Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

Insecurity

The little blanket is soft and fluffy, almost too fluffy, as Madge runs her fingers lightly over it.

Vick had seen and asked her slyly if there was something she and Gale hadn't told them. She'd given him a small smile, fought off the frustration, and told him no, there wasn't.

"Oh," he'd looked a little disappointed. "I just thought…you two've been married for almost a year. Thought maybe-"

"We're not," she told him, a little too curtly.

He'd upset her and he knew it. His mouth snapped shut and he moved on to the next stand at the market, one a very young woman with a baby on her hip was running, filled with fruits and nuts all the way from District Eleven. Before she could apologize for her rudeness he'd begun busying himself with being overly interested in a green apple.

"Vick?"

"Hmm?" He'd put the apple down and picked up some unfamiliar fruit, examining it.

"I didn't-I'm not mad at you," she sighed. She wasn't mad at anyone but herself.

"It's okay, Madge, sometimes it takes a while to get pregnant." He grimaced, "Look how long it was between Gale and Rory. Though maybe Gale was just a giant pain in the ass and they didn't know if they wanted anymore."

That got a laugh out of her. She shook her head and grinned up at him, she'd dare him to tell Gale that.

The smile that he'd so quickly put there slipped off. She didn't want to talk about it, especially with Vick, even if he was as close to a best friend as she'd ever hoped to have, he was still Gale's brother.

But she didn't make friends easily, never really had, acquaintances, yes, but friends were few and far between. Katniss had been her first true friend, though she felt that bridge was too old and in far too much disrepair after so many years apart to be considered a friendship anymore. Gale and his family, Katy-Jo Lewes and the handful of people she'd been thrust upon in District Ten, those were her main interactions now. Everyone else in her immediate vicinity were just people she knew. She didn't need all the stimulation of too many people, she'd had her fill of it during her time as the Mayor's daughter, smiling and playing hostess to strangers acting as friends.

"What's the matter?"

She shrugged and walked away, to one of the little benches provided by the market, collapsed down onto it. After a few seconds, Vick slouched his lanky frame down beside her.

"You can tell me," he smiles weakly. Probably afraid he's about to learn more about his brother's private life than he really wants to know.

She would laugh at his discomfort, but she's too busy formulating how to say what she's about to. Finally, she settles on, "It…isn't taking Gale and I a long time to get pregnant."

Vick stares at her, not seeming to understand what she's saying.

"But you just said you aren't…"

She busies herself smoothing out her skirt, waiting for him to work through her words. His eyebrows are knitted together in focus, looking remarkably like Gale when he's focused on a particularly finicky problem from work. Then his eyes widen.

"But-don't the two of you want kids?"

Madge presses her palms into her thighs.

She did. Shehadn't, for most of her life, thought children would be in her future, not anymore than she'd thought a relationship was. So much had changed, though, and a child, possibly children, didn't seem like such a distant fantasy.

Gale, she'd always assumed, would want kids. He'd had three siblings after all. Whenever she edged toward the subject, though, he quickly backed from it, changed it, distracted her in any way he could without being obvious, or sometimes a little too obviously.

She'd run through every possible reason for it she could think of.

Maybe he was tired of raising kids. He'd practically helped his mother raise his siblings, was all but a father to them. He was so proud of them, always bragging about their accomplishments and telling stories about their childhood, though. Every single dance recital Posy had and each and every sport competition Rory and Vick had, Gale was there. He was, very much and despite their increasing ages, still raising them. So she couldn't believe that was the reason.

He liked children, and was very good with them, even if he didn't always like that fact. The neighbor's kids, and several of their friends, had latched onto him, finding him fascinating. His knowledge of ropes and snares, archery and tracking, all had earned him a reputation as someone who simply knew everything about the woods and survival. A fact that was, in Madge's opinion, not entirely untrue. The children, the youngest a spindly six and the oldest a burly eleven, had even convinced Gale and their father, formerly a quarrier, to take them to the woods for a weekend. Despite wanting to do nothing more than stay home and stay in bed with Madge, he'd gone.

Gale knew how to speak with children. He knew how to take care of them.

Not only was she an only child, she had no cousins, not even distant ones. She'd grown up a very isolated life. She didn't know how to take care of a child, much less a baby. There were no former babysitting jobs in her past, no diaper changes or messy meals cleaned up.

She couldn't cook anything that didn't involve an abundance of sugar. Candies and fudges she could make in a heartbeat, and ice cream she could handle, but the first time she'd ever tried her hand at a protein based food, a sad little chicken, she couldn't even get the feathers off. Cooking had never been required of her, not with her parents and not with Katy-Jo Lewes. He'd come home to her sobbing over the mess she'd made, still trying fruitlessly to clean it.

Madge couldn't sew, not like his mother. A seamstress had always been available. She'd nearly ruined several of his socks trying to mend them only to have Hazelle step in and fix her mistakes.

Then there was driving. A terror if there ever was.

He'd taken her out, despite her complete certainty that she neither wanted nor needed lessons. There was always someone available to take her where she needed to go, and if not, she'd walk or jog or take her bike. Gale had seen it differently.

"What if it's raining or snowing?"

She'd shrugged, "I'll stay in."

It really wasn't that hard to understand, at least no to her, but Gale had rolled his eyes and persisted.

It had ended with him yelling at her for swerving too much and her in angry tears.

"I don't think that's it, Madge," Vick frowned after listening to her list of failings.

"Then what is t, Vick?" She pressed her palms to her eyes and willed them not to cry. "Maybe he remembers my parents."

Her father, in another life, would have made a splendid teacher. Almost every moment in Madge's life was treated as a learning experience, there were no simple childish games, only lessons. Chess and cards, patterns and lies, she'd constantly learned to play games, practice the art of keeping her intentions, her meanings, veiled.

Then there was her mother…the list of her troubles only started with the morphling. Whether her depression sprang from her headaches or her headaches from her depression was a question Madge would never have the answer to. She'd become an addict to the only thing that could rescue her from the aching of the world she lived in, regardless of where it arose from.

Madge could only conclude it wasn't the children that Gale was hesitant about.

It was her.

Madge, she decided of herself, was more than enough child for Gale without adding another.

"I'm pretty sure he doesn't see you as a child," Vick had grinned.

Madge rolled her eyes, "You know what I mean." She sighed, "He doesn't think, no, heknows I'll be hopeless as a mother. Hopeless as I am at everything else domestic."

Vick wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to his shoulder.

"You aren't hopeless, who keeps track of your finances?"

She frowns. She did of course, Gale was a disaster with budgeting his money. Most of his life had been spent with so little of it when he finally had some he packed it away to the point of having almost none to live on. In the first year after reuniting, Madge had to help him learn to use some of his funds and realize he had money for 'stupid' things. Like new shirts and butter. He'd been so excited he'd taken her when he purchased his mother a real, electric washing machine, despite the recipients protest. "Me, but-"

"Which of you does the shopping?"

Madge felt that fell in with the budget, but gestured to herself. Gale shopping in District Two often deteriorated into a shouting match with the vendors. He swore they were charging too much and they told him he didn't understand the current trends of the market. This often resulted in him telling them he understood growing seasons and that they were practically committing larceny with 'those prices'.

"A basket of strawberries shouldn't cost that much."

She'd tried not to laugh. They were only charging a little more than she'd use to pay for he and Katniss' strawberries back in District Twelve, and she thought that was more than a fair price.

Rather than risk Gale getting into an all out brawl, Madge would go to the market while he was at work and smiles sweetly and never tells Gale she still overpays just a little bit for her wares. Keeping him from a bloodied face, she decided, did entitle her to count 'shopping' among her assets.

"And you're in charge of the garden, right?"

That was a given, she'd had her garden back in District Twelve, and when they got their little house the first thing she'd done was to get Gale to till her a somewhat larger plot of land. She knew when to plant and when to pick and kept the little space clear of weeds. Gale was in charge of 'dealing' with the rabbits and deer that saw it as their own personal diner, but otherwise it was all hers.

"Those have nothing to do with raising children. Gale won't want to be doing it all by himself." She forced a pained smile.

"He won't be. Maybe you don't have any experience raising kids, maybe you don't think your parents did the greatest job, but Madge, no one's parents do the greatest. They just do the best they can."

Her eyebrows arch, "Your mother did a pretty good job."

His shoulders jerk, "She did the best she could, all things considered. She let Gale shoulder a lot of responsibility he shouldn't have had to, not by force and definitely not by choice, but she did. It spared Rory, Posy, and me, but it wasn't fair to Gale. She would probably even tell you that." He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end, "We use to fight about our punishments, because they weren't always the same. But they couldn't be, because kids are all different. My brothers and sister and me, all needed different things. Gale needed the stick out of his ass, Rory needed his ass kicked, and Posy needed to stop being a pain in the ass."

Madge snorts. Vick grins down at her.

"For what it's worth, I don't think your parents did too bad a job with you. You're smart, you're kind," he pulls her a little tighter to his side, "and you're alive."

He holds her there for a few minutes before pulling back and smiling brightly at her. "You'll be a good mother someday, Madge. Maybe you and Gale will do some things the same as your parents, but you'll do a lot different too, because your kids'll be different than you and they'll need different things. And you'll know what you hated and you'll avoid that too."

Madge smiles, genuinely for the first time since they'd started their little conversation. Vick's always brightened her day; she should've never doubted talking to him.

She leans over and gives him a quick peck on the cheek, "When did you get so smart?"

He shrugs, "I've always been smart. I'm the smartest person in my family, didn't you know that?"

She snorts. He nudges her with his shoulder, his face suddenly serious.

"Talk to Gale, okay? Don't hint, be blunt, sometimes that's the only thing that gets through that thick skull of his." He pats her hand, "There's got to be a good reason. I promise."

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Gale hears the door click shut in the front room, signaling Madge has returned from the market. She always tried to go while he was at work, something about him being a 'walking talking disaster' and not wanting to have to bail him out of jail. He really didn't understand it.

He'd come home early from work. One of the idiots in charge had decided to replace some water lines and busted them, leaving the entire military complex without running water, which didn't bother Gale so much, he always brought his own drink, but the others in the building went into hysterics.

Cheerfully, he'd left, hoping to have an afternoon with Madge.

Only she'd been missing, her bike still in the shed. A quick call to his mother and he found out she'd talked Vick into driving her down to the market. That boy was such a pushover. If he'd just help Gale, they could convince her to try driving again, then she wouldn't be using him as her personal chauffer.

He quietly pads down the stairs and heads to the kitchen, finding her putting away her purchases. Gale glares at a basket of strawberries, she probably didn't even try to argue that jerk to a reasonable price.

Before she knows he's there, he sneaks up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, pressing his lips to her neck. She squeaks in surprise.

"You're home early!"

He nips at her ear, grinning. "Yep."

His right hand snakes under her shirt and his left begins working her skirt up, searching for the bottom hem. Normally she'd turn into him, press her lips to his jaw and wrap her arms around his neck until he picked her up and carried her to bed, but instead she stiffens and gently pushes his hand down.

"Gale…we-I need to talk to you."

That doesn't sound promising.

He frowns at her back as she pulls away, turns to face him, and backs up against the counter. For a few seconds she just stares at him, apparently thinking. Finally she seems to come to a decision.

"Gale, do you want kids?"

Her mouth is set in a little pucker and her eyebrows are drawn together just slightly.

Usually she flitters around the subject, doesn't directly address it, and he quite appreciates that. It makes it easier to avoid.

She would talk about the neighbor's kids, a rambunctious pair that had it in their head he was some kind of uncle to them, with a look of wistfulness. She'd mention names she'd heard, ask him if they sounded nice or too 'District Two'. He'd catch her watching families with babies and little children. She'd even attempted knitting, which was as hilarious as it was heartbreaking to him. The tiny socks she'd made only vaguely resembled a foot, and, after she finished laughing at her own handiwork, she vehemently told him they were only so small because they were 'practice'.

Then, a few months back, she'd asked how he felt about a pet.

"A little dog or a cat?…Or a bird? Fish?"

Animals were only good for a few things in Gale's opinion: wasting food, making food, or being food.

"Why would you want one?" He'd grumbled. "They're filthy and a waste of time. They need too much attention."

She chuckled sadly, "Yeah, you're right. Stupid thought. I couldn't handle a pet."

The look of disappointment on her face told him it was about more than a furry nuisance.

In the back of his head he'd known it was coming, that she'd drop her hinting and come out and ask him the question she so clearly wanted to ask.

He runs his hand through his hair and sighs, "Madge…."

Where he was even supposed to begin he didn't know. So he sighed, closing his eyes, "It-it isn't that I don't want them…"

A lifetime ago he'd said if he didn't live in District Twelve, he would want them. Now here he was, years, a revolution, and several districts, out, without any children.

She takes a sharp breath in and Gale opens his eyes and finds her clutching the countertop. Her eyes are shiny, she hates to cry, believes it makes her look weak he thinks, so she'll fight them until they force their way out.

"You don't want them with me," she finally says, her voice breaking.

Gale feels his pulse quicken and his eyes widen. "What?"

It's ridiculous. Who else would he want them with? He prays this isn't some weird jealously thing. He'd thought they put that to rest before they got married.

"You don't think I can handle kids. I was such a selfish, spoiled brat growing up, didn't have to think about anyone but myself, you don't think I'll be able to take care of them."

She's staring at the ground now, her hand clutched in front of her painfully. Old insecurities bubbling to the top and over and it's all Gale's fault.

He takes a step toward her and pulls her to him, a little rougher than he'd intended, she hits his chest with a little more force than he expects and they stumble back a few inches.

"Madge, there is no one, no one, in this world I would rather have kids with."

She's smart, much smarter than he ever had the hope of being. She rarely loses her temper, he admires her for it, he knows he isn't always the easiest person to get along with. She's funny, not always because she's trying, but through her sheer grace, her smiles, and willingness to laugh at herself.

Any children they had would be getting half her genes, and he feels that's a blessing.

"You were never selfish or spoiled," he tells her. Those words should've never been place on her. She was a bit shy, quiet and reserved, but kind and willing to help people even when there was no benefit to her. And she was anything but spoiled. Gale thinks she may have been one of the most emotionally neglected people in all of District Twelve, and not just because of her parents.

He runs his hand through her hair, pressed a kiss in its wake as he thinks how to say what he needs to say.

"I-I don't deserve kids," he finally whispers into her hair.

He'd killed kids. Innocent people. Prim was the only one he knew, but there'd been others. He doesn't even know the body count for all the families he ruined, all the children he'd stolen from families. Brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, fathers, and mothers, Gale was responsible for killing them all. He'd killed children, ones from the Capitol and ones, like Prim, rushing in to help. They might not have all been as young as her, but they'd all been innocent, non-combatants.

Then there was The Nut. He'd been willing to bury those within that mountain with their assault. His own father had died, buried deep in the ground within a mine, and he'd been willing to do nearly the same to people he didn't know. People with families.

Madge clings to him tighter, "Gale, you're making amends."

But he'd never be clean of the blood on his hands. Not even Madge, with her sweet smiles and her soft kisses could absolve him of his sins. He couldn't do it, stain a child with being his. He had too much already, far more than he deserved.

She pulls back, taking his hands in hers and kissing his knuckles.

"I don't deserve all this happiness. I have you, my family, a future, and I don't deserve any of it." He closes his eyes, "What if you get pregnant and something happens?"

It was nothing less than he deserved, to lose Madge and any life they might possibly create. He wasn't superstitious, but he knew, down to his bones, he was due more suffering.

"What if you make me learn to drive that horrible car and I crash because I'm 'swerving'?" Her mouth turns up slightly. "We can't live our lives in 'what if's'. You fought for us to have a chance at happiness, a chance for our kids to be kids, not be Reaped or take out Tesserae."

She puts his hand to her chest, "Gale, life isn't fair, you know that as well as anyone, but there isn't some cosmic scale balancing out happiness and misery, and if there were you'd have had more than your weight in the latter." Her hand smashes his over her heart with a little more force, he can almost feel it beating through her chest. "We're alive, Gale."

She's alive.

He remembers finding her, so long ago, in the coffee shop in District Ten. Small and broken, but alive. Later, he realized that while she was breathing, moving, thinking, she wasn't alive, not really. When he finally cracked through her protective shell it was as if she were waking from a years long slumber, unrefreshed, and confused, about so many things.

She'd deserved a chance to live, and he slowly convinced her to.

Now she was trying to do the same for him.

His hand jumps from her heart to her shoulder, pushes her back to the counter, as he lunges forward, pressing her to him. His other hand tangles in her hair, then down to the hem of her shirt, tugging it upward.

"Gale, stop! We need to finish talking," she yells, as he again begins on her skirt.

He takes her face between his thumb and forefinger and gives her a narrow look, "Do you want a baby or not?"

Madge's face freezes as she processes what he's said. Her eyes widen and her jaw slackens with realization.

"Gale-"

But he's already peppering her face, her neck, with kisses, trying to unlatch and unzip everything he can. He pauses just long enough to pick her up, she'd squealed something about not on the counter, and begin carrying her to their bedroom.

Gale wasn't perfect, he knew that, and Madge wasn't either, though he was hard pressed to find any fault in her at the moment. Maybe, with all their combined mistakes, her trying to avoid situations, obliquely referencing things and praying he'd catch on, and his constantly trying to punish himself for all his many faults, they'd be able to raise a child that could bypass all their pain.

A child that could just be alive.