The land looks like it's trying to remember summer and not quite grasping it. Thirteen had been so dismal inside and too new and limited outside. Here in Twelve, it's all three everywhere. There's hardly any grass outside the Victor's Village, and while the valley no longer holds horrible wreckage, it doesn't hold much civilization, either.
Trying to work diligently against the deadline of winter, the workers go out early every morning until dark. So far, they've cleared the streets of the debris and buried the dead, and now they're rebuilding the Town on its remnant foundations. Hazelle has heard they'll build to bridge it with the Village after that.
There won't be another Seam since the nearby mines are shot for good. They're roped off like a mining accident has occurred. The fires deep underground were quelled by a subsidence, the weakened earth suppressing the burning coal seams, but the residual exhaust can still be seen from the Village.
No more coal mining, for the time being. The thought is promising until Hazelle remembers that these people need jobs and that the country needs coal. But now isn't the time to worry about that, she reckons.
She'll give respect where it's due: the returned refugees are doing outstandingly given their situation. Her heart swells with pride for her people whenever she hears the distant hammers and chainsaws rebuilding a better Twelve. She saw some in action this morning as she stepped off the train, onto the platform in the station with her children.
She knows Rory is eager to join it. He didn't say much on the ride here, from the hovercraft to Eight to the train to Twelve, but it seemed more like he was waiting than nervous. He left for the construction site down the road as soon as he and his siblings unpacked their few possessions and sorted the food pack into the pantry. Hazelle could shake her head at his haste, as if he was concerned he'd be left out of something that will take months, if not years, to finish - but she also went several houses over to Haymitch's in the same hour.
When she comes back in the evening, Rory is already home preparing dinner. He was assigned the very important task of sorting and stacking blueprints and serving out water to the other workers. Seeing him sulk about it, Hazelle reminds him it's still work.
Posy, however, is elated to be back, even though they're not living in their house in the Seam anymore. She likes her new room as well as all the other rooms in the house, and she's told Hazelle this several times.
While Vick has made himself comfortable by laying a pillow against a wall and rereading the books Gale sent in the spring, he wants to explore the wilderness. He'd tend to wander off while they stayed by the lake after evacuating Twelve, spending time with Primrose Everdeen, who would point out certain plants her mother used and wildlife that Katniss and her father brought home. From his lengthy contemplations during Reflection in Thirteen, Vick expressed less interest in that, though, and more in the uncharted land itself. Hazelle doesn't know what to make of his fascination; it's different than Gale, who saw the woods as an escape and a means to provide for their family.
Hazelle had expected her children to never want to come back after the bombings. Instead, they'd been begging her to return home, and it softened her that they could still call it that. She kept reminding them that there wouldn't be much of anything that resembled home if they were to return. They didn't seem to mind. Vick even pointed out that since nothing remained, there wasn't much to bring about bad memories.
Her kids are of a tough upbringing, she muses with pride.
They are also amazed by the complexity of a shower. There were showers in District Thirteen, consisting of a showerhead attached to the wall of a stall. These ones in the Victor's Village come straight down, and the dial turns more than Thirteen's off-on switch. Though Hazelle has never used one like this herself until tonight, seeing each of her kids marvel at the instant spray of various water temperatures is amusing to her nonetheless.
Rory and Vick are left to their own devices and come out clean. Now it's Posy's turn, and she'll need assistance.
"Momma, it's too hot," her daughter tells her, leaning against the tiled wall, away from the water. Hazelle turns the dial back toward the middle. It was in the position that Vick used earlier, and the water felt fine against Hazelle's hand when she held it out to test it, even for a smaller child. "Still too hot," Posy insists, shaking her head.
Hazelle readjusts the dial, frowning as some water catches her sleeve. "I don't think you're used to warm water anymore, baby." The bathing water in Thirteen was barely heated whereas in the Seam they could boil it themselves. She kept their tub water warm enough for everyone to bathe without shivering.
Posy sticks out her palm, then nods. "That's good." She steps into the spray. Hazelle lathers her hair and skin with soft soap.
Deemed sparkling, Posy is enveloped by the towel that Hazelle holds out. However small her daughter looks in the towel, Hazelle thinks of how red and veined she was as a newborn and how much she's surprised her since. While Posy might always be smaller for her age, she's not sickly like Hazelle feared she'd be.
Hazelle takes her hand. "Let's get you dressed and combed," she says, and Posy nods as she fights wet stands of hair from sticking to her face and neck. Hazelle smiles at the sight.
Later, she's half-listening to Vick approximate the distance between the lakeside cabin to the nearest railroad when the phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Mom?"
"Gale! How are you?"
"I'm fine," her son answers. "I was calling to check on you, though. Make sure you arrived at the right house safely and all."
"Yes, we did." Hazelle leans a hip against the wall, smiling. "It's good to hear from you."
"Yeah, sorry about that." She hears Gale sigh on the other end of line. "I tried to contact you again before you left Thirteen but I got held up in a meeting that should've been a memo. You'd think we would've gotten better about wasting time by now."
Rory rushes up to Hazelle. "Is that Gale? Can I talk to him?"
Hazelle holds up a finger. "After I'm done." She clarifies to her oldest son, "Your siblings miss you. I'll hand the phone over soon. Anyway, I'm sure you're still doing more in Two than if you were here."
"How is everything over there? What's up and running now?"
"I didn't see a lot on the way from the train station to the Village," she admits, thinking back. "Just the ration stand and some other stuff under tents."
"That probably says enough, that you didn't see much," says Gale. "You'll find work, though, right?"
"Yeah, I'm joining in on rebuilding the Justice Building."
"Hilarious." He must be rolling his eyes. They both know she couldn't handle that kind of labor now. She's not as weak as she was after Posy, whose birth seeped much of her strength and kept her from the mines, which she couldn't return to anyway with a nursing newborn at home. But her age has worn her down some - in the bones more so than the muscles.
Hazelle snorts, then answers more seriously, "I did find work. Back to housekeeping for me."
"Abernathy?"
"Yes. All the washing machines here took out any laundry service. I won't miss that. Tomorrow I'll start collecting anything that needs mended from the neighbors for good measure," she says. Then, she answers his unspoken question, "We'll be fine, Gale. We're back in Twelve with a roof over our heads."
"I still think Thirteen can do better than that," he mutters.
"Thirteen functions fine but it's not home."
An edge has crept into Gale's tone. "Can't argue with that, except there is no more of that home."
"I know, baby. Don't think anyone's forgotten," Hazelle murmurs. She straightens up. "Besides, we're only getting better. Right?"
"Right, if I can sort it out with others like me so people like you can work and actually get things done."
"Haven't forgotten your roots, I see," Hazelle teases. "All right, well, Rory's about to carve into the floor, he's pacing around so much-"
"Mom!" Rory interjects from the doorway.
"-so I'm going to hand you over. I love you."
"Love you, too," says Gale.
Hazelle hands Rory the phone and walks back into the living room. Vick hasn't looked up from his book or moved from his place on the couch. He continues to tell her what he estimates is the distance between the train station to the eastern coastline.
Looking out through his now-spotless window, Haymitch sees a different place than when he and Katniss arrived back from the Capitol. They returned in the middle of winter, sure, but the ash from that past summer still hung in the air, settling over the snow - endless snow, there was nothing else - like the coal dust used to. Now the ash and snowmelt have absorbed into the soil, and the charred, twisted remains of Town that he could see from his window months ago have vanished.
And now Haymitch can not only see all the other windows lit up around the Village, but also understand that they are from real people, not ghosts, when this should've been obvious all along.
In the distance are the mountains, and they look as green and rolling and ancient as ever. To know there are places the Capitol hasn't touched, that haven't changed at all under his nose, reassures him more than usual right now.
Because the view was only a reminder of the cost of rebellion, Haymitch hasn't looked outside very often. Until Hazelle came back, he figured everything was the same in Twelve: dreary, bleak, and, for the most part, desolate. But maybe time has been more productive than he thought.
Obviously, there's a working train station because he still receives liquor from the three people who he knows for sure live here. But other than that, Haymitch is reluctant to admit that he hasn't paid much attention to the condition of his district.
Seeing all the work so far from inside his house, Haymitch is guiltily reminded that he hasn't done much to help. He figured what he'd done should have been enough. But leaving at the end of a war with no intention of helping the world afterward suddenly strikes him as careless.
So far all he's done is drink, throw bread at geese, and help the kids with their book. They're not that far into it, and already they claim that they will never finish it. He's told his share. It was something of a relief to finally remember all those dead children aloud, to make sure he hadn't forgotten them after he couldn't even save them, but it didn't alleviate the burden of their blood like he'd foolishly hoped. His most recent bender stemmed from that crushing disappointment.
He's kept in touch with Sae - or rather, she's kept in touch with him. She stops by with food and small talk, as do the kids nowadays. He assumes his little victors are doing better. He always seems to be in stock of bread and squirrel stew and, courtesy of the train, liquor. Sae had checked in on Katniss for him in the winter and through some of spring; surely the girl didn't want his company.
Frankly, Haymitch couldn't bear to see her yet, either. He knew all too well what she was going through and that the guidance and comfort of a mentor only does so much. She'd become attached only to fall apart again when he failed her, which would happen because Haymitch doesn't know how to fix her. But he does understand, even empathizes; he was so much like her all those years ago. He just can't offer her anything substantial when he's a fucking mess himself. So Sae visited Katniss, and Peeta returned by early spring - crisis avoided.
Except today Hazelle reappeared in his life so he's once again reminded of how unequipped he is at handling anything.
Haymitch shakes his head, shoving aside thoughts of the past and any living ghosts from it. He leaves the window and goes into the kitchen for another bottle. Drowning out the past and present appeals to him exceptionally right now.
The phone in his study rings.
Haymitch answers, not yet knowing what to think, and before he can say anything Plutarch Heavensbee is harping about how silly of him it was to not contact him sooner.
"What do you want?" Haymitch asks drily.
Plutarch isn't deterred. "Your help, of course! You didn't think you'd be rendered useless after the war, did you?"
Glancing toward the nearest window, where outside the gaggle meanders about his yard, he replies, "I assumed so after I was sent home to babysit." He rolls his eyes at himself; they both know it's sort of an unfair assumption since Haymitch volunteered to be Katniss and Peeta's legal guardian.
He can practically hear Plutarch wave a hand dismissively. "Oh, that doesn't mean we wouldn't appreciate your thoughts on the matter of this new, squirming infant Panem. As Secretary of Communications," he says with barely restrained pride, "I need contact with all of the districts. Unfortunately, there's no representation in Twelve."
With a humorless laugh, Haymitch almost replies, There's nothing to represent! but stops himself. Until this morning, he believed that. Instead, he says, "We're in no shape to organize administration. Not yet, at least. Town's barely up again."
"Done."
"What?"
"I've just requested an increase in shipments to Twelve as well as a crew of construction workers." Plutarch has a simple, nonchalant way about him whenever he's not talking about something that's impassioning to him. Frankly, it pisses Haymitch off.
"You…" Haymitch pinches the bridge of his nose, repressing a deep sigh. "You're functional enough to do that, wherever you are?"
"I'm in the Capitol, Haymitch. We're - well, we're able to branch out to the districts now. Some have been handling reconstruction well, though, particularly Three, Seven, and Ten. They even have volunteers available."
"And you're just now sending in help to the one district that ain't even a district anymore."
"I'm sure you're at least receiving simple supplies or else you'd be dead," Plutarch points out, and Haymitch cringes at the implication that he's referring to alcohol rather than food and the like. "Until Gale Hawthorne sent out a memo today, I didn't know how many people had returned. He assigned his family a house left by the railroad team that went through, as the rest are taken, and found the progress underwhelming for its current population. Before, I assumed it was just you three and maybe a few stragglers from Thirteen."
"Plutarch!" Haymitch slams a fist against the wall. "You mean to tell me that until recently, you haven't even considered that maybe whoever's here might need some help rebuilding?" He ignores the twinge of shame at his hypocrisy.
"We've needed months to regroup, Haymitch. You know how long some of this can take. It's especially difficult when several regions of the country need equally concentrated aid."
"District Twelve should have been at the top of that list; there wasn't anything to build from. You knew that, even during the war!"
"Yet there was no one to help, then," explains Plutarch in that gratingly calm, almost bored voice. Haymitch detects a condescending undertone as well and briefly considers cutting the line. "Evidently, there are people to rebuild a district for, and we can begin to succor now."
His brow furrows deeper. "You keep saying we. They really let you into their club? No rules against former affiliates of Snow, the Hunger Games, all that?" His mastermind role in the rebellion and his new cabinet position aside, Plutarch Heavensbee was a Gamemaker while President Paylor worked in a sweatshop.
Plutarch hesitates, which answers more to Haymitch than what he says next, his voice slightly strained. "Unlike most, I went into the war with a design of what we could be afterward, not just what we shouldn't be, having studied ancient politics and historic renewals of government. Anyone wary of me should still recognize that this knowledge is desperately needed. They've no reason to interfere with my work if it doesn't hinder the progress of Panem."
"Fair enough," Haymitch admits.
"I assure you that no one has forgotten where we all stood before the war." Plutarch clears his throat. "Returning to the purpose of this call, I'd like to reconnect with Twelve through the only person I trust can do it."
"Me?" Haymitch lifts his brows in disbelief. He assumed Plutarch was going to ask him to find someone for him. "You do know I haven't read all those books that you have, either, right?"
"For someone who couldn't use a fork properly before his time in the Capitol yet had the guile to bring it down years later, I wouldn't worry about what you have or haven't studied. If my memory's correct, you helped immensely at a certain trial for a rather doomed young lady, and I doubt you're hiding a law degree." At Haymitch's silence, Plutarch continues, "I want to put you to work. It would be a waste if you didn't lend us your mind."
"I," Haymitch pauses, closing his eyes, "I'll think it over, okay?" After a few parting words, he hangs up the phone.
Despite the enticing bottles in his kitchen, Haymitch finds himself back at the window, looking out at his district. It's in early stages of restoration. They don't have to build the Seam again. They can make this place better - and he can help.
Before, what he saw filled him with guilt and anger. Seeing the land with a new perspective, Haymitch feels something exciting within him: hope, mingled with determination.