A/N: Thanks as always to dandelionsunset for her marvelous beta.

Chapter 42: The Aftermath of Marigold, part 2.

Marigold didn't speak to Farl the night they moved.

By the time they arrived at the new house, the shock of being kicked out of the bakery had dissipated. In its place was the familiar, comfortable fury that had given her strength all these years.

As soon as the sofa had been placed in the living room, she sat herself down on it and stared at the wall. She ignored Farl and the movers. She was not going to be a part of this. This was Farl's idea, he could do all the work.

When the movers left, Farl started shuffling through boxes.

Marigold ignored him. She knew how this worked. She would give him the silent treatment, then he'd eventually cave and apologize and try to smooth things over. He'd done it for over twenty years. He'd do it again.

Farl unpacked. Marigold sat.

It got dark but the electricity wasn't on yet. She added it to the long list of things she blamed Farl for and let him fumble around with the oil lamps.

Farl grabbed sheets, blankets and a pillow and went into what she assumed was the bedroom. She knew what was happening. He was making up the bed for her. Then, to get back into her good graces, he'd offer her the bedroom while he slept on the sofa, just like he had for years.

She heard Farl brush his teeth and fiddle around in the bathroom. She saw him in the hallway, wearing pajamas. Here we go, she thought. Farl was coming to make nice. Well, it wasn't going to work this time.

Farl walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Then he locked it.

It took Marigold a few moments to realize what she'd just heard. She felt almost paralyzed as the numb shock from earlier in the day return tenfold. All the cruel things Farl had said to her started looping in her head. I never should have married you in the first place, Mari. Biggest mistake of my life. I'll start over without you. New home, new job, new people. She finally laid down on the sofa and fell into a fitful sleep.

Marigold woke up the next morning to find the sun was already halfway up the sky. It had to be at least 10:00 a.m. She went and used the bathroom, then looked around the house, since she hadn't bothered the night before.

It didn't take long. The house was small. There was a master bedroom, a guest room, one bathroom, a living room and a kitchen. That was it.

Farl was unpacking in the bedroom. He'd already made the bed. The tiny closet was open and she could see most of his clothing already hanging up. Besides the bed, the only other furniture was one of the nightstands from their bedroom at the bakery.

Frowning, Marigold walked the few steps down the hall and looked into the guest room. Shaking her head at Farl's stupidity, she went back to the master bedroom. "You put the dresser in the wrong room," she said condescendingly.

Farl didn't look at her as he placed a threadbare shirt on a hanger. "I put the dresser in your room," he said.

It took a moment to figure out what he meant. And even though she'd refused to let Farl into their marriage bed for years, it felt like a slap in the face.

Marigold went outside and sat on the stoop of the back porch.

She recognized the part of town they had moved to. It was set aside for Merchant-class families but most of the homes were empty now. A few homes were known as being places couples could go to when they wanted more privacy than the Slag Heap. She could actually see the house in which she'd lost her virginity to Farl.

She stared vacantly into space for a couple of hours. Finally, she went inside to unpack her things. She wasn't going to sleep on the sofa again.

Marigold hated the new house.

It was too quiet. Farl was gone by the time she woke up and he didn't return until after dark. They didn't have many neighbors and the few they did have weren't interested in talking to her.

Worse, Marigold didn't have anything to do. It took less than a day to get their belongings completely unpacked. After that, she couldn't find a way to occupy herself. There were no books to balance, no recipes to prep. She didn't have any hobbies. She'd never needed one; she'd always had the bakery.

And although she'd never really admit it, Marigold was lonely. She had given up the bakery because she couldn't stand the thought of Farl abandoning her. Yet without the bakery or the boys, they had nothing to talk about. She'd even tried to pick a couple of fights with Farl but he just pretended she wasn't there.

This new life made Marigold feel empty and off-balance.

The morning of the Festival, she was standing in her kitchen staring out the back window. It was just luck that she happened to see Madge Undersee leaving one of those houses with that dirty boy from the Seam.

The numb shock and disbelief she'd been feeling for the last few days was replaced with wicked glee.

It didn't surprise her that Peeta was unable to get Madge to pay attention to him. The boy was worthless. But there was no way that Mayor Undersee would approve of Madge sleeping with somebody from the Seam.

Now the only question was how to use this to get back into the bakery.

She could confront the girl with it but that was probably pointless. Madge Undersee didn't have the power to help her.

She could go to the Mayoral Mansion and have a discreet talk with the Mayor himself. While he might be grateful for her discretion in coming to him privately, there also wasn't going to be any real pressure on him to help her out.

Or, she could go find the Mayor tonight at the Festival. She could pull him aside and tell him what she knew. Then she could suggest that the best way to protect his daughter's reputation would be to get Marigold back into the bakery. Otherwise, she would make a scene. Most of the District would be there. His daughter's reputation would be ruined before the night was out.

Yes, blackmailing-er, confronting-the Mayor at the Festival was the best plan.

Marigold amused herself the rest of the day by imagining all the payback that Peeta and Rye would face when she returned.

Farl came home in the late afternoon. They ate dinner in silence. He cleaned up and left for the Festival, looking suspiciously happy.

She waited a couple of hours before leaving. The closer she got to the Pavilion, the more anticipation she felt. It was going to be so satisfying to be back in charge.

The Pavilion was more crowded than she'd ever seen. Good. More pressure on the Mayor. She couldn't see through the crowd to find him, so she climbed up on one of the hay bales to get a better look.

Marigold froze when she saw the Mayor. Her brain didn't want to process what she was seeing.

Madge and the Seam boy were snuggled up to each other, right there in public. The Mayor was there, too, and clearly aware of his daughter's relationship. Peeta had his arms around Katniss Everdeen. Rye held hands with the younger Everdeen girl, like she was his damn sister or something. Nikki and Bannock, each with an infant in their arms, were talking to Rosemary Everdeen.

And Farl...

Farl was staring at Rosemary with raw, undisguised longing. Even when Farl and Marigold were at their best, even when Bannock was no older than the baby he now held, Farl had never looked at her like that. Not once.

She'd been played. She'd been such an idiot not to see it. This was why Farl had always been so nice to the Everdeen girl when she traded, and why he'd wanted Peeta to walk her home. This was why he wanted Marigold to move out. He wasn't trying to save the bakery for the boys. He wanted to save it for Rosemary Everdeen.

Marigold was so overcome with rage that she started to shake. She wanted to jump off the hay bale and start screaming at them all. She wanted to claw out Rosemary Everdeen's eyes. She wanted to thrash her sons and drag the Everdeen girls out by their hair.

But Marigold was better than that. She was smarter than that. She knew exactly how to make them all pay.

Cray lived by three rules.

Rule No. 1: Always pay for sex. Always. Otherwise, she'd start to think you actually liked her and would maybe take her back to Two.

Rule No. 2: Always use a condom. Always. Even for hand-jobs. No doctors lived in Twelve. He'd be damned if he caught the clap from some gal too ignorant to know that the sores on her husband's dick could be shared with others.

Rule No. 3: Bore the Capitol. The moment the Capitol became interested in a District was the moment the District began to suffer.

Cray didn't pretend to be a good person but he was a good Peacekeeper. The two things guaranteed to bring a District into the Capitol's focus were sloppy reporting and restless natives. So, Cray always filed his reports with the Capitol and he didn't fuss with the Hob and the poaching. The Capitol stayed bored and the residents of Twelve stayed quiet (mostly).

Because Cray was such a stickler for Rule No. 1, the cost of his sex life was seasonal. From the first snow until the spring thaw, he could get what he wanted, when he wanted it. He didn't even need coin. A few cans of food, some heating oil, or a small box of rice was more than enough to convince some skinny piece from the Seam to grab her ankles for him.

Sex cost more during warmer months. As the food became more plentiful, the women became less accommodating.

For the Spring Festival, Cray had paid a few coins to his companion for the night. Clara was a young mother from the Seam whose husband tended to drink his paychecks, leaving her with no money and kids to feed.

He'd had Clara a few times before and liked her well enough. She seemed a practical sort. She didn't make small talk or expect anything from him beyond their transaction. She also approved of Rule No. 2. "Good thinkin'," she told him the first time he'd pulled out a condom, "I got all the kids I need."

Her husband was drunk down at the Festival and her kids were home by themselves, so Clara had gotten down to business right away.

Cray dozed off while she cleaned herself up. She was nearly finished getting dressed when somebody started banging on his front door. Cray sat up in bed, annoyed that his post-coital nap had been interrupted.

"That's not your husband, is it?" he asked her. Some husbands knew about their wives' transactions with Cray. They might not like it but they knew.

Clara's husband, however, didn't know. The last thing Cray needed was a drunken husband in a jealous rage. If the guy so much as threw a punch, Cray would spend the rest of the night filling out reports.

"Doubt it," she said. Cray walked naked to the security monitor in his bedroom and clicked it to the front door camera.

"Oh, fuck me," he said when he saw who it was. "What did I do to deserve a visit from the baker's harpy of a wife?"

Clara said, "I'll show myself out the back." She sounded amused.

Cray distractedly waved at her as she left and pressed the intercom button.

"Office hours are from 8:00 to 6:00," he announced.

"This can't wait," she snapped. "It's a matter of national security!"

Sure it is, he thought. The only question was, did he deal with her nonsense now and get it out of the way? Or deal with it tomorrow when the office was open and he wouldn't have the excuse of "we're closed" to cut her nonsense short?

He pressed the intercom button and said, "I'll be with you in a few minutes."

Cray got dressed, then fetched the baker's wife. He showed her into his office. "Give me just a moment, Mrs...?"

"Mellark."

"Mellark. I'll be back in a moment." He went into his kitchen and poured himself a healthy glass of bourbon on the rocks. If he was off the clock, he could by god get drunk.

Mrs. Mellark sniffed with disapproval at the bourbon in his hand when he returned. He didn't bother to hide his irritation. "So, what's this bullshit about national security?"

"I want to file a report about possible seditious activities."

Cray sat back, his eyebrows raised. This was...unexpected. He took a moment to look at Mrs. Mellark. She was a thin woman. Her arms and legs were crossed as tightly as possible and her lips were pressed together so tightly they were white. Angry, he thought. She also kept looking furtively at the door. Angry and lying.

Although Cray was mildly curious as to why the baker's wife thought lying to the head Peacekeeper was a good idea, he mostly just wanted to get drunk. Maybe he a quick reality check would get this hayseed out of his office.

"Right. Well, before you get started, Mrs...um…what was your name again?"

"Mellark!"

Cray nodded. He hadn't forgotten her name. He just didn't feel like being polite.

"Mrs. Mellark. Accusations of sedition and treason require mandatory reporting. Anything you tell me gets reported to the Capitol. If it turns out to be wrong or false information, the person who made the report-or their family-could be punished."

She waved her hand in front of her like she was trying to get rid of a fly. "I understand."

Cray said, "You wish to proceed?"

"I do."

The Peacekeeper sighed and turned his computer on. After a minute or two, he found the right form. "Who are you lodging the accusation against?"

"The Everdeen girl, for starters."

Cray typed the name into the form. "Does the Everdeen girl have a first name?"

Mrs. Mellark looked crafty. "Well, she's from the Seam, so I'm sure I don't know her name."

"How old is she?"

"I don't know that either."

"Sure you don't. And what has the Everdeen girl done that you find seditious?"

Mrs. Mellark stabbed the air when she talked. "She has been encouraging equality between the classes!"

"Uh-huh. Anybody else involved in this sedition?"

She put a very unconvincing expression of concern on her face and said, "Sadly, yes. My sons, Rye Mellark and Peeta Mellark." Translation-one of my sons wants to marry her.

"And how old are your sons?"

"Rye turned 18 earlier this year. Peeta is 15."

Cray was losing his patience. This stupid bitch was willing to risk sending her own sons to the Games because they wanted to fuck a girl from the Seam? Cray swallowed half of his bourbon.

Cray stopped typing. "And how exactly is," he looked at his typed notes, "'encouraging equality between the classes' seditious, exactly?"

Mrs. Mellark pretended-badly-to be surprised that he would even ask such a thing. "It's against the established order! It's subversive! Not to mention that music group that they are a part of. I mean, who knows what they are talking about during their rehearsals?"

Oh, right. That band. Cray had walked by a reception a few weeks ago and had unwillingly overheard them play. Bluegrass, country, roots music-it didn't matter what you called it, the music here in the sticks sucked.

"Have you overheard anything at any of their rehearsals?" Cray asked.

"Well, no. I haven't. They rehearse in the Mayor's basement."

Cray stopped typing at this. Huh. "You sure that's where they rehearse?"

"Of course, I'm sure."

Cray pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes against the headache that Mrs. Mellark had just given him.

What Mrs. Mellark had described wasn't sedition, not by a long shot. Despite her delusions to the contrary, officially, there were really only two classes in Panem-the Capitol and Everybody Else. Hell, Twelve could hold a big, Merchant-Seam, prejudice-free, hillbilly circle jerk for all he cared.

But he couldn't ignore it and not file anything. If the Capitol found out he'd ignored a report of sedition, no matter how ludicrous, he'd lose his job for sure. Probably some light torture to look forward to, too, as well.

"All right, raise your right hand and take the oath. Do you swear that everything you have just related to this Peacekeeper is true and accurate to the best of your knowledge, under penalty of perjury by the laws of District 12 and Panem?"

She did.

Mrs. Mellark started to leave but Cray couldn't help taking one last shot at her. "I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

After she screamed her name and stormed out, Cray looked at his computer screen. Rule No. 3 was front and center in his mind. The small-potatoes politics of this District was exactly the sort of thing the Capitol expected him to pay attention to. And he knew that the Capitol would wonder about a band that rehearsed in the only bug-free room in the home of the de facto political leader of the District.

Cray completed the form. She'd never given him a first name for the Everdeen girl, so he put her first name as "unknown." He related everything else she had told him, including the information about the band.

Finally, there was a section called "Peacekeeper notes on reliability of source." He had to give a ranking of 1 (extremely unreliable) to 10 (extremely reliable) along with a short narrative explaining his ranking.

Cray drummed his fingers on his desk. He chose 2 (mostly unreliable). Then he typed:

"Nothing the witness described matches any common or statutory definition of sedition. Indeed, it is the opinion of this Peacekeeper that Marigold Mellark is pursuing a personal vendetta against one or both of her sons for being in a relationship with a girl she does not like. I have no reason to believe that the band in question is pursuing any agenda other than music. Please advise if further assistance or investigation is warranted."

He reread it a few times and decided it would have to do. If the Capitol found something interesting in his report, well... he'd know by Reaping Day.

Cray swallowed the rest of the bourbon before pressing "send." He turned his computer off and headed back towards the kitchen.

He needed another drink.