AN: A small birthday present to myself - updating twice in a month! Enjoy. :)
Under the afternoon sun, Hazelle's shadow puddles around her as she makes her way to the reconstruction site with Alice and Wilbur.
A week ago, she left the site with an idea, and she hopes this time she'll leave with it in motion.
She planned to wait until Nathan returned from the Capitol since he'd likely bring with him updates or even trade deals with the other districts, and she could go from there. Given the new constitution was signed and ratified over the weekend, Nathan should've been on the train ride back soon.
Alice told her today that he returned last night, and he's called together a town hall meeting in front of the new Justice Building.
As they pass hulking yet sleeping equipment and building structures, Hazelle is glad the younger children stayed behind at her house. Posy had pouted at being left, especially knowing Rory would be in attendance but not her, though it only took Vick and Aiden offering her piggyback rides around the yard to cheer her up.
The Justice Building almost looks complete from the outside. A crowd is gathered at its base, shading their eyes from the west-leaning sun with their hands. Nathan sits on its stairs, shuffling papers in his lap. He's still clean-shaven but his hair is no longer coiffed for television. He looks more approachable now in his worn work pants and shirt than he did in Haymitch's suit.
Alice follows her gaze. "I think he's single. He appears so, anyway, unless he's got someone hiding in Thirteen."
"Do not bother anyone to find out." There's a warning note in her voice. For all they know, he's got a whole family buried in the Meadow.
Wilbur chides his wife. "Alice, you're many great things, but you're no matchmaker. Remember Leita Frank?"
While Alice dismisses this with a hand and a coughing noise, Hazelle brightens at the name. "I knew Leita. We were close friends in school. She married the dairyman."
And she'd died of a postpartum hemorrhage with their first child three years later. Hazelle omits this, obviously, but it bookends the memory of her friend. She can still remember hearing the news and holding Gale extra close that night.
Wilbur nods. "She did. But Alice thought she should've stayed with her little brother. And she didn't keep it to herself."
"I wished her no ill will when she stood by her decision," says Alice.
"Which in your mind was slicing the bread for her toasting!"
"Not everyone's as sure as we were, Wilbur." Alice loops an arm through his. "Leita did end up seeming to like him more than Dugg, and he was a merchant - so what do I know? But I'm not matchmaking for Hazelle because I'll support whatever or whoever she chooses."
Hazelle shakes her head, looking between them, then scans the crowd for Rory and Hector. They find them easily enough on the fringe. Peeta, Antony, and Greasy Sae stand close by, talking amongst themselves.
Catching his eye and waving, Hazelle asks, "Representing the victors today, Peeta?"
He tells her Katniss offered to watch Annalise for Sae. "And I wasn't about to wake Haymitch from his nap," he says with a smile that she returns knowingly.
"Bakery coming along well?" Wilbur asks, gesturing to one of the buildings behind them, and Peeta nods modestly. Somehow that leads to a discussion about butter.
Antony asks Hazelle whether Vick is enjoying the books so far, and she replies he's still on the first one in the stack - a book on medical ethics.
"Partly my fault for the pacing. It's a more challenging read so I'm trying to match him chapter for chapter. But with work and all, I fall behind while he reads ahead, and he'll ask me things I haven't gotten to yet," says Hazelle. "He's a little too good at coming up with wild rhetorical scenarios."
The recent chapter on utilitarian principles had been difficult for her to discuss. Vick enjoyed extrapolating on the scenarios used in the book, making stories out of them to better convince himself of his forming opinions. Hazelle guided him as best she could; he's only eleven, after all, and she's his mother.
Antony chuckles. "I'm glad it's proving to be stimulating at the very least."
As the conversation changes, Hazelle glances at Alice, anticipating the smirk on her face. She tells her, quiet yet firm, "Quit it. I promise I'll tell you if someone turns up. Even though now I'm aware you might try to ruin the toasting."
"I didn't ruin it!" Alice whispers back.
"I know; I was there. That might've been the night my oldest was conceived." She smiles at Alice's entertained look. "See? I know how to enjoy myself."
"Used to, anyway."
From the stairs, Nathan calls everyone to attention. "Thank you all for coming out. And to those with questions, thanks for waiting. I appreciate your patience - even if some of you were at me before I was off the damn train." There's a ripple of laughter at this. "I figured I'd update everyone all at once. So," he says, "let's get started."
Right off, he tells them about an election this fall for local government positions that are mandated by the new constitution. He waves some papers. "These handouts go into more detail." He clears his throat. "Now, as for the mines, which I know are a source of many questions and concerns - I struck a deal with the Capitol."
He goes on to explain that he made a case against their returning to the mines, as the coal reserve in this region was already depleting before the firebombing, and that their access to it is now blocked off by the subsidence. They no longer have the resources to fix this. They'd have to relocate to a new area to find another deposit. They won't know the land as well. They won't know how far down they'll have to mine, and they won't know what kind of coal they'll find.
As he says this, the Twelve natives within the crowd grow a little restless, murmuring both worry and assent at his account. But Nathan continues to explain that, because of this, the Capitol has agreed to fully convert to coking with coal substitutes for steel production. They're able to reuse scrap as well, with which the war has left them plenty. But this agreement is contingent upon Twelve finding another industry.
"Understand that we are not here to provide for the Capitol anymore," Nathan is sure to state. "We are providing for each other and for the rest of Panem, just as they are for us. So we are trading off with the Capitol. They produced medicine synthetically in big, fancy facilities. But these were damaged in the war, and the cost to repair or replace them is absurdly high - whereas our land is filled with the natural components of these medicines. Our apothecaries have made their remedies from it for years. So I hope it's okay with you that I said we'd be up to the task."
The crowd responds positively from what Hazelle can discern. And she agrees with them, proud and grateful that the land can be used for healing rather than burning, that this is how they'll go on after the war. Hazelle wishes Verbena could be involved somehow; her knowledge and experience would be invaluable to this shift in industry. She doesn't see a place for herself in it quite as readily.
But then, Hazelle has another plan for herself.
Nathan invites any unanswered questions before he adjourns the meeting. Hazelle finds him through the dispersing crowd and tells him she has an idea, not a question.
"I visited the site last week and noticed that I've mended almost all the workers' clothes at some point. They're becoming more and more threadbare. I can barely even patch some socks now," she says. "We need clothes - especially for the cold. I can do something about it but I don't know what all we're working with."
Nathan nods as she speaks, crossing his arms and tilting his chin in thought. He says, "You're right; we should be preparing for winter sooner rather than later."
"Did the representative from Eight say anything about shipments?"
He gives her a grim look. "Won't be for a while. I wouldn't wait for them."
Hazelle frowns, her brow creased in thought. While she dreaded this answer, she shouldn't be shocked. Obviously, the war delayed the means of production, and in some districts more than others. Hazelle still hoped they'd have spools of fabric or something by now. But Twelve hasn't been held to any coal quotas, either, she reasons.
"We can see about getting sheep for wool," Alice says behind her. Hazelle turns, not noticing until now she's had an audience. She figured Rory would hover nearby but Alice, Wilbur, and Hector are there, too, as well as a few other stragglers from the meeting.
Rory points out, "Katniss saves her bigger pelts, which she'll have more of this fall. I could help her with tanning."
With an encouraging smile at her son, Hazelle turns to Nathan. "The victors' clothing donations are still circulating, too. I know Haymitch gave clothes that could be disassembled and remade into coats and the like if they're not as useful as is."
"Yeah, we don't need three-piece suits to get through the winter," says Nathan.
"We could hold a clothing drive," one of the workers says, an auburn-haired woman with a diluted Capitol accent whose name escapes Hazelle. She does remember directing her into a house earlier this summer but she hasn't seen her much since. "We had them in the city since people were always sorting through their clothes. Some threw out their entire wardrobe every spring. A lot of it still went to waste after the drives - most of it was no longer in style, and it was hard to get anything out to the districts. I doubt that's the case nowadays."
"We won't have much use for trendy scraps that let the cold in," Alice says with distaste.
Hazelle shrugs, looking between them. "We need whatever we can get. I can fortify what I can. We won't look fashionable but we won't die of exposure, either."
"There's our solution for now, then," remarks Nathan. "Hazelle, you've singlehandedly managed clothing repairs this summer. I know firsthand you do a good job. Any chance you'd feel comfortable taking on a commission like this?"
Hazelle nods. It was her intention after all. "I know enough to get us by. I don't know how to make clothes from scratch, though," she admits.
"Seems like you're the most equipped out of the lot of us, and you're willing. Nobody's claimed seamstress as far as I know."
Hazelle could shake her head and laugh at how this is something both familiar to and bigger than her. She fondly remembers her mother teaching her how to mend, and Leita Frank showing her how to alter their uniforms to accommodate their bodies during certain school years. While an apprenticeship may have died with Zella Hammond in the firebombing, Hazelle has spent years disassembling and reassembling clothes for washing, and altering and mending her family's clothes through lean times and growth spurts. There's more to learn, she knows, and it'll be amateur work until then - but her district will be clothed.
Hazelle takes a small, steady breath to calm her quickening heart. "I'll give it my best."
Nathan half-smiles, nods at her once. "It's a deal. Are you joining this, Madea?" he asks the Capitol woman.
"I can organize the drive, yes," she replies. Hazelle notices her smile grow in response to him, her teeth unnaturally white and straight. "I know who to contact in the city."
"Great." He gestures between them. "Find me tomorrow and we can talk compensation. We need some others there that have left already to enjoy the shorter workday. Which you should do now, too," he says offhand to Madea.
They leave him to field questions from the other stragglers. Hazelle shakes hands with Madea, reintroducing herself. "I've never done something like this before," she says. "I hope we can pull it off in time."
"Fake it till you make it - that's what my younger brother would say. And that got him through the Corps," Madea discloses with a laugh.
"Oh," is all Hazelle says, inflecting casual interest and feeling anything but, her eyes widened.
Madea holds up her hands in defense. "Oh, no, he wasn't like - He was just a lavish spender, got himself into debt. He was actually stationed here. He'd write about how he liked it. It's why I came out here."
Hazelle manages an encouraging smile. She doesn't prod at this past-tense brother. "Well, it's a work in progress nowadays. But you know that. Still a good place to call home."
Alice squeezes her arm as they leave the site with their boys and Wilbur. "We're going to be business partners!"
"Sure. You'll get the wool and I'll figure out how to not ruin it," Hazelle says with a nervous laugh. She's very much regretting her past indifference to knitting. It seemed less resourceful, buying or trading for yarn over clothes that she could alter in a quarter of the time. She doesn't know anyone who can spin wool that's still alive, either. Maybe Greasy Sae can.
"It was neat seeing you talk with everyone like that, Mom. Not that you don't with us," Rory corrects himself. "But this felt more important. Maybe you should campaign for something." He waves the handout from the town hall meeting.
With another, more dubious laugh, Hazelle says, "Let's see how this commission goes first."
As they walk through the Village, they come across Peeta again, talking with Katniss and Haymitch as they tend to the strawberry bushes. Katniss tips a watering pot onto the bushes while Haymitch picks berries and drops them in a bucket. Behind them, the primrose bushes look dewy and vibrant, and the geese shuffle between their yards.
"Hey!" Haymitch calls out upon seeing them approach. He points at Wilbur. "Take the rest of your coffee grounds or I'm throwing it through your window."
Chuckling, Wilbur drawls back, "What I did ain't worth two whole jars. One jar for now, another for next year's hatchlings."
"Assuming they make it until then," says Katniss. Haymitch throws a strawberry at her, and she catches it against her stomach and pops it into her mouth.
"Oh, my turn." Peeta crouches a little and manages to catch an underhanded throw in his mouth. He covers his mouth, looking their way. "As you can guess, I didn't get very far updating them."
"I can see that," laughs Hazelle. She can also sense Alice puttering behind her and Wilbur.
"What did we miss?" Haymitch asks Hazelle. He looks rested by his standards, his curls a little sleep-tousled above clear eyes.
"We're electing local officials in November, and we're not going to be the coal mining district anymore."
"Oh, great." He studies a strawberry, scratching the tiny seeds from its skin. "What are we now offering to the gem of Panem?"
"Medicine."
Haymitch quirks a brow. "So Verbena left too soon."
Hazelle, Peeta, and Katniss all shoot him a look that he shrugs at as he eats the strawberry. Katniss pointedly turns back to Hazelle. "My father's plant book might be of use. They can't have it but I could copy notes from it."
"Maybe. I don't know what the plan is there," admits Hazelle. "I've got a different task at hand." She tells them about the commission, and right away Peeta asks for more details on the clothing drive.
"You've given enough," Katniss tells him, scoffing a bit. "Whereas it's about time I go through my closet. Goodness knows I don't wear it all."
It strikes Hazelle that this is what Madea said about people in the Capitol. Though the victors here aren't doing it to replace their wardrobes. Still, she marvels at the idea of having so much that it can be shed on a whim.
"Hazelle might need your fashion expertise, too," Alice tells Katniss.
Haymitch and Peeta share a smothered laugh at that, and Katniss looks between them. "I doubt I'd make anything better, just frillier. But I have plenty of supplies to spare," she says to Hazelle.
"You should still lend your talents and join the sewing circle," insists Haymitch, his eyes creasing with amusement.
"Maybe you should, Haymitch," counters Hazelle. Unlike Katniss, who'd sooner stab a mouse with a sewing needle than mend with one, she knows he can sew.
Katniss and Peeta laugh out in astonishment - she wonders whether they know this about him, too - whereas Haymitch rolls his eyes and fights a defeated smile.
His eyes slide to her left and he shifts to peer around her at Alice. "I don't think we've officially met. You're Alice?" he says, offering a hand.
"I am." She looks him up and down, and there's a puzzled expression on her face as a result. His hand hanging a moment too long, Haymitch starts to retract it when Alice finally reaches out to shake it. "And you're Haymitch?"
While Hazelle makes a subtle face at her, Haymitch nods in a sort of contrite way. "I am."
Alice breaks into a sincere enough smile as she releases her grip. "That was a joke. I might not know you very well according to Hazelle," she raises a triumphant finger, "but I do know that."
Haymitch just nods again and lowers a thin smile to the strawberries in his other hand. Hazelle can tell he wishes he didn't bother. Wanting to both shift the conversation and keep him in it, she catches his eye and gestures to the scratches half-spiraling down his forearms.
"Those look better."
He grumbles back, "Yeah, well, I'm still letting the geese eat Buttercup next time."
Katniss sprinkles her watering pot onto his shoulder. "No, you won't."
"Save it for the plants," he snaps, whipping his arm. "But thanks for washing these." He bites into another strawberry.
Peeta wrests the others from his hand. "Enough already! I need those for the tart."
"I'm just going to eat them off that, too," Haymitch tells him, and this gets a laugh out of Alice, which seems to surprise herself more than anyone.
"Well," says Wilbur with a look to her and Hector, "we should go collect the boys and start dinner for us and the animals."
"I'll be home soon," Hazelle tells Rory, indicating he check on his siblings as well. He waves in their general direction and lopes off without protest. He's probably getting bored and hungry. She asks Katniss, "Do you really have supplies leftover?"
Katniss nods. "Fabric, thread, tape measures, a sewing machine," she lists, rolling a hand to indicate that there's more. "I wasn't kidding about having lots of clothes, too. You're welcome to go through it all, actually put it to good use."
"Tomorrow all right?"
"I'll get boxes ready," Katniss says by way of agreement. She picks up the bucket of strawberries from the grass and lifts her watering pot in goodbye as she heads inside. Peeta bids them a good evening and follows after her.
"Well, well." Hazelle turns at Haymitch's voice. "Hazelle the seamstress."
"Not yet," she says. "What do you think?" For all his suggestions, she found something that wasn't on the list.
"I think it's right up your alley. I feel pretty stupid for not thinking of it. In my defense, stylists have a bad connotation to me. I would've come around to that one eventually," he says, and she raises a brow. "More importantly, what do you think?"
"I think we'll see how it goes. Even if it is for me, there's a lot that I still need to figure out."
"Yeah, but its purpose is too straightforward and wholesome to not work out." He waves a hand. "You'll see to it."
Her brow knit with doubt, Hazelle says, "Not sure I deserve all this faith."
"You haven't given me a reason to think less of the world of you," Haymitch tells her, halfway arrogant, but his eyes and smile are soft.
Heat flares across her cheeks and she has to look away. But then reality slides over the compliment. She lowers her voice. "I have given you reasons."
He shrugs, matter-of-fact. "Not ones you had much freedom in."
The words recede from her mouth as she opens it. She wonders at how differently he views this matter sober compared to when he was drunk and bitterly resigned to their lives remaining apart, unamended. Folding her arms against her fluttering chest, Hazelle says, "Well, I haven't made stockings out of one of your shirts yet."
Haymitch chuckles. "No, but you will. Or something like that - hell if I know, that's why you're doing it. Speaking of which, I was going to offer taking on any of your remaining things to mend before you teased me."
"Oh, that's - that's thoughtful of you." Her expression tempers after the initial surprise. "But you don't have to-"
"I want to." He wrings his hands, his head bent. "If it'll help. Won't be the same quality as your work, obviously, since it's been a while and I was only ever passable at best. But it's one thing off your shoulders. You'll be replacing whatever I do soon enough anyway."
Hazelle smiles at him. "I'd really appreciate that, Haymitch. I'll drop them off tomorrow." As she says this, she remembers that she's scheduled tomorrow. But she found another job. She doesn't need her current one anymore. And she highly doubts Haymitch cares about getting an earlier notice. So if she goes to his house tomorrow, it won't be to work for him.
Following this as well, Haymitch raises a brow at her. "I am taking this as your resignation notice, then? Effective immediately?"
She toes the grass, then lifts her chin. "I think so."
"I should hope. You're clothing an entire district, and I'm having words with Nathan if he's not paying you adequately for it. So don't touch that sign-in tomorrow."
"I won't." Hazelle gives him a sheepish smile. "Thanks for letting me barge in and reclaim the job against your will."
"And thank you," Haymitch starts with exaggerated gratitude, then sobers, "for your hard work and support, especially when I made it harder than it needed to be. I promise to clean my windows at least once a year and to only bring the geese inside when it rains." He smirks at her dismayed look. "But seriously, I can manage it now. Just don't expect the house to look as tidy ever again, you neat freak."
Hazelle offers a hand. "It's been a pleasure working for you, Haymitch."
"You shouldn't lie during a handshake," he says while taking her hand and pumping it once. "So am I working for you now or what?"
"No, you'll help me with this favor. I'm not paying you," says Hazelle, chuckling.
"You know what I meant. Not like I need the money." He stuffs his hands in his pockets, shifts on his feet. "You mentioned visiting the site but nothing about your idea. How come?"
"I didn't want to disappoint anyone besides myself if it didn't work out," she admits. "I'm worried it still might not - that I'll fail somehow and be right back where I started. It's irrational, I know. Guess I'm just nervous to start." She sighs, closing her eyes against the threat of being overwhelmed prematurely.
"This is the worst part," agrees Haymitch, and she opens her eyes to his reassuring look. "You're tipping forward into the unknown. Like that night, how I - well, I was falling either which way. I could tip backward into drinking again, or I could fall forward into something new. I knew what awaited me going backward, and I didn't want to do it, so." He shrugs, crossing his arms.
"How are you now, having fallen forward?" She wants to know for his sake as well as for hers.
Haymitch bristles a little, likely regretting his example by now. "Sore." He shakes a hand impatiently and clarifies, "Keep in mind backwards for me is almost certain death. You can come back to work for me anytime. I just mean - I don't know - let yourself fall before you do."
When Hazelle gets home, Vick and Posy are alight with excitement at the news.
"Momma!" Posy holds her hand with both of her own and hops in place. "Are you going to make dresses like Katniss?"
"More like stockings and coats and thick pants - clothes for winter."
Vick says, "Mom, you'll have to measure everyone to make their clothes, right? Because I could help with that!"
Looking annoyed that Vick suggested this before him, Rory echoes from behind them, "Me, too! Or anything else you need."
"I can try on the clothes or pick out the colors," suggests Posy, equally as sincere.
Hazelle smiles at them. "I know you'll all be big helpers. I'll have to let you know what's needed as we go."
After the kids' bedtime, she calls Gale to update him as well. Their phone call the day after the reaping anniversary went fine, given the whole family was gathered around. This time, it's just her and Gale. She should allow him that after weeks of mutual silence following their last conversation alone.
"Are you going to a fashion school or something, then?" he asks after congratulating her.
"Not that I know of yet. I can't imagine those would be anywhere but the Capitol, and I'd rather not go there."
"It's not so bad now that they've been humbled. Maybe they can fly out some washed up Hunger Games stylist for you to apprentice. Someone who was out of work at the right time."
"Gale," she scolds. "I'm going through Katniss' old talent stuff tomorrow. That might be just as helpful, considering I only need to know the basics for now."
"Fair enough," he says. There's a moment of silence. She hears him take a deep breath, and her gut pulls into itself. "Mom?"
"Yeah?"
"I want to talk about it again if that's all right."
She clears her throat, grips the phone tighter. "Go ahead." She predicted as much, that he'd open the door again. It's why she left it cracked for him, calling him at this hour.
"I know I'll never see eye-to-eye with Katniss about it. But I didn't expect you to be such a bleeding heart as well. I thought - well, I thought you'd understand. But you shut me down just the same. Am I really so cruel in your eyes, too?"
"I do understand," Hazelle hears herself saying - because she does, even if she didn't want to acknowledge this before in her shock and pain. Perhaps reading from a long-dead author on ethics has helped clear her mind some, too. "But that doesn't make it right - not in a place already as lost and broken as here. And I wish you would see that rather than dig your heels in and rationalize things, or refuse to admit to yourself that you went too far and that you're hurting from it, too."
"Is that what you think or what you hope for me?" Gale says this as if he's faraway, though Hazelle supposes he is.
"It's what I think, having known you your entire life, and I should hope I'm still accurate there. Did I miss the mark?" she asks him, her stomach in knots now. If she's wrong and she doesn't understand her son at all, Hazelle honestly doesn't know what that means going forward.
"I would've said no during our last conversation. But I'm not sure now. Something happened at the constitutional conference. It was… disappointing. And illuminating. I don't want to go into it. But I think you're still accurate."
"Okay." She nods to herself. "Okay. Let me be there for you, Gale."
"I'll try," he promises, his voice sounding thicker. "I have to go now, Mom."
"All right. Goodnight."
"Night. I love you."
"I love you, too," she tells him, and means it with all her heart. She's about to hang up when she hears Mom wait, desperate and garbled. She brings the phone to her ear again. "What?"
"How - how is she?"
Hazelle closes her eyes, swallows around the lump in her throat. "She's well, Gale."
Later, swathed in a thin blanket and moonlight, the conversation with herself has more or less been mollified. Her nighttime thoughts will fill again with tomorrow's worries and promises and reminders but for now Hazelle thinks only of the tender warmth of being told by someone she hurt years ago that he thinks the world of her.
She can't keep track of who should owe who at this point. She hasn't been trying to lately, and she doubts he has either. She decides that's for the best and goes to sleep.
The next morning, surrounded by spools of expensive fabric and limp Victory Tour dresses at Katniss' house, Hazelle opens a sketchbook.
"My brand, supposedly," Katniss explains beside her. "My stylist drew them as if he was me."
Nodding, Hazelle remembers when Katniss vented to her about needing to find a talent before her Victory Tour, and her update that her stylist was going to mock one up for her. "I didn't pay much attention to your talent interview, knowing it was fake."
"Same here." Katniss winds the cord for the sewing machine around its neck.
All the while, Hazelle pours over the pages filled with designs first traced in loose pencil strokes, then in meticulous lines of ink. Her stylist prescribed Katniss an understated style, perhaps even inspired by that of her home district, with pressed trousers and braces over handsome buttoned shirts, and dresses made of luxurious fabrics with simple accents that give the illusion of being homespun. There's not a speck of coal dust, and the colors are richer than anything Twelve has seen apart from an escort's outfit on reaping day.
Hazelle surprises herself, finding these mock designs lovely and timeless. She wishes to see her district wear them for real someday.
She especially wants Posy to dance in a dress that looks like home yet feels fresh and unique, and for her boys to feel grown-up and special in new braces and shirts.
Hazelle hasn't worn a nice dress since her toasting. She sold her few ribbons and hats in favor of food and oil and supplies over the years. She thinks of how she has nothing to pass onto her daughter.
She just might have to make dresses like Katniss.
"Did your stylist leave directions for these?" asks Hazelle over her shoulder.
Katniss cants her head in thought, scanning inside the storage closet. "There are templates in here somewhere." She rummages through boxes. "You know, I think you would've gotten along with Cinna."
"I think I would have, too," Hazelle agrees amidst a thrilling lightness within her that feels like falling.