Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

We aren't told the reasons why Madge gave the mockingjay pin to Katniss that day. Take your pick.

She is kind.

She's trying hard not to cry as she stands in the hallway of the Justice Building. It will be her turn soon, and it wouldn't be fair to Katniss to make her deal with her tears. She will be getting enough of those from her family. It's just hard to make the tears stop.

She is likely losing her friend because even if she comes back (and Madge knows that Katniss has the kind of skills that might let her do so) how could she possibly be the same after what happens in the Games?

The fact that thoughts like how she is going to spend the rest of her school years eating lunch alone are running through her head makes her want to cry all over again because Katniss may die (and she's thinking about school lunches). What's wrong with her?

Prim looks absolutely devastated, and she feels the tears well up with sympathy for the little girl. Katniss has to come back (even if she isn't the same Katniss anymore) because Madge has seen firsthand what happens to sisters that are left behind. Prim shouldn't have to live with that (no one should have to live with that). It might be even worse for Prim since she was the one chosen and Katniss is going in her place. How does a twelve year old get over that?

The time for visits begins, and the Everdeens disappear behind the door. Madge doesn't know what she is going to say, but she can't not go. There has to be something she can say. It might be easier to think if the hair on the back of her neck wasn't prickling so.

Gale is glaring at her. She can tell (even without turning around to look). She knows she shouldn't take it personally. She knows that it really isn't about her. She knows he is angry and frustrated and needs to take it out on someone, and she knows that she's a convenient target. It's like this morning when he was mocking her chances of being reaped. He doesn't know anything about her. He doesn't want to know anything about her. He just wants to blow off steam. It's annoying because it isn't fair, but she always lets it go.

He's the kind who has to do something or explode, and his mocking on her back porch doesn't hurt anything but her pride (and, most importantly, doesn't get him into trouble). She'll let the glaring go now because it isn't hurting anyone, and she knows how he feels. She knows because she knows how she feels about her best friend being taken away to become bloody entertainment for the morally bankrupt. She knows it has to be infinitely worse for Gale because she also knows that while Katniss is her best friend (only one really), Gale and Katniss are each other's best friends. So, she doesn't turn around. She doesn't respond.

Madge pats Prim's shoulder as she walks by, and Prim gives her a small, sniffling smile before she continues on with her mother. Gale steps to the side with them, and they whisper together. Peeta's father comes out of the other room and steps toward her line. Madge waves him forward (partly in shock and partly because she still doesn't know what she is going to say when it is her turn).

The Everdeens are still whispering with Gale. Madge turns around to give them privacy.

The thought comes suddenly, and she is pleased. She won't have to think of something to say to Katniss because there is something that she can do instead. She knows that Katniss won't have a token. Neither of the other Everdeen women were wearing anything that they could have given her. Her family didn't have time to go and get anything (and if she has read between the lines correctly, Katniss might not be willing to wear some memento of a previous life that her mother might have tucked away).

Katniss needs to take something with her. She needs to remember that there are people outside of the arena who are thinking of her. She needs a piece of home. Something from Prim would be better, but she'll have to deal with second best. If only she'll take it, Katniss is so particular about owing. She's worked herself into slightly flustered trying to figure out how to get her way. She's never argued with Katniss. It's never been necessary. She suspects Katniss would win out of sheer stubborn will. So, she can't let her argue. She'll have to be direct and quick and not give her friend time to think. She can do that. She will do that because she can't let Katniss go without anything to remind her that there is a world outside the arena.

She is protective.

She can remember the first time she noticed that he was looking at her. She had been fourteen, and it had been disconcerting. She was just coming out of her awkward stage, and some of the boys at school had given her that glancing over look that made her want to cross her arms in front of her chest and duck out of their line of sight. If it had been that kind of look, she would have been uncomfortable. She would, however, have been able to brush it off and keep walking. This look was different.

It was as if he were looking through her but still seeing her. It was as if there was someone else only he could see standing there with her. It would have been disconcerting on its own, but she could have passed it off as a bizarre altercation with the town drunk. The problem was that she had seen that look before. It had been on her mother's face sometimes when she was having one of her bad days.

Why was this man she had never met looking at her like that?

She didn't go over that day. It was too unexpected. She needed to think. She had never questioned her mother. She had assumed that it was part of her mother's headaches. She hadn't thought it was directed at her. This man was changing that assumption. She thought it over. She had never seen that expression on her mother's face when she looked at her father. She had never seen it (even on her mother's worst days) directed at the woman who came in to clean when she helped her to sit up in her bed. It was only her. It was something about her.

She was a little angry at herself for taking so long when she finally figured it out. She didn't confirm it with her father. They didn't talk much about Maysilee. The entirety of her knowledge came from occasional cryptic comments and a couple of stories from her grandfather before he had died. Simple math told her that the drunken victor would have been her aunt's district partner in the Games. She did look like her mother, so she must look like her mother's twin.

That could have been the end of it. She had an answer for the staring. She could have let it go, but she didn't. She wanted to know more.

She couldn't just go up to him. She wasn't quite brave enough for that. He was always drunk, and she had never spoken to a drunken person before. She didn't know how much he would understand. She wasn't sure he was safe. It still happened though. She would be walking on an errand or coming home from school and feel the eyes following her. She would turn and meet his gaze, but he never looked away first. She wasn't even sure he was seeing her well enough to know she was looking back.

Katniss had explained the Hob to her, but she had never found a reason to go there. She had always thought that if she worked up the nerve, she would be there with Katniss. It didn't end up that way. She made sure to go when Katniss was busy elsewhere. She didn't want company for what she was doing. She didn't want to have to explain.

If people are selling black market goods, you can bet that at least one of them will be up for selling information. She carefully chose those old enough to be aware of details and young enough to maybe not be forgetful. She crafted careful questions, and she practiced sounding like she knew more than she did to get people started. There seemed to be a hesitancy on the topic. She never could decide if it was just the Games in general that made people nervous, or there was something they didn't like to remember about the particular one she was asking about. It seemed strange to her that people looked around to see who was listening in a place where everyone was actively committing crimes against the Capital.

She smiled prettily and used coaxing words and eventually people began to talk. It may have been the hardest thing that quiet, socially awkward her had ever done, but she had to get to the bottom of the staring. She would have sat through the awfulness of the reruns, but those Games were never shown. This was her best option.

She bought things she would have to find a purpose for later, and she ate bowls of soup that tasted okay but left her feeling like she was better off not knowing what it was that had gone in there. She didn't worry about someone mentioning her visits to her friend. The people in the Hob knew how to mind their own business.

The story eventually filled in for her, and the staring man who had become "Haymitch" in her head (could you be on any less than a first name basis with someone who had held your aunt while she died) had also become someone that she wanted to know.

It wasn't an auspicious beginning. When she worked up the nerve and crossed the street, the sentence that she got made her wonder if this was worth all the trouble (and pocket money) she had gone through.

"Why don't you go haunt someone else?"

That was all. Then, he had passed out in the middle of the sidewalk.

She was still intrigued. She was still determined. She tried again.

His house was disgusting, but she learned to navigate the worst of the mess. Her parents never asked where she went, so she had all the time in the world. Patience pays off. She got the story from him. He started actually looking at her instead of her when they spoke. He was gruff and surly and unpleasant often, but she didn't mind. Sometimes she and Katniss didn't actually speak to each other all day. Her friendships were weird, but they were hers. They were the only ones she had. If there was one thing that Madge knew to be a defining characteristic, it was the fact that she was loyal. Katniss was nice to her, and Haymitch was nice to her. She didn't need the rest of the kids (or adults) who always saw her father's occupation first and kept their distance. She had her two friends (and they gave her more than enough to worry about).

So, she stuck with Katniss who saw beyond the "mayor's daughter" label and let her be her. She stuck with Haymitch who sent her on errands to get her to leave, but always had a story for her when she came back. She made him eat when he came back from the Games that year and the next and didn't want to do anything but drink and sleep. She was happy that he tolerated her presence at those times and let her help (maybe he was too drunk to really realize that she was there). It was a nice change from Katniss who was forever blocking her attempts to help (something about owing always came up). She had given up and resorted to being sneaky with her. She didn't have to resort to sneaky with Haymitch.

When she found herself standing outside the Justice Building trying to figure out what to say to her best friend, she knew there was nothing that she could say that would help. The words of encouragement would be spoken and the promises to try would be extracted from Katniss by her family and by Gale. She needed to do something.

Drunken Haymitch talked without realizing he was talking. She knew how he felt about the Games. She knew how he felt about mentoring tributes. She needed this year to be different. She needed him to know that Katniss was different. Katniss was strong. Katniss was smart. Katniss was resourceful. She could come home. She could come home to the little sister who adored her and would be forever broken if her sister died in her place.

Katniss needed Haymitch to do his best. Madge needed Haymitch to do his best. He would recognize the pin. She couldn't get to him to talk, but she could still send him a message. She exited the room having pinned the mockingjay to Katniss's dress and reflected that once again she had had to resort to being sneaky to try to do something to help her friend.

She is angry.

Is it wrong to wish that everything and everybody would get swallowed up into the earth at this moment? Or maybe it could just be her?

It could be that all those years of holding everything in have finally made her go insane. She can't think straight. She can't focus. She can't feel anything except how angry she is at absolutely everyone in her path (and even some who aren't in her path at all).

Her mother had been in the hallway when she came out of her room this morning. Her mother, who hadn't left her bed in two weeks, had gotten up and come to find her on Reaping Day morning. Her mother had remembered what day it was. She had fought through the pain and the sickness. She was making an effort. She was trying. She was making this a good day because she was her mother, and mothers were supposed to comfort you when you were scared. Madge felt hopeful. She felt safe. Her mother could come back to her. Her mother wasn't so far gone that she didn't care.

She was holding out something to her gesturing for her to take it. Her mother had gotten her a present?

Then, Madge saw what it was that her mother was holding in her hand. She knew what that was. She knew where it came from. What was her mother thinking?

"Here, Maysilee," she said. "You need this for when you leave on the train."

That was all. That was the end of the hope that her mother was trying. The pin was pressed into her hand, and her mother wandered back to her room to sink back into that place where only she could go and forgetting that her daughter even existed.

She wasn't certain how long she stood there. She only knows that she wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come.

Fine. She wouldn't cry.

She straightened her shoulders. She placed the pin on her dress.

Fine. This was how things were going to be. She knew (had for some time now) that her mother wasn't right in her head. It didn't change the fact that she felt as if she had just been condemned.

When the knock on the door came, her first thought was that it was awfully nice of Katniss to have brought her strawberries for her last meal. She almost laughed before she found herself wondering if everyone was wrong about her mother. Maybe it wasn't Maysilee's death that had caused the problem. Maybe they were just prone to insanity. She shook off the thoughts and managed to be calm (even with Gale's snarky comments that if she didn't know better she would have sworn were intentionally designed to bait her).

She went to the square with the others noticing a few envious glances at the jewelry proudly displayed on her shoulder. That's right. Be jealous. Doesn't everyone wish they had a mother who marked them for death?

She'd dwelt so much and run her fingers across the pin in anticipation so many times that she actually had herself convinced that she's fated to be chosen when Effie Trinket finally sticks her hand into the girl's glass ball. She actually took a step forward before she realized that that wasn't her name that the woman with her garish pink hair had said.

By the time that she processes that it was Prim (Prim who made her stop outside the bakery to stare at the "pretty" icing in the window every afternoon each day that she walked her home from school on those days that Katniss had rabbit fever) who was called, Katniss has already volunteered and is up on the stage standing next to Peeta Mellark.

She's in the Justice Building waiting for her turn. Her turn? To do what? Say good bye? Say good luck? Say please don't die? Say please don't do what they'll make you do to not die? She can't decide. It might be because she is so busy being angry that there isn't any room for anything else in her head.

She's angry at her mother for the pin, for not remembering who she is, for getting lost in her own world and leaving her alone.

She's angry at her father because he always talks about little ways to make things better but from where she is standing in this moment little things are obviously not enough.

She's angry at Peeta Mellark for staring at her best friend from across the lunchroom for years without ever getting up and walking over. She's angry at him for never saying anything because now it's too late.

She's angry at Prim with her heart rending expression for being so lovable so sweet so Prim that Katniss took her place on that stage.

She's angry at Katniss for being so noble and leaving Prim behind to deal with her sacrifice.

She's angry at Mrs. Everdeen for being another mother who left her daughter on her own and making Katniss believe that Prim has always been her responsibility.

She's angry at Effie Trinket for choosing those slips.

She's angry at that thought because if it wasn't those slips, it would be other slips. Other shouldn't be better because they would still be someone's slips, and this is all wrong.

She's angry at the boy behind her in line with his ignorant comments and his angry glare. She has a childish urge to turn around and poke him in the chest and say "Bring it on, surly boy. I have enough angst to put you to shame today."

The thought shouldn't be funny, but it is. She almost lets out a laugh that she manages to pass off as a choking cough. She wonders if this is hysteria. She wonders if she really has gone insane because these are not the people with whom she should be angry. Or should she?

She's angry at the Peacekeepers who are not so subtly guarding the doors.

She's angry at the government in the Capital for letting this continue. She's angry at them for being so lost that they think this is okay.

She's angry at the people of District 12 for their gesture in the square because it was so much more than what was expected but so much less than what should have happened. She's angry that it took decades for them to muster up that response in the first place.

She's angry at the parents who let this happen to their children.

She's angry at their ancestors who thought it was okay to sign the treaty in the first place.

She's angry at the person or persons who thought up the Games.

She's angry at everyone who watches them.

She's angry at the aunt who died and left this pin behind and left her trapped in a legacy of her mother's memory.

She's angry that her best friend (her only friend) may be leaving her forever. She's angry that her best friend may come back having done the things that you have to do to come back.

She's angry at herself. It was supposed to be her today. She knows it. Her mother knew it. Somehow, someway, in some bizarre twist of fate (who she is also angry at) Katniss is taking her place. And she is letting her. What does that make her? Who does that make her?

So, the pin goes with Katniss. It was meant to go back to the Capital. It was meant to go today. It was just meant to go with a different girl.

She is rebellious.

She didn't really plan on the day proceeding as it had. She was visibly ruffled when she spoke with Katniss, and that is something that she isn't certain she has ever been before – in public anyway. She had practically forced the pin onto the shoulder of Katniss's dress, but she had taken it with her. She had promised to wear it. Katniss was good at keeping promises. She would trust her to keep this one. It wasn't the best of conversations. It was rushed and sudden. She hadn't really had time to plan. In her private thoughts (daydreams really) of one day striking back against the Capital, she had always figured she would have a plan ahead of time. Winging it was probably not her strong suit. She couldn't be sure – she had never done it before.

There had simply been that moment in the square where everything had seemed so clear in her head that she had to follow the prompting.

She knew Katniss well enough to know what was coming when Prim's name had been called. She, apparently, didn't know District 12 well enough to know how they would react. It was a pleasant surprise. She was proud.

That's when she saw it. The people of District 12 had been united with each other against a common enemy for one beautiful, shining moment. All of the jealousy and distrust of disparity of circumstances that had been so carefully cultivated over decades had fallen away. All of the petty dislikes and hurt feelings of a community of unvarying people clustered in a small space hadn't mattered. The usually worn into relative apathy people of District 12 had been roused to dissent (a quiet, subtle dissent instead of a loud, overt one but maybe a small action grounded in a united principle had more staying power than a large display resulting out of temporary, whipped up emotions, she would have to think about that later when she had the time to think). The people, of their own accord with no outside influences, had revolted against a system they had been taught their entire lives was untouchable and undefiable. It may have been the most amazing thing she had ever seen in her sixteen years of existence.

It was all caused by a girl who hadn't even tried – a girl who quite possibly didn't even realize the implications of what had happened.

Madge knew.

The whispered words of her early childhood had flooded back into her head as she raised her fingers to her lips with the others. She had thought they were stories to entertain her as her Grandmother Donner brushed her hair or taught her knitting stitches. She had enjoyed the tales as any child would feeling like she had come in contact with something special after listening to lives filled with bravery and standing against evil painted into clarity by her grandmother's voice. It wasn't until the day her mother caught them that she realized there was something larger involved.

She can still hear the panic in her mother's tone. She can still feel the tension in the air caused by the angry words practically hissed back and forth – made all the worse for not being spoken in raised voices. It was the defining moment of the end of her oblivious childhood when she saw the checking glances and realized that the two women were not yelling despite their anger because they were both afraid of being overheard. She's not sure what all passed between them – they banished her from the room. She only knows that her mother locked herself in her darkened bedroom for four days, and her grandmother never told her the stories again.

If that was what her mother had hoped to accomplish by winning the argument, it didn't do her any good. It was already too late. Her grandmother had probably known that. That was likely why she had let it go. She may have only argued to make Madge's mother think she was winning something. She had realized quite some time ago that her grandmother was crafty like that.

They were already in her head, and you can't just forget something like that (especially with the clarity of her memories of how it all ended). She got older, and she knew (not just because the stories had told her, but because she could see it for herself) how wrong things were with the Treaty with the Games with the Capital. The others knew it (at least, most of them), but they never really did anything about it.

Until today.

Her grandmother's voice is filling her head as she is dismissed from the square. She hasn't heard it this clearly in years.

Disobedience to tyrants . . .

She rushes toward the Justice Building. She has one chance. She has one chance to push back against the Capital, and she's going to take it. Maybe because she's gone crazy. Maybe because it's the only chance she may ever have. Her grandmother can't have been the only one. There have to be others – the keepers of the stories. She fingers the gold circle pinned to her dress and knows it is the best option she has. The others (if there are any, and there have to be) will recognize it. They will know what it means. Katniss won't have to know because she's Katniss (which makes it more perfect than any fantasy rebellion in her head could ever have played out). Nothing breaks Katniss. Not her father. Not her mother. Not even Prim's reaping. Katniss finds a way. She moves forward. She goes on. It'll be the same in the Games. For this moment, Madge is sure of it. Because the Games won't break Katniss either. She'll still be Katniss, and she'll do things in her own Katniss way – not the Capital's. Even the ones who don't recognize the pin for what it is will still remember it. It will be a symbol. It can be a rallying point around the girl that the Capital can't break.

When in the course of human events . . .

It blazes across the vision inside of her head so clearly that for a moment she thinks she can reach out and touch it. It's breathtaking – this vision of the rest of the Districts united just as 12 was today. The knowledge that it's possible makes her heart flutter. She did, after all, just witness the start. Katniss can cause it. She won't even have to try. It probably wouldn't work if she tried.

When the vision of the future where there are no more reapings and there is a people who will never allow such a thing to happen again fades, she has a moment of doubt. She's standing outside the room waiting for her turn looking at the expression on Prim's face (on Mrs. Everdeen's on Gale's), and she remembers just what the Games are. She knows the whispers in 12 that tribute is synonymous with corpse. She knows how many teenagers they have buried. She knows there are things you can't control and gamemakers who pick and choose targets. She knows her friend (the only one she really has) may very well come back in a coffin. There is even a chance that some of the story keepers are on the other side. She may be bringing more trouble down on Katniss's head. She may be dropping Katniss in the middle of something beyond all of their ability to control. She may be making an empty gesture that accomplishes nothing at all.

If the lights that guide us ever go out, they will fade little by little . . .

She hands over the pin anyway. That vision of the future was so bright. She can't ignore it. She can't ignore the stories. She can't ignore that she knows that this is wrong. If there is a chance . . . If there is any chance to change things, she has to take it.

The children in the square who were bleary eyed because the nightmares wouldn't grant them sleep last night, the twisted sense of relief they all feel when it's someone else going to die instead of them, the ones who are so far gone that they are holding betting slips in their hands shouldn't be. It shouldn't be allowed. It has to stop.

Madge isn't stupid. She knows it won't be simple. She knows it won't be easy. Her grandmother's stories didn't gloss. She knows what the price tags are likely to read. She just hopes that Katniss forgives her someday. If it doesn't work, Katniss will never know. There won't be anything to forgive. If it does work, maybe that picture in her head will be worth losing her friendship. Maybe Madge won't be around to care about forgiveness anyway.

It doesn't matter. It's already done. She can't change her mind now.