Notes: Surprise ;)

The Spoils of the Victor

Chapter Six

During the 74th Hunger Games

"Hail, hail," Haymitch lazily raises a glass of scotch—on the rocks, of course—in the air. "The gang's all here."

"Drinks and a show," Finnick smirks, but there's no mirth in his eyes. "You sure know how to show a fella a good time, Abernathy."

Haymitch snorts into his drink and across the room Johanna Mason rolls her eyes. "Keep it together, Haymitch," she sneers. "I'd like it if this night wasn't a complete waste of my time."

"I assure you it won't be," Haymitch says in a tone smoother than anyone would give him credit for. "Plus, I won't be the one talkin'." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "She is."

Madge emerges from the shadows. "Hi," she says, giving an awkward wave. She doesn't know who to look at—Finnick is still probably mad at her, and she's never been sure what Johanna Mason thinks of her.

"If it isn't the General," Johanna mock-salutes. "But don't you look more like a Capitol trophy wife in training every time I see you?"

"Don't be silly, Jo," Finnick says lightly, "her skin would have to be tinted a different color for that to be true."

"Or her tits would have to be bigger," Johanna shoots back, making Madge flush. "Don't feel bad, sweetheart, God doesn't give with both hands."

"There is no God," says Haymitch, bored, "there's only Panem."

"It's just," Johanna rolls her eyes again, "an expression." Organized religion had been stamped out after the Rebellion.

Madge clears her throat. "Should we get started?"

"Not waiting up for Daddy?" Jo raises an eyebrow.

"He's with Seneca Crane," Madge shoots back, a prickle of irritation causing her brow to furrow. "And Plutarch."

Johanna sneers again but doesn't say anything.

"So why are we here then, Princess?" This comes from Finnick, and upon hearing her nickname, Madge knows that she's at least a little forgiven. The small, encouraging "real Finnick" smile he gives her convinces her.

She beams at him. "We're here to discuss the Peeta/Katniss angle," she announces.

Johanna and Finnick both sigh. "Well, with our tributes out so early in the game…" Finnick trails off. It's the end of the first day of the Games and both Katniss and Peeta are still safe, Katniss with the Careers and Peeta with Rue from District 11.

"Pathetic," Johanna snorts cruelly, but she looks away, and Madge can see her lips quiver slightly.

"You think they're really something special, huh, Princess?" Finnick peers at Madge, who's frowning at Johanna.

"I think that if one of them becomes a Victor that it could definitely be a turning point for us," Madge argues. "Think about both of them, either of them—Katniss is the first volunteer out of District 12, but she volunteered not for glory or fame, but out of love for her sister. And Peeta is the only tribute in the history of the Games to publicly declare his love for his partner! They represent the antithesis of Panem and the Hunger Games—love, devotion, selflessness, generosity. The people that they love they love without hope or expectation of anything in return. They're symbols of good that the people so desperately need and for one of them to become Victor…"

"That's all well and good, sweetheart," Haymitch says, "and I admit that that mentality was good when getting them sponsors and through the preliminary stuff… but it's not like it can continue post-Games. One of them becomes Victor and they'll end up like one of the three Victors in this room. The Capitol will kill any kindness in them and make them into monsters."

They don't say it, but Madge can tell by looking at them that both Johanna and Finnick agree with Haymitch.

"But what if you're wrong?" Madge says softly.

Johanna barks out a laugh, loud and abrupt; Haymitch shakes his head and takes another drink; but Finnick narrows his eyes at her. He knows her too well. "What are you thinking, General?"

"What if one of them doesn't win?" Madge says again and now she's captured the other two's attentions. "What if they both do?"

Even though if Madge gets caught in the Victors and Tributes housing she'll be in huge trouble, she knows that it's easier for her to go to them than for them to come to her—after all, they're forbidden from leaving. They're truly prisoners in that building, like animals in a zoo.

So perhaps it's a little inevitable that, despite the wig and colored contacts she runs into the one person who could possibly recognize her —Gale.

Granted, he has to do a double take, but he knows her features better than either of them are comfortable admitting, and he scowls, grabbing her by the elbow roughly and propelling her into a dark side hallway.

"Are you fucking crazy?" He whispers, but his tone is biting. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Madge purses her lips and looks down the hallway, away from him. "You don't want to know."

He releases her immediately, as though he's touched fire, and Madge hates that she still feels hurt at that. "Oh," he says.

"You know," Madge says, gaze still distant, "you can hate me and avoid me all you want, but you can't remain ignorant forever."

The way she says it has no arrogance—it's her usual matter-of-fact, down-to-business tone, and because of that, Gale's blood chills. "What do you mean?"

Madge glances at him, finally, and what she sees on his face makes her own soften. "What happened to you?" She asks. "Where's the boy with the fire in his eyes? When did you become so scared?"

Now it's his turn to turn away for a moment, compose himself, and when he turns back to her he scowls. "Take that wig off," he says roughly, "I can't talk to you when you don't look like yourself."

It's a petty distraction and they both know it, but she takes the wig off anyway, shaking her golden hair loose. Her eyes are still a disconcerting green, but somehow Gale feels better anyway, even if he said it to buy himself some time.

"You don't understand," he says finally. "I'm not like the other Victors—I have so much to lose. I have to walk this line because if I don't, my family is dead." But then he thinks about Cinna's words; maybe he doesn't have to actively participate in the Rebellion, but it would be good to be in it, to be knowledgeable. Knowledge of both sides—the Rebellion and the Capitol—could help his family. He's already walking a fine line; what's one a little finer?

"I don't have as much to lose as you do," Madge says quietly. "Just my dad, if we're speaking strictly in blood. But it would kill me to lose others, too—Finnick, Cinna, Portia, even Haymitch and Johanna. All of the other Victors on the periphery who are helping us. They've become my family for the past few years, and I might be ambitious and driven, but I never forget what they're sacrificing to help, what risks they're taking. I know that there's a whole nation out there that needs saving, but," and here she swallows, and Gale sees her eyes glisten, "I can't help it. I think of them first."

And he knows what she's telling him—that if he joined, she would think of him first, too, and by extension, his family. Perhaps that's why she's one of the leaders, even though she's so young—her ambition isn't blind, her motivation isn't ruthless, her drive doesn't lack compassion; she's balanced and strong, an answer to the madness and ego that rules Panem. He admires her for it, even if some part of him still can't quite trust her, can't quite forgive her for that betrayal.

"Gale," Madge swallows, "can't we—"

"Well, well, well."

Madge and Gale jump apart, closer together than they'd realized, but the damage is already done. The number one gossip reporter Valencia Flickerman, younger sister of Caesar, stands, arms folded, smirking at them. Her photographer/videographer, the same one who got all of those candid photos from the Tributes, stands at her side, camera poised.

"If it isn't everyone's favorite Victor, Gale Hawthorne, and—?" She raises a cool eyebrow. "Margaret Undersee? My, weren't you just here? Couldn't get enough of the Tributes, could you?"

"Peeta is my cousin," Madge says pointedly. "Gale is my friend."

"Is he?" From her back pocket Valencia whips out a sleek microphone the size of a pen. "How did you two meet?"

"We all used to live in the same district," Gale says, trying not to scowl at her. "Not for long, granted, and we lost touched, but the four of us are all—connected."

Valencia jumps on that. "The four of us?"

"Sure," Madge says smoothly. "Peeta and I are cousins, and Gale and Katniss basically have the same relationship."

"Relationship?" Valencia focuses on, and both Gale and Madge have to restrain themselves from rolling their eyes.

"Cousins," Gale says flatly. "Katniss and I are basically cousins."

Valencia pouts at the quashed story of a love triangle. But then she perks up. "Well, I suppose you two wouldn't mind doing a joint interview, then? Since you seem to know so much about the star-crossed lovers that everybody's talking about!"

Madge and Gale exchange glances, and it's slightly unnerving how well they can read each other. Both understand that there's no getting out of this, and if they can get Katniss and Peeta a little more sponsor money, what can it hurt? Besides, it seems that they make a good team when it comes to answering questions. Between the two of them, how much damage can Valencia do? Granted, she's cunning, savvy, and manipulative as hell, but so are they. This game isn't new to them.

"Sure," Madge finally says, "but do you mind if we do it in a location where it's not so obvious this is the Training Center? As you know I'm not really supposed to be here…"

Valencia waves a hand. "Of course! That works out for me since," here she winks, "I'm not supposed to be here, either."

And yet they all know that her presence is known and allowed by everyone, including President Snow, but it's not part of the game to admit it, so Camille instead leads them to a room that's obviously set up for interviews, closed, sound-proof, but luxurious enough for Capitol standards, with a plush purple couch, and a background that's designed to look as though they're in a bright, airy living area as opposed to a stark, cramped room. Madge is especially impressed with the lighting—it's dark, the middle of the night—but it seems as though it's mid afternoon instead, and Valencia arranges them so that they're sitting closely together, Gale's arm resting casually behind Madge on the couch, Madge's crossed knee next to his.

They both bear it with straight faces, but inside they're both antsy, fidgety. It recalls that old intimacy they had—was it only a few months ago? And they remember what it was like to be close to each other, to have Madge snuggled into Gale's side, him nuzzling her hair as they watched TV and talked…

"Ready?" Valencia asks, and they both flinch, glancing at each other in surprise.

"Yes," Madge answers, but her gaze is still on Gale.

He nods back at her and they begin.

The interview goes well, Gale thinks, but when he's watching it playback on TV the next day he begins to feel stirrings of panic. He knows they're a good team—they handled the interview flawlessly, going back and forth, playing off of each other, easily slipping back into their old friendship. But what he thought would just come across as friendship is actually, in the light of day, unmistakable chemistry and flirtation.

He's watching himself look at Madge—she's in the middle of telling a story about Peeta when they were younger, one he thinks is actually real—and her face is lit up, her affection for her "cousin" clear in her every word and movement. His face isn't lit up looking at her, but—if she's a bright flame, he's a soft candle, all gentle warmth and soft glow. It's obvious that he thinks she's amazing, and it's obvious to Gale now that the played his part too well; or perhaps, even more terrifying, in those moments he was able to forget about the pain and betrayal and the feelings that were still there, buried underneath, were allowed to come out again.

Watching her face is equally telling, too; he's feeding Valencia some bullshit about how he could tell that his two mentees were "crazy about each other" and he must have learned something from being around Finnick for so long because he makes both Valencia and Madge laugh and when he looks at Madge looking at him—it's almost painful, the complete adoration in her eyes, and he thinks, That can't be real, that has to be part of the act, too, and yet he's not so sure, he already knows that that's a lie, that whatever her intentions towards him are, her feelings towards him are real—

There's a knock on the door, and he instinctively answers it, thinking it's Haymitch, but on the other side he's met with a determined looking Finnick. Gale frowns in confusion. "Finn-?"

Finnick brushes past him, stomping into his room. "We're making up!" He declares. "I've waited and waited for you to come to me, ready to be friends again, but it seems like you're being a stubborn little asshole, as always, so I figured I have to come to you!"

Gale blinks, shuts the door. Finnick is standing with his arms crossed, glaring at him in irritation, and for some reason this makes Gale feel a little… guilty. Like, maybe, their rift has been just as hard on Finnick as it has been on him. Because perhaps it's easy for Gale to forget, sometimes, that for all of his charm and natural friendliness, there's not many people in Finnick's life who he genuinely trusts, who he calls his real friends. But Gale realizes, in that moment, that Finnick has wormed his way into the narrow circle of people that Gale, trusts, too, that he looks to Finnick like he's not just his friend, but his mentor. His brother.

"You're right," Gale says before Finnick can say another word. "I'm sorry this has been dragged out for so long. That wasn't fair of me, and I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt me."

Finnick's lips quirk up into a smile, but his face is solemn, sad. "I'm sorry you ever had to doubt it," he says, "I'm sorry that I kept you in the dark about everything, but I don't regret it, either, especially since it seems like you're so against it all."

"I'm not," Gale sighs, frustrated, "against it, per se. Hell, the younger me—the pre-Games me—would've been first in line, would've ate this all up. But I didn't understand how the world operated, then, how things in the Capitol work. I thought as a Seam kid I had nothing, but now I know that I have so much to lose, and I don't know how to keep who I love and still do the right thing."

Finnick is silent for a while and that's how Gale knows he's taking him seriously, thinking about his dilemma. Finnick's smarter than anyone gives him credit for, and in a way Gale feels honored that Finnick lets him see it.

"We're changing things already," Finnick says, "with Katniss and Peeta. Panem and the Capitol love them, are eating them up—" and now he smirks, just a little bit, "and I saw that interview with you and Madge. Gale, I don't know if you know this but people are eating you two up, too. You and Madge and Peeta and Katniss are going to be at the forefront of things for a while, and I honestly don't think you can continue to insist upon being ignorant to everything.

"If you join us," he continues, "I can't guarantee your family's safety, but—it's not really guaranteed here, either, is it? Sure, you can do everything right by Snow's standards, but one fuck up—" and here he looks away, remembering. "One fuck-up and he takes everything away. I think it's worth it to try for a world where that isn't a possibility anymore; don't you?"

Gale opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by the sudden blare of his TV, showing footage from the Games, where an important announcement is being made.

Gale and Finnick can't believe it; they're changing the rules to accommodate two Victors from the same District.

"How did she do it!" Finnick exclaims. "Damn, she really is a General. Just when I thought she couldn't get any scarier…"

"Who did what?" He's mesmerized, watching Rue and Peeta excitedly plan how to find Thresh and Katniss.

"Margaret—Madge, whatever," Finnick is saying, but he sounds distant, "she said her father—who's close with Seneca Crane—would try and convince him to make this rule change, said it would make it the most profitable, popular Hunger Games yet…"

But Gale is looking at the screen, his knuckles white. "Finnick," he croaks, as he watches Marvel on screen try to rape Katniss.

"Oh, fuck," Finnick says, "that fucking piece of shit!" And then they watch her slit his throat, stumble away, covered in blood, snagging the bow and arrow as if she's in a daze, and ducking into the woods, making her way towards Peeta and Rue.

"She needs to find Peeta," Gale says, and he doesn't realize he's repeating it over and over. "He'll keep her safe. She needs to find Peeta."

Finnick puts his hand on Gale's shoulder and squeezes. "She'll be okay," he says in a soothing voice that Gale has heard him use on Annie. "Peeta won't let anything happen to her, okay? He loves her."

She does find Peeta and Rue, who wash off the blood, who sit with her and distract her, and Gale's heart clenches when he sees Katniss hold Peeta's hand and put her head on his shoulder. It's not jealousy like he was expecting, but instead, he's glad for her. He knows that it's dangerous to have any sort of emotions while being in the Games, and that it's probably confusing for her, possibly having real feelings for the boy who, to the world, she is already very much in love with, but he thinks, perhaps, that Peeta could be good for her. They could be good for each other, he thinks, and then his good thoughts are interrupted by Glimmer, who kills Rue in a blink of an eye, with Katniss tearing off after her on pure instinct, rabid revenge, and then Rue makes them promise to win and be together.

He and Finnick watch in silence as Katniss sings to Rue, as Peeta rushes around after she dies, giving her the most beautiful send-off before the Hovercraft takes them away.

When it's over and there's a "break" for commercials, a good two hours later, they turn to each other, both eyes bright. "Shit," Finnick says, and his voice is hoarse, "those two are dangerous."

"Yeah," Gale says, and his heart is full and broken all at once, full of pride and sadness and anger, and he suddenly wishes Madge was with him, for a hand to hold, a shoulder to rest his head on. "I'm sure if we think so, the Capitol will as well."

Finnick looks at him curiously, noticing his tone. "What are you saying, Gale?"

Gale, head down grimaces, but when he looks up to answer Finnick his eyes are tight, his jaw clenched. He stands to his full height, tall and commanding, all in. "I'm saying that I'm in," he says. "I'm with you against the Capitol."

Finnick's right; Gale and Madge's interview is a hit. People are completely obsessed with them and their on-screen chemistry—Valencia calls them up and demands that they interview exclusively with her, and they have no choice but to agree.

It's not difficult to acquiesce to Valencia's instructions to be more somber given the circumstances of Katniss and Peeta's near deaths, and Gale wants to snap at her insensitivity; did this woman not feel? Did she actually think she had to instruct them which emotions were most appropriate when their friends were in danger?

Madge fiddles with the handkerchief in her lap, and Gale, on instinct, covers one of her hands with his, just for a moment; they're still seated close together, and don't think much of it—after all, Valencia positioned them again—until the end of the interview. Evidently she's decided she's had enough "sadness" for the evening, and wants to end it on a lighter note.

"So it seems that you two have gotten close during all of these events," Valencia slyly insinuates.

Both Gale and Madge blink back at her owlishly. "Excuse me?" Madge asks.

"Well," Valencia grins, "don't think I didn't notice how close you two are sitting together, and, well, when I first found you two for interviews, you were already together…"

Gale can feel the tips of his ears burn and glancing at Madge it's evident she's not faring any better, her cheeks wildly pink. "We—we haven't known each other that long," Madge stammers, and Gale himself is a bit unnerved at how flustered she is.

"Yeah, we're just friends," he says, and then seems to realize, with his arm around the back of the couch, his hand near her shoulder, his knee next to hers, that he looks like a liar. He burns with shame and indignation and anger, some at Valencia, mostly at himself. He thought he played the game so well, but it seems like she had them both fooled.

"Gale and I became friends because we care about the same people," Madge says with a smile at Valencia, all teeth, her eyes blue and fierce, "we're on the same team, a team we know that many people in Panem are also on."

For a moment Valencia pouts, and Gale can't help but smirk at Madge's outmaneuvering. She must live up to the nickname Finnick gave her—the General.

"That was good work," he says after, once they're sure that Valencia and her crew is completely gone. He's escorting her off of the premises now that the interview is over, but they're taking their time, going over the interview, talking about how they think it went.

"Thanks," Madge says, and she's glancing at him as they walk. He knows what she wants to say. "So—"

He interrupts her. "Finnick told you," he says. "That he convinced me."

Madge nods. "Yeah," she says. "He did."

"I'm still not—I still don't like it," he says, wanting to be clear. "But if this is the best way to keep my family safe, it's better I'm informed. I don't know exactly what kind of things you have everyone else do, but I'm telling you right now, this is already a big enough risk for me, and I'm not inclined to take many more."

"That's fine," she says. "I don't—as of right now, you just need to keep doing what you're doing, what Finnick does. Keep your eyes and ears open for whatever information you think might be helpful. I'll—I'll have Finnick brief you on what that is," she bites her lip. "You don't have to see me much." She's giving him an out, but her voice is still hopeful. She wants him to prove her wrong.

But Gale stares straight ahead. He forgives her for what she did to him, but he can't bring himself to trust her. The first person he opens up to in years, and it turns out she was using him, too? It's a blow that devastates him more than he can rationalize or understand, and he doesn't think they can be friends right now, if ever.

As it is, these interviews are stretching his limits. It feels too real, too comfortable, and it makes him pull back that much more, knowing how completely staged everything is- how fake. Nothing between them is real, and he needs to remember that.

"I'm sorry," is what he says instead, and he pretends not to notice that she's blinking rapidly to dispel tears.

"I understand," she says quietly. They part ways without saying anything else.

They do interviews every night, to the delight of the Capitol and their own bewilderment—they understand the appeal to a certain extent, but it's mind-boggling that their popularity rivals Katniss and Peeta's. Finnick theorizes that they're an idealized version of Katniss and Peeta, genderbent versions that have not only youth, but beauty, charm, and wealth. The whole thing makes Gale a little sick to his stomach, and he knows that Madge is uncomfortable as well, but at the very least they've gotten good at dodging Valencia's insinuations about their relationship. They both understand that they have to flirt a little bit—when they do, more money pours in for Katniss and Peeta's fund, and they need all the help they can get.

After one interview, as he's walking her out, Gale gets a comm from Finnick, who's frantically telling them to find a TV—the end of the Games is finally there.

Madge should leave, but Gale finds himself pulling her along back to his suite, and they're both anxious, pacing around the couch as they watch Katniss and Peeta head back to the Cornucopia.

They watch in silence, stunned, as Peeta tearfully confesses his love to Katniss and Katniss, of her own volition, kisses him.

Gale sits down. "Holy…" he runs his hand through his hair, fingers shaking.

Madge eyes him sharply. She'd heard insinuations from Haymitch, how Katniss was in love with Gale, and how Gale used to be in love with her… is he still, she wonders? Has he kept this girl in his heart all these years?

But then he barks out a laugh as Haymitch's gifts come down, and shakes his head. "He's certainly not subtle, is he?"

And Madge has to smile at that. "No, he's not."

But they both get chills when the howls start, and things only get worse from there, Gale on the couch, Madge standing behind it, gripping the back.

They stay like that, motionless, as the two other girls are killed, as Cato and Thresh face off, as they hear more mutts- birds this time- come from the depths of the forest, but then out of the corner of Gale sees Madge turn away from the screen, her hand clapped over her mouth.

Even though he knows he should be watching Katniss and Peeta battle Cato, he gets up and goes to her, standing behind her, his hands hovering over her shoulders, indecisive. "Madge?"

"I'm, I'm sorry," she's gasping, and she's crying, and it's suddenly difficult for him to breathe. "I—don't worry about me. Go on."

"What's wrong?" He looks back at the TV, quickly—Katniss is beneath the writhing, bleeding Cato, who's being torn apart by the birds as Peeta looks on helplessly. It's revolting, to be sure, but he knows that Madge looked away before Katniss forced Cato out from under the Cornucopia. "What's set this off?"

"The—the birds," Madge says. "I—those are the same ones."

He frowns; he doesn't understand. "What do you mean?"

Madge turns around, and her pale, tear stained face is almost more than he can bear. "My aunt was in the Games, you know. The last Quarter Quell. I—for years no one would talk about her in my family, and then, after my mother died, I found the tapes of it, and I watched it, and—that's how she died. Those birds, those very same ones."

Gale swallows, because this all sounds very, very familiar to him. "What was your aunt's name?" He rasps.

"Maysilee," Madge says with a sad, watery smile. "Maysilee Donner."

Gale clenches his jaw. Maysilee—Haymitch's partner, his girl. The one no one knew about.

He's certainly not going to say anything to Madge about it, although knowing her she probably figured that out, too, but he can't help himself from reaching out and putting his hands on her upper arms, rubbing his thumbs soothingly. "I'm sorry," he says instead. "I didn't know."

"I would've—I would've told you," she says urgently. Her eyes turn pleading. "Eventually, I would've. I promise."

Gale keeps rubbing her arms, and something in him deflates a little. "I know," he says soothingly, knowing what she really means, thinking about all the things they don't say to each other, and he just—he feels tired. "I know you would've, Madge."

The cannon booms and they jump, both turning to the TV. Cato is dead.

"They won," Madge whispers, smiling even though lingering tears trail down her cheeks. "They really won."

Gale, however, is tense. Something isn't right. "Then why aren't they announcing it?" He asks, frustrated. "The last cannon and the final announcement coincide almost simultaneously."

Madge's brow is furrowed, too—he's right. "Oh, no," Madge puts a hand to her mouth. "They wouldn't—Daddy didn't say anything about Seneca suggesting—"

And then they make the announcement, that the former deal was off, that there could only be one Victor, and it's almost funny, how Peeta and Katniss's horrified looks and stances match Gale and Madge's almost identically.

Once the shock wears off, Gale's face is grim, his eyes dark. "Looks like Seneca doesn't feel the need to tell your father everything," he spits out, and he's not sure who he's angry with—Madge and her arrogance in her strategy; her father's incompetence; Seneca Crane's deviousness; or himself, for trusting that the Rebellion could protect his former best friend.

Madge is crying again, her body red and flushed with so much shame and humiliation and horror. She thought she was so clever, that she had beat the Capitol at their own Game, had thought she had their love for pageantry and soap operas all figured out, but she was wrong—they love those things, but they hate happy endings more than anything else, they hate the idea of anyone winning. The only Victor who is ever allowed to truly emerge from the Games is the Capitol itself.

She looks over; Gale is on the couch, hunched over, shaking, as Katniss tries to use the knife to kill herself and Madge, hesitantly, sits down next to him, and puts her arm across his back, making soothing circles. She knows that nothing will help him, she knows, and yet, she thinks, it's always better to be with someone else, to know that someone is there, as opposed to living it alone—she would know; it's the motto of her entire life.

He doesn't push her away, at least, and they both tense, shock-still, as Peeta picks up the Nightlock and puts some into Katniss's hands, as they bring the berries to their lips…

And when the announcement comes, when Katniss and Peeta are washing out their mouths and their hands at the lake, and hugging each other, and cupping each other's faces in their hands, breathless and shocked, but their eyes are shining—

Madge and Gale don't cheer. They don't yell or scream or cry or hug. They sit, still. Numb. They're not sure how, yet, but what's occurred is nearly as bad as if one of their friends had died.

Katniss and Peeta have done the unthinkable, the impossible—they have bluffed and beat the Capitol on their own terms. But the terms are dangerous, the victory devious, even if their motives—simply to not be without each other—seem pure. The Capitol won't see it that way; the Capitol will not forgive this cunning, and they'll certainly never forget it.

Madge's arm slides away from his back, but instead, her hand finds his, worms its way in between his clenched fist. He doesn't pull away, but instead holds on tightly.

"What are we going to do?" Madge whispers into the stillness.

Gale doesn't have an answer.

Outside, they hear cheering, of loud parties, of fireworks, of drinking and dancing and music. But instead of joining them, of going to find Haymitch, of rallying the troops, Madge and Gale simply sit together, on the couch, in silence, for a long, long time.

End Part One