind, and says that she actually has two or three. One hand pauses with the grass and her fingers dance in the air as if playing the notes.

The words between us become as comfortable as the silence. She asks after my family, and I give her a vague answer because I don't feel like thinking about Rory. Madge seems to sense that it's a sensitive subject, but she does not press and I deeply appreciate her intuition. Because she is kind enough to inquire about mine, I ask about her family and she is equally evasive. She remarks that she had often wished that she had a brother or sister, and that it's probably why she likes Posy so well. I remind her that I told her she could keep my sister, and the offer is still on the table; she swats my arm and tells me I'm awful, and we both laugh again.

At long last, after the lulls in our conversation become longer, she asks "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Well, you kind of forced the issue," I deadpan. But it's true. She earned it.

She shakes her head and smiles, and looks back up at the sky.

After a while I see her yawn, and then a little later her hands become still with the blade of grass. I don't disturb her until I see her eyelids become heavy, and I decide to get her to her feet before we both fall asleep and I end up with a lot of awkward explaining to do.

"Hey," I say quietly, "let's get you home before you completely nod off."

She sits up drowsily, rubs her eyes. "Yes. Because I'm close."

I take her hands and help pull her to her feet, and even though it takes her less than a second to steady herself I struggle to let go. I remind her to take her props (notebook and pen) just in case there are any questions when she gets home. Even though I set a leisurely pace, the walk back to town doesn't take nearly long enough. I want more time to take this all apart, to figure it out, see how she puts it back together.

When we reach her home, all its windows are dark. She got her wish, I think. And I am relived, because there will be no one greeting her at the door. Though it would have been significantly less awkward than if I had walked her back home at, say, dawn, it would still would have been uncomfortable explaining what I was doing here with her when she was supposed to have been doing homework and it is now past midnight.

She stops suddenly halfway up the garden path and turns to face me squarely. "Thank you for bringing me with you," she says. "I know you just wanted to get away from… everything on television today, but this was probably the nicest thing anybody's done for me in a long time."

I get the feeling that she is fishing for some clue as to how to act, on what to do with tonight. She wants to know how I put it back together. My eyes drift upward as if the right words for what is happening might appear in the sky. No luck.

I hesitate too long and she moves to walk away. But I don't want to let this get away from me, and before I can think about it I reach for her hand and pull her close. When she looks up at me her eyes are wide and expectant, her lips barely parted around a shallow, stunned breath. I lose myself a little, again, because it always happens that way, and I let my free hand come to the side of her face as I lean into her. My mouth just brushes her skin as I speak quietly into her ear. "Everything that happened today is why I left home, but it isn't the reason I came here." I rest my forehead against hers for a moment, and I feel her fingertips touch the back of my hand.

Then I step back from her, to put a little distance between us so I can think a little clearer. I don't want to be so close to pushing too far, to doing something that might make her think that she is only a distraction. She isn't just another pretty girl. Madge smiles faintly at me, so slight that I almost miss it, and it nearly pulls me back in. So I force myself to walk away. Because each time it gets more difficult.

As I head back to the Seam, I think of the twinge of resentment I felt at the memory of Katniss earlier, for interrupting something that was beginning to be uncomplicated. Although, I can't deny that the guilt isn't what it used to be. I'm glad that she's alive, relatively safe, has a good chance at coming home. Still, I've lost something along the way. But that doesn't mean I'm in the red.

Footnotes:

The constellations mentioned are real – I renamed them to match what I think people in District Twelve might call them colloquially. They are (in order of appearance in this chapter) Ursa Major, Draco, Ursa Minor, Aquila, Cygnus, Cepheus, Sagittarius, Leo, Virgo, Pegasus, Lepus, Orion, and Andromeda. The seasons with which they are associated are also real. Interestingly, Orion (the Hunter) and Andromeda (the Princess) can actually be seen at the same time during the winter. Orion and Sagittarius (the Archer) can never be seen at the same time. This is 100% fact; I'm not making this up.

And as an aside to PPerfect - Yep. :)

To clarify the analogy that Madge makes about Gale in the second part of her narration: "Unhooded and Unjessed" is a reference to falconry, and though she has likely never seen it, I imagine she has come across it in books, as she mentioned in previous chapters that she is well-read. In my mind, I liken Gale to a bird of prey. A hood is literally that – a hood placed over the bird's head to prevent distraction – and jesses are leather straps used to tether the bird's feet to the falconer's glove; even well-trained raptors are quite willfull, so if one sticks around of its own free will, it's a big deal.

And just in case the last line doesn't make sense, because "In the red" is an expression not heard very often anymore (at least I don't think so, where I'm from) – it means "in the negative."