AN: I'm back! For those of you who read the previous chapter back when I posted it: I strongly suggest you re-read the last scene. The general idea is the same -as is the outcome- but I wasn't happy with the way it was, and I changed it a bit.

Peeta's Victory Tour was turning out to be longer than I anticipated, so I decided to break it into two sections. Hope you enjoy.

CHAPTER 13. The Tour (Part 1)

Peeta looked out the window and watched as the tribute train sped along the fields and orchards of District 11.

Rows upon rows of vegetable shrubs and trees, reaching out as far as the eye could see, were spread out in front of him; plentiful and appetizing.

Out in the distance, a group of laborers caught his eye. Their colorful shirts and wide straw hats made them look like exotic birds -intriguing and majestic but tethered to the ground.

Pressing his nose against the window, Peeta saw them walk along the cultivated land, stopping every few steps to pick the ripest produce.

He smiled for an instant, remembering the stories Rue had once shared with him about her days on the fields. It didn't take a lot of effort to imagine her now; wearing a colorful overall as she scurried up a tree like a squirrel all the way up to the leafy branches where the juicy fruit waited to be picked.

In a flash, the happy thought was replaced by the disturbing memory of Rue's lithe body in his arms.

He hunched forward. Pressing his forehead to the windowpane, he remembered how the girl had fought for her life, bravely refusing to give up even when she knew she was doomed. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel her warm blood on his hands, hear the ragged whisper of her last breaths.

The bitter taste of regret filled his mouth, and he pushed himself away from the window.

Six months. Rue had been dead for six months. He had only known her for a few days, but her memory still brought tears to his eyes.

He knew he had kept his promise to her. She had asked him to fight and to go back home and he had but, somehow, it didn't seem enough. It didn't seem right.

Why was he allowed to live in luxury, to be honored and treated like a celebrity while Rue was gone?

Deep down, he knew he wasn't to blame -he hadn't chosen his fate any more than she had. They were both victims of the same cruel game, and yet… he couldn't help the feeling that he had done something wrong.

In an effort to assuage his guilt, Peeta had spent weeks trying to find a token of appreciation, a gesture of gratitude he could bestow on Rue's family during his Victory Tour.

The idea had finally come to him one afternoon as he worked in the greenhouse. It was simple, yet brilliant. He would share his money with them, send them a percentage of his yearly earnings for as long as he lived.

He was no fool. He knew money wasn't enough -Rue's life was far more valuable than a handful of coins- but he still hoped it might make their lives more bearable, their days less bleak.

But, as the train silently carried him to District 11, he knew that would never happen. Not now. As much as he wanted to help, he couldn't -not if he wanted to keep his word to President Snow.

Looking down, Peeta saw the index cards Effie had given him -crisp cardboard notes that felt as heavy as bricks in his hands.

Closing his eyes, the victor tried to repeat the hollow words his escort had written, but they stubbornly stuck to his tongue, too tangled with President Snow's warning to go past his lips.

Things will get a lot more difficult for your people if this doesn't go our way.

Crestfallen, Peeta took one last look at the farmland ahead of him. It was hard to believe the extension and abundance of District 11's natural wealth.

And yet, President Snow said there wasn't enough food to feed us all. The thought sent a chill down Peeta's back.

As he silently made his way back to his room, Peeta wondered what it would take to appease the Capitol's greed.

XXXXX

Peeta and Haymitch walked into the Justice Building in District 11. They were greeted by an empty hall that resounded with the echo of their own steps.

"Right this way," Haymitch indicated pointing to a large wooden door at the far end of the room.

Peeta followed, letting his eager eyes wander over the brightly colored walls and high ceilings which surrounded them. The pastel tones were cheerful enough, but the multiple chips and cracks spoke of years of hardship and neglect.

Looking down, he noticed the tiled floors. They were a bit faded -like the rest of the building they had seen better days- but Peeta could still make out the different fruits and vegetables which had been artfully created using hand-painted mosaics.

He was about to ask Haymitch if he remembered what the building had looked like in his day when the door swung open.

A man and a woman dressed in matching lime-green tunics and black linen trousers walked into the room.

Peeta stopped and pulled his shoulders back to straighten his posture. He had never spoken to the couple before, but he knew who they were. He remembered seeing them with Rue and her district partner right before the interviews in Caesar Flickerman's studio.

"Well, well, well… Look what the cat dragged in!" the man —whose hulking frame made Peeta think of a sturdy boulder— exclaimed.

"Chaff!" Haymitch walked towards the man and vigorously clasped his forearm instead of taking his hand.

Intrigued, Peeta followed his mentor.

Haymitch turned to the woman. She wasn't very tall. Her long, black hair fell over her shoulders in soft waves framing a kind, friendly face. With a nod, Haymitch said, "How you doin', darlin'?"

The woman smiled. "I'm doing fine, Haymitch. It's good to have you here." Looking past Haymitch, she asked, "This your boy?"

Haymitch took a step back. His hand reached for Peeta's shoulder. "Seeder, Chaff, meet our newest member, Peeta Mellark," he said, softly patting Peeta's back.

Peeta took in the two victors before him.

Chaff seemed older than Haymitch and, now that he was closer, Peeta realized that he was missing a hand. So, that's what the strange handshake was all about.

Seeder was definitely younger, but not by much —Peeta could already see a few silver strands shining in her wavy black hair. Her most distinctive feature were her honey brown eyes -which were now trained on his face; regarding him with a tenderness he hadn't expected.

Other than Haymitch, Peeta had never officially met any victors before. He hadn't imagined they'd be this friendly.

With a polite smile, Peeta reached out for Chaff's forearm in the way he'd seen Haymitch do. A second later, he found himself enveloped in a one-armed hug. "No need to be formal here," Chaff laughed in his ear.

As soon as Chaff released him, Seeder followed. Her embrace was softer but just as warm. "It's very nice to meet you," she said as she pulled away, eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you for taking care of our Rue."

Peta's chest constricted at the mention of his young ally. "I wouldn't be here without her," he said. "I'm so-,"

"Don't," Seeder interrupted. "None of this is on you." She reached for his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You need to remember that. Always."

"Listen, boy. You did your best," Chaff said. "You treated her with respect. That's more than most people would have done."

Peeta bowed his head, grateful and humbled by the victors' kind words.

XXXXX

Peeta stepped onto the stage. His loud footsteps resounded against the wooden floor, accompanying him as he walked up to the microphone which had been set up for him.

He looked up, out onto the town square, and felt his heart begin to race. The square was massive, at least twice as big as the one in District 12, and it was full to the brim.

Glancing back, he found Haymitch and Effie. Portia, his stylist, was standing right next to them.

Slowly, the young woman —who was gradually becoming one of Peeta's best friends— brought a hand to her chest and gave him a nod.

Straightening, Peeta reached up to his chest and touched the mockingjay pin Portia had pinned to his lapel. The smooth gold was cool to the touch, a soothing reminder from home.

"You've got this," Portia mouthed looking straight into his eyes.

Peeta turned back to his audience. He dropped his arms to his sides, cleared his throat and, in the steadiest voice he could manage, began to speak.

The crowd assembled on the square kept quiet as he spoke. Even though he couldn't really focus on them, he felt their eyes looking intently at him as he repeated the speech he had finally committed to memory.

A sense of unease spread through him as he pictured himself in his spectators' eyes. Disappointment, anger, regret, they were all he could see in their stares.

The words Effie had written turned to sawdust in his mouth, so he spit them out; clenching his fists by his sides and hoping the people around him wouldn't notice how sick they made him feel.

He was almost done talking about the glory of Panem and the benevolence of the Capitol when a new thought flashed through his mind. Looking out into the distance, he found a large banner with Rue's picture —it had been hung over a dais where her family stood, just above their heads.

Finding Rue's mother in the crowd, Peeta said, "District 11, Panem thanks you but, more than that, I thank you." Tears pooled in his eyes; clenching his jaw, he willed them away. His voice, determined and clear, filled the square. "Without Rue's kindness and resourcefulness, I wouldn't be here today. I know this might not seem important, but I carry her memory wherever I go. She's a part of me and I won't ever forget her, not for as long as I live," he vowed finally looking away.

Silence followed.

He was about to step away from the microphone when someone, somewhere in the crowd, whistled a short, simple tune.

The four sharp notes rang through the square shattering the silence.

Like a ripple of water that turns into a wave, every person in the square snapped into action. Peeta watched in astonishment as the people in front of him brought the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and raised them to the sky, pointing them in his direction.

He stood there, speechless, dumbfounded; feeling his heart race in his chest as an entire district saluted him.

Dazed, he turned towards the front row where he knew the district's victors where sitting. Chaff, Seeder, and two other people he hadn't met had their hands raised too. Hope, determination, and something else he couldn't identify shone in their eyes.

Peeta's exhilaration quickly turned to dread. President Snow's not going to like this.

XXXXX

Night fell. The victors from District 12 were back on the train, killing time in one of the sitting rooms while they sped towards District 10.

Peeta studied the sketch in his hands. He was trying to capture all the colors he'd seen in the orchards that morning, but he was too distracted to do a good job. Leaning forward, he grabbed a purple pencil from his case and rolled it between his fingers, silently debating whether to use it or not.

"Care to tell me what's going on?" Haymitch grumbled into the silence.

Peeta looked up from his sketchbook. "What do you mean?"

Haymitch rolled his eyes, annoyed by Peeta's attempt at indifference. The boy had been quiet all afternoon -unusually so- and now he looked like he was about to snap that pencil in two.

"Don't want to talk? Fine by me." Haymitch stretched his legs and relaxed in his seat using both hands to cradle a whiskey glass against his chest. "Just don't come knocking on my door when things get tough."

Peeta stilled. He knew Haymitch was right. The tour was just beginning, and he was going to need his mentor's help if he wanted to come out of it in one piece but facing up to the truth terrified him. There was a part of him -a stubborn, childish part— that still hoped President Snow's visit had been nothing but a bad dream.

Slowly, Peeta wrapped his hand around the pencil and tightened it into a fist until his knuckles turned white. He counted his breaths, one, two, three…

When he reached ten, he opened his hand and relaxed, gradually letting go of his frustration and fear. "President Snow came to see me," he whispered.

Haymitch took a sip of whiskey and nodded. Gray eyes, sharp and alert, locked with Peeta's. "When?"

"A couple of days ago." Peeta dropped his sketchpad on the coffee table and returned the purple pencil to the case. Turning his full attention to his mentor, he said, "You don't seem surprised."

"I'm not," Haymitch quietly admitted. "Not really."

An unnerving sense of unease settled on the pit of Peeta's stomach. Swallowing to keep his nausea at bay, he said, "You're one of them."

Haymitch's eyebrows shot up. "One of them?"

Peeta leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees. "Snow said there's a group of people who aren't happy with the way things are run. He said they're growing restless, but I think what he meant is that they're gaining strength. He seemed... worried."

Haymitch moved to mimic Peeta's posture; huddling close to him to protect their conversation from unwanted ears. "What else did he say?"

"That things would get ugly if they succeeded in their plans."

Haymitch's eyes twinkled in anger, his voice was cold as steel. "Ugly?"

Peeta dropped his head in defeat. His mentor was right, things were ugly already. "Uglier," he clarified.

Haymitch took a swig from his glass. Keeping his voice barely above a whisper, he asked, "What did he want?"

"To make sure I behaved."

"Behaved? Was that the word he used?"

"No, but I know that's what he meant. He said all eyes would be on me during the tour and that I had to make sure his message came across. I'm supposed to stick to the script, read the cards Effie gives me."

"Or?"

"He didn't go into specifics," Peeta admitted, "But he said District 12 would suffer if things didn't go the way he wants them to."

"I see." Haymitch tapped his foot a few times against the carpeted floor. A curious smile turned his lips as he asked, "So, what happened today? Why did you go off script?"

"I don't know." Peeta shook his head. He still couldn't believe what he'd seen on District 11's main square. "I just… I was looking at them and I thought they deserved more, you know? I wanted to show them that they matter, that they don't go unnoticed. I know I shouldn't have said anything, but I just couldn't stop myself."

In an uncommonly warm gesture, Haymitch patted Peeta's back. "You didn't do anything wrong. Rue was your ally. It's practically mandatory to thank or acknowledge one's allies during the tour, everyone knows that."

In one long exhale, Peeta emptied his lungs. He knew his mentor was right, but… "I had never seen a crowd respond that way before. I didn't even know people used that sign out of District 12."

Haymitch returned his attention to his glass. "They don't, –not as far as I know- but everyone saw you doing it in the arena. They probably thought it was the right way to thank you for your words."

Leaning even closer to his mentor, Peeta whispered, "Do you think he'll punish them for it?"

Haymitch shook his head. "No. The peacekeepers would have acted if they had seen it as a threat."

An image of the spotless white uniforms spread out through the square came to Peeta's mind. "There were so many of them!"

"Yeah, it's always been that way in Eleven. It's a big district and I guess they're there to protect the crops."

The soft rumble of the train sliding over its tracks filled the air as the two victors took a moment to digest everything they'd just shared.

Eventually, Peeta spoke again. "What am I supposed to do now, Haymitch?"

"About?"

"About this tour," Peeta snapped. "I know I made a promise to President Snow, but I don't see how I'm going to keep it. Those cards Effie wrote are so…"

"Fake?" Haymitch's smile was full of mischief.

In spite of his somber mood, Peeta laughed. "Yeah."

Sobering up, he added, "I don't really know what's happening out there, but I know things aren't the way they should be."

"You've got that right." Haymitch took another gulp from his glass. The strong liquid went down his throat making him wince.

Peeta looked down at his hands, they were unblemished and smooth. He hated that some Capitol doctor had erased all the burn marks left by years of working in the bakery when he'd won the Games. But, even if the scars were gone, the memories were still there; a sharp reminder of the pain and struggles of growing up in District 12.

Maybe it was the fear that seeped into his dreams every night, or the fact that he was tired of feeling like he was trapped in a maze —an inescapable arena where he was nothing but prey- but he could feel something pushing him, driving him to do something; urging him to stand up and speak for himself.

"I'm not out to destroy the world, Haymitch. I don't want to bring about chaos and uncertainty."

"But you'd still like to do something."

Peeta nodded. "We're living in a country that's filled with distrust, inequality, death… A place where no one is safe. It's just not right."

Haymitch ran a tired hand through his hair. He hated being there, -stuck in a Capitol-bound train making sure the first boy he'd ever managed to pull out of an arena got into a fight that wasn't entirely his own—but he really had no choice. Keeping his voice low, he said, "They need your help, you know?"

"They," Peeta huffed. "And who is 'they', exactly? You still haven't told me anything. Who are these people?"

Haymitch pursed his lips, carefully considering his words. "Let's just say they're the ones who want a better tomorrow, those who are tired of going to bed hungry and afraid."

Peeta shook his head. "That's a bit vague."

"It is," Haymitch admitted, "but it's all I can tell you right now."

Peeta nodded, he had never been a rebel or a spy before, but he understood the need for secrecy. They were on a Capitol train, after all. Their hushed voices might not be enough to cover their treasonous words.

He still hadn't decided whether he wanted to join these uprisers or not -he didn't want to do anything rash- but the idea had been nagging at him since he'd found out about their existence.

Now that he had access to them, he wanted to know what kind of things would be expected of him if he ever decided to act. "What would I have to do?"

"Nothing too dramatic," Haymitch assured him, "no one wants to put you at risk."

With a nod, Peeta urged his mentor to keep talking.

Haymitch took a sip from his glass and stalled for time. He didn't want to lie to the kid, –not more than what was absolutely necessary, at least. "All you have to do is keep your promise. Read Effie's cards."

Peeta's eyes narrowed. He could tell there was more, and he was in no mood to just wait around. "And?"

"Add a personalized message at the end; something about each district, for instance."

A message. "Like what?"

Haymitch shrugged. "I don't know." He turned to the window. Acres of grassy farmland, shining white under a pale moon, passed them by. "What did you think when you saw District 11 this morning?"

Peeta looked at the sketch he had abandoned on the coffee table. "I thought it was beautiful, full of color and life. I was surprised by how big it was, by its abundance."

Haymitch smiled. The kid definitely had a way with words. He was a natural. No wonder the rebels wanted him so badly. "That would work."

Unconvinced, Peeta asked. "What good would that do?"

Haymitch's eyes hardened. "For years, the Capitol has kept us in the dark. Snow's government controls all of our resources. He keeps us hungry and weak and says that it's for our own good. He controls all the information we receive. We never get to hear directly from the districts -not even during the Games."

As Haymitch's words slowly sunk in, Peeta began to remember his own experiences as a tribute. His mentor was right, he had learned a few things about District 11 through his alliance with Rue, but he knew that wasn't usual, and it certainly hadn't been enough. The things Rue had said hadn't prepared him for the surprise of seeing her district with his own eyes.

"So, you want me to tell people what each district is really like?"

"We're only staying one day in each place, -that's not enough time to see what the reality is- but, yes, that's the gist of it."

Haymitch reached for Peeta's knee and tapped it a few times. "The people in the districts already see you as a friend, someone honorable, someone they can trust. They're tired of the official speeches, but if they hear you talk about the wealth and beauty of each district, they might stop to listen. Maybe then they'll remember their worth and they'll realize we're all in the same boat. Think about it, we are the ones who keep the Capitol going. If we stop giving them what they want, the whole central government will collapse."

Collapse. Peeta remembered President Snow using the exact same word. Coming from him it had sounded like a worst-case scenario, in Haymitch's lips, it sounded like hope.

Either way, it wasn't a reality, not yet at least. "That's a lot of ifs and maybes," Peeta said.

"It is. But, if this works, the Capitol will have to start listening to us. They won't be able to treat us like a bunch of fools anymore."

Peeta considered his mentor's words for a moment. It wasn't a bad plan. It felt like something he could do, but… "And what if Snow doesn't like it?"

Haymitch sighed. He had heard enough stories of secret presidential visits to know President Snow's threats were never issued lightly, but there was something unusual about his latest visit to Twelve.

Coriolanus Snow knew he was in control, and he wasn't shy about stating exactly what he wanted –and what would happen if he didn't get it. So, why hadn't he issued a more direct threat this time?

Understanding was like a beam of light coming through the clouds. The words poured out of Haymitch's mouth before he could stop them. "You live alone."

Surprised by the sudden change of topic, Peeta frowned. "What?"

Haymitch smiled. Unlike most victors, Peeta didn't share his house with his family. The old mentor had never asked why, but he was fairly certain that the arrangement hadn't been the kid's choice. It probably had something to do with his parents not wanting to leave the bakery unattended during the night. "You're a merchant!"

"What does that-," Haymitch's raised hand cut Peeta's protest short.

"Miners go missing all the time. Accidents, fires, explosions, they're all common in the Seam, but things are different in town. There are fewer families, they're more visible." Haymitch looked down at the glass in his hands. The amber liquid swirled following the train's gentle rocking motion. "Things are changing," he mused. "Snow doesn't feel like he can just take anyone's life anymore. He might still do it, but he'd rather avoid it -especially if he feels it might draw unwanted attention from his enemies."

"Haymitch! What are you talking about?"

Haymitch looked up. Peeta had never seen him so focused before. "President Snow is a practical man. He doesn't mince words or issue idle threats but, in your case, he was extremely vague. My guess is that he hasn't figured out how to punish you if you disobey. He can't do anything to YOU because you're a victor, and his attitude makes me think that he's in no position to hurt a merchant family right now."

Anger and hurt darkened Peeta's eyes. "Being a merchant is not a guarantee, Haymitch!" His hand flew to his chest, to the golden mockingjay he still wore. In a faltering voice, he added, "Maysilee was reaped. I was reaped. What makes you think that my family will be safe?"

Haymitch's eyes turned stormy at the sight of the golden bird. "No one is safe, Kid. But, right now, it feels like President Snow is trying to put out a fire. He's trying to keep us contained. I'm not saying he won't find a way to retaliate if he catches on to what you're doing, all I'm saying is that he won't punish your family for your actions."

"What makes you so sure?"

Haymitch's whisper was as steely as a blade. "Believe me, if he wanted to, he would have done it already."

A cold shiver ran down Peeta's back and he looked away, troubled and pained. Gathering what was left of his courage, he asked, "Is that what happened to you, why you live alone?"

Haymitch emptied his glass and left it on the coffee table. With a shuddering sigh, he said, "Listen, kid, let me tell you a story."

XXXXX

Peeta reached the microphone on the center of the stage and looked out onto the crowd.

District 7 looked back.

Hundreds of eyes fell on him, eager and intrigued. He could feel the weight of their expectant stares resting on his shoulders, burdening him with their hope.

Tightening his hold on the cards Effie had given him, Peeta tried to remember Haymitch's reassuring words. You can do this, he told himself, you're doing a good job.

Putting the cards behind his back, Peeta smiled at the cameras, and began, "Citizens of District 7, thank you for having me here."

Over the next few minutes, Peeta delivered the president's message. The words of prosperity and loyalty still tasted bitter in his mouth, but he had made a promise to say them, so he repeated them as best he could.

Before closing with the traditional vow to Panem, he added, "I haven't seen much yet, my journey's just getting started, but the forests of District 7 have amazed me with their beauty and their wealth. I never imagined anything so magnificent, so vast. You should be proud of the treasure you have."

Looking down at the front row, he found the district's victors. He hadn't officially met any of them yet, but he recognized a few from their Games.

Just as he'd done in every other district, Peeta bowed his head in deference.

He slowly looked back up and found Johanna Mason's big brown eyes. The youngest victor in the district was looking at him with a mix of awe and suspicion that baffled him.

Peeta held her stare. There was something fierce in her eyes, a quiet determination he had never seen before. It was unnerving, intriguing. For a split second, Peeta wondered what that young woman had gone through to become so openly challenging, so bold.

Aware that the world was watching, Peeta turned to look away. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Johana's pink lips slowly turning in a crooked smile.

Peeta addressed the open crowd once again. Though he hated the words, President Snow's vow fell easily from his lips.

District 7 dutifully answered back, "Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever."

The main square erupted in a round of applause and cheers.

Peeta nodded and smiled; following the motions of gratitude as one single idea occupied his thoughts. Johanna Mason is one of us.

AN: I want to thank the lovely AlwaysEverlark for the beautiful banner she made for this story.

I love reviews as much as Effie loves good manners. You always make my day when you share them with me. Thanks!

You can also find me on Tumblr. I'm javistg over there, come and say hi!

The Hunger Games Trilogy is the property of Suzanne Collins. No money was made off of the creation of this fanwork.