Chapter 20. The Announcement.

Although he would never admit it, Gale Hawthorne enjoyed going to Victors' Village.

He didn't care for the opulent houses lining the Main Street. Knowing the fully-equipped mansions stood by empty while his family and neighbors had so little made his blood boil, but the road that led him there was a different story.

Unpaved, unkempt, and —most importantly— unsupervised. The path with the tall trees and overgrown shrubs was the closest he got to the woods these days, and it was quickly becoming his favorite place in the district.

Gale had almost reached the iron gates when he spotted someone coming out.

The blond girl wasn't particularly tall, but she moved with the elegance and grace of a dancer. Her faded denim overalls made her look like a miner's daughter, but Gale wasn't fooled. He would have recognized the mayor's snarky daughter anywhere.

If he had been back in town, Gale would have crossed to the other side of the street —pretending to be interested in something or other— to avoid acknowledging her. Unfortunately, the deserted road offered no distractions. So, with a displeased grunt, he straightened up and walked towards her.

As their paths crossed, Madge slowed her pace and gave him a tight smile.

Out of habit, Gale responded with a curt nod. He knew he was free to keep on walking, the basic standards of courtesy had been met, but curiosity got the better of him. Aiming for casual, he stopped on his tracks and said, "Hey!"

Madge froze. She only knew Gale in passing. They had spoken a few times —when Katniss was around— but he had never been particularly friendly. She considered moving on with a nod, but she had been taught to be civil, so she answered, "Hi."

Following his mother's advice about catching more flies with honey, Gale attempted a smile and tilted his head towards the village. "So, what brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"I was visiting my cousin," Madge shot back. A smooth, ready answer. In case a Peacekeeper asks, she told herself when she came up with it. But Gale wasn't a Peacekeeper, he was just a miner brimming over with curiosity. Before he could dig any deeper into her answer, Madge lifted a smug eyebrow and asked, "You?"

"I'm here to help my mother," he explained just as smoothly. "She works for Haymitch now; said she needed help fixing something."

Madge perked up. "You know how to fix things?"

Not knowing whether to be insulted by her surprise, Gale crossed his arms and nodded.

"Are you any good with a hammer?"

Gale shrugged, he was better with a pickaxe, but he could wield a hammer just fine. "I'm OK, I guess."

"And roofing?"

Gale smiled. Roofing was something he was great at, his father had taught him as a kid. His family's shack was as modest as they came, but the shingles were in tip-top shape. "I'm good."

"And how about electrical—,"

"What's this," he snapped, "a job interview?"

Madge bit her lip to contain a smile. This was the Gale Hawthorne she was used to. "Could be. You interested?"

"In what exactly?"

Madge pushed her shoulders back and delivered her offer, "Working for the mayor."

Gale's jaw dropped. The mayor? "As what?"

"We need someone to do odd jobs around the house, mostly maintenance stuff, and…" Madge looked away. There were certain things -private things- that she wasn't willing to talk about out in the open, not even on an empty road. "To help out at the Justice Building sometimes."

"Don't you have someone for that?"

"Yeah, Samuel, but he can't really do it anymore. He's too old to be climbing up to the rooftop and cleaning gutters. We need someone to take over so that he can retire."

Retire. Such an odd word. For most miners, retirement meant getting black lung and staying home to live out your last few days. Very few people in District 12 were able to enjoy what the Capitol called their "golden years. "

Gale had barely started working in the mines, but he already hated it. Any job that kept him out of the dank, stifling tunnels sounded good.

"So, you interested?" Madge repeated.

"Sure!" Before excitement could take over, his old skepticism reared its ugly head. "Why me, though?"

Madge shrugged. "You're Katniss's partner, right?"

"Right."

"Well, I trust Katniss. If you're good enough for her, you're good enough for this. Can you come by tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I could be there after my shift."

"Good." With one last smile, Madge turned on her heels and started walking. "I'll let my father know."

Madge was already a few steps away when Gale broke out of his stupor. "Thank you!" he called out at her retreating form.

Madge wiggled her fingers in the air to show she had heard him. She didn't look back.

XXXXX

"Girls, the transmission is about to start," Mrs. Everdeen called from her rocking chair in the living room.

"What do you think this mandatory program is about?" Prim asked, taking her usual seat on the couch while Katniss grabbed a cushion and dropped it on the floor. "Mr. Harris told us to tune in, but he didn't explain anything else."

Mrs. Everdeen glanced at the dark TV screen, a solemn, distant expression clouded her features. "It must be the reading of the card."

Sitting on her cushion, Katniss looked up at her mother. "What card?"

"For the Quarter Quell," Mrs. Everdeen muttered.

"Already?" Prim crossed her arms as if to shield herself from anything connected to the Games. "The Quell isn't for months yet."

With a sharp beep, the TV flashed to life. As the grandiose score of Panem's anthem filled the room, President Snow came up on the screen. A young boy in a white suit holding a simple wooden box followed.

Uneasy with the intrusion of the aging president in her living room, Katniss stood up and sat again by her sister's side.

The last notes of the anthem died down, and President Snow began to speak, reminding everyone of the Dark Days from which the Hunger Games were born. "When the laws for the Games were laid out, they dictated that every twenty-five years the anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell, a glorified version of the Games to make fresh the memory of those killed by the districts' rebellion."

Rebellion. The word, spit out as a threat, bounced around like an echo in Katniss's mind. She didn't know much about Quarter Quells, but the regular Games were horrible enough. What would a "glorified" version entail? Would it mean more trouble for District 8? Would it change anything for the rest of the districts?

Back in the Capitol, President Snow talked about the first Quarter Quell. "Every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it."

"That's awful," Prim whispered, "Can you imagine?"

Katniss reached for her sister's hand. She wanted to reassure her, but the words died on her tongue.

"On the fiftieth anniversary," the president continued, "as a reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes."

Katniss stiffened in her seat. Facing twenty-three tributes had always seemed dreadful, she couldn't even fathom competing against forty-seven.

"I had a friend who went that year," Mrs. Everdeen whispered.

"Maysilee?" Katniss asked, "She was in the Quarter Quell?"

Mrs. Everdeen's eyes widened. "You know about her?"

"Yeah, Madge told me she was a tribute. She didn't say when, though." If I had paid more attention in class, I would have figured out it was the Quarter Quell, Katniss thought, that's when Haymitch Abernathy won.

Mrs. Everdeen nodded. Madge Undersee never came to visit, and Katniss didn't mention her often. Sometimes it was easy to forget that the two girls knew each other, let alone that they were friends.

"And now we honor the third Quarter Quell," President Snow's grating voice filled every corner of the small room.

The little boy in white stepped forward, holding out the box as he opened the lid. Neat rows of yellowed envelopes filled the screen.

"They've anticipated centuries of Games," Prim gasped, tightening her hold on her sister's hand.

With nimble fingers, President Snow removed an envelope clearly marked with a 75. After running a finger under the flap, he pulled out a small square of paper.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary," he read without hesitation, "as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors. If any district lacks a male or female candidate, the tributes will be chosen from those among the population between the ages of seventeen to nineteen who have never registered for Tesserae, for they are the strongest and most capable within their community."

What? Baffled, Katniss turned to her mother. "Did he—,"

Prim jumped up from the couch. "We're safe!" Pulling Katniss from the couch, she threw herself into her arms. "We're not in!"

Laughing, Katniss wrapped her arms around Prim's shoulders. "We're safe, Little Duck," she whispered, grinning as they fell into their mother's embrace.

People aged seventeen to nineteen who have never registered for Tesserae, Katniss repeated in disbelief as her heart raced with joy. The incredibly small pool didn't include anyone she knew. The people who were closest to her -the ones she had always worried about- were safe. For once, it was good to be poor in District 12!

In the background, President Snow recited the vow to Panem while Katniss and her family ignored him. It had been so long since they had felt anything but worry and dread that they recklessly allowed themselves a moment to enjoy the happy news.

With one last shot of the Capitol crowds clapping and cheering their leader, the transmission ended.

Elation shone in Prim's eyes as she pulled away. "So, wait… Who's eligible, then?"

"Hardly anyone!" Katniss reached for one of her sister's braids and gave it a light tug. "Just older people who have never taken tesserae, and—,"

It was like flipping off a switch. As soon as the information sank in, Katniss's whole world went pitch black. "Peeta," she whispered as her body went limp.

"Oh, Katniss!" Prim cried, digging her fingers into her sister's arms to snap her out of her shock. "You have to go see him! He's all alone."

Numbly, Katniss nodded. "I—,"

Her words were cut short by the sound of the curfew alarm ringing loud and clear through the open window.

Katniss jumped at the sound. Frantic, she turned to her mother. "Mom?"

Mrs. Everdeen's pale eyes reflected a life of grief and sadness. Tenderly, she reached out to tuck a strand of Katniss's hair behind her ear. "Prim's right. You should go."

"But I won't have time to-,"

Mrs. Everdeen shook her head to cut her off. "You have enough time to get there, that's all you need. You can come back in the morning. We'll be fine."

Before Katniss could second-guess herself, Prim insisted, "Stop wasting time, already! Just go!"

XXXXX

The streets of the Seam were packed. Despite the curfew alarm, the jubilant neighbors had popped out for a moment to congratulate each other.

Blocking out the joyful chatter surrounding her, Katniss ran, keeping to the smaller side streets to avoid curious gazes.

Distracted in the bustle, no one noticed her.

Somewhere, excluded from the celebration, a handful of girls cried. Who could blame them? They had just gone from being free -or relatively safe- to being thrown straight back into the fire.

While the rest of the district rejoiced, these unlucky few had to accept that the odds weren't in their favor.

By the time she reached Peeta's doorstep, Katniss was panting and gasping for breath. Closing her eyes, she leaned forward -pressing her forehead to the door frame- and tapped her usual tune on the glass.

With her heart beating in her ears, she didn't hear the approaching footsteps or the sound of the knob turning on the other side of the door.

"Katniss?"

Startled by the proximity of Peeta's voice, Katniss jerked her head up and found him holding the door open.

Her stomach plummeted straight to her feet.

Peeta -cheery, handsome, kindhearted Peeta- had been crying. His usually tame hair was a mess of blond waves sticking every which way. His beautiful blue eyes were puffy and red.

Holding on to the door frame to keep from jumping into his arms, Katniss gasped, "Hey!"

Peeta shook his head, that shy smile he used when he teased her -the one that made her heart beat faster— slowly turned his lips. "What are you doing here?"

Katniss pressed a hand to her chest -her heart was still racing. She wanted to tell him that she was there to comfort him, that he wasn't alone, that she cared. But her lungs were still burning from her run, and the words stuck to her throat. So, she did what she always did best.

Holding back the tears pooling in her eyes, Katniss closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around Peeta's waist and burying her face in his chest.

Peeta's arms immediately wrapped around her. "Did you run all the way?" he whispered into her hair.

Katniss nodded.

With a shaky sigh, Peeta pressed his cheek to the side of her head. "Thank you."

"It was Prim's idea," Katniss admitted through the knot on her throat.

"She's a smart girl, your sister," Pulling away, he looked at the clock. "It's really late, Katniss."

"I don't have to go back. My mother said I could stay." Suddenly realizing what an imposition that was, Katniss covered her face with her hands, her cheeks burned in embarrassment. "Peeta, I'm so sorry! I shouldn't… You probably don't want—,"

"Stop," He reached for her hands, pulling them down to see her face "I can't believe you're here, but…". His smile was brighter now, like a boy who's just received the most delightful present. "Please, stay."

Katniss squeezed his hands and nodded.

After leading her into the room, Peeta closed and locked the door. "I was about to make myself some dinner. Do you want anything?"

Katniss shook her head. She wasn't hungry, all she wanted was to be with him. "Do you need any help?"

"Nah, I'm just going to make some pancakes," He pointed to one of the stools around the island. "Why don't you take a seat; keep me company while I cook."

Perched up on her stool, Katniss watched as Peeta got to work, turning on the kettle and mixing ingredients in a bowl.

"It's so strange, isn't it?" Katniss said after Peeta placed a skillet on the fire. "All our lives they tell us that, if we come back, we'll be safe, but now he's changing the rules again. Why?"

Peeta sighed. As soon as the transmission had ended, he had rushed over to Haymitch's to ask him just that. Why?

His mentor —who was miraculously sober at the time— had laughed. "Because he's afraid, Boy!" he'd said, waving a liquor bottle in the general direction of the woods. "Whatever's happening out there, has him rattled, and he wants to send a message that all districts will hear."

"Not all the districts are rebelling, Haymitch! Why punish all of us?"

"Not everything is about this present rebellion, Kid. I'm sure Snow's had plenty of issues with One and Two through the years. This is just a wonderful opportunity to get rid of some rotten apples in a gruesome and public way. He would be a fool to waste it."

Peeta added butter to the skillet and waited for it to melt. He knew Haymitch was right. The rebellion was gaining strength, and President Snow was using the Quarter Quell to show everyone he was still in control.

But knowing something and accepting it were two different things, especially when your life was on the line.

After ladling some batter onto the pan, Peeta turned to Katniss. "Haymitch says it's because Snow's afraid."

Katniss straightened up in her seat. "You talked to Haymitch?"

"Yeah, I rushed over there as soon as the transmission was over."

"Was he sober?"

"Just barely. I got to him before he could start drinking," Peeta went back to his cooking. With an expert flick of a wrist, he shook the pan to flip over a pancake. "He says he has a plan."

Katniss lifted a disbelieving eyebrow. "A plan?"

"Mm-hmm. He didn't want to share any specifics just yet, but… He says we're not alone."

Katniss perked up. She didn't know all that much about the rebellion, but this sounded like good news. "What does that mean?"

Peeta ladled more batter into the pan. "Remember those girls you met from Eight?"

Bonnie and Twill. A hopeful smile pulled at her lips. "Have you heard from them?"

"No," Forgetting about the pancakes for a moment, Peeta added some tea leaves to a large teapot and filled it with boiling water. "But, it seems they were right about Thirteen."

"They were?"

"Yeah." Peeta walked over to the island with the teapot and a couple of mugs. "Haymitch says the district's still there, that they've been hiding underground since the Dark Days. It seems like they've had lots of problems, but they survived. And, now that some of the districts are finally rebelling, they're ready to help."

Ready to help. As Peeta poured the tea into the mugs, Katniss wondered what that looked like. Was Thirteen strong enough to stop the reaping and the Quarter Quell? Would they send reinforcements to fight off the Peacekeepers in the districts, or would they just wait —like they'd done so far— for people to face up to the Capitol the way District 8 had? How many districts had to suffer before Thirteen did something other than bide its time?

With a thousand questions swirling around in her mind, Katniss asked the most pressing one. "So, how are they going to help you?"

"I don't know yet." Peeta pushed one of the mugs towards her. "So, in the meantime, I'm going to start helping myself."

"How?"

"I'm gonna start training."

"Training," she repeated the word as if tasting it. "Like a career?"

"Yeah," Peeta rested his elbows on the table and dropped his chin on his hands. "Like a career."

Katniss had never heard of such a thing, people in Twelve didn't train for the Games. But Peeta was not just "people," he was a victor —a victor who knew he had a 50 percent chance of being reaped. Training made perfect sense. What else was he supposed to do with his time?

"I could help you," she said, silver eyes shining with newfound hope, "You already know plenty about plants, but I could teach you some other stuff, like... how to use a bow!"

She was on a roll, enthusiasm, and eagerness to help getting the best of her. Peeta's eyes gleamed as she rambled on.

"We could ask Prim for help," she said, sipping her tea without tasting it. "She could teach you some basic techniques to make a poultice —like the ones Rue knew." A triumphant smile lit up her face. "And Gale. He could teach you about snares -he knows a ton about that!"

"OK," Peeta agreed, "we'll talk to them. We'll figure it out."

Feeling a lot less anxious, Katniss reached for the sugar bowl and dropped a cube in her tea.

Relieved by the change in mood, Peeta pushed himself away from the table. "So, are you sure you don't want any pancakes?"

"Well," Katniss shrugged, "since you already made them… Maybe I could have a couple?"

Peeta laughed. "Would you like some bacon on top?"

Katniss nodded.

"Alright! Two pancakes with bacon, coming right up!"

XXXXX

After polishing off three pancakes and two mugs of tea, Katniss reached for the hunting bag she had hastily grabbed on her way out and pulled out her family's plant book.

"Want to work on it for a bit?" she asked as she propped it open.

Eager for a distraction, Peeta went to fetch his paintbox.

"Do you mind if we work on the katniss root?" she asked when he came back, "the picture is fading away."

"Katniss root? Is that where your name comes from?"

"Mm-hmm." Pressing on the spine to keep the page open, Katniss slid the book over to him. "Sagittaria sagittifolia. My father used to say that, as long as I could find myself, I would never starve."

Peeta ran his fingers over the faded picture. "It's edible, then?"

"Yeah, you can find it near the water. The flowers are mostly white, but they have these spots in the center." She pointed to the picture. "They're supposed to be a deep red."

Peeta opened his paintbox and pulled out a little tube. "Burgundy, maybe?"

Katniss pushed a scrap of paper in his direction. "Let's see."

A comfortable silence settled over them as they worked. Lost in thought, Katniss watched in awe as her namesake bloomed under Peeta's skilled hand.

He had almost finished shading the underside of a leaf when Katniss quietly asked, "Who else has rebelled?"

Surprised, Peeta tipped his head to one side to look at her across the table. He knew he could trust Katniss with the answer, but he was afraid of telling her too much. Would the information keep her safe, or would it just endanger her?

"Peeta?" she insisted.

"A handful of districts," he admitted before he could lose his nerve. "Three, Four, Seven, Eleven, and… well, Eight."

Katniss's mouth dropped open. "That's almost half the country!"

"It is, but we're still missing some of the bigger ones. Without Five or Six, we don't really have a shot. I mean, technology from three is good and all, but taking control of the power sources or having access to transportation would really tip the scales in our favor."

Our favor. Katniss leaned back in her chair. "So… you are involved."

"I am." Setting the book aside, Peeta began gathering his painting supplies. "Didn't have a choice, really."

"Since when?"

Peeta heaved a long sigh. "Apparently, it was right from the start."

Tired of keeping secrets -and still reeling from the Quarter Quell announcement- Peeta settled into his seat and began to talk. In as few words as he could, he told Katniss about President Snow's visit to District 12 and his veiled threats, and about some of the things he had learned on his Victory Tour.

"I never meant for any of this to happen," he finished, roughly whipping a lone tear from his cheek. "I wasn't trying to start anything. I just wanted to come back home."

"And you did." Leaning forward, Katniss dropped her arm on the table and placed her outstretched hand, palm up, towards him. Her eyes were brighter than he'd ever seen them -two twinkling stars keeping him captive.

Trapped in her gaze, Peeta mirrored her movements and covered her hand with his.

"You did nothing wrong, Peeta. You're kind and decent, and you treat everyone with respect. Most people are not like that, you know? We're all too petty and self-involved to even try, but you showed everyone that we could be different, that we could be good."

"Katniss—,"

"No, don't argue." Her slender fingers wrapped around his wrist to keep him in place. "I knew things were happening. Gale told me something back in New Years', but I didn't want to hear."

"What did he say?"

Katniss zoomed in on their hands, clasped tightly over the table. She could feel his pulse pounding on his wrist, his heart was beating as quickly as hers. "He said that people were talking down in the mines; that they thought you could bring the districts together, and that -if you were to lead- they would follow."

Peeta shook his head, chuckling in disbelief. "Follow me where?"

"To freedom, apparently." Using her free hand, Katniss reached for her tea mug, but immediately dropped it. The tea had gone cold. "Have you talked to him?"

"Gale?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Yeah." Peeta's fingers began to trace soothing circles over her wrist. "He's come over a few times. We've been to a couple of meetings together."

Katniss nodded, slowly taking in this last bit of news. "So, Three, Four, Seven, Eight, Eleven, and… Twelve?"

"No." Peeta's tone didn't leave any room for doubt. "Some people are rallying up, but it's not enough, and —like my mentor keeps reminding me— we don't develop nuclear weapons."

The information wasn't new. Katniss already knew her district lacked strength in power and numbers. It still stung, though. "I'm not much of a rebel," she admitted with a shrug, "but I'd like to help."

"Not much of a rebel?" Peeta laughed, the first happy sound she'd heard since she understood what the Quarter Quell's rules entailed. "Katniss, you've spent half your life defying authority! For years, you snuck under the fence to hunt and gather and then traded your goods at an illegal market. You've been a rebel for a long time."

"No, I haven't!" she countered with a scowl, "I've never had any agendas. I did those things because I had no choice; because I needed to feed my family and keep them safe."

"OK, that's fair," Peeta looked down at their hands. Over the last couple of months, Katniss had become more physical -almost affectionate- when they were together. It wasn't strange for her to pat his back or give his arm a little squeeze at the end of the day. But wrapping her small hand over his wrist like this, and not letting go, that felt like something else entirely. Something he couldn't bring himself to consider, not tonight.

Trying to keep his thoughts of heartbreak and loss for another night, he asked, "How about now, though?"

Katniss cocked her head to the side. "How do you mean?"

"Your offer to help me train. Doesn't that sound like rebellion to you?"

"No, it doesn't! I don't give a fig about the rebellion, Peeta!" she said, tightening her hold on his wrist almost to the point of pain. "I care about you. You're my friend, and I refuse to stand by and watch as they take you away. I'm not doing that, not anymore, not again."

With an annoyed huff, she looked away to hide the tears welling in her eyes. "If that makes me a rebel, well then…"

"Katniss," Peeta whispered, "look at me."

Embarrassed by her outburst, Katniss stubbornly looked away.

Leaning over the tabletop, Peeta hooked his index under her chin and tilted her face towards him. "That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you."

"You can't give up, Peeta," Katniss reached up to cup his cheek. "You have to come back."

There they were, the words he had read in her eyes all those months ago, back at the train station: Come back. Come back. Come back.

He had never expected to hear them falling from her lips, but there they were. Tugging at his memory and wrapping around his heart.

"I will," he promised, keeping his eyes trained on hers. "I won't give up."