A week since the arrival of the new workers, Haymitch figures it's time to head into Town to inspect what's been done so far under the new instruction. He had a general idea of what he'd be working with when he hired them, and Hazelle helped him assign them lodging, but now Haymitch has to actually see the district's condition for himself and go from there. He still feels a little guilty shoving more responsibility onto Hazelle but she went beyond his initial request, meeting the workers at the train station and directing them to their living quarters besides.

With the improved work underway, Haymitch is more confident to start negotiating with the people of his own district; he has something to show for himself now. He's been avoiding this for too long, facing the people he fought a revolution for.

Peeta visits with bread, and Haymitch joins him on his delivery, planning to follow him into Town. As they deliver bread around the Village, the boy converses with everybody so cordially that Haymitch feels even more out of place than if he just went around by himself. Then again, what could he say to them? Hey, sorry I was too drunk to do anything useful ever since we won the war but I've been nagged into planning better working conditions because what you're doing ain't enough. Nice to meet you. At least he has something to do, even if it's as simple as handing out bread.

Apparently, 'his' geese are becoming better known to the community than himself. He's advised by a few of his neighbors to build an enclosure and to not leave them unsupervised so often. He replies that he'll try his best. After that, he's even more withdrawn. Still, he remembers names he's heard before and assigns them to the faces that glance at him over Peeta's shoulder.

They arrive at the last occupied house in the Village, the Hawthornes', where a boy he knows is either Rory or Vick answers the door, a little groggy but dressed. While the kid rubs at his eyes, a little girl - Posy, Haymitch remembers - gets Peeta and Haymitch both to smile as she inspects each loaf and finally decides on the best one. The chosen loaf looks kind of misshapen to Haymitch but she affirms that it's perfect for her family.

"Thank you," Rory-Vick calls out as Haymitch and Peeta leave. Haymitch hears Posy ask something, then Rory-Vick tell her, "Yes, that's him. Now quit staring," as he's closing the door.

Not sure what to think of that, he doesn't. He takes a drink from his flask instead.

"Thanks for coming along, by the way," Peeta says to him as they walk down the road to the site. Haymitch can hear the work sounds, and some part of him wants to turn back. For all his reasons to be a little nervous, though, his obligation to help outweighs it. "Usually I have to make a second trip."

"Don't worry about it." Haymitch adjusts his hold on the other basket. "Why not have them come to you, though? They know where you live."

"I like the extra work. Not to mention I could use the exercise." Peeta shrugs and smiles as he says this, and Haymitch is glad that self-deprecating charm is still intact after everything he's been through. He waves to a boy Haymitch doesn't know as they're about to pass him. "Morning, Aiden. Any mail for me this week?"

Aiden, who carries a bag ostensibly filled with mail, gestures ahead toward the Village. "You'll find out when you get home!"

"What, you don't read through them beforehand?"

Aiden rolls his eyes and laughs, offering another wave as he continues up the road.

"Since when do we get mail?" Haymitch asks flippantly, masking his shame. He didn't even know they get mail.

"Since there's been mail to send," replies Peeta. "Wasn't a huge development or anything. The train delivers any letters with everything else."

Haymitch just nods. It makes sense, it's just frustrating being so ignorant to all of it. He doesn't say that, though; it would only prod a concern that has an obvious solution that he does not - cannot - permit himself to consider. But Peeta knows this and doesn't judge like Katniss. Hell, he waited by the door as Haymitch filled his flask in the kitchen earlier.

They've been talking more, Peeta and Haymitch, ever since the boy began recovery. Initially, the doctors had to facilitate it while Peeta demanded answers from him and vented all that anger and hurt and confusion. But when Peeta returned to Twelve, he began to ask Haymitch what seemed like long-held questions out of curiosity, now stripped of any qualms about privacy - by the hijacking or otherwise. Regardless, Haymitch figured answering would restore some of that trust he'd dashed and open the boy up, help him get better. Since then, he's even found he doesn't mind sharing the safe parts.

At this point, the boy probably knows more about Haymitch's family than the girl, though Katniss knows why they're dead. Haymitch dreads when he'll run out of memorable quirks and stories, when all Peeta has left to ask is, what happened? Where did these characters in your stories go?

As they near the site, the work sounds Haymitch heard down the road intensify and soon they're surrounded by the din of construction. There are stands on the outskirts by the train station for rations and supplies and the like. Further into what used to be the town are the foundations of several buildings, all in varying degrees of progress, none of them close to completion.

A group of workers approaches them from their place inside the framework of what appears to be the new Justice Building, judging by its size and location in the center of the site.

"Was wondering when you'd get here. Sleeping in, huh?" a young Seam man says to Peeta as he claps him on the back. Haymitch recognizes the man as Thom Chadwick, who helped when Gale was whipped two winters ago.

"Yeah, yeah. Just take the bread," Peeta says. Thom and his workmates laugh with him and then wait their turn as Peeta and Haymitch go around with the baskets.

Haymitch is casually thanked and greeted by several of the new workers, even the ones from the Capitol. He finds himself only awkwardly nodding back - not like he baked the bread himself. Meanwhile, the workers who've been rebuilding their home district without him only take bread from Peeta. Haymitch showered the night before so he must reek of something fouler than alcohol, like failure or disappointment - or pariah.

As Thom tears his loaf of bread to share with another worker, a light-haired woman he calls Rem, he tells them about the recent changes.

"That's actually why I'm here," says Haymitch. "I collaborated with Plutarch Heavensbee and several district officials on hiring more hands. I'm willing to provide for the district in any way I can."

Thom looks Haymitch over, wiping sweat from his forehead, and somehow Haymitch knows there won't be an invitation to pick up a hammer and join in that way. "Well, I speak on behalf of the crew that we appreciate the effort. So you're here to report to Heavensbee what we need?"

"I'm able to help without him; this ain't really his job," Haymitch explains. "Is there someone here who can give me the rundown before and after the new workers?"

"Over there's the overseer," offers Rem, nodding toward a tent where several others are hunched over something.

Around a mouthful of bread, Thom says, "He's had a hand in almost everything since early spring."

"Props to him," says Haymitch. "He's from here?" Leading cleanup and reconstruction is an intimidating task. Anyone willing to do both must have a love for the place.

"Yeah, he was a face boss. We called him Captain Carter."

By now they're walking toward the tent. Haymitch stops short. "Carter?" he repeats.

The overseer - a man from the Seam - is turned away from them but Haymitch notices the dark waves of hair. His stomach lurches and sinks with dread, and there's the tug of longing as well but it's for the past, not this particular ghost from it.

Upon hearing his surname, Nathan turns and immediately levels a cool look at him. After a few words to the others, he steps out of the tent and up to Haymitch, who stays rooted in place with the fucking bread basket. They're close enough to embrace, Haymitch stupidly muses, knowing that there will be no such family reunion. He can still discern the family resemblance despite their different paths in life. They both have sturdy noses - Nathan's now slightly crooked from a past break - low-slung brows, and black curls - Haymitch's more so. These traits Haymitch inherited from his mother, and Nathan from his father, one of Haymitch's uncles. They don't share the Abernathy surname, and that's made one of their lives much easier.

"Well, look who's out and about."

"Nathan."

"Mitchie."

Haymitch bristles at the old - damn near ancient - nickname. He hates himself for wanting to pull out his flask, knowing he'll need to be as sober as possible to face one of his last surviving relatives with any kind of dignity. He clears his throat. "Just here to see how everything's going so far."

Nathan glances over his shoulder to the tent. "We're doing fine, no thanks to you. How about you head back to your lair and let us get back to work?"

Without thinking, Haymitch tips his chin toward the tent and snaps, "I sent for them. Got it all taken care of for you. Not quite what you're used to, I know, since it's not coming from my stipend."

"That never meant shit to me anyway," Nathan growls.

"Right," he scoffs. "Meant so little, you never bothered to cancel."

Nathan raises a brow at this, huffs his own scoffing laugh under his breath. "They stopped coming after your kids won. Figured you finally cut it off yourself, when you were dry enough to think to."

"Lot on my plate then. I'd have come around to that eventually," Haymitch agrees instead of showing actual confusion. He wonders where that money went when there was no change on his end. Wherever it was, the war fixed it for him. He had to redo all of that when he became a legal guardian.

Though he's several years younger, Nathan shows his age more than Haymitch does; the lines carved into his face crease deeply as he glowers at him. "Didn't make any difference by then. Not when the food came in spoiled or we were dealt with just for looking at Thread the wrong way - right after you spat in his face and walked away scot-free."

At that, Haymitch loses some of his sardonic reserve toward his cousin. He didn't know that, they gave him no reason to know that, about anything in their lives. They were just silent recipients of his allowances, rote and loveless, small enough to look like a laundry bill. It was hazard pay more than anything, as they were the ones who'd be stuck with his funeral arrangements and the like. Snow only allowed it so long as nothing changed in the end - and it hadn't; while legally they were his kin, he was no longer considered theirs.

"That was out of any of our control," he hears Peeta say behind him. He steps closer and takes Haymitch by the elbow. "We need to focus," he says, looking between them.

Given time to collect himself, Haymitch nods. "He's right. I really am here to help, Nathan."

Nathan breathes through his nose, slow and heavy, acquiescing for the sake of Twelve. "So you're something of a liaison, and anything we need, we tell you and you'll get it for us?"

"More or less. And within reason."

They consider each other for a moment before Nathan nods back toward the tent, where the others have continued discussion. "We're comparing the blueprints the Capitol gave us with what Seven brought."

With a glance at Peeta, who relieves him of the basket and steps back with intent to leave, Haymitch musters his courage and joins his cousin inside. "Let's get to work, then."


When she finally hears a human voice instead of the insipid music, Hazelle lifts her forehead from her arm that's braced against the wall and stands straighter. "Yes," she answers hurriedly. "Uh, Hazelle Hawthorne - trying to reach my s - Gale Hawthorne."

She's told by the receptionist - or his own personal secretary? - that Mister Hawthorne is currently unavailable. Would she like her to leave a note?

"Yes, please." Hazelle feels herself deflate. She recites, for the third time that week, her message to her son: Please call me back when you have time. We need to talk. When Hazelle hangs up the phone, she sighs and turns back to her other children.

Rory's washing the dishes, Posy's watching television and probably falling asleep, and Vick is flitting around the house with his bag and a wide smile that doesn't let up as he goes on about his plans for tonight.

"Still busy?" Rory asks her.

"Yes, but he'll call back as soon as he can. The load in the dryer should be done," Hazelle calls as Vick heads into the laundry room. He comes out with a pair of socks that he stuffs into his bag.

"I probably won't need them but you never know."

"Yeah," Rory deadpans, his focus on the sink, "what with that long walk across the street."

"Oh, hush," reprimands Hazelle. She turns to Vick. "Better safe than sorry."

Vick nods and digs around his bag, assessing its contents. "I should pack the flashlight, shouldn't I?" Nobody answers because he's already as good as decided. He runs upstairs, and Rory scoffs something under his breath.

"Knock it off," Hazelle warns him. "You know he's not usually included in this kind of stuff."

"He and Aiden weren't even friends before Thirteen," says Rory, drying a plate with a rag.

Hazelle crosses her arms. She doesn't need to remind him that they lost most of their class, and so of course they'd try to get along through that. "I don't understand why that's a problem."

"It's not," Rory answers. "But it is annoying how I have to wait for mine to come back, if they even will. Their parents shouldn't keep waiting around for everything to be rebuilt by a bunch of Capitol workers." The way he says Capitol, Hazelle is reminded of her oldest son, always a revolutionary, but the thought of Gale now has something troubling tacked on.

Hazelle has tried not to jump to conclusions about what Greasy Sae meant about him, but after a week of unanswered calls, her imagination has spun up some irrational theories. She hasn't said a word to anyone, including Sae herself. Hazelle recalls Haymitch referring to the old woman as unsubtle, and she suspects with festering anger that the old woman intended for her to fret. So Hazelle won't give her the satisfaction, not when she can go to Gale instead. She trusts him more anyway.

Vick calls out from the entry and, after promising Hazelle he'll be careful, leaves for the Grants' to spend the night. Considering Posy doesn't hurry through the house to hug him goodbye, Hazelle assumes she's fast asleep.

"Well," says Hazelle, after the front door closes, "that's for them to decide. And we need people who know what they're doing, if we're rebuilding things to last. We're getting help from other districts, too, not just from the Capitol. It's different now."

Rory frowns down at the sink. "But I'll never get to actually help now. I'll be the human pack mule forever."

Hazelle wraps an arm around his shoulders. "You won't be working there forever. It'll end one day, and so think of all the new opportunities after that. Look at your brother, serving under the Secretary of Defense!"

Grimacing, Rory admits, "I don't want to go so far away."

"Good." She ruffles his hair with a smile. "There will be lots of things for you to do around here, too. You can always learn how to hunt from Katniss," Hazelle suggests as she begins to put away the dried dishes. She doesn't notice her son's quiet distress until she's turned around to find that he hasn't dried any more. "What is it?"

"Momma," Rory croaks, which sends her over to him immediately. "I can't."

"Rory, what's the matter?" asks Hazelle, both worried and incredulous at his sudden distress. He's an emotional teenager, sure, but he doesn't get this upset over nothing.

Rory just shakes his head, finding his way into her neck. He has to crouch, he's gotten so tall. All of her children have done this since infancy, nuzzling there to sleep or cry or just to rest their ear against her pulse and be comforted by it. But it always alarms her, always chills her down to the bone, when it's to hide from something she can't see or protect them from.

"I don't want to see Katniss. I can't. Gale wants me to watch out for her but he - they-"

Hazelle lightly pushes him away from her to caress his face with one hand, keeping the other on his shoulder, if only to brace him. "What happened?"

When Rory mumbles that he can't tell her, that he promised Gale, anger flares up in Hazelle at both of them - Gale for pitting Rory against his conscience, and Rory for being so loyal to his brother that he'll keep secrets from his own mother.

"Rory Hawthorne," she starts in a commanding tone, and it's enough.

"Gale thinks he killed Prim." At that, Hazelle detaches herself from her son completely, as if his words have burned her. Rory continues, speaking to the floor, "He told me before about bombs that go off twice, and the parachute bombs were just like it. And when he called that first night here, he told me he hurt Katniss and that he wants me to make sure she's okay because he can't. I think the Capitol stole his idea, and Gale thinks it's his fault and that Katniss hates him for it. It's not fair - to either of them. But I don't know how to be around Katniss, knowing all that."

Rory starts to apologize for not telling her sooner, and Hazelle shushes him and holds him close, even as the puzzle pieces fit into place in her mind and form a horrible picture. Her heart hammers in her chest at the implications - mostly beating Primrose, Primrose, Primrose in an incessant tempo.

Because Gale thrived in wartime, using his intelligence, insight, and passion for the cause. He's spared Hazelle the details of his work - of course he did; it was all classified - but apparently he's told Rory more than her. And now Hazelle wonders not only what all he's kept from her, but what all he's done in the name of winning the war.

Minutes ago Hazelle wanted to talk to him about what Sae could possibly have meant, and now she has her answer - along with many other questions. But she'll try to shield Rory from this as much as she can.

She glances over to the living room to make sure Posy hasn't woken up before telling Rory, her voice somehow soft and not strained, "You don't worry about Katniss. I'll talk to Gale. He shouldn't have dragged you into this; he needs to work it out himself."

"But it's not fair," he persists. "Why should they stop being friends because of the Capitol?"

Hazelle feels nauseous and lightheaded as she recognizes that for once, it wasn't the Capitol's doing. But she can't go into it with Rory, doesn't want to wrench that bit of innocence from him. It's difficult to retain it as it is after everything their family has been through. And she wants his high regard for his brother to remain intact. "You know how Gale can be, especially with Katniss. He still must feel a lot of guilt over it."

"I guess so." He shakes his head against her neck. "This is so awful." The sorrow in his voice breaks her heart, and Hazelle holds him closer, as if to keep his innocence from falling apart in her arms. But then he pulls away.

"Once Gale calls back, what will we do?" His brow furrowed, Rory is already determined to fix things. Maybe Gale had the same response to the bombings, whatever happened there - staring the future consequences in the face with a mind already at work.

It must run in the family.

"I'll take care of it."