2

After our brisk lunch, I go into the living room to retrieve three letters off the high shelf. Peeta follows me and settles him into a chair by the fireplace.

"What are those?" he asks.

I pause. I stare at the addresses on the envelopes.

"Gale wrote to me. I haven't opened them. I'm just wondering if he included a phone number in here."

"Oh. Okay. Should I…leave?" he wonders.

"No!" I say too fast. "I…I'll just skim them."

I open the first one, dreading what it says. I just hope they don't declare his love for me. I shake my head, shaming myself for being so cocky. I swallow hard, just seeing his untidy handwriting.

"Dear Catnip,

I don't know what to say, honestly. I know you've moved back to District 12. And that you probably hate me now. I just want you to know that I never meant for your sister to die. Coin was the one that arranged the attack on the children. She was also the one that authorized Prim to go to the Capitol. Your mother and I were against it, you have to believe me. I tried to talk Coin out of it, but she had already sent them away. I knew that she was going to use those bombs, but I never knew it was for something so cruel. Capitol children or not…

I'm okay in District 2. I'm still working with Beetee. He sends his regards and apologies. I'm currently working with him on a few projects like helping the nation recover and rebuilding the Districts.

I hope you're well. And Peeta.

-Gale

PS. If you want to contact me, my number is 349-0934. Hope you call."

I hide my face from Peeta because I'm crying so profusely I can't breathe. He can't be fooled. He takes the letter and reads it for himself.

"You want me to call him?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Just give me a minute."

I took about ten minutes for the initial breakdown to stop suffocating me. Then I take the phone off the end table next to me. Peeta hands the letter back to me and dial the number.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

"Soldier Gale Hawthorne speaking."

"Gale," I say through new tears.

"Katniss! What's wrong?" he asks. Peeta's hand grips my shoulder lightly.

"I have some bad news." I respond.

There's a long pause.

"…it's Mom isn't it?" he deadpans a very low voice.

My throat tightens and I sniff loudly. "Gale. I'm so sorry. She died this morning."

Very long pause.

Then a click.

Beep-beep-beep-beep.

"Did he hang up?" Peeta asks.

"Yeah. It's…Gale. He doesn't want to be emotional with me listening, I guess."

Silence.

"Hey, you cozy lovebirds! 'Bout damn time! How about some grub?"

I roll my eyes. Haymitch in his usual drunken candor.

"He doesn't know, does he?" I ask Peeta.

"No. He's been dead to the world. You know how he is." Peeta replies. He gets up to answer the door. Haymitch's clothes are their usual unkempt state. His signature bottle of drink swings at his side as he saunters forward.

"What's with you, sweetheart? Trouble in paradise?"

"Fuck off…" I snap.

"Oooh, fiery response. I guess Lover's Lane is not so loving tonight, eh?"

"Haymitch, we have some bad news." Peeta starts. "Might want to…slump in a chair."

"You know me too well. Bad news, eh? Can't be worse than Gemmy Idlewise making to the top ten."

He's joking about Plutarch Heavensbee's new singing show. I don't bother with it because Plutarch's face brings up too many memories.

"Hazel Hawthorne died." Peeta says.

Haymitch lowers his bottle from his lips. A first. His eyes flash from me and to Peeta.

"Goddamnit." he groans. "Goddamnit to hell."

He takes three large gulps from his bottle. Some spills down his shirt.

"I knew Hazel. One of the prettiest girls in our year at the school. I dreaded Reapings when she was eligible because if she took the stage, I would have killed myself. Her brother was reaped though. Twelve-years-old."

Peeta and I looked at one another. We didn't know this.

"I did my damndest to get that boy through his Games. Didn't survive three days. Froze to death."

All I'm able to say is, "God. Poor Hazel."

"Came to me crying, saying she should've volunteered. I couldn't answer."

He starts slurring, drinking more and more over the hour. Soon he falls silent. I look at his face and I'm surprised to see his bloodshot eyes spilling tears.

"Hope Gale didn't do anything drastic…" Peeta wonders aloud.

"Probably trying to get clearance to come out here. I don't know, maybe he'll call back." I murmur.

"Maybe." Peeta agrees.

"You still want something to eat, Haymitch?" I ask him.

"No, no. It's fine. Let me know when the funeral is. I'll try to be sober." he says, before attempting to get up. He fails twice trying to get out his seat and nearly falls as he wobbles.

"Need help?" Peeta wonders, getting up.

"No, no. I'm good. Need to shower anyway."

Peeta's eyebrows disappear into his hair. I know his train of thought. Haymitch Abernathy, taking an interest in hygiene?

Haymitch stumbles out of the door and I go to the window to make sure he doesn't fall on his face on his journey back home. He takes a moment to vomit in his garden and then he's out of sight.

"Well, he'll be in liver failure by morning." Peeta jokes darkly. It wasn't to liven the mood; more or less to distract us both from reality.

I stay silent and wondering over next to the telephone. There's doubt that Gale will call back, but I still want to be near the phone if he does. Even though I half-blame him for Prim's death, I couldn't lead my stubbornness overshadow this.

"How are the other kids?" I ask Peeta.

"They took it better than I thought. It was like they were…expecting it."

"Gale was like that too. He said, 'It's Mom, isn't it?'." I told him.

We both mulled this over in silence. Many residents of District 12 eventually caught disease. The coal mines always presented danger from the dust—many working men had emphysema or some breathing disorder. We were more susceptible to disease since we couldn't afford to be "Capitol clean". The flu was always a certainty in the winter months because we didn't receive vaccinations. In many cases, influenza progressed to pneumonia, which was a death sentence. I was lucky to have Mom growing up. She taught me about foodborne illness and how to prepare foods properly. She and Prim were healers, after all. Dad was very stringent in teaching me which plants were not safe to eat. He taught me that I should always cook the meat off animals whenever possible.

Though I don't think Haymitch has had to worry. His liquid diet of alcohol kills bacteria as well as his memories.

There were times I considered drinking to curb the thoughts and nightmares.

No. I think of Prim, what she would say.

Of course, if Prim were alive and here right now, I wouldn't need a reason to drink.

I study Peeta, who's looking out the window, lost in thought.

"Getting late." he says calmly. "I should go."

"No!" The word left me without permission.

He turns back to stare at me. His fierce blue eyes lock onto mine as I stand up. As though in slow motion, I walk toward him. Every step is careful, like I'm walking on a mined floor. When I'm finally a hair's breadth away from him, I wrap my arms around his neck, closing the gap between our bodies. It takes him a moment for his body to respond. His wraps his arms around my back, hugging me to him. His lips find my neck, placing a slow kiss, leaving the skin burning like coal embers.

"Don't leave." I mumble, voice muffled by his shirt.

"I won't." he whispers. "I won't."