Disclaimer: The THG universe belongs to Suzanne Collins only. I make no profit playing with her characters.

A/N: A big thank you to Mary and Fremus, who beta-ed and reviewed the original and the edited version for me (and teaching me all those new words while doing it!). You guys are the best! All errors still in there are solely mine!

Thank y'all for following this story, favorit-ing it and/or reviewing!

Chapter 3

"Sure, Mrs. Muller, we will not be late again. I am truly sorry," I say to the preacher's wife. I gulped down any angry remarks that were on the tip of my tongue, it would just fuel her anger and so I stayed quiet. She has taken it personally that James and I were running ten minutes late to the service, and consequently, her goddaughter's baptism. I flash a small, rueful smile to make my apology believable. I really was sorry, but still, smiling was not exactly my forte. Now, most people could not really tell if it came naturally or if I did it on purpose. It had taken me several weeks to master that technique and it had been helping me out in situations like this one. Fortunately, Mrs. Muller was just as easy with forgiving as she was with feeling hurt by trivial matters. She was one of the few people who had accepted James' and my presence without questioning it. The wrinkle on her forehead smoothed as she stopped frowning at last. She was a kind lady whose hair had greyed way before her years, making her look much older than the mid-thirties that she must be. I'd like to stay on good terms with her as she had welcomed us with open arms back then, emphasizing how delightful it was to see us in the house of God. I think she was genuinely happy and that's why I felt so guilty about offending her by unintentionally being late. First I had overslept, then James had been in a really bad mood when I woke him. He refused to be still when I started his morning routine of washing and dressing, which had cost me 15 minutes more than usual. I wouldn't admit defeat but since she was a mother, I hoped she might understand when I told her the reasons.

"Come on, Lucius, you have better companions to play with than this … boy." Both Mrs. Muller and I frowned at the comment that was probably purposefully loud enough to be overheard.

Several seconds later I felt how James grasped my skirt and I could easily guess whom Mrs. Crane had been referring to. James had strolled to the other children when Mrs. Muller had started talking to me, and I didn't think it would be any harm as long as he stayed in sight, but I should have known better. No matter what, he was still an outcast to them, the children his age didn't care, but their parents did. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and a wave of sympathy and protectiveness flooded through me.

"Tatty?" He sobbed. Mrs. Muller gave me an understanding look when he grabbed my hand and I rubbed his back comfortingly while trying to get out of the conversation as fast as possible. Etiquette dictated that I couldn't have left right away, so I promised her that it would not happen again, pointing out it that this was the first time. She did not try to keep me but gave us her blessings and thanked us for coming loud enough for Mrs. Crane to hear too. I could finally take care of my little one. Mrs. Muller gave me a compassionate look.

"Shh, everything is going to be okay, James." I whispered soothingly while I knelt down beside him to cradle him in my arms. The tears still fell one by one on our ways home and every sob was a sting in my heart. This was why I was never meant to be a mother. I never knew how to comfort him. Prim of course would have known whereas I felt hopeless in that regard. I couldn't bring myself to let go of him, I wanted to make it better and the only way I knew of was scooping him in my arms and carry him home. Dampness seeped through the collar of my blouse that I hadn't noticed before.

It was only on the porch that he finally let go off me, heading straight for the kitchen and for once I did not insist on changing clothes after church. There was no way to make this any better, so I tried to distract him until I figured out a way to explain it to him. "What do you think of playing with the ark today?" The ark was his most precious toy (it had been mine as well) and was only fetched from the shelf in my room on special days.

As I had hoped James agreed immediately. So, while he was busy playing on the kitchen floor after we got home, I was doing the laundry that had been soaking in the metal bathtub since yesterday's weekly bathing session. Sundays were supposed to be quiet days but it had come to be my normal washing day; as long as no one knew, no one could object. From time to time I watched him from the corner of my eyes as animals entered and left the ark, going to islands represented by imaginary spots on the hardwood floor.

My father had carved the wooden figures when Prim and I were little girls. Noah and Naama were the only people he made. But there was a good choice of animals, a cow and a bull, two horses, two sheep, two dogs, two giraffes, two lions, two snails and one single elephant. The other one got lost so long ago that I couldn't even remember it. Two small birds, which my father had called mockingjays, were my favourites. Of course he made up the name and I think they were supposed to resemble doves, but like him, I always thought of them as mockingjays, I couldn't help it.

James had never seen them; for I knew he would have wanted them to play with. Selfish or not, those mockingjays were solely mine.

I rubbed a particularly brownish spot on James' linen shirt and sighed; I would probably have to dye that. When I made my way past the table (and also James) to fetch the ashes for the lye, he stopped me by grabbing my skirt for the second time that day. I could tell at once something else was bothering him.

I stepped back to sit down on the nearby chair. Knowing that look on his face, it would take some time and the problem would not be solved with a single sentence. "Come here, James", I said, and he willingly climbed onto my lap, still pensive, as only a child can be. I put my arms around him, letting his head rest on me, his limbs dangling to my side just like my father had done for me all those many years ago.

"What's wrong, little one?" I finally inquired after a long stretch of silence.

"Why you not my mother?" I was happy he couldn't see my face, I'm not sure I could have taken it.

Once in a while I showed him a photo of Prim that had been taken two or three years before she left me. I had always told him that she was his mother and that she was gone for good to a better place where we couldn't follow yet. Sometimes I even added more details to make it vivid for him, to get an impression of what she had been like, how kind and caring she was. How good her cookies had tasted, the sound of her laughter or looking in the mirror with him and telling James how his blue eyes looked like hers. But maybe Sae was right. I had expected too much of him and there was no use in explaining things to him the same way I would to an adult. Now it was coming back on me. Obviously, he had not understood that the person in the picture had been a living person or that sometimes people were no longer among us as I had told him. It dawned on me that, despite my efforts to make him comprehend, it was just a picture to him, something abstract and unreal, like some picture in one of his books. A picture of a person he did not know and never would get to meet. I drew in a deep breath before I replied: "Because I am not."

With my new realization I was in no mood to explain. I felt tired; exhausted even. I didn't know how to handle this right now, and I suddenly wished to be somewhere else, or at least to be the confident stage Katniss. I brushed his locks with my fingers absent-mindedly.

"Everybody have one" he stated earnestly, freeing himself a little to look into my face. James stared at me with a saddening expression. There was a longing in his gaze that I had never seen before; it scared me.

"Yes, you are right, but I am your mother's sister, your aunt." I explained.

"So why she not here?" He was obviously not going to drop the topic. I wrapped my arms even tighter around him, forcing him into our former position, resting my chin lightly on his brown curls. I didn't want him to see how close I was to tears, and how could I endure that look in his eyes any longer? Despite it all, I had hoped I would manage being the closest to a mother he had left; that I was doing okay. Now I felt like everyone around me was right; I was simply a poor excuse for that, wasn't able to raise a child properly.

"She's gone and will never come back, James" I whispered. It took all my strength not to put him onto the ground and flee.

"She not like me?" The tone of his voice changed from unhappy and inquisitive to simply miserable. A quiet shriek made me look towards the door. I needn't give her any sign as Rue already retreated as soon as she spotted what was going on. I would have to thank her later for that.

"She would have loved you so much, if she was still around."

Remembering the words from my Sunday school teacher back when my father had died (among many others) in the coal mine accident, I told him she left a little earlier for heaven and was watching him from above, but could not come down to us. Then the words left me. For me it was worse than my own explanation, but that one had failed. No, not the explanation, but me. Regardless of my attempt to hold them back, the first tears in a long time fell, bitter one's, tears of defeat.

"Tatty no cry." James, still on my lap, rose to his knees and hugged me. That's when I really started to weep.

Since yesterday's outburst I had kept my mind constantly occupied as best as I could. I had recited the new dialogue as Angélique for next week, for a rather small play which would only have four performances. Unlike 'The Shop Girl,' 'The Imaginary Invalid' was quite unpopular these days. Why Mr. Abernathy even chose it was beyond me, but who was I to complain if it meant concentrating on new work?

I was on my way down to Market Street to old Mr. Tuner's house. It was a busy Monday and we had quite some difficulty avoiding all the residue of the horses when we had to cross a street. I sometimes get the feeling that you could tell the day by just how dirty the streets were. Mondays and Fridays were usually the worst. On some parts I simply carried James, which he wasn't fond of, and pouted in protest, but said nothing else. I didn't care about it. If it kept him tidy then he would have to deal with it.

It would be quite a relief to have a baker nearby, instead of charging Sae, who was busy with her husband's business and her household. But since neither Rue nor I were capable of making bread that anyone could actually stomach, she had taken a pity on us. We had tried a few times (I only once); Rue had been more persistent, but just as unsuccessful as I.

All the bread we needed was provided by Sae; I had nearly begged her to do it after Mr. Hallifax downtown had let us down, or rather Rue. I refused to buy bread from someone who spat at my friend's face just for not being the kind of customer he wished for. After all, she was considered black, which she wasn't, but hateful people like Mr. Hallifax only distinguished between his own skin colour and not his own. There was no in-between.

Old Mr. Turner has been just like him. I remember him as a rather unpleasant fellow who could swear so badly that even Johanna could learn from him. He passed away some month ago, and his former tiny grocery store had been vacant since. If there truly was a new bakery, it was worth a try to unburden Sae. I knew she would like that even though she never complained.

I usually didn't walk around in this area; the theatre and Sae's were in the opposite direction, but Rue had spotted it yesterday. She had been on her way back home from helping out at Sunday school in the area where only blacks lived, on the outskirts of Twelve, followed by the obligatory visit to her uncle's. It was quite a distance from us but she always said she wouldn't mind.

I put James down after the last crossroad on our way; we were almost there. He silently trudged behind me, still feeling uneasy which I think had still to do with Mrs. Crane's remark. Nearly all the houses looked the same, but the bakery wasn't hard to find, even if you didn't know exactly where it was. There was a wooden sign with red lettering, spelling "P. Mellark" across the entrance and the windows. We peeked through one of them where another sign hung under the window sill, spelling, "Bakery".

When I opened the door and a bell rang above our heads, the smell of fresh baked loaves greeted us. It reminded me of my own childhood. Mother was usually baking on Saturdays, so it was fresh on the day of rest, and on the rare occasions when my father took me to the meadow after his work to collect edible plants with me, there was nothing better than coming home after a five miles walk to the smell of fresh baked bread at home, just like in the bakery now. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, letting loose for a split second, until a male voice shouted "Just one moment, please!"

There was no one at the bakery besides us, but I hadn't chosen to come here at noon for no reason.

"Tatty, look!" James had already found the only sweets that were in the display, a batch of delicious looking cookies that were covered in powdered sugar. Sweets were a rare treat and I wasn't about to get him one.

"I see, James." I said, managing a smile. A young man, maybe five or six years older than me, came from the back room. I noticed his limping immediately, despite his attempts to cover it. There were several dots of dough and traces of wheat sticking on his apron, where he obviously had wiped his hands. Also his blond hair was slightly covered in flour. He looked kind of familiar and yet I couldn't place him. I was proud to nearly always remember people I already met, but it seems he was the first exception in a long while. One would have thought I could remember intense blue eyes like his that looked back at me in a friendly manner. I coughed to hide my embarrassment about the scrutinizing. I hadn't meant to do it, but he smiled at me though.

"How may I serve you, Mrs. Everdeen?" I must have looked confused at this unexpected personal salutation and a chuckle escaped his mouth.

"Tatty", James begged pleadingly. May the discussions about cookies begin.

"Hold on a second, James. It's Miss Everdeen, actually" I corrected Mr. Mellark. "I certainly don't wish to offend you but I must have forgotten where we already had the pleasure to meet."

"Tatty!" Now James was dangling on my skirt and crossing the boundaries of my patience.

"James..." The warning tone in my voice couldn't be overheard and James let go at least for now. Mr. Mellark's mouth twitched in amusement, and in my anger, I could not prevent myself from glaring at him, only until I remembered to mind my manners just a moment later. His wide smile had already faded though and been replaced by a simple polite one. I regretted my reaction instantly, as it was not his fault after all.

"I am very sorry, Mr. Mellark. Sometimes, James and I just disagree on things, right, little one?" My nephew nodded shyly while staring at his shoes. His attempt to not look to the cookies was nearly impossible to not laugh at. He was such an adorable boy at times.

"It's alright." Mr. Mellark replied casually, but I sensed he was taken aback by my former rudeness.

"You still didn't answer my question", I reminded him, and offered him one bashful smile to hopefully make his unease vanish. Shame about myself was washing through me that my temper had gotten the best of me.

"I enjoyed your play at the theatre", he said kindly.

"Oh, were you at 'The Shop Girl' on Saturday?" I blurted out. Now I knew, and he seemed to be delighted about the fact that I had noticed him as a small smile crept upon his eyes while his mouth was still straight. He simply nodded and I didn't know what else to say.

"Oh, two loaves of those, please." Get down to business, Katniss, I told myself, that's why you came here. I pointed at the rye bread with the glazing brown crust which was placed beside a few wheat rolls. "Please don't", I asked Mr. Mellark after he had given me my order and his hands were moving towards the cookies. "I don't want to spoil him." Also, that's nothing I could afford on a regular day like this, cookies didn't cost a fortune but still more than a regular loaf of bread.

"How could I deny a cookie to such a charming young gentleman?" he winked, but James didn't notice since he still stared at his shoes. Maybe Mr. Mellark took a guess about the other reason of my refusal.

"No, no, you really don't have to" I objected. Getting something for free was even more against my rules. Our bare hands brushed for about two seconds longer than it was appropriate when I handed him the money. I really should have taken my gloves with me to avoid physical contact. It felt strange to touch someone who I barely knew, and it was against etiquette, and yet it didn't feel entirely wrong.

"Oh, I'm ... I'm sorry", I mumbled, embarrassed, looking anywhere but at him. What should he think of me? "And I really don't want to cause you any inconvenience, I would feel like I owe you…." I finally admitted. I was not sure why I felt the need to tell him; it was none of his business. When I had regained myself, I could see him chewing at his bottom lip, obviously unsure about how to process.

"Mrs. Everdeen..."

"Miss Everdeen", I corrected promptly.

"Right, Miss Everdeen, might I offer you a deal? If you told people about my bakery and of course how tasty my bread is…" he winked at me, "…then it won't be for free." His smile told me he was absolutely happy with his solution to get both of us content. "Please accept it, if it doesn't cause you any discomfort this way", he asked.

I looked down to James, who was trying not to get his hopes high, though I could see the struggle in his face. I sighed, knowing I had lost.

"Fine, if you really can't help it."

"No I can't." Mr. Mellark said, coming to the front with a cookie in his right hand. I had to admit, they looked really mouth-watering.

"Here you are, James." He bent down to give it to him and James' eyes shone with glee. I thought I had made two right decisions. Though we needed to get going.

"Thank you so much, sir!" I couldn't tell whose smile was wider, Mr. Mellark's or James'.

"Come on, James, time to get home", I reminded him softly.

That seemed to have been Mr. Mellark's cue as he took the few steps to open the door for James and I. Miss Trinket would be pleased by his manners.

"Thank you, sir", I repeated James' words. "Have a nice day, Mr. Mellark."

"It's been my pleasure", he replied earnestly. On our silent way back home, I tried to figure out what had been so strange about Mr. Mellark. Nothing was wrong, but something felt unusual. It was neither his limping nor his kindness, not even his winking. It took me over half an hour to pinpoint that didn't seem to have judged me by my marital status in connection with James, whereas most people would have assumed he was my son, and treated me just like that. I was so used to it that I did not expect anything else by now. But I got the feeling that Mr. Mellark might be different.