Chapter 22: Washed-Up Battleaxe

Peeta's POV

The first part of the train ride is a solemn affair. Bond Spindle and I sit side-by-side at the dining car table, not speaking, for at least the ride out of District 12.

I finally get my thoughts off of the family I have left behind, my adopted daughter, the love of my life, and use Bond as the new canvas for my mind.

I do not know much about Bond Spindle. He's a year older than me in school. And I know he's the illegitimate son of a Seam weaver and Cray, the Head Peacekeeper. That sick officer has impregnated many desperate women who visit him; the ones who don't miscarry are forbidden to have an abortion unless their health is in danger. By my estimate, Bond is one of six or seven bastard children in our district with Cray as their father.

Bond must catch me glancing at him, for he now addresses me.

"You're shacking up with that Everdeen girl, right? The one Hawthorne knocked up?"

I nod silently, stiffly, not exactly appreciating how my district partner has decided to put my romantic relationship.

"How's it feel?"

"What do you mean?" I inquire.

"Being the substitute plaything?"

I do not even try to hide the scowl. Three sentences spoken to me, and this guy is already starting to get on my nerves. Illegitimate son or not, the fact that he is Peacekeeper offspring - and everyone knows it - means Bond's gotten more breaks in life than even I have, as a Merchant; more than Katniss could ever dream of. I am actually quite glad he finally got dealt a bad hand with the Games.

We are interrupted by the train car door hissing open. And there he stands. Mr. Haymitch Abernathy. A glass of spirits already in his hand, he just looks us over once before giving a small smile.

"Congratulations." Well, at least he says it with some sarcasm. He plops unceremoniously into the seat across from Bond.

"So you're our mentor?" I ask. It's an obvious question, and therefore stupid, but at least Haymitch doesn't mock me for it.

"You never can tell, kid," he sighs.

If Bond thought my icebreaker was dumb, he doesn't express it, either, instead asking the old drunk, "So. What do you usually do first?"

Haymitch cocks his head almost stupidly, the drink in his hand sloshing. "Do?"

"As our mentor."

"Mentor?"

I don't blame Bond for quickly tiring of this game of call-and-response, for his voice begins to grow testy. "Yeah. Our mentor. You're supposed to get us sponsors and give us advice."

Haymitch thinks about it, his mouth drawn. "Here's some advice: stay alive." Then he bursts out laughing.

Bond stands in a rage. "You're not funny, old man!"

"And neither are you!" Haymitch parries right back, his mood changing from insane glee to vicious anger on a dime. "I gotta speak to the Bread Boy anyway, so why don't you get lost, ya Peacekeeper bastard child?"

Dead silence. Fuming, Bond storms out of the train car. When he's gone, Haymitch turns to me with an earnestness I haven't seen before. The shift is once again so sharp, so disturbing, I begin to wonder if the drunken thing is nothing more than an elaborate act.

"All right, kid, listen: when I ask you a question, you're going to answer to me, and you're going to answer to me straight. Yes or No. You living with the Everdeen gal?"

I nod. "Yes."

"You married?"

"No."

"The baby - is it yours?"

A pause. Ordinarily, I would be annoyed that Haymitch is giving the exact same drilling that Bond did, but this is important. Would how I answer help or detract from my chances at being helped, to the extent that this old drunk gives it? Somehow I think not. Best to be honest. "No. It's Hawthorne's."

I see something flash through Haymitch's eyes right then: pain. The pain of having a tribute get so close, only to be denied at the last moment. I see his mouth form the word, "Gale," barely getting it out.

"They're not my family in any official sense." I offer up.

"Doesn't matter. It's bad enough the kid's biological father is dead. No good losing the adoptive one, too. I'm going to help you get home to them."

I am stunned. Overwhelmed. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I like you."

"How? You don't know me!"

"Don't have to. I know I like you more than Cray's spawn," and he jerks a thumb towards the door.

"But what about Bond?"

"Peeta, if you ever get out of here alive, you're going to find that Victors choose between their tributes. Up against the Spindle brat, you have everything going for you: In comparison to him, I like you more. You're likable. You have a compelling life story. And you're in good shape, which means you can at least learn how to fight. Bond checks none of those boxes. So I'm going with you."

My eyes fill with tears, and for the first time since I left Katniss, I feel…. hope. "Thank you," I get out.

Haymitch waves me off. "Thanks has nothing to do with it, kid. Now send that Peacekeeper's scum in here. Don't tell him anything I've told you; with him, I at least have to go through the motions."

I turn for the door.

"And one more thing: you ever see Katniss again, tell her I tried to get the Hawthorne boy out alive. I really did try."

And I nod, now seeing my mentor in a whole new light.