Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
AN: Again, thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.
And the stars burn out, pt 6
Sleet clicks, bounces off the windows, and the wind howls loudly, sending a shiver up Madge's back.
Gale is out in this cold, stuck in the mines and that twists her insides. She has enough money, he shouldn't have to work. If there were any measure of fairness to her victory, no one she cares about should have to be in danger.
That's not how it works though. Madge's concern, her love, brings danger.
Pulling the quilt closer around her shoulder, she squints into the swirling white out the window and watches the heavily coated person in her backyard as they stack wood in their arms and battle their way back to the pouch, nearly blowing over in a strong gust as they ascend the steps.
Madge opens the back door and the figure stumbles in, bringing slush and cold wind with him as he curses loudly.
"Give me some of that, Mr. Abernathy," Madge tells him, trying to take a few of the logs from his arms.
He tries to protest, but his teeth have started chattering too badly and she easily gathers up several small logs and carries them away.
She stacks them in the back room, in the corner for future use in the crackling fire, before hurrying back to him.
The logs Madge hadn't taken he's stacked by the door while he shivers and roughly takes his coat off and tries vainly to kick off his muddy boots.
"Damn cold," he grumbles.
Madge simply sighs and begins helping him undo the buttons on his coat that his numb fingers can't seem to manage.
"I could've gotten that myself," she tells him softly.
It's not entirely a lie. She could've gotten the wood herself. She wouldn't have, but she could have. He should let her freeze.
His only response is a grunt of disapproval before he drops into one of the chairs by the kitchen table and finishes pulling his boots off.
Dropping back to the little kitchen island, Madge pours them both steaming mugs of some milk and chocolate concoction her mother had come up with before going back to the table and setting his in front of him.
"Thanks, sweetheart."
They sit in silence, sipping the chocolate while the storm rages outside.
Madge knows she needs to ask him what's waiting for her when her Victory Tour rolls around in a few short weeks, but she can't make herself. Ignorance isn't bliss, but it's better than a dreaded certainty, and as much as she desperately needs to know, she just as desperately doesn't want to know.
He hasn't brought it up either, which she takes to mean he isn't any more eager to discuss it than she is. Probably because he knows what she can only guess at, that her reprieve from the Capitol is only temporary and she'll soon be at their beck and call for all kinds of awful things. This lull is only meant to increase their appetite for her.
Her stomach tightens as her mind begins forming all kinds of horrible fates for her, and as terrible as the futures she imagines are, she knows none of them will even come close to the reality.
After a few minutes, Mr. Abernathy upturns his mug, draining the last of the drink down before he gives Madge a tight smile.
"Let's get to your piano, kid."
Twisting the mug in her hands, Madge stares at the cooling chocolate and frowns.
Her piano. Her talent. The Victory Tour.
Suddenly her evening with Gale presses on her mind. Wondering if the Capitol will be cold, wondering if she'll slip up, wondering how much time her family has left...
Before she can think better of it, her mouth forms the question.
"What's going to happen on my Tour?"
She freezes, staring at him as his eyes narrow and flicker around the room.
Then her heart stops.
He's deciding if it's safe to talk.
The eyes she'd felt on her the past few months, the ears she'd been certain were listening, weren't figments of her imagination.
All the air sucks from her lungs as panic sets in.
They've been listening, watching, they know about Gale.
She suddenly feels so very, very stupid.
Of course they were keeping tabs on her. She was their newest toy and they'd want all the information they could about her. They'll need it to keep her in line.
The room begins to shrink, the air gets too thin, she can't breathe.
"Madge," she hears her name, she thinks it's Mr. Abernathy. It must be, but him calling her anything but 'Pearl' or 'sweetheart' only confuses her already muddled mind.
He's in front of her, his hands on her shoulders, talking to her, but she can't hear him. The edges of her vision begin to blur and darken, then the room blinks from sight.
#######
When she wakes it's on the couch, wrapped in a quilt.
She almost calls out for Gale, the moments before she'd passed out faded from her mind, but catches herself when she sees Mr. Abernathy at the fireplace, prodding the red hot ash with the poker.
Sitting up, she watches him for a moment, trying to remember just how she'd ended up on the couch, sifting around her sluggish mind for those last few seconds...
Then she remembers.
Cold dread, the knowledge that she'd been so monumentally stupid hits her.
Gale is in danger, and she's the cause of it. Madge and her failure to realize something so obvious had put him and his entire family in the crosshairs of the Capitol.
Her breathing speeds up again, but before she can work herself up again, Mr. Abernathy drops onto the couch beside her and begins smoothing down her hair.
"Calm down, sweetheart."
Head shaking, Madge just barely manages to speak.
"No, I can't," she stammers. "I can't. They're here. They're-I've put-They've seen so much!"
Taking her by the shoulders, Mr. Abernathy makes a harsh noise and gives her a stern look.
"It's alright. It's gonna be alright."
She shakes her head, but he keeps going.
"I'm serious. I told you already, I've taken care of-"
"Me," she strains. "I don't care about me, Mr. Abernathy. I'm worried for everyone else."
Gale, his family, Peeta, they'll all be used against her, and all because she hadn't been thinking.
Her family's home had always been under some level of supervision, but as long as they didn't speak their true feelings about the Capitol they were safe. Here, in the tomb the Capitol had put her in, even talking to her mother about something as trivial as her favorite food is a potential danger.
"They'll be fine," he reassures her, though he doesn't look wholly convinced himself.
Madge shakes her head. "They won't."
She's poison, and she's all but signed their death warrants. The Capitol has been spying on her and she's been too muddled, too blindly foolish, to realize it.
"They will." He takes her hands and gives them a squeeze. "I made sure of it."
Making a frustrated noise, Madge takes her hand back and presses her fingers to her eyes. When she takes them down, she gives him a wary look.
"How do you know?" She asks, her voice breaking.
She's dead tired of being in the dark. If she's going to survive this, he's going to have to trust her. This is her life, and she needs to know what he's done in her name if she has any hope of protecting her family and Gale's.
For a second he considers her, and she thinks he's planning on telling her not to worry about it, but then he sighs. Running a hand over his face, he tugs the sagging skin below his eyes before letting his gaze settle on her.
He shifts, settling back onto the couch, then gives her a small smile that's more of a grimace. "Alright."
#######
Gale picks at his dinner, poking at some of the vegetables.
They aren't bad, in fact, they're very good. Part of the shipment of extra rations the District received because Madge had won the Hunger Games.
Just like everyone else, Gale's family has been receiving extra food since her victory, but in the last few months the luxury has been no better than sand in his belly. It may be free for them, but it had been paid for in blood, and not just Madge's.
"Are you not going to eat that?" Rory asks, eyeing the small roll at the edge of Gale's plate that his mother had made with the extra grain.
Picking it up, Gale tosses it to him. He's hit a growth spurt, he probably needs it anyways.
His mother frowns at him, and he can tell she wants to ask him what's wrong, but keeps her questions to herself.
Posy chatters along, telling Gale about feeding Lady the goat with Prim while Vick and Rory discuss a game of kickball that they'd apparently lost. Gale only hears half of what they say. His mind is already in the Village with Madge.
While he's glad she's finally talking about the upcoming Tour, even if just a little, discussing it adds to his feeling of failure. She's going to be put back on display and he can't help her.
No, it isn't that she's going to be paraded around like some prize, it's what Madge confessed she believes is her actual fate.
"I think they sell them off," she'd told him softly, her cheek against his chest and her warm breath ghosting through his ratty undershirt. "They'll make modifications, make me more desirable, then sell me off to the highest bidder."
Gale had almost told her they didn't need to make modifications, she was plenty desirable just as she was, but stopped himself. It wasn't as comforting a sentiment as it should be, even if it was true.
"Maybe not." He tried to sound optimistic, but Alameda's words, her warnings that Victory was anything but winning, kept floating through his head. "I mean, there are plenty of Victors that don't make the news."
Plenty that aren't constantly shown with new companions, aren't always being shown exhibiting poor choices, aren't empty shells on the television.
Her fears had spurred him to make a trip to the library after work, a place he'd staunchly avoided most of his life, to try to ease both their minds.
After a tense conversation with the librarian, he'd found several books over the Games and Victors.
It had taken longer for the ancient librarian to find his name in her list of patrons, probably because he'd visited the library all of one time in his life, before his dad died, than it had for him to find the damn book.
He's only had a chance to skim through them since getting home, probably another reason for his lack of appetite. He'd rather be finding hope for Madge than eating.
"Gale?"
Looking up, he sees his mom frowning at him.
"Are you okay?"
He nods, forcing a smile.
She doesn't look convinced, the worry lines deepening on her face.
It isn't until Gale realizes that his siblings have left the table and that it's been cleared without his notice, that he realizes how preoccupied his mind really has been.
Sniffing, Gale scoops up the last of his vegetables and stuffs them in his mouth, chews a couple of times before swallowing them and washing them down with a gulp of icy water.
"I'm going to bed," he tells her, just like every night, so he can feign sleep until his family has all gone to bed as well.
Before he can get up and make his escape though, he feels a worn hand on his shoulder.
"Gale," his mom says softly, her eyebrows knitted together, "can we talk, just for a minute?"
His heart begins hammering in his chest, and for a second he wonders if she's going to confront him about sneaking off each night. That's not possible though, he's careful; no one knows how he spends his nights. He's sure of it.
Nodding tightly, already forming excuses for his late night disappearances, Gale settles back into his chair and waits for her to speak again.
Weathered hands reach over and cover his, giving them a squeeze as she smiles, a little sadly.
"Baby, I just feel like I never see you anymore," she tells him gently. "You go to bed so early and then you leave before I wake up, I just miss seeing you."
He misses seeing her too, but his mom isn't in immediate danger. With the extra rations, his hunting isn't life or death like it had been in the past, he can afford to put his attention on Madge. His family will be okay for the time being.
Still, he has been neglecting them, and he hates that. Even if he feels it's necessary.
"I'm sorry, mom," he mutters, tugging at his hair in frustration. "I'll try harder."
Even if the few hours of sleep he gets before heading up to Madge's are nice, he can forfeit them for his mom.
She shakes her head. "That's-Gale, you don't need to try harder. You're trying so hard already. I wish there were something more I could do though." Her lips droop and she suddenly looks much older, so tired. "You've been taking care of this family for too long. You lost your childhood and I wish you hadn't-"
"You didn't take that from me," he points out.
She sighs. "No, but I should've done more to protect you."
Gale snorts. What more could she have done? She had already been working her hands bloody and dead on her feet, and even after she had Posy she worked harder than almost anyone he knew. There was nothing more she could've possibly done.
Getting up, Gale pulls her from her seat and wraps her in a hug.
"You did all you could."
At least she'd kept her senses. Katniss' mom had some kind of breakdown, had barely been able to function. If any mother needed to apologize for failing her kids, it was her.
His mom tightens her arms around him and presses a kiss to his shoulder.
"I just wish you had time to go out and have time to yourself."
"I have time to myself on Sundays," he reminds her.
He has time in the woods with Katniss anyways, and that's as good as time to himself.
She pulls back, giving him a small smile. "I meant real time to yourself, not time supporting everyone else. Maybe meet someone, start planning for the future."
Frowning, Gale sighs.
For the longest time he'd thought his time in the woods was building to that future. Katniss was his partner, his equal, and he had figured that with time and patience, she'd see that too. All the girls at the slag heap or behind the school were just ways to pass the time until she realized they belonged together.
He'd never invested in the others because he knew where his future was, even if Katniss hadn't.
Now, all his plans are washed away.
Katniss is with Mellark, and while Gale might think he's a dope, she clearly likes the idiot. They're good for each other, and as much as it stings to admit it, he and Katniss would've been a disaster. There was too much fire in both of them. They'd have ended up burning each other to ash.
And, just like his mom is pointing out, he has no free time. He's either working, hunting, or with his family. What little time he might have is spent with Madge, not that his mom can or needs to know that.
Forcing a smile, he nods. "I will. Someday."
"Gale..."
"Mom," he cuts her off, "there's time for all that, just not now."
She doesn't look convinced, but she knows there's no arguing with him. His mind is set for the time being.
Smoothing down his hair, which he'd wildly scrubbed after work to rid it of as much coal dust as he could even though it would get a much more thorough washing at Madge's, she sighs.
"Just, don't get so focused on surviving that you forget to live."
Pulling her back into a hug, Gale kisses her cheek.
If he could, he'd tell her that he's living more now than he has since his dad died. Somehow Madge has become the brightest point in his day, even if she only occupies the darkest part of the night. Seeing her, sharing a small meal, going to sleep and waking up with her wrapped in his arms, is the closest to real happiness that he's had in years. Even if it's also miserable because at any minute the Capitol could finish crushing Madge's spirit.
All that's his burden to bear though.
"I will."
#######
Madge stares at the embers glowing in her fireplace.
She should stoke them, keep them from dying, but she can't find the energy to get up.
All her worst fears, that she's going to be sold off, used up and broken to the delight of the Capitol, all while having to smile, glitter, pretend to be happy are well founded.
"That's not going to happen to you though," he'd quickly reassured her. "I made sure of it."
"How?" She'd barely held back her tears. "How? What did you do?"
He'd just stared at her, and she'd almost been certain he was going to keep his silence, but he'd finally sighed, pressing his fingers to his eyes.
"Alright, sweetheart, just let me get my thoughts together."
Finally, he'd told her.
He'd made a deal, though he tried to be as vague as possible about the specifics.
The Victors were all given jobs, ways to earn their place in the Capitol, ways to pay back the hand that feeds them.
"They use us to keep each other in line," he'd explained. "You got some of us they play with, some he uses to spy with, and some he uses to kill with…"
Madge, he assured her, was going to be among the few that gathered information. Just like the person likely keeping tabs on her at that very moment.
"I don't know the specifics," he muttered. "It doesn't matter, that'll all get explained to you."
Apparently, that group had suffered several losses the past few years, something that didn't settle Madge's frayed nerves.
"All that matters is you'll be safe and so will 'Tilda and Danny."
"Unless I mess up."
"You won't," he promised. "You're my smart girl. Smarter than me, you'll win this game."
Madge had shifted uneasily. She didn't feel half as smart as him and Gale both seemed to think she was. If she were, she'd have realized she was living with the Capitol's eyes and ears on her.
"So...whoever is watching me for them is a friend?"
He'd huffed, his expression irritated. "I wouldn't call them a friend, more an accomplice."
After that he'd made her eat something and then practice, he was done explains things for the day.
That hadn't stifled Madge's thoughts though. Her mind was as active as ever, creating new scenarios of how she's going to fail everyone she cares about, each worse than the last.
It isn't until she hears someone shuffling around her kitchen that she comes out of her daze.
At first she thinks it's Gale, but then she shakes her head. He wouldn't come in without knocking and she's certain she locked the door when Mr. Abernathy left.
Panic hits her. Someone has broken into her house.
Mr. Abernathy had mentioned that he'd been robbed a few times in the past. Reckless, hungry people desperate for food and money.
While they'd most certainly find food, her mother keeps her well stocked, she has little use for money. Other than to pay Gale for the strawberries she doesn't eat that is, but it isn't the season for that.
She considers screaming, Mr. Abernathy would be there in a heartbeat, but stops herself. He'd want to have whoever it is arrested, might even go overboard, and she doesn't want that.
Whoever is clanking around in her kitchen has to be desperate, and she doesn't want to send someone already in dire straits into a worse situation.
Besides, she's a Victor, she should be able to protect herself. She'd killed before, why shouldn't she be able to scare one hungry robber?
Picking up the poker from beside the fireplace, she quietly tiptoes out of the back living area and through the hall, toward the kitchen.
Whoever they are, they've turned on the lights, and Madge can hear them opening and closing drawers, moving things around in search of something.
Madge edges up to the opening between the dining area and the kitchen, trying to steady her nerves. Something drops, clattering on the floor, and Madge hopes the intruder is distracted enough, because she hoists her poker and leaps into the kitchen.
"Get out of my kitchen!" She snarls, hoping all the anxiety and fear don't shake her voice.
She keeps the poker aloft, hoping it's intimidating enough, as she hears someone scoff from the other side of the kitchen island.
"You and Mr. Haymitch really take after one another don't you?"
The poker doesn't drop so much as an inch, though the expression on Madge's face falls when her unexpected guest pops up from behind the counter, fork in hand.
She's close to Madge's age, though there's something indefinable about her that makes her seem much older. Her hair is a mossy green, perfectly matched to her lipstick, eye shadow, and even her dress.
For a minute Madge stares at her, finally letting the poker drop, though she keeps it tightly gripped in her hands, as she tries to place the girl.
"You were on the roof, before my Games." She finally remembers.
The girl taps her nose and grins. "Good memory."
Without another word, the girl tosses the fork into the sink before pulling another from a drawer.
Reaching into the folds of her dress, she pulls out a little compact. It pops open and she checks her appearance for a moment before clicking it shut with a snap.
She turns, smiling serenely at Madge's confusion.
"Waiting on my fritter," she says, as though that explains anything.
Frowning, Madge takes a step forward just as one of the machines in the kitchen, one Madge hadn't really bothered to learn much about, dings happily.
Looking thrilled, the girl turns and opens the door on the machine and pulls out a plate with one of the apple fritters Peeta had brought out days before resting on it.
When it becomes clear she isn't going to explain anything, and aside from being strange she isn't a danger that Madge can see, Madge finishes her slow walk across the room and settles onto one of the bar stools across from her.
"Excuse me," Madge prods as the girl cuts into the fritter, "but, who are you, and what are you doing in my kitchen?"
Forkful of fritter halfway in her mouth, the girl freezes, her lips twitching up wickedly.
"Come on now, you're a clever girl, you should be able to figure this one out."
Bile rises in the back of Madge's throat. She should've never asked Mr. Abernathy about her fate. She'd spoken of the devil, and now it was in her kitchen, eating her food.
For all his efforts, Madge knows, right down to the center of her soul, that Mr. Abernathy has failed. She isn't going to be saved from the fate of most Victors. She's doomed.
"You're a Victor, you're here to tell me about my Tour." Madge hesitates. "And what comes after."
Putting her fork down, the girl's smile shrinks, becomes something edging on genuine. "I'm here to give you your options."
Madge frowns. "Options?" She looks down at her poker then back at the girl. "I have options?"
"There are always option. Whether or not any of them are appealing is another story."
She stuffs the fritter in her mouth and chews for a minute before swallowing, then holds out her hand.
"Phoebe Alameda, you can call me Birdy."
When Madge only stares at her, too stunned to speak, Miss Alameda pulls her hand back looking untroubled. Maybe she's used to people not being quite sure what to make of her.
"Now, I know Mr. Haymitch explained a little earlier-"
"You were listening?"
"Well of course I was," Miss Alameda waves her off. "Better me than someone else though, trust me."
While Madge isn't so sure about that, she keeps that reservation to herself.
"There are two," she holds up two fingers for emphasis, "options. You're pretty enough, with a few lifts and tucks, I'm sure you can guess what option number one is."
Madge nods, her stomach rolling. She does. To be sold off, like a piece of meat to pay back the favors the Capitol citizens had paid her during her Game. It's the only option she'd ever really been aware of until today, other than getting everyone she loves killed.
Though she's afraid to ask, she has to. Mr. Abernathy hadn't given her enough answers earlier and she has to know what future he wants for her.
"And...what's the other option?"
Green lips stretch, a grim expression as Miss Alameda lets out a long breath.
"The other option is to work, like your darling Mentor explained to you. Earn your keep. You'll scout out the Tributes, their families, their friends." She wrinkles her nose in dislike. "The other Victors will understand your choice, respect it, but they won't like you. You won't lose your body, but you'll lose something else."
Madge frowns down at her hands in her lap, picks at something on the poker. "Which did you choose?"
Miss Alameda shrugs. "The wrong one."
"Which is that?" She asks, even though she already knows the answer.
Green lips twitch up. "Oh honey, this is one of those times when there's no right one."