Chapter 5: A New Republic, If We Can Keep It

April continues apace, and with it, the construction on new housing. Peeta has thrown himself into working on Thom's crews, seeing as how the trainloads of refugees into Twelve has not even begun to slow, even as Haymitch's work ethic has.

I've kept myself to an unconscious timing of asking Peeta maybe once a week or so if the crews have yet reached the structure that once housed his family's bakery. The poor guy all but clams up whenever I mention it, always giving out a monosyllabic, "No," or a "No, not yet." I hang back, resolving to be patient and supportive. It will be hard and emotional for Peeta when the crews do get around to addressing the bakery's ruins. I know he wants to eventually open the bakery again – it's his dream. Whether he'll want to do so in the same spot he grew up – in the same spot where his family most likely perished – I can't even begin to say.

I'm on my front stoop, watering the primroses Peeta planted for me when I see him come out of his mansion across the street, backlit against the glow of the rising sun. Early to wake again, I see. Smiling shyly, I wave to him.

"Have a good day!"

"Thanks, sweetie. I may stop round for lunch!" My heart warms, starts to hammer, when I hear him call me 'sweetie,' and my grin widens almost unbidden. I try not to read too much into it, analyze what it could even begin to mean, as I not-so-subtlely watch Peeta depart through the front gates of Victors' Village. I am not sure what Peeta wants, if he still wants to be with me, even after everything. I'm still not even sure where I want things to go myself, though I do know this much: my spirits have been lifted ever since he came home close to a month ago. I need to see him, be close to him every day. It makes my heart… happy whenever he smiles at me, or comes round the back of my house unexpectedly.

Peeta doesn't stop round for lunch, and I try not to let my disappointment show too much, distracting myself by taking the meal with Haymitch. My mentor and I spend the afternoon writing in the blank pages of the Memory Book – well, Memory Books, seeing as there are two of them now. In organizing all the people we wanted to memorialize, it quickly became apparent that we needed to distinguish the 75 Victors of the Hunger Games from others of our loved ones and allies who died in the war. When profiling each Victor, we watch the corresponding Hunger Games tape to learn as much as possible about each of them, especially the earliest champions who few of us knew. The process can be a little slow-going, as Peeta wants to be included when he isn't away at work; on some evenings, he'll contribute by sketching a picture of the Victor or war hero or friend - often from memory, if physical renderings aren't to be had. This alone can be time-consuming, as Peeta is extremely, admirably meticulous.

The sun is sinking low over the mines and distant hills when Haymitch and I hear whistling come across the wind. Heart alighting, I dash out onto the front stoop, ignoring the cheeky smirk Haymitch sends my way. Coming through the gate, I don't wait for Peeta to cross the green before I dash into his arms. He hugs me back, though it takes a moment for him too. I am almost overcome with happiness enough that I kiss him, though I refrain. We haven't kissed since the day Thread's body was discovered and that was at my initiative. I don't know if Peeta is ready for that yet, or if he'll ever be. My heart pangs to think that he might not.

"Welcome home!" I trill, feeling not unlike a housewife happy to see her husband arrive home from work.

Peeta smiles tiredly. "Hi, sweetheart." I quiver at the sound of his pet name for me. Looking over my shoulder to where Haymitch is coming up behind me, my district partner states, "I saw Bert in the Justice Building. He and Thom passed on a flyer: there's to be a Town Hall tonight in Mayor Undersee's former living quarters."

I take the flyer from Peeta, frowning. "What's a Town Hall?"

"Got me, but I think it's like a district-wide discussion. Thom and Bert said they want to report on our progress in the housing construction."

"And how has it been going?" I ask brightly, smiling at him encouragingly.

Peeta scratches the back of his neck. "We work well together, the crews. Very detail-oriented, and new immigrants are signing on every day, so there are plenty of hands. But I think both those together might be posing a problem. Bert and Thom said they would explain when we gather in the Justice Building for the town hall tonight."

"I've got some rabbit stew left over. I can put supper on the table early tonight, and we'll walk down together." Perching on my tiptoes, I dare to kiss Peeta's cheek lightly. He rubs at the spot where my lips touched, but I could swear his face flushes red.

To me, the phrase 'town hall' seems to be a bit of misnomer, as before, anything invoking 'Town" usually had to do with the Merchant class. I even knew Seamers, including Gale, who would refer to Merchants in Twelve derisively as "Townies" – something I never ascribed to.

So I have no idea what to expect as Haymitch, Peeta and I, along with nearly everyone in resettled District 12, gather in the former mayoral residence quarters of the Justice Building. The attendance quickly overwhelms capacity, with people spilling out into the hallways that once housed our tributes and even out the doors onto the steps of the government building itself. Thanks to some quick thinking from a few relocated artisans originally hailing from Three, closed-circuit televisions inside the Justice Building are outfitted to project the happenings from inside the gathering space so everyone can see.

Thom is the one to call the meeting to order, banging with a weird stick sporting a round sort of cylinder at the end. Haymitch calls it a gavel, and I do recall seeing the District Justice of the Peace sometimes use it, during the few times I attended the signing of marriage licenses before a Toasting – mostly friends of Mother's.

"Order. Order! Now, to the first item on the agenda: A Quorum to Discuss the Lack of Progress of the Rebuilding of District 12…." Thom has no sooner called for order than a cacophony of noise rises up again like the tides in Four.

"Hold up – lack of progress?" Peeta sounds insulted.

"Quorum…. Oh, for the love of…. Speak English, Thom!" Haymitch bellows.

Thom bangs the gavel again. "I am the head of construction crews in this district, so I believe I can speak with some authority…"

"I'm sorry – did Merle Undersee rise from the dead? Because you sure as shit are sounding like the pompous ass he was!" Haymitch hollers.

"Let the record show that any further outbursts, especially from repeat offenders, will require removal from this chamber for the remainder of the gathering." Thom eyeballs Haymitch pointedly. "Am I clear, Mr. Abernathy?"

Haymitch scrunches back in his seat, fuming and muttering under his breath. It sounds suspiciously like "This is a democracy…?"

The chatter dies down and Thom begins taking what he calls minutes. Bert Petrie serves as the stenographer. "As of this afternoon, roughly 14% of the section of the district formerly known as "Town" has been completely rebuilt, and is suitable for home and recreational living. Another 10% is in repair/restoration progress. That amounts to just under a quarter of the Merchant sector of District 12 being actively rebuilt; we have yet to touch anywhere in the Seam, or rebuild the Hob, and that doesn't even take into account what is to be done with the mines. At our current trajectory, according to these graphs pictured here…" Thom indicates some charts mounted on stands that Delly helpfully brings out. "… I do not expect us to even be midway through restoration of the Seam until middle of next year…"

Next to me, Haymitch is snorting. "Visual aids… the bastard is using visual aids… shoot me now…."

"Juxtapositionally, here are the latest numbers from the Capitol Immigration and Citizenship Statistics Bureau, soon to be renamed the Panem Immigration and Citizenship Statistics Bureau, which indicate that District 12 is far and away the most popular destination for those seeking asylum. We are also on track to being the district with immigration that is the most diverse. Both should be sources of immense pride for us!" Thom pauses impressively, presumably to allow for applause. No one does. There is an awkward moment as the former miner clears his throat. "Yes, well…. taking all of this information in the aggregate, we have an influx of people coming in… and a shortage of housing in which to store them, unless the construction crews pick up their pace drastically. I do not want to extend working hours unless I absolutely have to…"

"With all due respect, Thom, I respectively question whether or why you should have universal authority to order anything," Peeta speaks up as measuredly as he can.

"Yeah, who died and made you Mayor?" A gentleman formerly from 5 (I think his name is Amp) throws out.

Thom sniffs loftily, and it's hard to imagine this guy was ever Seam, because he is sounding increasingly like some of the more elitist Merchants Gale and I used to trade with. "The question as to elections for mayor will be the next item on the agenda. But back to housing. As I stated, there are only a few homes ready to be lived in around the perimeter of the Square and slightly further out. Everything else that is structurally sound and livable, as you know, is considered district, government property – that would be here, the district school and Lucy Gray Baird station. Again, I will only open up rooms in the school and the train station terminal unless I absolutely have to, and in the absence of significant progress on the construction front…."

"What about the Victors' Village?" I pipe up. Everyone's heads swivel to me, even Peeta and Haymitch. I try not to turn cheery red, and fight off my nerves with a nonchalant shrug. "There are nine empty houses just sitting there, unused. Ten if Peeta and I move in together."

Peeta now looks like he is about to fall out of his chair, and Haymitch doesn't look much better. They are both studying me warily, leery at the prospect of Peeta and I living together, for different reasons: Haymitch, because he's probably worried Peeta might have an episode if we are alone together and living under the same roof; Peeta, for the same reason, plus we've never discussed the possibility of living together. I myself still am not sure whether Peeta and I are ready to take that step in a relationship – I'm not even sure what our relationship is or what it should be anymore! But, for the good of the district…

Thom is shaking his head, though his eyes are grateful. Many of the people who were born and raised in Twelve look unsure, skeptical. We Seamers have always been a proud people, to the point where generosity is always met with some mistrust and a palpable sense of owing. To have our district's three living Victors just throw open an area that was always meant to be restrictive and private to those who survived the arena is certainly one of the most magnanimous things someone from Twelve has ever floated.

"While I appreciate the thought, Katniss, ten extra homes would only be a drop in the bucket for all the new families we have coming in. Now, the assigning of a new house will continue to go through the Justice Building, as was the policy before the war…"

"Hang on!" Amp, the man from 5, blurts out. "Everdeen has a point! Ten empty homes ready to move in means ten less families shacked up in the train station terminal or worse, planting tents in the street! Sure they might fill up quickly, but it'll alleviate the pressure somehow!"

Delly is cringing. "I'm not in favor of this…" she says quietly. "It would be disrespectful to our Victors…"

"Um, I don't really give a damn if the people living in the Village are Victors or not!" I raise, just to make sure my thoughts on the matter are clear.

"Yeah? Well, I do, Sweetheart!" Haymitch rounds on me. "If you want to discuss it, that's fine, but you, the Boy, and I need to discuss it together, as a team!"

"Three people shouldn't just decide what the rest of the district can and cannot do with what is technically Capitol, subsidized government housing, Haymitch!" Peeta shouts. Other voices are lifting up in the debate.

"So, DON'T!" I have to yell the last to make myself heard and everyone quiets. "We're going to have an election, aren't we? Put it to a vote! A… a referendum," I use a fancy word I remember from my vocabulary lessons in school. "… about housing and whether or not the empty mansions in the Victors' Village should be included in that. If… if a majority of the district says we should open the Village up, Haymitch, Peeta and I will respect that – and Peeta and I will move in together in the interest of consolidating space."

Peeta opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, when he sees how I am looking at him – seriously and full of love. I want to let him know that I wouldn't be at all uncomfortable if we shared the same home. I wouldn't even be uncomfortable about sleeping in the same bed again, though citing safety concerns, that might still be a ways off.

Thom is studying me with interest. "Miss Everdeen: if I am to understand you correctly, you are saying that if a majority of District 12 voters elect to regard mansions in Victors' Village as being under eminent domain and therefore liable to be commandeered for the public interest, you and your fellow Victors will permit this?"

"Thom, are you incapable of speaking like a normal person….?!"

I silence Haymitch with a look. "Yes. If that is the will of the people, we will all accept it." I sweep my gaze over both my district partner and my mentor. Peeta seems to be coming around to the idea, while Haymitch still looks put out.

"Very well, then. We appreciate your generosity, and we will let the voters decide. This district will be holding elections at the end of this week, to determine a referendum on three items of urgent concern. Be advised that in this period of renewal, voting will happen often, and I would advise all of you to consider it a civic duty. Polling booths will be set up here in the Justice Building; voting hours will be displayed on the front doors as well as outside the office of the district clerk…" Thom briefly checks his notes. "…. which we also still need to elect. Leevy Anode is serving as interim district clerk at present, and she can answer all your questions regarding voting." He bangs his gavel. "This town hall is adjourned."

Frowning dubiously, Haymitch lifts the paper ballot to the light and turns it this way and that. "What primitive jackass is responsible for this mess?"

Beside me, his arm looped through mine, Peeta seems to be refraining from rolling his eyes. "I think the way it works is you take the pencil, and fill in the bubble of the person or decision you prefer, Haymitch."

We are standing in the main atrium of the Justice Building, which is now filled with curtained polling booths. We have just signed in with Delly, who is serving as a poll worker, and she handed us our ballots, reserving a smile for Peeta. I couldn't help but have my heart hiss in threatened concern while Peeta and Delly were chatting amicably during our voter registration.

"What do you know about this democracy, boy? Panem hasn't had an election of any sort in over half a century. The last time people voted, it was for who to send in and die during the First Quarter Quell!"

"Yeah? What was that like?" I ask, snuggling closer to Peeta, the hem of my sundress swishing at my ankles.

"How the hell should I know? Your parents and I weren't even born yet!" Haymitch sighs, as we follow him towards one of the open polling booths. "My daddy used to tell me stories 'bout the Reaping Elections, though – that's what we called them, from the First Quell. He says booths like this were set up all across the district, but they were automated. Capitol touchscreen fancy shit. Not this…." He gives his ballot a little flap. "… paper garbage."

"I think the paper ballots are for security. Beetee says even election machinery can be falliable," Peeta offers up.

"When have you been talking to Beetee?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Off and on. Mostly when I have questions need answering," my partner shrugs.

I have a feeling these questions have a lot to do with Peeta's memories, and I'm grateful he's keeping in touch with people who aren't either his next door neighbor (Haymitch) or possibly involved romantically with him (me).

We reach an empty polling booth, which Amp, the man formerly hailing from 5, is just coming out of. He claps Haymitch on the shoulder. "Abernathy, I voted for you!"

"Huh? Voted for me for what?" But Amp is already striding away. Haymitch turns back to his ballot. "Remind me, Boy, why is my name on here again?"

"Don't you remember? Thom took a poll about who we wanted our top candidates for Mayor to be, and the five most oft-quoted names were submitted as candidates. It's going to be ranked-choice voting to determine the winner."

Haymitch grins. "In that case, may the best man win, Boy. Your name's on here for Mayor too!"

I beam with pride. "I nominated you!" I say softly, cupping Peeta's face as I reach up to press my lips along his cheek.

Peeta blushes bashfully. "Apparently, as did lots of others. I'm flattered, but I'm too young to be Mayor!"

"Too late, Boy. If you get elected, what the hell are you going to tell the district? No?"

Peeta snorts. "Just get in the booth and vote, Haymitch! We're waiting!"

"OK, OK…" Haymitch steps inside, draws the curtain and makes his selections in private. A split-second later, he pokes his head through the flap.

"I can vote for myself, right?"

"Haymitch!" We both laugh.

He grins. "That's what I thought." He disappears and within seconds, is done, stepping out of the booth.

Peeta gentlemanly stands aside. "Ladies first."

Beaming radiantly at him, I sashay into the booth. There are three items on the ballot. Regarding whether or not to make residual mansions in Victors' Village open to public housing, I vote YES. Regarding my choice for Mayor, I rank Peeta first, Bert Petrie second, and, just for a laugh, put Haymitch third. Thom has been fine in the interim, but I think it's time for fresh blood.

I think long and hard about the third and final item on the ballot. Unlike the other two questions up for referendum, this question demands a write-in answer, but it's hard for me to possibly say goodbye to all I have ever known… even if a new country means a new identity, something fresh for us all.

Smiling to myself, I scribble down my answer, exit the booth and hug Peeta as he goes in to vote.

A few nights later, Thom calls for another town hall to announce the returns. Apparently, all the other districts have been holding elections too, though the issues to be decided sometimes vary from what was placed before our homeland. Haymitch, Peeta and I have watched some of the other returns on TV, though not all the districts' results have been available for broadcast. Plutarch Heavensbee is working very hard to get the country's communications back up and running as the new Secretary of Communications.

Thom nevertheless opens the Town Hall with a Capitol camera crew rolling, so our decisions can be relayed to Acting President Paylor. "On the issue of whether or not to open the available mansions in Victors' Village for public housing, the citizens of District 12 voted NO with 62% of the vote."

My eyebrows lift, surprised; Haymitch looks visibly relieved. Scanning the faces in the crowd, Thom must see my disappointment. "For now, Katniss. For now. In time, the question may be put to the ballot again, all depending on how our construction continues." He goes on:

"On the election for Mayor, of the five candidates placed into nomination, the citizens have elected, with 55% of the vote, Mr. Bert Petrie as the 15th Mayor of District 12!"

Cheers go up, as a clearly surprised but pleased Bert Petrie takes the stage. Thom graciously cedes his gavel to the 96-year-old.

Bert's eyes twinkle. "Let the record show that the office of Mayor will now be for a four-year term, and not for life… but I'll probably still be dead by the end of mine!" We all laugh. "I did not seek this office, knowing that I was not born one of you, but I will not shirk it. I think I've got a few steps left in me!" And his stork-like legs wobble out in a little strutting goosestep, to raucous laughter and applause.

As the newly inaugurated mayor, Bert finishes by reading the results for the third referendum: "On the issue of whether to apply to Acting President Paylor for statehood and on an appropriate name for this great land of ours that is suitable to this age of rebirth, the citizens have voted, with near-unanimity, to make District 12 a state – and…. to rename this municipality as the State of Everdeen for now and evermore!"

Wild cheers go up as my own face slackens in utter disbelief. Tears well up in my eyes…

…. and then I feel Peeta's soft hands cradle my face and his tongue is suddenly swimming in my mouth as he kisses me passionately. Grey eyes bulging, my lashes nonetheless flutter happily shut, and with a moan, I fling my arms about his neck and kiss him back. Before long, we are making out to cheers and wolf whistles, lost in our own world. When Peeta's lips break away from mine, I am positively thunderstruck, but also terribly thrilled.

"I voted for you," Peeta is smiling, blushing. "And I am so proud of you!"

Smiling weakly, holding in a sob, I lean in and press my lips to his firmly again.

"By the power vested in me as the 15th Mayor of Dis…. the Great State of Everdeen, I, Bertram Petrie, hereby declare this election – to be the first of many – concluded, and this Town Hall adjourned!"

The echo of the gavel sounds with finality, but is hardly heard over the boisterous cheering and celebration from people who at last know what it is like to truly be free.