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 14
"I'm so glad you're home, love," Madge's mother sighs into her ear as she gives her a tight hug.
Pulling back, she gives one of the thick curls dangling around Madge's face a tug before smiling.
"You've looked so lovely on the television," she tells her, eyes tracing over the lace trim on the dress Madge picked for her homecoming. "Everyone thought so."
Madge is too pleased to be home, out from under the glare of the lights and flashing of the cameras, to ask just who 'everyone' is. Probably just her mother and father, possibly Mrs. Oberst, though her compliments would've been anything but genuine.
Instead of questioning it, Madge just nods a half-hearted agreement. Making her mother happy is one of the few things she can still do, and she won't give it up.
Glancing around her room, still frozen as it had been the day she'd been Reaped, Madge takes a breath.
The trip home, back to Twelve, hadn't come soon enough.
All the glitter, smoke and sickly sweet perfumes, combined with the stress of her concerts, had slowly made Madge ill. She'd spent the hours after her first performance curled around the toilet in her bathroom, losing everything she'd eaten since the beginning of the Tour onward into the Capitol's fancy commode.
"You did great," Mr. Abernathy assured her, holding her hair back and offering her a cool rag. "Perfect."
While she didn't think her performance was anywhere near 'perfect', all the major stations in the Capitol were fawning over her, and that could only be a good sign.
Somehow, though, that only added to her anxiety.
If they'd been kind, but not enthusiastic, it would have made her choice clear. Things would've been too precarious for her to even entertain the idea of letting Gale be a part of her life. They love her though, seem to absolutely adore her, and that complicates things.
It gives her too much hope.
Their adoration had prompted an extension of her stay. Two more nights, two more encore lengthened concerts in order to make sure all the art patrons of the Capitol were able to enjoy her.
Miss Alameda hadn't sought her out again, though Madge knows she was lurking in the shadows somewhere, and she hadn't seen any of the other Victors. The Capitol has been wholly hers to win or lose, and she'd survived, been victorious, again.
All the long ride home she'd sat in her room, clutching one of the overstuffed pillows to her chest as she turned every moment of the Tour over in her head, searching for failures.
There have to be some, she knows it.
Hope, first from Cecelia, then Annie, and strangely Miss Alameda, had taken root though, clouded her judgment.
Even though her mind, logical and far-sighted as ever, is telling her she's being foolish, the ache in her chest tells her different.
She's earned her happy ending. Why shouldn't she deserve to have a little peace?
"They sent out a team to cook your homecoming dinner," her father tells her as they finally leave the dusty sanctuary of her room and venture into the hallway.
Sniffing the air, Madge can smell the warm aroma of whatever meal they'd created in her honor, briefly wondering if they're from Miss Alameda's club before pushing the thought away. She doesn't want to think about it. She wants to pretend for just a few hours the past weeks were nothing but a strange, unpleasant dream and this is a regular dinner.
Mr. Abernathy is flopped down in the living room in one of the rigid old chairs facing the television, glaring at the program begin shown.
They're showing outtakes of Madge's Tour as an hour long special each day for the next week.
"It's just a way to milk the Games more," Mr. Abernathy had told her when Ms. Trinket had interrupted their breakfast the day before with the 'big, big, big news!' "They're using unaired footage just to sell commercial spots. Make more money."
Madge vaguely remembers occasionally seeing the specials before, with particularly popular Victors, but had always ignored them. They were loud, obnoxious things that only served to prolong the memory of the most recent Games, and since they weren't required viewing she'd always turned them off.
She'd like to do that now, actually.
Reaching for the control, she flicks the television off just as the Madge on the screen begins to take a sip of some dry wine in District Eleven.
"Let's just eat."
Despite the fact that this is officially the last stop on her Tour, the dinner is much smaller than any of the others.
There's no members of the press, no giggling admirers from the Capitol, no one to put on a show for, just her mother, father, and Mr. Abernathy.
"Guess they're getting ready for some designer's grand opening or show or some bullshit," Mr. Abernathy had explained when Madge had asked why the coverage of her return to her home District was being cut. Not that she minded.
"That's convenient," she'd pointed out, feeling more than a little suspicious that there was more to the timing of the exciting new clothing line than met the eye.
Mr. Abernathy only shrugged. "If it keeps the harpy out of my backyard I'm not asking questions."
Madge had only let out a long breath, unable to disagree with him. Ms. Trinket had been almost unbearable during the concert series, dragging Madge around to meet important people and introducing her as if she were her best friend. Despite her best efforts to remember that Ms. Trinket was on her side, Madge had found her behavior more and more grating with each passing moment.
Leaving District Twelve's escort to her personal invite to whatever noisy, glittery party she was so excited about was hardly a hardship when the time came to head home.
Settling down around the little table in the kitchen, letting the good china and silver sit unused on the big table in the dining room, Madge picks at the roast piled on her plate as she listens to her mother chatter on about all the things she's been up to since the beginning of the Tour.
"Eugenia said you looked like a trollop, your dresses were too low," she says as she absently pulls her roll apart. "I thought you looked beautiful though."
Mr. Abernathy grumbles something to himself about that before snatching one of the pieces of roll from Madge's mother's plate and chewing it irritably.
Her father asks her about the places she was allowed to visit, and both her parents listen intently as she describes the wineries in Eleven, the furniture factories in Seven, and the ocean in Four.
It's almost like one of the rare evenings they'd had when Madge was little, when she'd tell them about her lessons in school and her father would quiz her over things the history books left out.
There are no quizzes when she finishes describing the cacti in One though.
This isn't history she can learn. This is uncharted territory and her father is just as blind to the answers as she is.
When there's nothing left to talk about, they clear the table and while Madge and her mother clean the dishes, her father takes Mr. Abernathy onto the porch.
"I need to discuss something with him," he explains when Madge gives him a questioning look.
Madge scrubs the dishes, remembering just how angry Mrs. Oberst would always get when she'd find plates left in the sink overnight, while her mother dries and hums to herself.
"You should take some of the leftovers for Gale," she suddenly says, staring wide eyed at the plate of roast still piled high on a silver platter.
Turning, Madge stares at her, certain she'd hear her wrong. "What?"
Eyes still on the platter, her mother sighs. "He might want some for the little ones, too."
When Madge doesn't say anything, her mother looks at her vaguely.
"I mean for his brothers and sister. I don't think he has any children." Her nose wrinkles up. "Does he?"
Involuntarily, Madge shakes her head. "No, he doesn't." Heart hammers in her chest. "Mom…how do you know Gale?"
For a second her mother considers the question, then smiles. "He's been coming by to see me. He watched some of your Tour with me. Such a handsome boy. You'll have such pretty babies."
Madge is too stunned to speak, just stares at her mother in mute horror.
What does she know and how long has she known? How does she know?
"Mom," Madge takes her mother by the shoulders and locks her in a firm look, "when-who-how much do you know?"
It's too vague a question for her mother, Madge knows it the moment it comes out of her mouth, but she still considers it.
"He's been staying with you. I've been leaving him food and it's always gone, and the extra towels..." Her mother sighs, cupping Madge's cheek. "Oh love, I'm not as clueless as you think I am."
Shaking her head, Madge starts to tell her she's never thought of her as clueless, but the words won't come. It's a lie.
Her mother has never seemed to be aware of much, and denying that Madge has ever considered anything different seems cruel. She can't tell such an obvious lie, not to her mother.
"It's your secret," she whispers as she pulls Madge into a hug. "Just your father and me."
Madge pulls back so quickly she hits her lower back on the counter top. "Daddy knows?"
Nodding, her mother takes her hand. "He likes Gale too."
Before Madge can question her more, the back door opens and in steps both her father and Mr. Abernathy.
Her father smiles calmly, glancing curiously between Madge and her mother, while Mr. Abernathy glowers at nothing in particular.
Madge starts to ask him what's the matter, but stops when her mother takes her hand and gives it a squeeze.
"I'm going to bed, love." She leans over and kisses her cheek. "I'm glad you're home."
She gives Mr. Abernathy a small smile before turning and gliding out of the kitchen.
And just like that, all Madge's questions hang in the air around her, abandoned by her mother without ever getting to be given voice.
"You should start heading home, Pearl," her father tells her gently, glancing at the darkening sky outside the window. "Not much light left if you and Haymitch still plan on walking back to the village."
Madge just nods, too stunned to speak.
She isn't ready to go. It was nice to have a few minutes to pretend it was like old times, but that's past.
Now she has new worries, new questions, and a knot in her stomach.
There's no hope of speaking with her father, not while Mr. Abernathy is glaring out the window so nearby.
So instead of easing her mind and asking her father just what he knows, what her mother has told and who to, she bundles up in one of the plainer coats Portia had sent with her. All her questions will have to wait. Her parents will keep her secret, and that thought is the only ease her mind will have for the time being.
Madge gives her father a hug and a kiss goodbye before quietly following after Mr. Abernathy, out the door and into the icy winter air.
They walk in silence, the cold wind whipping the heavy fabric of Madge's coat so hard she almost trips several times before Mr. Abernathy wraps an arm around her shoulder and half drags her along beside him.
By the time they reach their houses in the Village Madge can't feel her nose and her toes are tingling.
"Guess it's back to normal, huh, kid?" Mr. Abernathy says. "You want me to stay over?"
Part of her does. Her chest is already starting to hurt just at the thought of going into her empty house alone with only the ghosts of her fellow Tributes to keep her company.
A bigger part of her doesn't want his comfort though. It wants Gale.
He won't come, she'd told him not to. Even if he'd gone to her mother to keep her company during the Tour, he isn't going to come.
A person can only take so much, and he's put up with more than his fair share where Madge is concerned. Gale will stay away, just as he should.
Still, something gnaws at her, telling her he will. If he loves her, and she's sure he does, he'll come, and she doesn't want Mr. Abernathy there when it happens.
The warring parts of her mind shout back and forth for a minute before that stubborn, hopeful part wins out and Madge shakes her head.
"I'll be okay."
He stares at her for a minute, probably trying to come up with a reason for her to let him stay. She half hopes he does.
Finally, he lets out a long breath, a warm puff of smoke rushing out and disappearing into the cold air around him. "Okay." He squints at her. "But you need me you yell, understand?"
Tears begin to well in Madge's eyes and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep them from falling.
"I will."
Popping up on her toes, she presses a kiss to his cheek, now rough with stubble again, before running up her front steps and into the house.
Inside is warm, the heating unit having done its work in her absence.
Nothing has changed since the day she left.
There are a few dead leaves and dry grass in the entryway, faint dust has built up on the little table by the door, and the framed picture on the wall that Anthea accidentally hit with her purse is still crooked.
Reaching out, Madge straightens it.
Footsteps echoing emptily, Madge walks into the kitchen and flips on the lights.
Empty.
Biting her lip, she crosses the tile, to the door, and peers out.
She wants Gale to be sitting on her swing, cap pulled low, ready to jump up and pull her into a hug, maybe, hopefully, give her a kiss or two...
There's no Gale in the swing though. It moves slightly in the wind, empty as ever.
There aren't even any footprints in the snow on the step to the porch.
He hadn't come. He'd done just what she asked.
Taking a ragged breath, Madge turns and slides down the door, crumpling into a heap on the cold tile as the tears finally break free.
He hadn't come. He isn't coming.
#######
Gale rolls over on his stomach and glares at Rory.
He's snoring louder than normal, Gale is certain of it.
Instead of getting up and smothering his brother, despite the fact that he fully deserves it, maybe not for snoring but just in general, Gale pushes himself up and snatches his shirt from the floor.
It isn't Rory's snoring, abnormally loud or not, that's keeping him up.
Madge is home.
He'd been deep in the mines, but he'd glanced at his watch every few minutes until the end of shift whistle blew , and then slipped away from Thom and the other men as they'd trudged home in the cold just so he could see her.
It hadn't worked out quite like he'd hoped. Despite there being no press, dozens of nosy Peacekeepers had been lingering too near the Mayor's house, probably hoping to catch a glimpse of Madge. Several of the newest recruits, that had arrived only days before, apparently were enamored with her, or so Rory and Vick seemed to think.
"They're from Two," Vick had told Gale the first day they'd arrived. "They said Madge is too pretty to be from Twelve. Then they said a bunch of other stuff."
He'd made a face after that, glanced at Posy, clearly smart enough not to repeat whatever filthy things the asshole Peacekeepers had said in front of their baby sister.
"Vick was going to tell them off," Rory added, "but I stopped him."
Vick glared at him. "They shouldn't be talking about her like that. She's a lady."
She's also the daughter of the District's Mayor.
If the Peacekeepers could be pigs about a Victor and child of a Mayor, then the fact that she's a lady probably means little to them. To them she's nothing more than a pretty face. She's a smiling doll, engaging and perfect, a pin up for their barracks.
After an hour of skulking in the shadows and not so much as seeing Abernathy smoking on the back porch, and having to dodge the perverted Peacekeepers, Gale had given up.
The failure had spoiled his entire evening.
He'd eaten dinner without a word, helped Vick with his math homework, then watched the so called 'lost shots' from Madge's Tour. It was the only glimpse of her he had any chance of getting.
They showed her sipping wine, giggling as a man, Gale supposes most people would call handsome but he thinks just looks like a smug jackass, hands her a gemstone, then a few extra shots of her attempting to drive a car in Six before the electricity cut out and the family went to bed.
Sleep never came though.
Gale tossed and turned, tried every position before rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling for an hour.
Shuffling around in the dark, he finds his pants, socks, then his over shirt before leaving his sleeping brothers and almost tripping into the door as he goes into the living room.
Running a hand through his hair, he looks around, squinting into the moonlight filtering in through the thin curtains before crossing the room and snatching up his boots and dropping onto one of the kitchen chairs.
He's finishing lacing up when a door creaks and he hears the familiar sound of his mother sighing.
"I thought you were staying away?"
Gale nods, not looking up.
That's what he decided, that's what he'd told her only nights before. He was letting Madge make the call, letting her dictate the terms of their relationship, or lack thereof.
She wanted him safe, and the kindest thing he can do is let her keep him safe. Even if it hurts.
He needs to see her though. He needs to see that she's really okay. The girl on the tv isn't enough, not when she's so close.
"I'm just-I just need to see her. Just once," he half whispers.
Standing, he stretches and keeps his eyes anywhere but on his mom as he shrugs on his coat and puts on his cap, his hair sticking out from under it in unruly tangles.
He turns to the door, intent on leaving before his mom can say something to stop him, but freezes when he feels a hand on his shoulder.
Turning, he lets her pull him into a hug.
"Be careful," she whispers, giving him a tight squeeze.
Gale kisses her hair. "I will."
#######
Madge wipes the tears from her face on the sleeve of her coat and takes a ragged breath.
She isn't sure how long she's been curled up on the floor crying, too long probably. Her legs protest as she forces herself to stand, nearly buckling under her once she's to her feet, still sniffling and trying to dry her tears.
Crying isn't going to solve the mess she's gotten herself into.
She'd told Gale to stay away and now he is.
That was before Cecelia, before she had hope that maybe she might be able to have some kind of happiness. Hope that she could have Gale.
This is her fault, her mistake to fix.
Gale has been coming to her, making her feel safe, trying to piece back together what she'd let the Capitol break, and she'd done nothing for him. She was a leech.
It was time she did something for him other than steal his sleep.
Taking a ragged breath, Madge adjusts her coat and opens the back door.
Instantly, a cold gust of wind blows in as she steps out.
She doesn't' think about locking up, about the fact that even if she makes it to the Seam she doesn't know where Gale's house is or what she'll say to him if she finds him. All she knows is that even if it's selfish, she needs him and she owes him to be the one to come for him this time.
Before she even reaches the edge of the porch she freezes as she hears her name in the wind.
"Madge?"
At first she thinks she's hearing things, there's no one around, but then she hears it again and louder.
"Madge?"
Out of the tree line steps a tall figure dressed in a ragged coat, face hidden in the shadows the silver moonlight is creating.
Madge feels her heart stop as she watches the man walk across the snowy backyard, leaving big footprints in his wake before finally stepping into the halo of white light from the security light.
Even from the distance Madge can see the confusion on his face, the way his dark eyebrows knit together and his lips turn down while he studies her from a distance.
Time seems to stretch out painfully long, icy wind cutting through the night and drowning out all the noise, before Gale comes to a stop at the bottom of the steps, his face turned to Madge.
He sucks in a breath.
"Look, I know you said stay away, but-"
Before he can even finish Madge has lunged from the porch at him, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of detergent from his coat.
He stumbles back a few steps, nearly tripping before he steadies himself.
It takes him another few seconds to register what's happened. Madge can feel him looking down at her, stunned or confused she isn't sure, trying to figure out just what is happening.
Then his arms are wrapped around her, tight and safe, and she can feel his lips in her hair, his warm breath against her scalp.
She feels his voice rumbling in his chest, against her ear, but can't make out the words. It doesn't matter. He's here, he'd come, and as long as he's holding her whatever he's saying has to be good.
Burrowing a little more snugly to his chest, Madge closes her eyes and prays this isn't a dream, that she isn't' still asleep and going to wake on her cold kitchen floor without Gale and his warmth.
Just as quickly as she'd leapt at him, he pulls back and Madge feels her heart stop dead in her chest.
She just barely has time for tears to start building in her eyes and an apology to form in her mouth for pushing him away when his lips are on hers.
It's not like the first time, not scared or desperate. There's excitement, relief, not a trace of resentment or anger, and that alone causes Madge to lean in, her hands twisting into the front of his coat, pinning him against her.
His fingers tangle in her hair, gently holding her place as he deepens the kiss, the scruff on his cheeks and chin scraping against her skin with each small movement.
The wind may still be blowing, cold as ever, but it doesn't matter, not with Gale holding her, kissing her.
It lasts forever but not nearly long enough.
When air finally becomes a necessity, Madge reluctantly pulls back a fraction, gasping against Gale's rough cheek.
"I'm sorry," she mumbles against his skin. "I'm sorry."
He chuckles, it rumbles through his body into hers.
"I was gonna say the same thing."
Tears spring into Madge's eyes. "No, Gale-"
He cuts her off with his lips again, mumbling 'later' into her mouth.
She doesn't argue.
#######
Gale isn't sure how long they stand in the cold. He doesn't really care.
Madge had been coming for him, that alone was enough to make the past few weeks of misery seem less awful.
Having her throw herself at him, having her so enthusiastic about kissing, that had been a definite bonus.
When they finally stopped, Gale had finally gotten a chance to look her over, inspect her for injuries the Capitol could conceal on the tv.
Then she'd told him about the other Victors, Finnick Odair, Annie Cresta, and Cecelia.
"It's still dangerous, Gale," she reminded him through her tears, voice thick and sloppy.
"I trust you," he told her. "You are the smartest person I know. I trust you."
If Odair and the woman from Eight can keep the people they love safe, so can Madge. He knows she can.
She'd looked miserable at that, mumbled that she didn't deserve his faith, but he'd quieted her with more kissing. He'd been cheated out of weeks of it, months if he was being honest, and he needed to make up for all that lost time.
Smoothing down her hair, Gale kisses the top of her head as he relaxes more into the overly fluffy pillows on her bed. As much as he'd missed her, his back had missed her bed.
He lazily traces the pattern on the flannel pajamas on her shoulder, smiling to himself as she nuzzles into his chest, sighing against him.
Morning will come too soon, cold pale yellow sunlight will filter in through the windows and Gale will have to go to the mines without a wink of sleep, but he doesn't care. Madge is back and safe, if a little rattled and wary, and she's with him.
Gale supposes the Tour wasn't so bad, despite the separation. At least it had shown Madge things could work out okay. Not perfect maybe, but okay.
He feels her eyelashes flutter against his chest then Madge shifts, squinting sleepily up at him, her chin pressed to his sternum.
"You need to sleep," she mumbles.
Nodding, Gale adjust himself in the bed, a little lower, pulling her tighter against him.
He waits for her breathing to even out again, drift back to sleep, before he begins combing her hair again.
Sleep can wait.