Chapter 7

~Peeta~

No matter how hard I tried, I would always fail her. That's what the voice was telling me, at least. The one that followed me home from the Capitol, that reminded me of things that had been said to sway me, things I'd started to believe myself, and it had spoken for me so many times. They'd made me believe that she'd lie, about the one thing I wanted most. The words escaped me before I could do anything to stop them. And then she'd escaped me before I could take them back.

I woke up on the floor, wedged in the narrow hallway, unable to unlock the door to the cellar but making sure I'd know if she opened it, or hear if she came up the steps. The door handle creaked, and I startled, she peered into the hallway, rubbing her eyes. I was on my feet as fast as my artificial leg would allow.

"Katniss, I'm so sorry," I began, but she held up her hand to stop me, and stepped past me to the kitchen. I followed close behind. She started rummaging through the cabinets until she found the aspirin. I clumsily grabbed a glass, filled it with water from the sink, and held it out to her. She drank deeply, downed a few of the aspirin, and set the glass on the counter. She never once looked at me before heading upstairs to the bathroom, locking it behind her.

I heard the water run for a long time. I waited. When she finally came out, I moved out of her way, but stayed with her, standing in the bedroom doorway as she pulled yesterday's pants back on, threw on a jacket over her shirt, and yanked boots over her socked feet. I imagined she was going hunting before she took down a bag from the closet and began stuffing random clothes inside. My heart plummeted.

"Katniss, talk to me, please!" I begged. "What I said yesterday, I'm so sorry about that, I haven't felt that way in a long time, and I don't know why it came out when it did. I didn't mean a word of it. I believe you. I love you, too."

She finally stopped, slowly zipping her bag with a deliberate finality. She looked up at me. "I know," she said softly, genuinely. "I need a time out, though."

I closed my eyes, lowering my head in defeat. My breath hitched in my throat, the pain in my stomach slicing over and over. Had it come to this? I couldn't drag up a coherent thought; all my arguments were rendered invalid. I had to let her go. It was the only way to keep her.

I felt her hand brush my cheek. When I opened my eyes, she stood before me, her eyes were drawn with pain as well. "I meant it, Peeta. I still do. I just need time."

I nodded. Without thinking, I pulled her in and held her close, drinking in the scent of her. She barely hesitated before wrapping her arms around my waist. "I will wait for you," I promised.

She spoke, her voice cracking. "Tell me, Peeta. I need to hear you say it."

I gulped, knowing exactly what she meant. "Always."

She kissed my cheeks, brushed her thumbs over my eyelids to close them. I heard the swish of fabric, then the door clunked downstairs. And she was gone.

~Katniss~

I kept telling myself that it was for the best, that this would keep him from whatever uncertainty I was about to walk into. I knew I was being selfish for not telling him the truth, as we'd promised each other. Going to help the Hawthornes was more important that sitting around Twelve, making smalltalk, hunting, working in the garden, visiting Haymitch, and all the other mundane things that had become our routine. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I was trying to justify my leaving Peeta to face... my leaving Peeta. Did I really just leave him? I was suddenly disgusted with myself. It was never that I didn't think he could handle this; he'd been increasingly more relaxed and almost normal on the new meds, well, as normal as can be expected after what he went through. But bringing him into this level of uncertainly, it just seemed selfish to ask it of him, no matter how much I wanted him with me, and no matter how much he would have fought to come if he knew where I was going. I should have let him make that decision. My stomach squeezed unconfortably to punish me. I had to hope that I hadn't irreparably damaged him, and that when this was over, he'd forgive me. Peeta, always looking past my obvious flaws and forgiving my faults... there are some treacheries even he wouldn't forgive.

I stared out the window, trying to get lost in the changes in landscape, but inevitably associating the mossy forest with the first arena, the wheat fields and orchards with Thresh and dear, sweet Rue, and the endless, barren plains with the countless tributes who died at my hands, at the hands of the Capitol, and all those that were lost so that no more children would be sacrificed for the Games. I hadn't brought anything to read, the letters from Hazelle had been forgotten but were well hidden at home. I wasn't really interested in watching television, but I did anyway. Aside from the highly edited news station, the rest was superficial garbage. I wondered what Peeta was doing.

Getting ready for bed alone on the bullet train reminded me of my first journey to the Capitol. I tried pushing that from my mind, scrubbing my teeth with the complimentary toothbrush. I'd have to take that with me, in my haste to leave I'd forgotten a number of unmentionables, things that didn't really matter, but thinking of things like this provided less-than-adequate distractions. Like the cup of mint tea I'd ordered earlier. It was brought in my a middle-aged Avox woman who smiled pleasantly, but whose eyes held thousands of secrets. I found myself desiring a conversation with her, and wished I'd brought my tablet, but I didn't even know if the woman could write. She reminded me of the red-haired Avox, of Darius, of all the others who were remnants of a regime of suppression. I wondered when the people of Panem would forget what we fought for.

I settled on the silk-sheeted mattress and clicked off the lamp.

"My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am twenty years old. My home is District Twelve. I survived the 74th and 75th Hunger Games. I was the Mockingjay. I killed people. I didn't want to kill people, but they wanted to kill me. I lost my father, my sister, and my best friend. I love Peeta Mellark. Peeta Mellark loves me... I hope Peeta Mellark still loves me..."

Welcome aboard, Catnip.

"Gale." I startled. Leaning against the bulkhead of my compartment, the moon backlit his silhouette, reminding me of a more recent train ride. I could see his legs and arms crossed casually. He waited for me, and I waited for him, but I lost patience first.

"Why do you keep coming back?"

He scoffed. You know the answer.

Did I? This was my dream. I'd wanted to know things; the fact that he could never tell me what I wanted to know didn't mean I would stop wondering. And I was on my way to visit his family, of course there was a chance I'd think about him enough while I was awake to invite him into my dreams.

"Okay... how is you being here going to help me figure all this out? That's what you want, isn't it?"

Oh but you forget, I'm not really here. He crossed leisurely to the bed, sitting down on the corner, leaning on one arm and looking at me sideways. I could see his gray eyes now. As for your next question, I have a better one. Why don't you lie?

I was going to ask what I should tell his mother when I got there.

"She's your mother, Gale. She could see right through your stories, and I'm just not that smooth."

True. But the investigator doesn't know that.

That thought hadn't occurred to me.

Of course it did, this is your party, remember?

"Don't do that."

Sorry, Catnip. This is all happening in your head, after all.

"Thanks for reminding me."

He kept staring at me, still waiting.

"So... I need to know what I'm about to walk into. You're not really here, and I need specifics. How exactly is this helping?"

Dream Gale sighed. You're not asking the right question.

I thought. "The investigator working on your case asked me about people you worked with... some were from Thirteen. Do they have anything to do with this?"

Maybe.

"Maybe?"

Keep asking.

"Is your investigator involved?"

Of course. Isn't that obvious?

"Should I trust him?"

You know better than to trust anyone, Kat.

"Why would your mother want to keep me away?"

Probably to keep you safe. She is a better mother than yours is, no offense.

"None taken." I pondered. "So, this might have something to do with me?"

Safe to assume, yes.

I went out on a limb. "Does this have anything to do with the assassination attempt on Paylor?"

He chuckled. Now that, Catnip, is the right question.

I paused to consider something. "If you've never really been here, then how do I know you want me to find out who killed you?"

He was suddenly inches from my face, gray eyes boring into my own. I don't. You do.

I awoke with a start. Pink-tinged midmorning light peered harshly at me through the shades, shaming me. No, that request wasn't mine. It couldn't be. Revenge? With one very dark exception, that wasn't me. But there it was, waving in my face.

My hair was an effective camouflage on the walk through town, and I was thankful. It was hotter this time of year, even at this altitude. A thin layer of sweat had my clothes sticking to me by the time I reached the front door of the Hawthorne's home. I knocked, waited, and knocked again. Nothing. It was a Wednesday, the kids would be in school, I thought. Hazelle was always home, well, she always had been in Twelve. I went around the side yard, feeling over the six-foot-high wooden gate for the latch, and recoiled as something snapped at my fingers. The latch clinked open, the gate swung out toward me, and I leapt back. Hazelle's mothering voice came clear over the aged wooden boards, yelling at me.

"You come around here asking questions at all times of the day and now you're going to sneak around my property? I ought to..." She was struggling to pull a cart full of produce backward through the opening when she saw me. Her eyes narrowed. "Katniss?"

"Hi, Hazelle," I greeted her carefully, rubbing the fingers that had been struck.

She let go of the handles and the cart turned over. "What in the bleeding earth are you doing here?" she demanded, voice hushed, the old Seam drawl resurfacing. We knelt to upright the cart and throw the escaped items back in. "I knew that investigator's been bothering you at home, did he ask you here? Oh I did try to warn ye to stay away!"

"I know you did, and I'm sorry. No he didn't ask, not in so many words," I told her, scampering around to retrieve some rogue gourds. "You can't send me letters hinting that something's up and expect me not to come. You're family. If you're in trouble, I want to help."

Hazelle dropped a final apple into the cart and got up, moving to wrap me in her arms. "The hair is an interesting touch." She kissed my cheek. "It really is good to see you. We have to talk."

She ordered me into the house while she wheeled the cart to the edge of the street. "Vick and Posy deliver food to the quarry at the edge of town," she explained, insisting on carrying my one light bag upstairs to Posy's room. "Poor families don't always have enough to get them through 'til payday. Cargo trains been running slow the past few months, had a blowout on one of the main tracks from the grain distribution hub. Some kind of explosion. They're not saying much on the news, but I was hearing of accidents happening long before this," "I don't hear much since Gale..." her eyes flickered with sadness, but she quickly shook it off, "well, he usually kept me informed."

"Hazelle, I can't tell you how sorry I am. I still... I think about him a lot."

She rubbed both my arms. "I know, dear. He thought the world of you. What happened to... well, it changed him. I don't think he'd carried more regret in his life than he did over that."

I nodded, and we silently agreed to stop that kind of talk right there, before we both broke down.

"So, I'm here. Tell me what's going on."

Knock, knock.

Hazelle and I exchanged glances, mine curious, hers fearful. She went to the window and peeked out, then jumped as though she'd been lightly shocked. She turned back to me, her voice becoming a harsh whisper.

"Stay here, and don't make a sound. Mind the floorboards. He comes by every day, sometimes twice. He's watching us."

I crept over to the door after she'd closed it, lying on my belly to listen through the space underneath.

"What can I do for you this afternoon, Mr. Weaver?" came Hazelle's bright intonation, muffled from where I lay. It sounded like she was trying to pull off an edge of irritation.

There was a pause for several seconds, there was a shuffle of soft shoes on the gritty wood floor, a distinct tap of polite footsteps, but no clunk of the front door closing. "Mrs. Hawthorne, you can spare me the pleasantry. I know she's here."

My stomach tightened. I hadn't blended in well enough on the walk here. I wondered if I should run... but then I'd risk looking guilty.

"Who's here?" Hazelle's act might have convinced me, but it wasn't convincing the visitor.

"Shall I call her out of hiding, or would you prefer?"

More hesitation.

I heard the front door close, and Hazelle's voice rang out, defeated. "Katniss, would you join us downstairs?"

He was as composed as I'd seen him the last time. Well dressed, impeccable manners. Dark hair perfectly combed. The way he considered the teacup Hazelle had set in front of him. It reminded me again of Capitol propriety. I despised him on principle.

"What is it you want, Investigator?" I decided to be direct. Hazelle brought her own cup clattering to the end of the table and seated herself, looking shaken.

"Such hostility, Miss Everdeen. Or is it Mrs. Mellark? That distinction was never made clear in the official census record." He brushed a bit of lint off his perfect suit sleeve. "I'm glad to hear your cold has improved. How are things at home?"

"How is my personal life relevant to your investigation?" The fact that he'd immediately connected Peeta to this irked me to no end.

"It isn't, pardon my curiosity." He adjusted slightly in his seat, eyes battling with mine, as though the limited conversation was simply a cover. "Shall we revisit a few questions from your interview?"

I tried to look bored. It wasn't difficult. "Why don't I ask a few of my own?"

An air of entertainment crossed his face. "I should be glad to hear them," he said. I noted that he said hear, not answer.

"Why haven't you found Gale's murderer yet?" I Hazelle flinched. I resisted the urge to glance her way, this question required all directed force.

"I shouldn't have to tell you that a murder investigation is a lengthy and involved process," he schooled me. "Cooperation is key in identifying suspects. Now, would you say that you've been cooperative?"

Hazelle might be afraid of this guy, but I was irritated, and not just a little. I resisted the urge to judge him superficially, but he was like the members of my old prep team... so involved in what they were trained to do that anything outside or resistant to their bubble of knowledge was something to be either deflected, ignored or silenced. I wondered what Mr. Weaver's occupation had been prior to the rebellion.

"I could say that I've answered every question you had during my interview truthfully and to the best of my ability, but can you say that you've cooperated with the needs of the Hawthorne family?"

"I am not required, rather I am pleased, to cooperate with the body of information provided during one of my open cases. As you are part of that body, do you assume the responsibility of submitting to further questioning?" Deflect, deflect, attack.

"Are you accusing me of something, Mr. Weaver?" My voice rose.

"Do you have something to be accused of, Miss Everdeen?" he countered, his tone teady.

"Oh plenty," I stated, "all of which was dismissed during my hearing two years ago, but you seem to have something else in mind. Why don't you educate me?"

"You really are a piece of work, the boy had it right," he chuckled darkly.

I'd heard those exact words before, from Peeta, just a few days after his rescue. "Wait, what?"

"I'm surprised you don't recognize me, Miss Everdeen. Though you may not, I wasn't exactly in the public eye." He shifted casually in his seat. "I directed the stability assessment on Mr. Mellark after his arrival in Thirteen."

Okay, he'd tripped me up. He was there? Why didn't I know this, and then why was he now attached to this investigation? I decided to voice the latter question.

"That's not exactly public information, but rest assured my interests lie with the well-being of Thirteen's former citizens," he said in avoidance. "I'd rather thought my familiarity might bring comfort to this unfortunate situation. Comfort makes people more cooperative. Do you feel comforted, Miss Everdeen?"

"Hardly. I doubt the Hawthornes are comforted either." I finally stole a glance at Hazelle, she had her forehead propped on one hand, worried as ever. I turned back to the investigator. He still looked amused. "I'm here to ask you to leave them alone, Mr. Weaver."

"I can't do that, Miss Everdeen, thought I wish that I could. My orders come directly from the President herself." He rose from the table, his chair scraping against the floor. "We will speak again. I advise you not to leave the area."

My eyes met Hazelle's. I'd get the whole story from her, after I de-bugged her house.

"Oh and Miss Everdeen," the investigator called from the doorway, "The Mockingjay's influence with this administration is rather inconsequential. I wouldn't expect my reassignment anytime soon."

"Well isn't he delightful?" I said, dripping sarcasm after the door had shut. I brought my finger to my lips, and Hazelle nodded her understanding.

It took the better part of an hour, but I found close to a dozen listening devices and a tiny camera, and threw them in a cup, pouring water over them. I'd bury them in the yard later. If they could survive shorting out, they'd only be listening to the worms' secrets.

"Hazelle, please tell me everything."

She looked around quickly, then nodded. "They think Gale was into things he shouldn't have been."

"What kind of things?"

She gulped. "Building things. Like before."

"Bombs?"

She nodded again. "They haven't said so outright, but it's what they implied. They think he'd gone rogue with some of the old crowd. Trying to oust the President. I told them Gale would never do such a thing, and they dared say I didn't know my own son as well as I'd believed..." her voice cracked, and I pulled the older woman into my arms.

"They're wrong Hazelle. They're wrong."

She nodded into my shoulder. "I don't know what to do. He comes around every day, asking the same kinds of questions, I think he's trying to trick me into saying something, like I've been hiding things. And he pokes around like he owns the place, he goes up to Gale's room and... and..."

"Shh," I soothed, then pushed her back to arms length. "You're not alone in this anymore." I didn't dare mention my suspicion that linked Gale to the attempt on the President's life.

She sniffed. "I won't let him ruin Gale's memory for the younger ones."

"I won't either." I moved to settle her at the table again, refreshed our tea. "How are they holding up?"

She took a sip, conflicted. "Posy and Vick are doing better. They've made friends here, so that helps. But Rory..." she trailed off for a moment. "It's been difficult. He sees what's happening. He rarely talks. He goes to school, does the minimum, comes home, does his chores, and goes to bed. He has nightmares, but won't talk about them. Mr. Weaver has tried to question him, but... well you can picture how that usually goes. I do my best to interfere, but you can imagine how that goes as well."

I sighed. "I know it's hard to think about, and I wouldn't ask if it weren't important. But do you think Rory knows something?"

She shakes her head. "It's hard to say. He's been to a doctor in town, they say he's traumatized. I don't know if he knew something before it happened. I doubt it... Gale was always so careful to keep his work separate from home. He and Rory spent quite a lot of time together though, so I admit it is possible."

"We'll figure this out," I said, reaching across the table to grip her hand. My promise hung silently in the air.

The front door burst open again. "Katniss!" Posy's gray eyes lit up and she squealed excitedly, dropping her bag and throwing herself into my lap. She was small for seven years old, but a solid little thing. I kissed her on top of her head. "Oh Katniss, your hair!" she tugged at my locks.

"Hi Katniss," Vick leaned in to hug me as well, and I squeezed him back. Hazelle had raised her brood respectably; extended family was treated with obligatory affection, but from Vick, I knew it was voluntary. I realized then how much I'd missed them.

"All right you two," Hazelle swatted at them. Do your rounds and then we'll have a nice dinner. Katniss may be staying with us a while."

"Is Uncle Peeta here too?" Posy queried expectantly. Hazelle had started the 'Uncle' title back when she thought we were engaged. It had stuck with little Posy.

"I'm afraid he couldn't get away this time Posy, I'm sorry," I told her. Posy had grown rather fond of Peeta during our brief previous visit, and Peeta was really sweet with her. It made me feel rather guilty, suddenly, that even if we remained together, I wouldn't be willing to give him children. I shook off that thought before it took my focus from the present.

"Oh." Posy tried to hide her disappointment.

"Scoot," Hazelle shooed. "And tell Rory to come inside," she shouted after them.

There was a minor scuffle in the yard, and then the now-oldest son shuffled into the doorway. "Yes, Mother?"

"Hi, Rory," I addressed him carefully.

He looked suddenly unsettled. "Katniss." He looked from his mother, to me, and back again.

"She's going to stay with us for a while, son. All right?"

He nodded. He looked just like Gale had at sixteen.

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