Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.
Word of the return to the shop of the apothecary shopkeepers' daughter spread through the District with all the speed that one might expect from a piece of gossip that good. There were the whispers and the muttering about the children, of course, but there was also a collective sigh of relief throughout the majority of the homes on both sides of Twelve. The couple that most of the District relied on to treat their ills were not getting any younger, and they had not taken anyone in to apprentice with them when their daughter had gone running off to get married. The previous years had seen a couple of occasions where the shop was completely closed down for a week or better because of age and health issues on the part of the owners, and there had been more than one family that had suffered during their absence. Still, no one had stepped up to approach them about teaching one of their teens or even inquired about the possibility of providing them with some help around the shop. They had muttered their concerns to themselves, but they had remained so glued to the roles the people of the District subscribed to that they never did more than talk.
They continued to talk after her return, but they coupled their talk with the action of stopping into the shop to ask for headache remedies and sleep syrup - things that would give them an excuse to walk in and see what might be happening while still being a justified expense for items that they could keep on hand. (Even the people of Twelve who most cherished their gossip were not about to be wasteful of money in order to get it.)
The baker was the first person to make what might be considered an actual social call. He disappeared through the shop's backdoor one day carrying a basket covered with a napkin that did little to hide that whatever was inside was still steaming. He walked out with the clearly empty basket swinging at his side well over an hour later. His expression as he returned to the bakery was the usual one that he wore whenever he was seen out and about among the other shops of Town - including pleasant nods of his head toward those he happened to encounter along his way.
Those that saw him in the next few days would see the unusual sight of a frown etched across the senior Mellark's features that looked as if it was trying to make itself permanent. This coincided with the bruises visible on all three of his sons that the boys had laughingly passed off as roughhousing that had gone wrong and ended with the three of them landing in a pile at the bottom of the stairs that led from their apartment to the bakery below. No one asked them any further questions. It was no secret that the Mellark boys liked to wrestle (or that the occasional mark would appear on one of their faces that was nearly always shrugged off without the offer of an explanation). The bruises eventually faded, the baker's expression eventually cleared, but no one saw him making visits to the apothecary ever again.
People in the surrounding shops clucked their tongues, but they mostly held their silence on that particular topic. Everyone knew that the baker's wife had a temper. No one wanted to be responsible for making things worse on the boys than those that were paying attention already suspected it to be.
The curiosity visits to the apothecary died down soon enough, and in the way that things often go, people forgot that they had ever worried that they were going to be left without any options at all soon after. Their problem had been solved to their satisfaction, and they had plenty of other things about which they could worry to take the place of those left behind concerns.
Ari Everdeen was working in the shop where she had grown up within a couple of days of moving back. She knew exactly what to recommend for whatever ills were described to her, and she moved through the jars and vials of the shelves with an assurance and efficiency of movement that belied the fact that she had ever been away. She was soft spoken and kind to those that came to ask for help, and people quickly learned to pay no mind to the way that she would, at times, turn her head and explain what she was doing to someone who was not there. People were grateful for her skill and knew that the value of it far outweighed the awkward pauses that occurred when the woman would softly ask "Prim" to fetch her something. The woman would eventually reach over and grab whatever it was that she needed herself even as she offered a thank you to the little girl who was not standing beside her learning her mother's trade.
The people who came to the shop did not comment on the occasions that she would tell a "Katniss" that only she could see to go tell her father that it was time to wash up for supper. The confusion in her head never extended to her remedies, so it never mattered to those who came to be supplied with them. There were those throughout the District who might whisper "guilty conscience" in little clusters behind her back, but they never said a word or tried to correct her misapprehensions about the children and husband who were not there to her face. Her parents simply worked around her moments - acting as if they hadn't heard the things she said (and, after all, the words were not for their ears anyway).
The shop ran on, and the shop ran well. The people of District 12 were grateful to have it.
"Is that story real?" Prim whispered from her place on the ground huddled against her sister's side. (The decision to stand while Aidan did his talking had not lasted beyond the first five minutes of the weaving of his story - his grandmother had always told him that he had a gift for what she called drawing in an audience, but he figured he could not claim their absorption as totally to his credit. There were mitigating circumstances - an injury, their youth, and the fact that he was offering them something like hope were all things that contributed to the way the two of them had sunk down into the grass without seeming to realize that they were doing it.)
"It's real," Aiden affirmed with a nod of his head that he intended to be reassuring. The little girl's eyes lit up in a strange fashion, and Aiden could not tell which part of his words she was latching onto and pondering. Katniss, however, looked nothing but suspicious.
"If it's true, if there's a place they aren't in charge, then why would you tell us?" She questioned him. He supposed that the words should not have caught him off guard the way that they had - he had no reason to think the girl anything other than wary and hostile (except for the way that she treated her sister). Of all the questions he had prepared to answer, it had never occurred to him that he would need to actually spell out the fact that he was making an offer. It would be a bit presumptuous (and not at all welcome) for him to say that they were children on their own and he had come to pack them up and move them somewhere else. These were runners (despite their age). It may have been quite some time since there had been a runner to find their way into the woods, but he still knew that people who became runners were not receptive to being told what they were going to do.
"I would like to bring you there," he answered honestly after what felt like a pause that had gone on for ages (but had really only been a few beats). Katniss immediately drew her sister closer into her side and began to shake her head. "This," he added quickly gesturing at the house behind them, "was a good choice for a first step. You clearly know how to find food in these woods. You knew that water was the most important thing; you even found a sort of shelter for the two of you. All of those are good and resourceful things. It doesn't change the fact that you're hurt, that you are still close enough to the District for an accidental encounter to happen, or that winter is going to come eventually. You need another option, and that is what I'm offering you."
Katniss was looking at him like he was talking crazy, but Prim was tugging at her sleeve and urging her to lean closer so that they could whisper. He had a feeling that he was going to be in for a bit of a wait. He shifted around some to make himself more comfortable (his seat was, after all, rather hard) and settled in for what he figured was a time where it would be best if he remained both still and quiet. He had completed his round of talking through explanations. The next part was up to the two of them.
