They keep themselves busy leading up to the anniversary of the Hunger Games.

The productivity at the reconstruction site carries on, gradually shaping into a new town. A few more people return from Thirteen, and the houses in the Village fill further. There are new, albeit smaller and more modest, houses being built that they'll rearrange themselves and any more newcomers into once they're ready.

Rory, Vick, and Posy, as well as the Grant boys, spend their weekday mornings with Rem McCartney, who was a teacher in Thirteen. Since their return, Hazelle has tried to foster their reading skills, especially Posy's, but found teaching mathematics difficult; she couldn't explain, let alone teach, matters that came easy to her. She's glad her children are now in more capable hands with their studies.

Hazelle occupies herself in their absence, takes up canning with Alice Grant and Katniss. It's practice for fall, where they'll undertake food preserves in earnest.

She also works, of course, and this is where she tries to keep herself as busy as possible, sometimes finding random things to do in order to stay longer than she needs to. She doesn't record as much on the hourly log, though; she's not doing it for more pay. It's the only way she can monitor Haymitch without feeling like it's outright eavesdropping. Doctor Olsen asked her after one of his daily visits to check on him, too. Mostly, it's just to make sure the medicine is working and he's not too restless.

One morning, a week before the anniversary, warrants a call to the doctor.

The phone already ringing, Hazelle answers hastily to the woman on the other end of the line that no, Haymitch ain't available at the moment but she'll let him know she called okay thanks goodbye. All the while, Haymitch trembles and grows agitated about something Hazelle can't understand, couldn't get him to articulate.

Another dose later, he sits with her on the porch steps and urges her not to stay with him next time if she's scared. She reminds him that she's not.

"And I'm definitely not paying you enough," Haymitch replies, shaking his head. "You didn't sign up for this."

Hazelle swats his shoulder lightly. "Stop worrying about it. I'd say something to the doctor if I minded."

"I know," he sighs. "Well, at least don't let me keep you any later. Were you done for the day before all that?"

"I think so. But my kids are still at school, and I plan to go right to Katniss' once she comes home."

"Oh, right. How's canning?" he asks, turning toward her more.

"Going well so far. Katniss has been foraging on her hunts so we pickled some vegetables from that. Peeta's joining us for jams tomorrow. You're welcome to as well."

"Oh, I'm not to be trusted around jam. Peeta told me so when he showed me how to make thumbprint cookies."

"I won't let you get away with it like Peeta does. Anyway, it's a good way to be productive while listening to Alice talk about her family the whole time."

Haymitch chuckles. "Ever the pragmatist."

A goose waddles in front of them, and Hazelle retracts her legs onto a higher step, out of pecking range. "I like to keep busy."

"You're gauging the weight and down of Pumpernickel as we speak." He gestures to the goose as if it's evidence in a dramatized court case.

Hazelle throws up her hands, finds herself laughing, "There's no other use for a goose, Haymitch! They offer next to nothing as pets. Even chickens are better for eggs."

"Because pets have to be useful other than being company," he counters sarcastically.

"I have plenty of company that doesn't want to bite me. Besides, you've never had pets before, have you?"

"No. Always dreaded finding whatever sorry animal I took in nailed to my door or something." Haymitch laughs drily but it withers.

Hazelle stares at him, a frown edging her face. That unspoken history has risen between them again, dark and mangled and expansive. But this time he hasn't washed her to the other side, away from him. She lowers her voice, as if there's still a threat listening. "Was that part of the rules?"

His gaze intent on the ground, he admits, "It was kept frustratingly vague with rather harsh sanctions. But I knew I wasn't allowed loved ones, so I didn't want to risk anything that ventured into that. I tried not to, anyway." His eyes flicker to hers. "It was weird territory with my friends, the other victors. But anything or anyone here, I couldn't stand the thought of-" He shakes his head, blinking.

Processing this, Hazelle swallows hard. She figured as much; she herself relinquished ties with him out of survival. But the silence ever since, with no direct answer or update, has haunted her for years. To hear the extent of it only adds to that stomach-drop feeling of shock and disgust she feels toward the regime that dedicated such a design upon a teenage orphan. She shouldn't be surprised, though; the Capitol has caused them all pain with no regard to age.

Haymitch clears his throat. "This ain't to guilt you, it's just... better that you understand it coming from me. I don't know what conclusions you and the others came to over the years."

"We wondered whether it was ever going to be safe again, if you were ever going to come back. You were so guarded anytime we were together."

"It was but wasn't by choice. I didn't know if I could even say anything about it then."

"We didn't, either," she admits quietly.

A sad laugh hitches his breath. "Well, that answers some old questions." He scrubs a hand across his face. "I am too sober for this. Wendell's going to have a heyday."

Whatever progress Haymitch is making in therapy, Hazelle doesn't know. She only knows he's sober, and eats more often, and that the cabinet that used to house liquor bottles remains empty. She knows the latter part because she's opened it. Haymitch never does. The only information he's shared about his phone-call appointments, behind a closed study door, was a flippant update that there hasn't been a breakthrough yet. Also, in a list of therapists, he chose someone named Wendell Templesmith.

"No close relation," he told Hazelle, disappointed. When she asked him whether that would be a conflict of interest, he shrugged guiltily. At her leveled look, he assured her that he was taking this as seriously as he needed to. "Still, couldn't hurt to try. I wanted a comeback in case he went too far about something."

"Has he?"

"No," was all he said, looking bothered at that.

Like she did then, Hazelle doesn't pry further as she sits on the porch steps with him. When she notices Katniss return from the woods, she leaves with another open invitation but Haymitch waves her off.

"Go have fun. And thanks, Hazelle."

That night a fox attacks his gaggle, killing one of the half-grown goslings, and in the ruckus Katniss shoots the fox and accidentally damages one bird's wing. The next morning Haymitch mentions off-handedly that he should build a shelter for the geese before the weather turns cold.

"They're not migrating?" Hazelle asks, wringing out the mop.

"Nisskat won't be able to now with her wing."

She notices a small note of distress in his voice and looks over at him slouched at the kitchen table, a hand supporting his chin. "The Grants could help you with that. They've made structures for their animals."

"Good idea," he says around his palm. "Though I'm reluctant to accept that this is where I become known as the local goose man."

Hazelle bursts out laughing, startling him. "Oh, Haymitch, I'm afraid you've been there ever since you let them on your property."

His mouth agape, she sees him search for a retort. He settles on, "Well, you're friends with the local goose man! How embarrassing! You must be mortified."

"Not at all," she says, still smiling. She remembers joking with him as children, how he'd act when she lobbed something back at him unexpectedly considering her more reserved nature. For everything else that did, this hasn't changed. "I just can't say I'm surprised, is all." That earns a grumbled response that she ignores, returning to her work.

What does surprise her is a rough knock at the door. Haymitch answers, and from the kitchen, Hazelle can hear a familiar voice. She glances through the entry and over Haymitch's shoulder at Nathan Carter.

"...but I'm too tall for his clothes so the kid directed me to you. I'd only be borrowing them for the week, or however long it ends up taking. For payment I could-"

"It's no trouble. Come on in." Haymitch steps aside for Nathan to enter. Neither of them looks particularly comfortable with the interaction so far. Nathan spots Hazelle and waves a little before he follows Haymitch upstairs. Hazelle nods back and returns to the task at hand, replacing the mop in the closet.

She's dusting when Haymitch calls down from the banister, "Hey, could you offer some input?"

"About what?" she calls back, heading toward the stairway.

"Nathan needs a suit fit for the nation," he explains. "He was chosen for the constitutional conference to represent Twelve."

"Oh, that's right. He won the vote," she recalls as they ascend the stairs. She momentarily transpired with Katniss and Peeta to write Haymitch in. Ultimately, though, Hazelle decided against it, figuring an involuntary trip to the Capitol wouldn't do his newfound sobriety any favors. Besides, out of anyone, Nathan is the honorary leader of the district, having been involved in its reconstruction since it began.

They enter the master bedroom and wind through the bathroom into the closet, where Nathan stands wearing a three-piece suit the color of charcoal. It must be an older suit; it wouldn't have fit Haymitch in recent years until now.

"Does it fit? I can't tell how it's supposed to look." Nathan fiddles with the buttons on the cuff of a cocked wrist, pulls at the jacket hem, and straightens, holding his arms away from his sides.

"I told him it looks fine but he wanted a second opinion," Haymitch deadpans, and Nathan casts a withering look at him.

Hazelle leans back a little, scanning the suit. "I don't see anything wrong with it. Not too short or too tight or anything. Do you feel ready?"

"Now that I have something to wear? Hardly," Nathan replies with a sheepish smile. "We'll have a say in things this time around but I don't know how it's going to go. Right now I'm concerned the city will eat me alive if I'm not presentable."

"They've eaten more for less," remarks Haymitch, crossing his arms. "This should be more than enough; it ain't a damn Tribute Parade. Just brush your teeth and shave beforehand. Is anyone going to meet you at the train station once you're in the city?"

"Yeah, they said they're giving us an escort."

Haymitch barks a laugh. "Of course they are. Well, you won't get lost or have to worry about room and board, then." He pulls his wallet from a back pocket. "Still, if you need-"

Nathan glares at him. "No, this is it. I can manage from here." He shrugs off the jacket.

"That wasn't to be an ass," Haymitch starts but Hazelle knocks a hand against his shoulder and shakes her head subtly when he looks at her.

She tells Nathan, "We'll all be here supporting you, Nathan. I'm interested to see what happens."

"Me, too. I've got some experience rubbing elbows with the other districts now, and I shouldn't have trouble making myself heard in a crowd if need be." Nathan smirks, his chin tucked.

"Keep us posted if you can," says Haymitch, inflecting a farewell.

After Nathan leaves, Hazelle tells Haymitch, "You forget what it's like, being poor."

He raises a brow. "Maybe so. But I still know how to honor a debt."

"What do you owe Nathan?"

"Same thing I've owed the rest of the district since I won." He shrugs like it's obvious, though it takes her a moment to understand what he means. "I know the difference between wanting to help someone and being condescending. But I can't dance around things. If he didn't have enough money to get by in the city, he'd be screwed. How else do I go about it?"

"He was already asking a favor that he didn't want from you. You don't do more on top of that unprompted."

"Well, good thing I'm not in politics." He considers her a moment. "You might be a decent candidate."

"Oh, don't start, Haymitch."

"I'm serious! You're levelheaded, assertive yet willing to negotiate. You care about the district-"

"You want me out of your hair."

"I want you to be happier than you are putting up with me," he tells her, earnest. He's taken an interest in suggesting alternative jobs for Hazelle. So far, nothing has stuck but not for lack of trying.

"That's a positive spin to what I just said. Maybe politics aren't out of the question for you after all." Hazelle shakes her head, returns to her mental checklist before she calls it a day.

Later, she suggests the goose coop to Alice while they make jam with Katniss and Peeta.

"I'm sure Wilbur can do that," says Alice. "It's just a bigger chicken coop, right?"

Hazelle shrugs. "I'd imagine so. The geese don't seem to need much else."

"Lucky for them, or else they'd surely be neglected," mutters Katniss as she watches a batch of fruit reduce on the stove.

Peeta looks up from his pile of sliced and peeled fruit on the counter. "I could lend a hand, too. I'll ask at dinner."

"Why are we humoring this?" Katniss turns toward them, wooden spoon in hand. "He's not really going to take care of them. He barely takes care of himself. It'll be a waste of wood."

Hazelle's face and shoulders slump. "He's making an effort. I can tell he's upset about the fox attack. And if you saw him, you'd know he's doing okay - as okay as he can be, all things considered."

Peeta nods along to what she says. "I know it's a surprise but Hazelle is right. Haymitch needs our support right now. Besides, you can't avoid him forever. You're running out of excuses to miss dinner."

"I guess I've been disappointed one too many times to take any of this seriously," Katniss tries to say dismissively but there's some hurt in her expression. "At least the geese will finally be contained."

That weekend Peeta, Wilbur, and his oldest son Hector venture over to Haymitch's house. Hazelle joins them in the backyard as she leaves for the day, surveying their work so far.

"The geese should be nice and secure once this is done," she remarks.

"Aw, they'll be fine," says Wilbur. He wipes his brow with his shirt. "We haven't had any attacks yet at ours. Though we're fortunate to have the local hunter keeping predators away."

"You're talking about Buttercup, right?" Peeta jokes, and they chuckle along with him.

Haymitch speaks up. "We should finish with the hatch." The conversation stalls as he looks away from them, at the half-built enclosure, offering nothing else.

From her earlier view through the windows, Hazelle noticed Haymitch worked alongside them fine. But now they're standing around, having small talk, and he's much more out of place than Peeta. He keeps an awkward, aloof distance from the Grants that reminds Hazelle of how Katniss interacts with Alice as they pickle vegetables.

"Well, I'll leave you to it, then." Hazelle waves them goodbye and heads home to her kids, where they await with factoids and stories about what they've learned that day.

They make and eat dinner together and play cards after, drinking mint tea. It reminds Hazelle of their old weekday routine in the Seam. She welcomes the warmth of its familiarity, lets it carry her through until after bedtime, when she's alone in bed.

Hazelle hasn't slept well lately. No matter how tired a day's work has left her, she remains awake, turning fitfully until she finds a comfortable position. But even then, sleep does not reward her.

She's been thinking about a lot of things, she figures. The work keeps her mind occupied with a variety of tangible matters, but as soon as she stills, her mind resumes a kind of ongoing conversation with herself, one that's stumbled into new territory.

She's pinpointed a starting point: the night she walked with Haymitch before he officially went sober. That night she stayed up thinking about how their time together reassured her that they could reconnect, that she wasn't a complete fool to want and offer that in the first place.

She also replays her stunned response when he asked her what she wanted in life, and spends hours of the night thinking about her parents, her grandparents that were around until Hazelle was about Posy's age. They were all colliers until they were parents, and there was the expected division of labor after that. She muses how she and Rohan followed the same steps, young dancers that they were. It was bizarre to think of any other way of life outside of something that made ends meet in the Seam, like laundering, housekeeping, or bootlegging. The only other things that came to mind were merchant occupations, with the coveted apprenticeships that seemed to stay within the family.

Most of the jobs that Haymitch recommends have never crossed her mind before. They shouldn't have, there was no way she could reach them, but now she can. Rather, she's expected to be able to. Hazelle doesn't really know what she wants, and that's what keeps her up.

Eventually, it's far enough into the morning that she rises from bed, quietly prepares breakfast for her kids to finish when they wake up, and gets to work doing something - anything.