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: Many thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.
And the stars burn out, pt 13
Unlike the Victors of the past few districts, Four's are easy for Madge to learn. They're Capitol darlings, constantly in the camera's lens.
The older ones are harder; their faces and bodies having lost their appeal as they began to sag and droop too far even for the almost magical surgeries at the Capitol's fingertips to correct. Still, there are more pictures of them, recordings and stories about them than all the people she's met before. Even if the images are old, she's still able to put names to faces.
One name though, is harder to place, even though it shouldn't be.
Annie Cresta.
Madge remembers the dark haired girl from the Seventieth Games and her Tour.
She'd seemed as put together and poised, if a little quieter, as any Career, but after watching her District partner get beheaded she'd come unglued.
The Annie Cresta that had won was a very different creature from the one that went in.
Screaming and crying, she'd been pulled from flood waters that had seemed almost orchestrated, looking nothing like a Career and even less like a Victor.
There'd been no ease about her, no joy at surviving, just a strangely disconnected look in her eyes and plastic smile as she'd sat, almost silently, through the review of her Games. When she'd come through District Twelve with her Tour, she'd been distracted, confused at times.
Now, having been in her place, Madge wonders if Annie Cresta had been drugged to keep her calm. It was the only way to account for the drastic change in her demeanor.
There's been no Annie Cresta since then, and it worries Madge. She's too near to what Madge feels she is, and what's happened to District Four's missing Victor may shed light on her own future.
When Madge takes the stage and sees Annie, hidden at the back of the rows of Victors, she reminds her of her mother. Sweet and broken, a kind of beautifully haunted spirit drifting through a world she was never meant to occupy.
Just like in the past few Districts, Madge is whisked away, any conversation being pushed back for later.
The beach is the first stop, where she's allowed to dip her toes in the surprisingly cold ocean causing one of the film crew to try to goad her into going for a swim.
Before she can answer, Mr. Abernathy gives the man a dirty look and snarls that she can't swim.
They visit a lobster farm, take a ride on a fishing boat she's told gathers shrimp, then goes to an oyster farm.
"A pearl for my little pearl," Mr. Abernathy whispers as he sneaks one of the iridescent little spheres into her hand, once they're too far away for her to slip it back into the pile he'd stolen it from.
When they finally get back to Mayor Seychelle's house for the dinner, she's so preoccupied with wondering what will happen if the pearl farmers notice they're short by one that she doesn't notice someone coming up behind her.
"You should try the crab legs," a soft voice tells her, delicate pink nails pointing to something that looks horribly like giant red spider legs.
Choking down bile at the thought of trying to eat one of the horrible things, Madge turns to the voice with her now well practiced smile tacked in place.
Standing behind her, eyebrows knitted together in thought, is Annie Cresta.
Unlike the other young Victors in Four, she's dressed modestly, one of the straps slipping off her shoulder, and her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, several strands loose and hanging limply around her face. If Madge didn't already know, she would never guess she was anything special.
She stares at Madge for a minute before her gaze drifts to the table as she reaches past her and grabs up what Madge now knows is a shrimp.
"I love shrimp," she says to no one in particular.
"Oh," is all Madge manages at that.
She's quiet again for a few seconds while she eats, before she sighs.
"I remember you," she finally says as she studies the strange little nub from the shrimp. "You were smaller though."
Her hand hovers out in front of her, approximating twelve year old Madge's height.
Madge almost laughs, but keeps it down. "People tend to grow."
Lips twitching, Annie nods. "They do."
Her eyes focus more, become less distant, and she gives Madge a genuine smile.
"I'm glad you won," she tells her. "You remind me of Finnick."
Involuntarily, Madge's eyes cut to the bronze haired handsome man flirting and laughing with several garishly dressed women that have come in from the Capitol for Madge's Tour.
How she's like him she isn't sure, and she's fairly certain she doesn't want to know.
Annie must sense Madge's confusion, because she laughs, soft and musical.
"You're sweet. So is Finnick." She glances over at Finnick Odair, now hanging all over a woman at least twice his age, before looking back to Madge. Her eyes have lost some of their brightness. "Not everything is what you see." She shakes her head. "I mean, what you see...it isn't everything. There's-you know that, don't you?"
There's an edge of desperation in her voice and her eyes are too wide, terrified that Madge won't understand her.
Glancing back to Odair, Madge frowns.
As much as she's part of the game, so is he. She just needs to see where his moves begin and the real Finnick Odair ends.
His smile is forced, his laughter lifeless, and his caresses cool. Whatever his place in this game, he didn't choose it, and he certainly doesn't enjoy it. Madge wonders how she missed it before.
One of the women laughing with him runs her talon like nail along his forearm, her plastic features pulling back into a feral smile as her eyes flick up and down his body.
Madge's insides twist, and before the woman's hand drops down to Odair's waist she jerks her eyes back to Annie.
Annie isn't looking at her though.
She's frozen, her gaze focused on the scene playing out across the room and her expression downcast.
Finally, she glances back to Madge, giving her a sad half smile before her eyes drop to her shoes.
"Not even close to everything."
Even though Annie isn't looking, Madge nods. She understands.
Tugging at her ponytail, Annie laughs again, but this time it's a strange, unnatural thing.
Her eyes close and her nose scrunches up and she mutters something to herself before abruptly looking back up at Madge.
"I have to go."
She looks around distractedly for a moment, chewing her lip before grabbing another shrimp and rushing away, through the back hall and into the kitchen.
Uncertain what just happened, Madge looks back toward Odair.
The women no longer have his undivided attention. His dazzling smile has slipped some and his eyes are clearly not focused on his companions, and if Madge were to guess, she'd say he had been watching her and Annie out the corner of his eye.
For half a breath his eyes drift to Madge, lock with hers.
It's a strange kind of hopelessness trapped in him. He's just as broken as Annie, just as lost as Madge's mother, but he's burying it, hiding it so much better than either of them ever could.
Just as quickly as it happens, the moment is past and Odair is back to flirting and laughing, as if he'd never even noticed Madge or Annie.
"Doing okay, kiddo?"
Letting her expression ease out of the painful smile and into something genuine, Madge nods.
Mr. Abernathy jerks his head toward the hall where Annie had disappeared.
"Have a good little chat?"
Again, Madge nods. "She seems…nice."
His bushy eyebrows jerk up and he snatches one of the shrimp from the table. "She's a good girl. Little," he makes a vague gesture with the shrimp, "but sweet."
Shrugging, Madge eyes the shrimp warily before looking back down at the red spider legs. "I like her." Her nose wrinkles up. "She doesn't go to the Capitol though, does she?"
He takes a long breath, letting it out slowly.
"No," he glances toward Odair, so quick Madge almost misses it, "she doesn't."
Instead of asking why, Madge just turns back toward Odair, now arm and arm with the women.
Whatever keeps Annie from the Capitol, in plain clothes and simple makeup, is his doing. He's more than he seems, more than she sees.
Maybe Madge can find a way to be more than she seems too.
#######
"I trust my daughter's judgment," the Mayor, or Daniel as he insists Gale call him, says as he pours himself and then Gale a glass of some amber drink he keeps locked in a cabinet in his office. "It got her through the Games, after all."
Accepting the glass, Gale nods. He still isn't sure about the man's parenting decisions, but since it means he isn't going to be dragged away by Peacekeepers, he's okay with it.
Gale had come by the past few days to see Matilda, something that seems to delight her to no end.
"I made you some candy for your brothers and sister," she told him the second day, after she'd asked him endless questions the day before about his home life.
She's sweet, despite being more than a little odd. Her sentences seem to trail off along with her train of thought and she's dissolved into tears more than once while watching Madge wave to the crowds on the television, but Gale likes her.
"She's...interesting," he'd answered the Mayor, when he'd asked Gale how he'd enjoyed watching the tour recap with his wife.
"Haymitch calls her 'whimsical'," Daniel told him. "She is what she is."
Now, after watching Madge's last stop before the Capitol, Gale finds himself sitting in the Mayor's office, just as he had when Madge had won her Games. The feeling in the room isn't the same though. It isn't quite relaxed, but that strange uncertainty seems thinner than it had that day, and Gale takes that as a hopeful sign. If the Mayor can smile and sip Capitol liquor then things might not be so grim.
"She doesn't trust herself though," Gale mutters, mostly to himself, before cautiously tasting the drink.
"She's finding her way. It takes time." Daniel settles into his seat across the desk from Gale.
"I'm not very good at being patient," Gale admits. Another reason he'd never survive in the world Madge has found herself in.
He'd never be able to smile for those people, hold his tongue, make them happy while he was falling apart inside and terrified any wrong move might mean doom for everyone he loves. She's navigating her new lot in life with an unnatural amount of grace, and he's not sure if that's a good or a bad thing.
Daniel swirls his drink around before leveling Gale in a steady gaze.
"You'll learn it."
Gale isn't so sure, but nods anyway. He supposes he'll have to.
A few silent minutes slip by, the clock on the wall ticking off each second before Daniel downs the last of his glass and smile curiously at Gale.
"When you were here last time, when Magdalene won, I thought you'd only come for-what do they call it?-emotional support. For Katniss." He tilts his head. "I didn't get the impression you and my daughter were necessarily friends outside of her buying strawberries."
Eyes dropping to his own glass, Gale stays silent.
He hadn't been friends with Madge, but he hadn't been there to support Katniss either. There doesn't seem to be a good way to tell him that his presence had been wholly selfish though, that he'd come to make sure Madge survived out of the desire to make himself feel better. Instead of saying anything, Gale just shrugs.
A few more minutes tick by as both Gale and Madge's dad sit, neither seeming to really want to fill the void between them.
Finally though, Gale sighs.
"She told me to stay away." He glances up. "Right before she left for the Tour."
He isn't sure why he's telling Madge's dad. It seems outwardly like a stupid move.
If Madge had told Gale to stay away, then that's what he should do, that's what she wants, and that's what Daniel should say.
The Mayor has been anything but a typical, predictable father though. He's much more even tempered and reasonable about his daughter than Gale could ever be, and he knows that he'll give him fair advice.
Glancing around, Daniel stands and gestures for Gale to follow him as he heads out of the room.
They cut down the hall, the stairs, then out the back door and onto the porch.
Pulling out a pair of cigars, Daniel offers one to Gale.
Cautiously, Gale takes it.
After it's lit and the Mayor has puffed his a few times, Gale takes an uncertain draw before dissolving into a fit of coughs.
Clapping him on the back, Daniel smiles as Gale catches his breath.
Finally, he sighs.
"She must care a great deal about you." He smiles sadly. "Victors' lives are turbulent. She's trying to save you from that."
Gale makes a frustrated noise, glaring at his cigar.
"I don't need saving." He can take care of himself. He's been doing a fine job of it so far.
"What about your family?" Daniel asks. "Are you prepared to risk their security?"
"I trust Madge." Gale grits his teeth. "Don't you?"
And if not then he should. She's his daughter. He should have a little faith in her; know she's going to do everything perfectly. She'll never be a liability.
"I have to." He grins. "You don't."
Biting his tongue, Gale fights off the urge to snap that it doesn't matter. He trusts her. Madge won't fail, and her dad knows that.
"Madge won't screw up."
A cool, lonely wind rustles the few last leaves on the ancient tree in the backyard, sending a shiver up Gale's back as he waits for the Mayor to say something.
Feeling eyes on him, Gale turns to the Mayor.
He's squinting a little, studying Gale for a long moment before his lips curve up just a fraction.
"You're a very brave young man," he finally says.
Gale feels a 'but' coming and snorts. "I'm being an idiot though, right?"
A little chuckle rumbles through the Mayor's chest.
"Perhaps," he smiles, "but I'm glad you are. Madge has lost so much, she deserves someone to stand by her."
Nodding dumbly, feeling something close to hope aching in his chest, Gale takes a deep breath.
"So I-so you think I should fight for her?"
The smile slips a little as the Mayor sighs.
"I want my daughter to be happy. If you make her happy, and I think you do, then you are what I want for her," he says simply. "That's not in your best interest though, the danger that comes with a Victor."
"I'm not afraid," Gale tells him, hoping that puts his doubts to rest.
He won't abandon Madge. Even if his place in her life is reduced to nothing more than selling her strawberries on her back porch, he'll take it. He loves her.
Another weak smile finds its way onto the Mayor's face.
"I'm glad." His eyes turn back out and up to the sky. "But maybe you should be."
#######
Madge stares at the mirror across from her.
The girl reflected back has diamond dust across her cheeks and eyes, her lips shimmer, and with each turn of her head the elaborate clips keeping her hair piled high catch in the dim pink light of the dressing room. Her expression is distant, frozen, and her eyes are empty.
She isn't Madge, yet she is.
Swallowing down bile, Madge blinks back tears. This is her.
The last few days of the Tour, through Three, Two, and One, she'd still been allowed to be simple, 'classically beautiful' as Portia put it. Cocktail dresses and relatively light make up. Now though, in the Capitol, there can be none of that.
Diamonds are her trademark, so diamonds she shall be drenched in.
Wrinkling her nose, just to force some kind of expression onto her face, make sure none of the make up her prep team had layered her in really has paralyzed her features, Madge sighs.
The vision in the mirror is perfection. If only Lucius could cover the blemishes inside Madge as easily as he had the one's on her.
She reminds herself of the dolls Mr. Abernathy had brought her from the Capitol when she'd been small.
The first had thick dark hair, gray eyes that opened and closed, pastel dress made of silk with lace trim, and an impish grin. Madge named her Savannah, after a city she'd found in one of her father's old books of maps.
Savannah had been her favorite doll. She was beautiful and realistic, not like so many of her other babies.
Madge dragged Savannah everywhere. Tea parties, hiding in the curtains, dancing in her father's office, planting with Poppa...
Unfortunately, Savannah was also fragile. It had only taken one drop down the stairs to crack her porcelain face so badly that no amount of glue could truly ever fix her.
The next year Mr. Abernathy had brought her another doll to replace Savannah, this time with blonde hair, vacant blue eyes, and a sad little smile.
"What're you gonna name this one, sweetheart?" He'd asked as he handed her the doll.
Thinking of the maps, all the names dotted on them of places that no longer exist, Madge had smoothed the doll's pale hair down.
"Charlotte."
She'd kept Charlotte in her room, never took her out to play, never had any adventures with her.
Charlotte was seen and never touched, but that was the only way she stayed whole.
Staring at her own porcelain face, Madge wonders if she'll be allowed to stay on the shelf like Charlotte or be played with too roughly like Savannah, only to be broken beyond repair.
Shaking the thought away, Madge stands and smooths out her gown.
Like her skin and hair, it shimmers and shines, reflects any little bit of light it catches.
She's a human diamond. Pressure and heat have turned the coal lump from Twelve into something worth looking at, or so the Capitol thinks.
Slowly, she lets out a long breath, focusing on the rose and blush colored scarves draped artfully across the ceiling, tiny twinkling lights hidden among them like stars trapped in a cloud of dainty perfume. The trapped lights wash the room in a strange muted light, hazy, like a dream. Or a nightmare.
"Ready for your big debut?"
Madge almost trips over the flowing end of her gown as she spins to find who had snuck in without her noticing.
Standing in the corner, looking as though she's been dipped in the clear deep blue of an early evening sky, is Miss Alameda.
Her lips are turned up in what Madge supposes the woman must think is a kind smile, but it only serves to put Madge on edge.
She hadn't seen her during the party, when Madge had been paraded around and introduced to dozens of people, but somehow she'd known she was there. She's her shadow now.
"Can I help you?" Madge asks, trying to keep her voice even and only just barely managing to succeed.
Miss Alameda steps out of the shadow, picking up one of the brushes littered across the dressing table, toying with the end as she watches Madge.
"Just seeing how you were enjoying the accommodations." She waves the brush outward, gesturing to the club they're in, The Oyster, that had been chosen as the place for Madge's first official concert. "I pride myself on how comfortable my guests are."
Madge frowns. "Your guests?"
Dropping onto one of the squishy chairs against the wall, Miss Alameda nods. "My club."
"Your club?" Madge glances around. "I don't understand."
Waving the brush again, Miss Alameda raises her eyebrows. "This is my club. I'm the lead chef."
Blinking and feeling wrong-footed, Madge shakes her head. "How?"
Tossing the brush back onto the table, Miss Alameda leans over and begins adjusting her hair. "It's my so-called 'talent'. I'm a decent cook."
Staying silent, Miss Alameda retwirls one of her sapphire locks and taps a little blush onto her cheeks before she turns her attention back to Madge.
"Don't believe me?"
Madge considers it for a minute, then sighs. "Why not."
Nothing makes sense, why shouldn't the strange girl with the wicked grin be a chef? It seems as likely as anything else.
Taking a cautious step forward, Madge bites her lip before setting back down, her posture stiff as she considers all the questions fighting to get out her mouth.
"Well, if you aren't going to tell me how you like things, constructive criticism and the like, I've got a dinner to oversee. Have a good show tonight, Magdalene. Break a leg."
She starts to walk off, back to parts unknown, leaving Madge with all her questions lingering, and she can't stand another minute without answers.
"Is Cecelia right?" Madge asks before the sensible part of her mind can stop her. "Does it not make a difference if we're alone or not?"
It's the question that's been haunting her, tormenting her as she tries to sleep at night.
Can she have people in her life? Does she have to be an island or can she have Gale?
"Of course it makes a difference," Miss Alameda snaps. "Cecelia is the exception, not the rule. Have you not noticed she's the only Victor you've run into with a spouse and kids?"
Madge opens her mouth, but before whatever half formed thought hanging there dies as Miss Alameda rambles on.
"I told her not to mess with your head. A little hope is enough to undo nations, but no one ever listens to me." She glares at the floor as though it too has ignored her warnings.
"Maybe I can be an exception too-"
"Don't," Miss Alameda cuts her off, her eyes wide, wary, "don't set yourself up for that kind of pain, Madgie. Cecelia only thinks she's outplayed them, but she hasn't."
She's being genuine, Madge can sense that, but she also feels fear radiating off her, and fear is a blinding force. Madge wonders, hopes, fear has been blinding her to possibilities.
Cecelia's life may be far from perfect, but she has a life. Whatever strange situation exists around Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta, however tragic it feels, Madge knows that they'd make their choices again if it meant they could stay together.
"We belong to the Capitol, Madgie. From the moment we win until the seas dry up and the stars burn out. Forever."
"But what if she's right?"
"What if she's not?" Miss Alameda looks more tired than angry, almost defeated, as if she's had this same conversation a thousand times. "Can you really risk that boy's life, his family's lives, on the off chance you'll get lucky like Cecelia?"
She pauses for half a breath before shaking her blue head.
"And who says Cecelia's not going to pay for her happiness? Those kids are adored by the Capitol, what happens when they stop being cute and start being desirable? They'll be turned into the Glaives or the Pantinas. They'll take her one good thing and warp it, make her descendants twisted little Capitolites and there won't be thing she can do to stop it."
Madge feels tears begin forming in her eyes and tries to blink them away, but only succeeds in sends them down her cheeks.
"I just..." She swats the tears away, there's no time for them. "I need him."
She only feels like she's not going to crack into a thousand pieces when he's around. Her parents and Mr. Abernathy are trying so hard to help her, but Gale is the only one she feels even the tiniest bit at ease with.
Maybe it's because he's disconnected from the Madge that existed before. He only knew a shadow that paid for strawberries and occasionally snapped back at his biting words. He's the only one who she doesn't feel is still looking for who she was, the only one that can see who she's become.
Maybe she's just desperate for someone to love her.
Either way, her heart can't take being on its own.
It's selfish and she knows it, to put his life and his family's in danger, but if Gale doesn't care, why should she? If he believes in her, why can't she?
Resignation settles over Miss Alameda's face as she nods, stands and shakes out the wrinkles in her shimmering blue skirt, reminding Madge of the midnight sky she'd searched for constellations in with her father.
"You don't, but...I understand." A rueful smile plays at her lips. "And maybe Cecelia is right. Besides, even if you keep everyone at arm's length, people still manage to slither their way in. There's always gonna be a way to hurt you." She shrugs. "Look at me, look at Wiress."
Madge frowns, not really understanding, but Miss Alameda just smiles weakly and waves the words off. "Another story for another time."
A soft knock echoes through the door, interrupting them.
"'Bout ready, Pearl?" Mr. Abernathy asks, his voice muffled by the wood and the distant sound of voices laughing and yelling in the main part of the building.
Dark eyes flickering to the door, Miss Alameda gestures to it. "Your public awaits, and if you don't go soon that shrew Trinket will come for you."
Madge starts to tell her to be nice, Ms. Trinket isn't so bad, but she's already vanished back into the corner, absorbed into the shadows and gone.
The door opens noiselessly and in steps Mr. Abernathy, white pinstriped suit carefully pressed to make the best impression.
He's trying so hard to keep her safe and she doesn't deserve it.
"Ready for this, kid?"
She isn't, but she never really will be.
Carefully, she crosses the room, trying not to step on the hem of her gown, stopping in front of him and reaching out to straighten his tie. He must've pulled at it, because Portia never would've let him do it himself and it's a little lopsided.
Fixing the knot, she smooths the vest a little before forcing a smile for him.
"Let's go."
There's no point dragging her feet anymore.
The lines on his face get more pronounced as he gives her a tiny smile before leaning in and kissing her forehead.
"You're gonna do great," he whispers. "You're gonna be okay."
She doesn't think she will be, she's been past 'okay' for months now, but he needs his hope, even if it won't do him any good.
So she nods, stands on her toes and presses a kiss to his abnormally smooth cheek.
She misses the scruffy Mr. Abernathy, and wonders how long it will be before his perpetual five-o'clock shadow reappears.
Her mind suddenly wonders if they'd make Gale shave smooth like Mr. Abernathy. He's so handsome with his stubble...
Ignoring that thought, Madge links her arm in his and let's him lead her out.
Her audience is waiting after all.
#######
Gale gives the television a hard smack with his palm to clear the picture.
A storm had blown in, burying some parts of the district in several feet of heavy snow. It was just bad enough that they'd closed the mines, which meant Gale could watch Madge's day in the Capitol live.
Unfortunately the feed went down for a few hours, then the electricity, that had been surprisingly consistent at least for the first viewings, went out. A tree had fallen on a line apparently.
The sun was already down when the lights finally flickered on and the tv came to life, fuzzy screen and all.
"Rory, sit there and hit that when it starts going south," Gale directs his brother.
Huffing, Rory scoots closer to the screen and shoots Gale an irritable look.
"Can't you just watch it later, like normal? Then you can jerk-" he cuts himself short of whatever filthy thing he'd planned to say when he spots Posy trotting over, rag doll in her arms. "Uh- then you can be a jerk by yourself."
Gale narrows his eyes, but decides to let it slide. He doesn't have time to deal with the idiot if he wants to take advantage of the tv and electricity all working.
Madge is already on stage, sparkling and smiling, waving to the crowd that's shown up to hear her play.
It's her first concert. They'd explained that she'd played for at each of the Districts, but it had always been after the cameras were off.
"But tonight her talent will be broadcast for all to see," Templesmith announces, looking entirely too thrilled for Gale's liking.
"Just gorgeous isn't she?" Flickerman half shouts over the flailing, screaming audience.
"Best dress yet!" A woman, the name under her face says 'Gilda Glaive', agrees as she bats her ridiculously long, gold dusted eyelashes at the camera and keeps her smile frozen on her face. "Truly a vision. Just like my new hair care line!"
She goes off on a rant, rambling about some stupid product to fight gray hair and give volume to lifeless locks, and Gale instantly tunes her out. He's watching for Madge, not some stupid shampoo he doesn't need and couldn't afford anyway.
Finally, the woman finishes her advertising and the camera sweeps back to Madge, already seated at the piano.
It's enormous, makes her look even tinier than she is as she opens the golden book filled with music and gently places her fingers on her the keys.
Gale tries to imagine her sitting in her house, at the old wooden piano her dad had brought up for her. She'd been tense every time she'd played, worried about every mistake, no matter how small or unnoticeable.
Despite the smile, the perfect facade her stylist has painted in her, Gale can see her anxiety. It's coming off her in waves, drowning her, and he doesn't know how the Capitol can't see that they're crushing her.
He shakes his head. Even if they see, they don't care. She's theirs to destroy. In their minds, they're entitled to her tears and her worry if it keeps them entertained.
She takes a breath and Gale can feel her preparing herself, her heart beating, as she plays the first few notes.
Despite the fact that she's terrified, her music is perfect, almost, almost happy.
It's not as soulful as when she's at home, there's something distant, clinical about the music that comes from the Capitol's fancy piano, but they don't care. It's for them, and that's all that matters to them.
Posy leans in, eyes wide as she takes in every detail before she sighs. "She's so prettiful."
Vick makes a tutting noise. "That's not a word, Pose."
"Is so."
"Is not."
"Is so!"
"No, it's not." Vick looks over from his spot by the couch at their mom. "Tell her, mom."
Whether or not it is or isn't, Gale doesn't care. They're just distracting him from the only pleasant part of the day he's had so far.
"Vick," Gale hears his mom say softly from the table where she's folding laundry for one of the families in town, "it doesn't matter if it's real or not."
Gale grunts his agreement and crosses his arms, ignoring his siblings as they continue to argue over language and proper words.
Madge's little concert lasts for several hours, drags through several encores that's Gale can see wear her out, but she plays on. The choice isn't hers.
When it finally ends, Madge blowing kisses and waving tearful at the crowd, real tears of exhaustion, not of disappointment that she can't carry on as Flickerman suggests, the electricity fails again.
"Aw!" Posy whines. "Can't she play more?"
"No Posy. Poor girl's hands are going to fall off," Gale's mom tells her.
"Wish her dress would fall off," Rory mutters as they get through the door to their bedroom.
Gale's halfway to smacking him on the back of the head, but Vick trips him instead.
"What was that for?" Rory grumbles as he rubs his knees. "You'd like it too."
"She'd be embarrassed. I don't want her embarrassed," Vick points out.
Gale rolls his eyes. This from the boy that only days before had been marveling at Madge's plunging necklines.
Still, being in pretty dresses, even somewhat revealing ones, is better than being naked.
Maybe Vick's mind isn't as confused as Gale sometimes thinks it is.
Closing his eye, Gale pictures Madge at her piano, this time playing for him and not the mad crowd.
As quickly as the image forms he opens his eyes and scolds himself.
He's no better than them, taking her choices away.
She wants to keep him safe, that's her choice, and he's stubbornly trying to undermine that. One more person telling her what to do, even if he's sure it's hurting her.
Her dad may be right, Gale might make her happy, but he's also adding to her anxiety. Just another of a long line of people chipping away at her mind, making her fear of failure more real.
Dinner souring in stomach, Gale rolls over and buries his face in his pillow.
No matter how much it kills him, no matter how certain he is that it isn't what she really wants, he isn't going to take the choice to protect him from her. It's probably the only thing he'll ever be able to give her.
Turning his head, he can see snow still falling outside the window and hears the wind howl, rattling the house and making the already cold air that much icier.
Closing his eyes, he forces himself not to think of Madge.
He isn't afraid, but she is.
He has to let her go. It's her decision to make, and he has to let her.