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. It's all hers.

A World Apart

AN: Many thanks to FortuneFaded2012 for the beta. Just so everyone knows, this isn't the same as the little group of stories from my au trilogy thingie. I used those stories as a skeleton for this story, so some of the elements are still there, but I changed some things and expanded it to make it into a full story, if that makes any sense. Hope it's not a complete disappointment. Thanks!

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Madge stays on her side, curled around the decorative pillow, listening to the hum of the train as it glides over the countryside. Outside the drapes Districts she would've never seen slip past, Districts she'll never see now, if only because she doesn't have the energy to go to the window.

Staring at the wall, the soft blue textured paint, she tries to remember the Reaping, but the day is a blur.

She remembers standing under the sun, perspiration rolling down her back, and she remembers seeing Katniss-hair up in an elaborate twist, her mother's creation no doubt, and a simple but beautiful dress. A far cry from the girl that had sold her strawberries only a few hours earlier.

There was a sense of fear around Katniss that normally wasn't there, and Madge remembered that this was her younger sister's-the only person she seemed to have any real affection for-first Reaping. As much as she'd wanted to go and reassure Katniss that twelve year olds are hardly ever picked, it seemed a futile effort.

Despite the fact that Madge only had five slips, a knot of anxiety had settled in her stomach, an overwhelming sense of foreboding settling in her blood.

Her mother's twin had only five slips too, and that hadn't tipped the odds in her favor, why should it provide her mother's only daughter with any?

The history of the Games had been read, Madge had followed along in her head. She'd listened to her father read it for almost her entire life and could've repeated it by rote if needed.

Mr. Abernathy had made a fool of them all, not for the first time, and she doubts for the last time, yelling and falling around, practically mauling Ms. Trinket before settling into his seat.

Madge remembers, crystal clear, despite the haze surrounding the rest of the day, watching Ms. Trinket's hideously manicured hand dive into the Reaping bowl. She remembers hearing Gale's voice on a loop in her head.

"You won't be going to the Capitol."

"What can you have? Five entries?"

It was Gale that had reminded her that this was the year she had the same number of slips as her mother and her twin, Maysilee, had when Maysilee had been Reaped. Gale had been the reason she'd had her normally fragile calm snatched away.

"Magdalene Undersee!"

Even though she'd known it was her name, it wasn't until Delly, with her little round face and her watery blue eyes, tapped her shoulder and said 'That's you Madge' that she could acknowledge it.

Her mind, despite being in turmoil, had kept enough sense to force her face into a blank stare, crying or breaking down wouldn't save her, it would only feed the Careers desire to make her suffer rather than give her a swift death.

How she'd made it to the stage she doesn't remember, not walking through the crowd nor up the little wooden steps. She does have the image of her father, skin ashen, and the dark circles under his eyes from the sleepless nights the week before the Reaping brings, a little bit darker. Madge could almost hear the 'I'm sorry' he couldn't say.

"Well isn't this a treat," Ms. Trinket trilled, pulling her roughly from her spot and spinning her to face the unfriendly mass. "The daughter of the Mayor! How lucky and honored you must feel?"

Someone in the crowd laughed, and despite the seriousness of the situation, Madge almost laughed too. She battled it back though, because if she started she wouldn't be able to stop. The only way she'd be able to quit would be to dissolve into tears.

Ms. Trinket's too white teeth shimmered out at Madge as she awaited her answer, but all Madge managed was a weak nod. Telling her being drawn was the exact opposite of an honor would've only brought down more suffering on her father and mother.

She'd asked for Volunteers, receiving only a lonely breeze in response.

"No one?" She'd smiled expectantly out at the crowd. They stayed silent though, probably still in shock that the Mayor's daughter had just been Reaped. "Then now for the young gentleman that will be accompanying her!"

She plunged her hand deep into the bowl, digging around for several seconds before finally deciding on one and pulling it out. Carefully, she unfolded it and read off the unlucky boy's name.

"Arlo Riley!"

He'd appeared from the eighteen year old boys section, somewhere near the back, but not near Gale. She'd have noticed that. Despite the fact that she was doomed, being shuttled off for wrapping before her funeral, she didn't want Gale to come with her. Unlike her, he had people depending on him. Instead of watching Ms. Trinket fumble around in the bowl, Madge had kept her eyes on Gale, willing his slips from the escort's hand.

It all moved fast and silently after that.

She knows her father read the Treaty of Treason, dropping the cards he normally didn't even need to use several times and his voice cracking, because he does it every year, and she knows she shakes Arlo's enormous hand, because that's what happens, but it's all in a fog. It might've been part of an old television serial for all the detail, color and sound, surrounding it in her mind.

What she does remember is being pushed into the back room of the Justice Building.

That was one of the only comforts she knew she'd get, a final glimpse of a place so familiar to her it was almost like a second home.

Once, years before, one of the Victor's had told her that all the Justice halls were furnished the same.

"Like funeral homes," the girl had said. "Pretty and cold."

Madge had never thought she was right until the moment she took in the small room. There was a small velvet couch, heavy, dusty curtains, and a few plain, faded paintings on the walls.

It was exactly like a funeral home, and she was the deceased. This was a viewing for a body that wasn't even cold yet.

"Magdalene?"

She had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn't even heard her father come in.

Running, she lunged at him, held him as tightly as she could, it was her last chance, and she wouldn't waste the opportunity.

"I'm scared," she'd whispered.

They were going to kill her, that's all there was to it. She had no skills, no experience surviving or finding food. She'd be dead before she steps off her podium.

"It's going to be okay, Pearl," he told her. Despite the fact that it was a hollow comfort, his voice was steady.

He pulled back, his eyes red rimmed and watery. "Listen to Haymitch."

"Dad-"

"No," he'd silenced her, cut her off from telling him that if Mr. Abernathy hadn't been able to get anyone home in almost twenty-five years he wasn't about to start now. Besides, he was a drunk, that wasn't changing anytime soon, no matter how fond he was of Madge.

"Listen to Haymitch. Do what he tells you. He's-He'll get you home."

Madge had almost snapped that even if she listened, followed Mr. Abernathy's every word to the letter, there was still almost no chance of her coming home in anything other than a pine box. Beyond all that, she'd watched enough Victors, not just Mr. Abernathy, and she was positive the life of a Victor wasn't for her.

"They seem so sad," she'd told Mr. Abernathy, after meeting his newest fellow Victor and her Mentor.

"Victory isn't everything, sweetheart," is all Mr. Abernathy had said back.

Years later, after watching the light fading from the eyes of so many, she knows what he meant. It isn't an enviable position, she isn't sure what steals the life from all the Victors' eyes, hollows them out and dresses them up, but she doesn't want to know. She has no desire to join his exclusive club.

Instead of telling her father that, ruining her last moments with him, she just fell back into a hug, allowed the tears she refused to let fall in front of the Cameras flood out and onto the shoulder of his jacket.

"I love you," she'd told him with a wet, broken voice. "Tell mom I love her. Tell her I'm sorry and-"

The Peacekeepers had come in and gestured for her father to leave. His time was up. Being the Mayor didn't earn him a few extra minutes with his only child. They might've been important in Twelve, but to the Capitol, they were only pawns, small and unimportant.

He'd pressed a kiss to her hair, murmured he loved her so-so-so much before letting the Peacekeepers usher him from the room.

When the door opened a few seconds later, it isn't Katniss or Gale as she hoped, but ash blond hair and a sad smile.

Peeta Mellark.

He stood at the doorway for several seconds, watching her, dust from the carpet that her father had kicked up exiting floating around his head.

"I'm sorry, Madge."

It sounded genuine, and even if it wasn't, Madge decided to pretend it was. Peeta would at least be at her funeral, he was already attending her wake.

"Thank you," Madge answered back, tears once again forming in her eyes.

He took a few steps, crossed the room and pulled her into a hug.

"You don't deserve this," he whispered.

She chuckled, a watery, pathetic thing. "Does anyone?"

He tightened his hold and she felt him shake his head.

Madge remembers he smelled like vanilla, bread, and the smoke from the ovens in the bakery. Peeta was warm and safe and in that moment she'd wanted nothing more than to melt into him, absorb into his kindness and be saved from the horror that awaited her.

They didn't talk again until the Peacekeepers came in and told Peeta to leave.

"Be brave, Madge," he whispered, tears dripping off his jaw as he left.

There was no one else.

No more visitors, no more friends.

No Katniss, who Madge had wanted to give her pin to, she could sell it and keep her family in bread for a lifetime. No Gale, not to taunt her or, less likely, to apologize.

No one.

Her last few minutes in Twelve had been spent alone, sitting on the green velvet couch, surrounded by dust and silence.

Now curled up on the bed in the room Ms. Trinket had told her was hers, she thinks it was fitting. She'd gone out as she'd lived. Alone.

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It's dark when she hears the knock, which she ignores.

She'd skipped dinner, hadn't come out of her room since getting on the train. There wasn't enough energy left in her for listening to Ms. Trinket tell her how exciting it was to have the daughter of a Mayor as Tribute.

"You're being incredibly rude, Miss Undersee!" Ms. Trinket had yelled through the door after Madge had disappeared behind it only minutes after getting on the train, having told her she needed to use the restroom.

Madge hadn't responded to her yelling, only covered her head with a pillow to muffle the sound of her shrill voice as it berated her from the hallway.

After nearly an hour, and a shouting match with Mr. Abernathy, she'd left Madge in peace.

Assuming it's Ms. Trinket again, come to give her another round of admonishments for her behavior, Madge pulls the comforter over her head, turning herself into a lump in the center of the overly large bed.

When she doesn't answer the door starts to jiggle, she hears keys tinkling and then the rattle of the lock as someone unlocks her door.

A little curious, she peeks out from under her barrier and sees the yellow light cutting into the thick dark of her room from the doorway.

Instead of Ms. Trinket, in her pink wig and green suit, she finds Mr. Abernathy, holding a tray of food and giving her a curious look.

"You're lucky our darling escort doesn't have the brains to ask the staff for keys," he grumbles as he comes in, kicking the door shut and plunging them back into darkness.

Balancing the tray, he flicks on the lights, blinding Madge in the process.

He takes the tray and gently sets it on the bedside table, the water in the little glass sloshing out a little onto the napkin. Carefully, he uncovers the plate, gesturing to a pile of cured meats, cheeses, and fruits. "Eat up, kid."

Sitting up, Madge shakes her head. "I'm not hungry."

The lines on his face double as he frowns. "You're gonna need your strength." He picks up a strawberry and puts it in her hand. "Eat."

Madge stares at the strawberry, remembering that at home her father is probably eating the ones she'd bought from Gale and Katniss less than twenty-four hours before, and tears start to build up again. She forces the berry back at him. "I'm n-not hungry."

"Oh, Pearl."

Just as the tears bubble over, start pouring out and off her face and to the comforter clutched in her free hand, Mr. Abernathy pulls her into a hug.

"I'm scared," she manages to tell him. It's a lie though. She's terrified.

It would be easier if they just sent her into the Arena the moment the train reached the Capitol, the buildup, the pomp and pageantry are more nerve wracking than the battle that awaits her. Death will be quick, and, hopefully painless, but with each show the chance for a misstep, to make a mistake and bring danger on her family and friends increases.

She's terrified for them.

"Shhh, don't worry," he whispers. "I'm going to take care of everything."

Pulling back, she wipes her nose on the back of her hand and shakes her head. "There's nothing to take care of."

Is he picking out her casket?

Taking her by the shoulders, he forces her to look him in the eye. "There's a lot to take care of, and I'm doing it."

There's something dangerous in his eyes, a light she doesn't recognize that worries her. She swallows down a lump in her throat. "What are you planning?"

Mr. Abernathy sighs, reaches in his pocket and pulls a white handkerchief out. Before she can stop him, he begins wiping her face, brushing away the tears still slipping out the corners of her eyes. "Don't worry about it. Just know I'm getting you home."

He's delusional.

"Mr. Abernathy, I have no survival skills. I've never even slept outside." She takes the handkerchief from him and twists it in her hands. "I'm as good as dead. You should focus on Arlo."

"That little bastard?" He scoffs. "Just like all the others. No brains. You on the other hand, you got a good head on your shoulders. All you've got to do is use it and stay alive. Leave the rest to me."

He is delusional.

Madge stares at him, her mouth is probably dropped open a little.

She remembers all the nights he's turned up at their house drunk, all the times she's watched her father clean him up and put him to rest in one of their guestrooms. Her mind pulls up memories of former Victors, with their newest initiates, visiting Twelve on their Victory Tours. They were all beautiful and broken. Hollowed out beings with painted smiles and vacant stares. Worse than her own even, and she doesn't think she can bear that.

Before she can stop herself her mouth gives her thoughts an exit. "I don't know that I want to."

He doesn't get mad, doesn't get up and storm out, just sighs and rubs one of his hands over his eyes. After a minute of thought he looks up, giving her a sad smile. "I have to. I want to."

Maybe it's because he came home and Maysilee didn't, maybe he feels like he owes Madge's mother a life for a life, or because he's friends with her father, or maybe it's because he's known her since she was very small, but the look in his eyes, that dangerous light glowing in them lets her know he's deadly serious.

He has to get Madge home. There's no question of it for him.

Arguing with him won't do her any good, his mind is set and he's a stubborn man, so despite her mind telling her that she's a lamb being carted to slaughter, she nods. "Okay."

She'll play along with him, she'll be his piece in this Game, even if she doesn't believe for a second that she'll be coming home. She can't bring herself to break his heart.

A little smile creeps onto his face. "Good." He stands up, straightens out the legs of his pants and runs his hand through his hair before looking at her. "You just use your head, Pearl, stay alive, and I'll take care of the rest."

He jabs his thick finger at the tray and gives her a sharp look. "At least drink for me."

Madge gives him a little smile. "Is it spiked?"

He chuckles. "If you're anything like your mother you'd better hope not."

With one last smile, he pats her shoulder and heads out the door.

"Mr. Abernathy," Madge stops him, holds out his handkerchief.

"Keep it. I think I ruined your napkin." He tells her before disappearing out the door.

Folding it up, she sets it in her lap and picks up another strawberry. As she takes a bite, she thinks of her parents and finds it a little bitter.

She puts the cover back on the food and downs the water. Food can wait.

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Gale sits on the hard little bench in the Justice Building and stares up the hall toward door at the far end.

Madge isn't there anymore, he'd squandered his chance to see her before they dragged her off to be murdered on television. He'd been too afraid to go in, especially after he'd watched one of the baker's sons go in and come out as a tearful mess.

He hadn't been able to pinpoint why he hadn't been able to go in, stand up from the uncomfortable bench and take the few steps to the door to apologize for his words.

"You won't be going to the Capitol."

Who would've thought that out of thousands of slips, one of the five with 'Magdalene Undersee' would've found their way into Effie Trinkets terrifying claws?

Even though she must've been terrified, Gale didn't see so much as a flicker of weakness cross Madge's face. Years as the Mayor's daughter had clearly come in handy today. Despite coming from the District with the worst track record and the most humiliating of all Victors, Madge hadn't given the Capitol or other Tributes any sign that she was an easy mark.

Though if they were anything like him they'd spot a soft girl, a girl who had no idea how to kill and scavenge, a girl that would be gone before the bloodbath even ended.

Running his hands over his face before letting them settle at his neck and massage out the ache that had formed there, he sighs.

"Pathetic," he mutters to himself.

He was pathetic.

He'd forfeited his chance to apologize because he was pathetic. Madge will be dead and he'll never get to unburden himself.

Maybe, he finally thinks, that's why he had only been able to walk into her room and tell her he had truly not believed there was a chance she would have been picked.

Gale deserves to be burdened. He'd picked at someone that hadn't done anything to deserve it and the worst possible outcome, that his barb had twisted on itself and snatched her away, had occurred.

He hadn't been able to apologize because in the end he didn't deserve to be forgiven, and now he never will be.

Madge isn't coming home.

He gets up from the bench, his knees stiff from the angle and heads for the door.

It's dark out already and he looks at the clock and realizes he's been sitting in the Justice Building for several hours.

Wonder why they didn't kick me out?

Maybe they were just feeling generous on Reaping Day.

His mother is probably worried about him, so he heads back toward the Seam, glancing down the small road that leads to Madge's house. The lights are out, and he wonders if the Mayor and his wife are sitting in the kitchen eating the strawberries their vanished daughter had purchased only hours earlier.

Unlike the family of Arlo Riley, who will receive comfort and condolences, the Mayor and his wife aren't likely to be given so much as a pat on the shoulder or an 'I'm so sorry for your loss'.

It's a gloomy thought and he tries to push it away, but by the time he gets home he's decided that he'll get up early and head to the woods to pick another bucket of strawberries.

Gale might've failed to unburden himself with Madge, but he can still try to make it up to the only people left from her life.

If anyone needs a sweet, a little 'I'm sorry' and comfort, it'll be the Mayor and Mrs. Undersee.