Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

’I don’t need your help! I don’t know how else to say it. We are fine. You can go home. What are you doing here anyway?’

’This is my home.’ There’s such flatness in his voice, it’s so emotionless, that I stop, and look at him. Gale stands straight in front of me, tense, his expression reserved, his gray eyes hard.

We've argued about this a million times since he got back from the Game, and we're getting nowhere. He's my best friend, yes, but I don't need his help. I can take care of my family, and I don't need charity.

’It wouldn't be charity,' he argues with me, as if he's reading my thoughts, as we head back towards my home. 'You're the reason my mother and Rory and Posy and Vick didn't starve while I was away. I owe you.'

I snort contemptuously, but there’s something to it. Still, I wouldn’t accept anything from his mother; Hazelle has been more of a mother to me than my own in recent years. And I wouldn’t accept anything from Gale because I’d feel like he’d expect something from me in return that I couldn’t give.

’We're fine,’ I repeat, stubbornly. My back tenses; as we pass people, they stare at Gale with distrustful eyes. They're right; the boy shouldn't be here, he should be in the Victors Village, but still. He's my best friend, and I feel sorry for him. It's no wonder he's having a hard time adjusting to his new home.

’Can I help you with something?’ I growl as I notice Coltson Black, one of my classmates, watching us with undisguised curiosity as we walk past. The boy lowers his head in shame, and I feel a momentary sense of satisfaction.

’Thanks’ Gale mutters, and as I look at him, he is smiling faintly. I flash him a smile, and for a moment everything is like before, until he speaks.

'This winter is going to be hard, Katniss, it's already showing. What are you going to do?'

’What I always do,’ I say curtly. He knows exactly what will happen. I will try, and survive. Why does he asking then? He thinks there's an easy way to survive now; accept his help. Just because I don't agree with him doesn't mean my solution - hunting, trading - is worse than his. That's exactly what he did before the Games. He still has a bag full of squirrels hanging over his shoulder, for Panem's sake!

’So, you'd rather risk starving to death just so you can get food through your own 'honest' work?’ he asks, and it's like a slap in the face. It suggests that I'm putting my pride before Prim's survival.

I give him a sharp look.

'At least I don't stab anyone in the back!' Gale stops as if I had hit him, and in a way I did. His face is dead pale, at once, and his right hand is clenched into a fist at his side. There's a reason why the people of the District are distrustful and cold towards Gale.

Of course, some would say it's because he's a Victor, but that's not true. People in District 12 think that Haymitch Abernathy - our other living Victor - drinks too much, but they don't despise him like they do Gale.

It is because Gale Hawthorne - my best friend, my hunting partner, the boy who strains to keep me alive - killed his district partner in the Game.

The girl’s name was Ena Garton, and thank fuck, I didn’t know her personally.  She was a short, malnourished, dark-skinned little thing, and oddly enough, with blue eyes for her colours, the only thing that made her stand out from the many Seam girls around here. Anyone with a brain knew that Gale, who was stronger, more fit, good with a bow, and excellent at setting snares, have better chances.

Still - Haymitch may be nothing but an old drunk, but he did what he could with Ena. The Sapphire from the Mine - that was the nickname given to Ena in the Capitol, and from interviews it was clear that her Mentor tried everything to keep her alive. Gale had better luck in that regard. His persona was Orion, the ancient god associated with the hunt, but Ena only had her interesting eyes, and visibly kind, shy personality.

At first I thought they both had some chance. The new stylist, Cinna, did such a good job with both of them that Cesar asked him to stand up and bow at the end of the interviews.

With Gale, he draw the attention to the fact that he is big and handsome, and during the Parade he wore  lion skin, with a sword in one hand, a bow on his back, and a club in the other hand. Ena, in contrast, was elegant, in a shimmering, understated dress that shone in a thousand shades of blue.

A living Sapphire.

The audience went so crazy for the two of them that they even started chanting Haymitch's name, who at one point stood up and waved with the faintest smile on his face. I remember him wearing a pale blue suit, a navy blue tie with a silver lion brooch on it.  He was an ally to both of his kids.

’I didn't stab her in the back,’ Gale whispers, pale. ’I cut her throat.’

Suddenly I can't see my best friend anymore, I'm staring at the face of a stranger.

’Because thats much better?! I hiss in disgust. ’The only thing we all do in an Arena is not harming our district partner. We only attack if its only the two of us left, which never happens!’

’Don’t talk like you know how it feels to be in the Arena!’

’Don’t talk like there isn’t a shred of honor left in you!’

’You talk like the Carriers do.’

’You would know, I guess.’

We suddenly fall silent and realize that we've had a full-blown, screaming argument on the street. So much for not giving people a reason to stare at Gale.

"The show's over!" Gale snaps when he notices one of the women still watching us. The woman quickens her steps and rushes past us.

We start walking again. You would know, I guess, I told Gale, and that was a low blow, but still deserved. Gale did ally himself with the Carrier Pack after all. And when one of his own snares trapped Ena, hanging her upside down by her leg from a tree - the boy didn't help her. No, he didn't rebel against the others, but at the command of Cato - a brutally strong, blond boy - he cut Ena's throat to prove his loyalty.

They may call Gale ’Orion’ in the Capitol, but when they talk about him in the District, they wishper the word, pariah.  I can hear it; I have ears. Gale sighs deeply.

"What would you have done?" he asks quietly.

’Help her. Or run.’

’So, be a coward?’ The boy grimaces.

"I'd rather be a coward than a traitor," I retort without thinking. The other swallows hard and suddenly I feel a surge of guilt.

’Sorry’

’No, you are right’ He shrugs. 'It's a shame to whine about this.'

He is right. We're not arguing about Ena anyway. Or about what is appropriate' to do in the Arena. Our arguments are always about the things he wants to give and the things I don't want to accept. About how should we live, what does this include. About the question if there is even a ’we’ anymore. Whether there ever was.

’Would you accept a job?" Gale asks as we arrive at my house.

‘What kind of job?’ I ask as we enter. ‘We’re here!’ I shout to my mother and Primrose.

‘I’m in the kitchen!’ my mother calls back, so we head there.

"Haymitch needs someone to take care of him," Gale replies, and the honesty in his voice surprises me. It doesn't seem to me that he likes his Mentor, although of course, that could just be the surface.

I chuckle dryly.

'I'm not the motherly type, and he would hate me anyway,' I remark.

’Who would hate you?’ asks my mother, as she looks up. She stands at the kitchen counter, sorting out herbs, her blonde hair tied back in a tight bun.

’Haymitch’ Gale tells her before I can say anything. 'The old goat really needs someone to clean and cook for him and generally keep him alive.’

To my surprise, my mother smiles faintly.

"He could never hate you, Katniss," she says with surprising quietness. My mother wasn't there for me when I needed her most; logically I know it wasn't her fault she was sick but... still. It always surprises me when she's gentle with me, but this time it feels good.

‘Why?’ I ask, frowning.

’He was your father's best friend before his Game,' my mother replies. 'He and I were friends too. But... the Game changes you, and we couldn't help him after his  Game. But he would never hurt you. You would remind him too much of Burdie, and maybe a little of me too.’

My heart starts beating faster than usual, like every time when I learn something about my father that I didn't know before. He and Haymitch were friends, and he and Mom tried to help him after the Game. I store the information in my brain like it's made of gold. I nod slowly.

The Game changes you. Maybe I am in exactly the same situation as Dad was, when Haymitch won his Game. Our best friend, a Victor – changed. But still our best friend.

I look at Gale, who stands silently, tense, watching my face. I know this posture - when the hunter doesn't want to scare off the prey.

Do you think I get scared that easily?

But then I come to a decision.

"Okay," I say simply, and Gale smiles so wide I think the corner of his mouth hurts.

*

The first morning I go to Haymitch’s to clean, it starts to snow. I wrap myself in my dad’s old hunting jacket and sling my bag over my shoulder, which contains two thermoses of my mom’s famous flower tea; one for me, one for Haymitch

’Don't let him scare you,' Gale says the day before, for the fifth time in an hour. 'If he behaves really badly, remind him that I'm paying you, not him, so he can't fire you.’

I grimace, because it's a fact I don't like at all, but I remind myself that I work for the money, and Gale only wants the best for me.

"Don't worry about me," I say quietly instead of anything else.

As I step out the door, the snow falls in large flakes, and I have to brace myself against the wind as I begin the long walk to Victors Village. By the time I reach the right door, I feel like my bones are frozen, and I suddenly think with gratitude of the tea in my bag. I hope the thermos kept the heat in.

I knock and wait, but there is no answer.

I knock again. Take a breath. Then again.

I wait. Nothing. Stillness; wind. I strain against the door; it moves, but it hits something. There must be piles of rubbish in its way. Damn old goat! Where is he?

I push the door open, it creaks and obeys, but something catches it again. The thick, strange sound it makes fills me with unpleasant anxiety.

What the…?

I enter with difficulty; my hunting instincts are raging, fear overwhelms me as I look down at the ground in front of me.

Haymitch Abernathy lies motionless, deathly pale on the ground.

Chapter Text

Fear overwhelms me with a speed that I have never experienced before in my life. I unstrap the bag from my shoulder, which lands on the ground with a clatter, and in the blink of an eye I'm kneeling next to the Victor.

The man's face is pale and looks wet, and a half-full bottle of wine lies next to his body. Damn it!

’Haymitch?' I say, hopefully firmly, but my voice shakes. 'Haymitch, can you hear me? Haymitch!'

I quickly slide my hand around his neck; his pulse is weak, but it's there; it seems he's breathing. But then why is he unconscious? I shake his shoulder, but he doesn't respond.

I am not the Everdeen who inherited our mother’s gift for healing, and my hands tremble with fear, but Mother did teach me some of the basics. I glance at the wine bottle in disgust, which is on the ground, cloose to him. The idiot obviously has alcohol poisoning.

Come on, you know what to do, a voice wishpers in my ear, which reminds me of Mom. Help him into recovery recovery position

’Recovery position’ I repeat, softly, mumbling. I quickly kneel on the ground to Haymitch's right: his right hand falls closer to me this way, so I place it at a right angle to his body, with the palm facing upwards.  I bring the other arm across his chest and place the back of his hand on his cheek closest to me, holding it in place. I try, and use my r other hand to bend Haymitch’s leg farthest from me, so his foot is flat on the floor.

I’m not a gentle person, and I’m terrified, but I try. He can’t die on me; he is Dad’s best friend! I gently pull his knee towards me to roll him onto his side, keeping his head supported by the hand on his cheek. I adjust the bent top leg so it rests on the floor in front of his body to help balance him.

’Come on, Haymitch’ I murmur. ’Don’t do this to me.’

 I tilt his head back and lift his chin to ensure his airway stays open and nothing is blocking it. There's nothing else I can do; Haymitch would need my mother from now on.

I let go of the man carefully; I really don’t want to leave him here, but I have to, at least for a few minutes. I turn around and start running toward the house next door, where Gale and Hazelle have lived for a year.

'Gale!' I shout for him; I burst through the door, which is fortunately open; I run across the hall and immediately head for the kitchen, from where I hear their voices. 'Gale!'

They're all sitting around the breakfast table. There's a lot to say about Gale, but the moment he sees my expression, he immediately jumps to his feet and comes to me. The Hunger Games Victor is nowhere to be found: this is my best friend, my partner in hell.

’Katniss, what…’

"Haymitch has alcohol poisoning, you need to go get my mom," I say so quickly that my words are slurred.   'Tell her I've already adjusted his body to the recovery position, but there's nothing else I can do, hurry up!'

Gale doesn’t argue, he starts running, without even grabbing a coat. I’m right behind him; I might not be able to go with him to get my mom, but I can’t leave Haymitch alone until they get back. We turn in different directions on the street, and I slam the door open with such force that it slams against the wall. I kneel down next to Haymitch again, gently stroking the side of his neck; nothing changes.

’What have you done to yourself, huh?' I murmur quietly, smoothing his dirty blonde hair out of his face. 'What the hell have you done to yourself?'

I feel helpless and I hate it. Where are my mom and Gale?  

The minutes tick by slowly, and I really, really want to do something useful, but I can only watch Haymitch's chest slowly rise and fall. I wamt to comfort the man lying on the ground, no matter how ridiculous this may seem.

Suddenly, I remember a soft song my father used to sing to my mother sometimes when I was a little girl, and before I can stop, I start humming, then softly singing.

If I could write I'd set all the words free to follow you
Tell you wonder, tell you secrets and solitude
I've had to let go of so much, it's hard to hold on now
Something far off is pulling me
And when I go this time I don't think I'm coming back

I took your ring that never comes off and put it on
Sorry to lose you, sorry to keep you after you were gone
Nothing is small, nothing is unexpected
I want more
When I go this time I don't think I'm coming back

Desire's the element that I can't fight
Girl's looking for themselves in your eyes
I'm looking for you
Was this supposed to be some kind of perfect?
I want more
When I go this time I don't think I'm coming back

Coming back
Coming back

My voice dies away and I feel a little ridiculous. Regardless, I gently stroke Haymitch's hair, wishing he'd open his eyes and tell me to go to hell. But then, thank fuck, I hear hurried footsteps and my mom and Gale burst through the door. I jump to my feet and step back, stopping next to Gale to give my mom some space.

From now on, it's no longer my responsibility, and the fact suddenly frees me, and gives me space for terror, to a degree I haven't had time for before. What would have happened if I had gotten here late? What would have happened if...?

But then my mother steps back from the living room door, and the way she looks at me, with those kindly sparkling blue eyes, reminds me of my early childhood.

'Katniss, are you coming?’ she asks in a gentle voice. So, I do.

*

’What the hell are you all doing here again?’ Haymitch grumbles.

The man is still pale, but thanks to my mother's magic, he is conscious and sitting on the living room couch with a pile of pillows behind him.

’Saving your worthless ass, Hay!’ my mom snaps, and Gale and I look at each other. She is always soft-spoken with her patients, and this style is not typical of her. But then again—she and Haymitch were friends, once, so its different. ’What the fuck where you thinking? And drink that, right now!’ With that, she hands Haymitch the medicated tea she's made

" And just who  asked you to save me again?!" the Victor growls. Mom gives him an icy look.

’You may not consider me your friend anymore, idiot, but I can desegree with you on that’ she tells him. ’And it doesn’t matter how good of a healer I am, If Katniss hadn't helped you, you would have been dead by the time I got here.’

I see a strange emotion flash through Haymitch's bright eyes as my mother utters the word friend, and then his gaze locks onto mine.

’And what do we have here?’ he asks, clearly teasing. ’Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart, if you want me dead, you should’ve just let me drown in my own vomit.’

’Haymitch!’ my mother snaps, and it's so rare for her to defend me that it feels good. ’Don’t talk to her like that. She is my daughter, Katniss Everdeen. Katniss, you already heard about Haymitch from me.’

’Only bad things, I hope,’ Haymitch mutters, then takes a sip of his tea. It must taste bad because the man grimaces. I can't help but laugh softly at this, and I notice the corner of Haymitch's mouth twitching into a half-grin.

"You both did a great job," my mother says, smiling at me and then at Gale. "Katniss, the position Haymitch was in when I arrived saved his life. I know how hard it is to get someone who is unconscious that way. And Gale, you were amazingly fast. You guys are a great team."

Gale and I grin at each other, but Haymitch growls.

’Yes, yes, wonderful, one more sunny, happy day on this earth for me. Could you all get out of my house?’

My mother's blue eyes widen.

'How dare you, Haymitch? We just want to help!'

"I didn't ask you to help!" the man growls with such force that my mother reflexively steps back.

’You maybe didn’t ask for it, but you clearly need it’ she tells him then, tenderly. ’You deserve better, Hay.’

"And who gets what they deserve?" Victor retorts, but his voice trails off and he suddenly sounds tired.

My mother ignores him, turning to me instead. 'Katniss, you're staying here to clean anyway, you can keep an eye on him. What exactly do you need to watch out for?'

’Headache, stomach pain, nausea, anxiety, and tremors may persist’ I list what she told me earlier, without thinking.

’Good girl’ she nods with a smile. "I'll leave the medicine here on the table," she gestures to the bottles he's piled on the small glass table in front of the couch. "You can give them to him if anything's wrong."

I nod, and as I start to tidy up the small table where my mother left the medicine vials.

’Try and not to die, while I’m out, will you?’ Gale asks Haymitch, who only mutters something. ’Later, Catnip’

’Later, G’ I tell him, and I’m glad I have something to do with my heands, because I can feel Haymitch’s gaze on both of us.

As the front door closes behind my mom and Gale, Haymitch speaks, finally.

"So, sweethart, again, who asked you to clean my house? It's not like you're not a real sunshine," his voice rings with mockery. "But I like my life the way it is, and I didn't invite you here."

’You like this?’ I straighten up and look around; the floor is littered with empty bottles, cigarette butts, and some kind of white substance stuck to the floor. ’Liar.’

To my surprise, Haymitch doesn't seem offended; he stares curiously, the corners of his mouth twitch, then he lets out a dry laugh that turns into a cough.

I blink; this man is annoying me to death with his sarcasm, but strangely enough, he also awakens some unexpected protective instinct in me.

"Would you like a glass of water?" I ask cautiously when the dry, raspy cough doesn't go away.

’Nah’ he answers heavily, swallowing to suppress a cough. ’I’m… I’m fine. So, who told you to come here?’

"Gale hired me, if that's what you're asking," I reply curtly. "Do you have hot water? Whatever's stuck here, cold water won't wash it away." I look suspiciously at the white, dried-on stains on the floor.

‘Why?’ he asks, raising his blond eyebrows.

This is going to be a very long day.

"'I just told you,' I repeat impatiently. 'Whatever it is on there, cold water won't...'

"No," Haymitch interrupts. "Why would Gale hire you?"

Because he doesn't want me to starve, runs through my mind, but I can't even think of saying it. I blush with shame, and the shame turns to anger.

'How would I know?' I growl. 'Maybe you're not as bad a mentor as you think. I guess he doesn't want you to drown in the trash. So: hot water?'

"Look at you, what a sensitive little flower you are," Haymitch grins. "I didn't think you'd be the type of our dear Orion."

My throat tightens. That name is somehow so... inhuman. As if Gale is nothing more than the insrument of the Capitol’s amusement.

"Don't call him that," I say suddenly quietly. "He's my best friend, and his name is Gale."

Haymitch's blond eyebrows rise even more.

’Even if he is a Victor?’

’Neither of you asked to go to that Arena. Not your fault.’

The man groans deeply.

'Panem, you really are Burdie's daughter'

'Yes, I am,' I say proudly, staring at him unwaveringly. 'One last time: hot water?'

For the first time since we met, Haymitch smiles genuinely.

'Bathroom, darling,' he says. 'Bathroom.'

*

I work hard. I fill several buckets with steaming hot water; I pour in some lavender-scented detergent, which is completely new to me. I get Haymitch a blanket from the bedroom and, despite his protests, I put it over his lap, then open the windows in the house and let in the cold winter air.

I collect the empty wine bottles in a trash bag and throw it all away; I gather the discarded cigarette butts, and get rid of them. I sweep the floor. Haymitch sits on the couch, slowly drinking a glass of water, watching me humanize the environment.

'You grew up in the Seam,' I grumble. 'We're all clean. What is this?' I have to fight hard to make the weird, dry white spots fade and then disappear.

’You don’t want to know. Anyway, if I were clean, you wouldn't have a job," he notes with a half-grin.

'Oh, don't try to make me think you're dirty so I can have a job,' I say. 'It's just that you're trouble.’

This time he laughs sincerely, without any mockery.

I go upstairs to the bedrooms, gather up the dirty clothes from the floor (seriously, this guy!) and load them into the washing machine. I have to struggle with the mechanism a bit, but it finally seems to start.

I miraculously find clean sheets in one of the closets, so I change them on the bed. As I take the dirty sheets out to the bathroom, something comes to mind.

’Hey, are there any scents you like?" I call out to Haymitch. "I'd wash with those with in mind. My dad preferred mint, for example, and my mom likes honey."

There’s no answer, and honestly, that scares me. Could it be that Haymitch is sick again?

I run down the stairs, as fast as I can.

’Haymitch, are you…?’ the question dies on my lips when I see that he is conscious, but curled up in a ball on the couch, his eyes shining strangely ’Okay?’ I finish the question, and suddenly I’m mad at him. I can see he's not well, but two minutes ago I was afraid he was dead, and the fact that he didn't respond makes me angry.

’You scared the living shit out of me!' I snap, and he flinches. That's why I'm not a healer; this isn't for me.

’Get out of here,’ he mutters softly, staring straight ahead without blinking, as if his very existence hurts.

I suddenly feel a surge of concern and sit down next to him on the couch.

'Hey,' I say gently. 'Hey, what's wrong? Do you think you could drink some water?'

Perfectly reflexively, I caress his face anxiously when he doesn't respond. He blinks at my touch; my hand lands in his blond hair, and to my surprise, he makes a small, contented sound that he doesn't seem to be aware of.

‘Maybe some food would do you some good, wouldn’t it?’ I hum, hopefully kindly. 'Is there anything you would like to eat?'

His blue eyes lock onto mine and he slowly shakes his head.

’Then I'll just have to figure something out on my own, I guess,’ I note, trying to strike a light tone. ’Thats fine: this is the first time I can experiment in a real kitchen!' All I get a faint smile at this, but its something.

I'm making a thick vegetable soup; it's an indescribable feeling to be working with a full pantry, and for a moment I feel an instinctive envy. But then I think of the bloody battles, the Arena, and Haymitch's blank expression, and the envy turns to shame.

I measure out the finished soup onto a plate and call Haymitch to the table. His steps are visibly unsteady, but I don't look at him directly, instead cutting him a thick slice of bread and placing it in a bowl next to the food.

I turn back to the counter as soon as I hear him pull out the chair with difficulty and start tidying up.

There is such a silence between us that every movement he makes seems loud. I hear him softly blow on the first spoonful of soup.

“You’re not eating?” he asks a minute later. I turn around; the Victor is frowning, as if the situation is making his headache worse.

 I don’t know what to do with this. I'm not here to be his friend, even though he was my father's, and I can't take anything from him that I can't give back. I can't stand to be indebted to anyone, and I can't accept any favors right now. Not until Gale pays my first paycheck, anyway.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" comes out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

Haymitch snorts.

'Don't pretend to be an idiot, sweetheart, I know you're not really one. If I didn't offer you food, I wouldn't have asked if you eat. Do you eat?'

"Burdock Everdeen's best friend, ladies and gentlemen," I grumble as I pull a plate and spoon out of the cupboard and sit down across from Haymitch at the table.

"What did you say?" asks the other sharply. "I didn't hear you well."

"It comes with age," I note with a smirk as I help myself to some soup.

Haymitch surprises me again as his blond eyebrows shoot up and he laughs loudly and raspily.

The vegetable soup tastes good, even if I made it myself; it's thick and filling, and it smells amazing. It's full of carrots and turnips; I have no idea where Haymitch got them so early in the winter. Probably from the Capitol; that should make the food taste bitter in my mouth, but I don't care. All I can think about is that now that I can eat my share, everything at home could be Prim's and my mother's.

I am so preoccupied with the flavors and aromas that it takes me a moment to notice that Abernathy has stopped eating and is leaning back in his chair; I feel his gaze on me, and when I look up, his blue eyes are almost tender. Almost.

"You don't like it?" I ask.

"There's nothing wrong with it, it's tasty, " replies Victor, and this time there is no mockery in his voice. "I'm just full."

I frown when I realize that more than half of the soup is untouched, and suddenly I feel a wave of concern wash over me.

That makes me angry; I don't have the energy to get close to new people. Yes, despite all my resentment, I love my mother, and I would do anything for my sister. Gale and his family are important to me. I quietly like Magde, the mayor's daughter, and certain people in the district, like Darius, or Thom, or the Baker, who is always kind to me. But... worrying about someone else too? No bloody way.

I tackle the soup with renewed vigor, pouring all my anger into spoonful after spoonful. I glance up from under my eyelashes at Haymitch, who is watching my movements with the faintest of smiles on his lips. The smile is a strange mixture of mild mockery and genuine interest. Damn it!

Maybe he doesn't eat because he can't? Could it be that alcohol has damaged his stomach so badly that he is unable to eat large portions?

I let go of the spoon with more force than necessary when my plate is empty; the spoon clatters loudly, but Haymitch makes no comment. I pick up the two bowls, and when I lift his, I come even closer to those curious blue eyes.

’Thank you,’ he says quietly, and I nod. As I turn toward the counter, he adds, ’Bring some soup home for Asterid and that sister of yours... what was her name again, Posy?’

’That's Gale’, I reply, quietly amused. ’My sister's name is Primrose.’

’Burdock, and his flower names,’ Haymitch mutters, and that makes me want to laugh even more, because he's right. This is strange too: I'm usually sensitive when someone doesn't pay enough attention to my sister to know her name.

’We call her Prim,’ I note, and start washing my plate. I rinse out my flask, which has been filled with flower tea throughout the day, and after wiping it dry, I fill it with soup. I pour the other serving of tea into a glass for Haymitch and place it on the table in front of him; he hasn't moved since I got up to wash the dishes, and that worries me.

'Try this, ' I tell him. 'It's my mother's recipe, so it'll be better than the soup.’

Haymitch just grunts, but I can feel him watching as I wash the second flask.

'Bring soup in that too,' he then says.

My eyebrows shoot up.

’You'll need that portion for dinner, won't you?’

"Don't worry about me, sweetheart," he says too quickly, and suddenly something occurs to me. Without thinking, I spin around to look at him.

"Don't you dare get drunk tonight, Haymitch, you almost died today!" I snap. Something flashes across his face too quickly for me to understand, but then he just grins.

"You know," he replies. "Considering that you look like Burdock, right now you sounded exactly like Asterid!"

I throw the kitchen towel at him, but he laughs and dodges it.

*

Life is becoming almost pleasantly monotonous. I hunt on weekends, but spend the rest of the week at Haymitch's. I meticulously clean every room, even the guest rooms, the bathroom, and the kitchen, until everything is sparkling clean.

I change the bedding in every room, air out the house every morning, and keep an eye on the pantry. I spend most of my time in the study because the wall behind the desk is lined with shelves up to the ceiling, and everything is full of books. Without saying a word, I take them all out, dust them off, and put them back in their places.

Haymitch doesn't comment on anything I do, but he spends most of the day in the study, reading. Mornings, he has newspapers from the Capitol spread out in front of him, and he always has at least one book with him.

He doesn't push anything, but sometimes he reads aloud to me; mostly poems, surprisingly.

Who Come From Far Away

We are the men who are always late,

we are the men who come from far away.

Our walk is always weary and sad,

we are the men who are always late.

We do not even know how to die in peace.

When the face of distant death appears,

our souls splash into a tam tam of flame.

We do not even know how to die in peace.

We are the men who are always late.

We are never on time with our success,

our dreams, our heaven, or our embrace.

We are the men who are always late.

I would never admit it to him, but I love the way he reads to me. I continue to cook for him; I try to come up with light meals, but I'm not successful. Now I see that he's trying, but either he has no appetite or he's simply physically unable to eat more, I don't know. I am still worried about it, and it continues to frustrate me.

 Maybe if I brought something that would pique his curiosity? My mother mentions that Haymitch loved pumpkin pie when he was a boy, so... I take a deep breath and make my way to the bakery door. I have money now—Haymitch's money, to be honest—but I still pause and stare stubbornly at the door.

All morning I had been thinking about the blond boy with blue eyes—the boy who saved my life, who helped me when he had no reason to. Peeta. Would he be there?

The thought fills me with excitement and dread at the same time. But the fear is stronger in me. Then I remember Haymitch's tired gaze, which always appears when it's time to eat and I walk in.

It's much worse than if Peeta were behind the counter. It's his mother—the one Gale and I still secretly call a witch—whose face immediately lights up with anger when she sees me.

With astonishing speed, the woman leaps over the counter, grabs the broom leaning against one of the shelves—and throws it at me.

Chapter Text

I jump aside energetically, and the broom clatters to the floor; honestly, I didn't expect anything else, but I'm still shocked. I always thought that Mrs. Mellark despises me because I don't have any money, or at least primarily because of that, but now I could pay. It seems that I won't even have a chance to buy anything, though.

"Mom!" a startled boy's voice suddenly rings out, and the air catches in my throat; Peeta steps out of the Bakery's back door, which I assume leads to the storeroom. ’What do you think you’re doing?’

Peeta Mellark is a strong boy of my age, with a handsome face, curly golden blond hair, and friendly, warm blue eyes. After my father's death, my mother fell into a deep, black sadness, and if it hadn't been for Peeta, who deliberately burned the bread because he knew he couldn't give it to me any other way, I would have been dead long ago, and with me my sister and my mother.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" hisses Mrs. Mellark. "I'm cleaning up the trash."

Peeta stands motionless for a moment, his blue eyes suddenly icy, but he doesn't argue with his mother. Instead, he turns to me and smiles kindly.

"Hello, Katniss," he says, his voice friendly. "What can I get you?"

"Hi," I say, a little embarrassed by my shy voice. "Could I have some pumpkin pies, please? Four, if that's okay?"

"'It's more than okay," the boy nods, pulls white, see-through gloves onto his hands, and packs the pies I asked for into a paper bag. "Would you like anything else?"

"Well..." I have these weird feelings, and I hate it because I know for a fact that I'm terrible at feelings. I want to stay because I'm drawn to Peeta, but at the same time, I'll be amazed if Haymitch eats all the pies I'm taking him now. So if I stay and buy something else, will it be because I want to stay with Peeta, or because I want to do something nice for Haymitch?

"Haymitch has trouble eating," I say, honestly. " I'm trying to figure out how to get his appetite back. Do you have any ideas?"

Peeta smiles at me as if he's never heard anything nicer—even though he's the kind one of the two of us.

’Well, maybe some…’

Mrs. Mellark completely ignores our conversation, and cuts in.

"Get out!" she growls at me. When I stare at her in shock for a second, her voice gets louder. "Can't you hear me, girl? Get out of here!"

'Mom...'

’Out, out, out!

"'Blake." The man's voice suddenly rings out behind her, deep and firm, and surprisingly calm. The baker. The man steps up beside Peeta at the counter and gives his wife a long, slow look. "The boys need you in the back."

I highly doubt that Peeta's two brothers need any help from this harpy, and I doubt even more that they want to be around their mother. Something similar must be going through Mrs. Mellark's mind, because she becomes even angrier and her face flushes red.

’Who do you think you a…’

"Go" interrupts the baker, and there is a kind of calm authority in his voice that even affects this witch.

Suddenly, I remember Peeta calmly standing up at the end of a wrestling match; his expression, I now realize, was reminiscent of his father's. Mrs. Mellark gives me one last hateful look, then silently walks past the baker and disappears through the back door.

Otho Mellark's blue eyes soften as he turns toward me. I suddenly recognise how much Peeta resembles his father, with his strong build, golden blond hair, and gentle blue eyes.

’Sorry about that’ he smiles, almost in a shy way. ’Its a hard day for us.’

Of course, they don't explain why, but I get the feeling that every day is difficult for them, and I nod a little.

"So, can we offer anything else?" The baker casts a curious glance at the paper bag Peeta is handing me. The pies are still hot, I can feel it even through the bag.

I repeat what I would like, and Otho looks at me thoughtfully.

"Haymitch used to have quite a sweet tooth," he remarks, then adds, seeing my surprised expression, "We were friends for a while. But I don't think that would be a good idea, considering everything that's happened..."

I want to ask why they are no longer friends, but of course I don't. I know the rumor that the baker once loved my mother, and if my father was Haymitch's best friend... and anyway, there was the Arena. My mouth remains shut, although I am curious about Haymitch's problem with sweet things.

"What do you think about this?" Otho puts on gloves as well, and pulls two crisp-looking, huge cheese pretzels from the counter.

"It looks fantastic," I blurt out, which is surprisingly honest of me, but the two Mellarks seem to have that effect on me. "But one is for sure 'll be enough for Haymitch."

"We meant the other one as a gift for you," Peeta remarks, and dimples appear on both sides of his face.

"'That's something I can't accept," I shake my head. I can't even thank Peeta for the bread. ’Thank you, though!’

"I'll tell you what," Otho Mellark suggests amiably. "You're still out there on weekends, right? I'd be happy to trade you all your haul this time."

This doesn't really mean that I won't owe him anything; he always offers more than anyone else for whatever game I shoot. Still, this gives me the opportunity to actually give something back to him.

’Thank you Sir’ I tell him simply, and he gives me a kind smile.

The heavy snowfall resumes, and I am about to exit the bakery when Peeta appears beside me.

I pay for the pumpkin pies and Haymitch's pretzel as quickly as I can, before they offer me anything else.

I 'm about to leave the bakery when, in the pouring snow, Peeta appears beside me with a friendly expression on his face.

'Dad suggested that I could walk you home, considering the weather. Would you mind?'

Why, why do I feel so awkward around this boy? Why?! I wonder if it would be easier if I could finally thank him for what he did.

"I'm not going home, I'm going back to Haymitch’s," I say, with surprising logic. Look at that, I still have my voice!

"Wherever you go," Peeta replies casually. I don't argue with him; it's not that I don't want to be around him, it's just that... I owe him.

We step out onto the street in surprising harmony and walk side by side. Coltson Black, the boy I last saw staring at Gale with his mouth agape, is arguing with his girlfriend on the street, despite the thick snowflakes. Is that Leevy? The girl who angrily leaves Black behind is our neighbor a few houses down.

"'There goes our bread order,'" Peeta remarks as he walks beside me. There is no malice in his voice; it is simply a casual observation.

"Bread order?" I repeat, surprised, perhaps a little dumbly.

"Yeah, you know, for Colston and Leevey's Toasting," the boy replies. I feel like this is something I should know about, but I never follow the gossip. There is no judgment in Peeta's voice; for him, the absence of marriage in our district also means the absence of the marriage custom known in the district as the Toasting.

Of course, there are formal parts to the ceremony, such as signing papers, exchanging rings, sharing a kiss, blah-blah-blah, but in our district, people truly feel married after they have toasted bread together for the first time in their own home, over a fire they built together, and then exchanged said bread.

"Maybe they'll make up," I mutter; I never know what to say when it comes to emotions.

‘I don't think so, considering that...’ Peeta suddenly stops talking and blushes deeply; my eyebrows shoot up.

’Considering what?’

"Leveey was found with Gale yesterday," Peeta replies, visibly distressed, and I would feel sorry for him if I didn't suddenly feel a surge of anger toward my best friend. So while I was worrying myself to death about his Mentor, he was getting his hands on a girl who was engaged to someone else? Whose engagement was known to everyone in the District? Well, everyone except me, but that's not the point.

"I'm sorry," Peeta says quietly. "I know you guys are close." His voice is so sincere that I can't help but smile at him.

"We're friends," I reply simply. "Just friends." I don't know why I feel it's important to say this, but it's as if Peeta's quiet cheerfulness grows stronger as he walks beside me and nods.

I'm glad he's happy, even if I don't understand the source of his happiness. My thoughts are too preoccupied with worry. What the hell is going on with Gale? One of my favorite things about him is that he's loyal and honorable. But where is the honor in what he's doing?

Perhaps I could forgive what happened with Ena, even though most people in the Districts are taught not to hurt their District Partner unless its the two of them left —but the Arena is a matter of life and death. This?   To ignore the fact that Leveey was committed to someone else is simply despicable.

We slowly arrive at Haymitch's house, and as we stop and my gaze meets Peeta's friendly one, I am overcome with guilt. I wanted to say so many things to him, but instead I wondered where Gale's backbone had gone.

What's wrong with me? But Peeta doesn't seem offended: he's clearly in a good mood, and strangely enough, it brings a half-smile to my face.

"It was nice walking with you, Miss Everdeen," he says playfully, and I feel like laughing.

"Tell that to your poor ears," I note; Peeta isn't wearing anything on his head, and his ears are red from the wind, snowflakes stuck in his blond hair, his face flushed.

"It was totally worth it," Mellark replies, and there's something in his face that makes my heart race faster.

Before I could blink, the boy steps forward cautiously and kisses me on the cheek, his lips feeling pleasantly warm compared to the cold chill of the wind. Then the touch ends, Peeta waves, and turns on his heel. I am foolish; I stand there for a moment, the snow falling in large flakes, and I imagine the touch over and over again.

Then I pull myself together, push open the door, and enter the foyer of Haymitch's house.

"What the hell was that?!" Gale's voice cracks out in front of me, so suddenly that I drop my bags.

I curse myself for getting a fright. Again, what the hell is wrong with me? I didn't do anything wrong.

"Pies and pretzels, Gale," I snap at him dryly. "And if they're ruined because of you, I'll scratch your eyes out," I reply, picking up the paper bags from the floor.

Gale remains silent for a moment: now he is a Victor, of course, which means he never has to worry about starvation again, but he had to ration every bite for long enough for the thought of ruined food to affect him deeply. Good. He deserves it.

"And how did you pay for these, Katniss?" he asks as we head toward the living room. There's something unpleasant in his voice that I can't quite put my finger on, but instinctively I don't like it.

"What do you mean?" I ask, glancing sharply at him over my shoulder. His face is stony. "Haymitch gave me money to go grocery shopping."

As we enter the living room, we find Haymitch sitting on the sofa with a thick book in his hands.

"Hi," I say,  in a not unfriendly tone. "I brought pumpkin pie and cheese pretzels. Otho Mellark sends his regards," I add, placing the bags on the sofa next to him.

"Hello, sweetheart," Haymitch looks up, and a strange, almost longing expression crosses his face at the mention of Otho. I guess he misses his friendship. "So he remembered," he mutters, opening the pie bag and tearing off a small piece.

To my great delight, the man eats the bite, then tears off another piece and offers it to me.

"'Oh, sure,' Gale grumbles. 'And did he have to send his son along with his regards?'"

The piece of pie stops in my mouth, and I stare at Gale.

"If you have something to say, Hawthorne, I'm listening," I say, so coldly that Gale turns pale. I haven't called him by his last name in years.

"What are you doing with the baker's son?" he then asks stubbornly.

"Peeta walked me back," I reply, alternating between astonishment and growing anger. "I don't know if you noticed, but a storm is coming."

Gale snorts.

"Of course, it was just about the storm," he remarks sarcastically. "It wasn't about the guy really wanting to get into your...’

"I advise you," I interrupt sharply. "To finish that fucking sentence very carefully, Gale Hawthorne."

Gale falls silent, but when he speaks, there is little reason to be appreciative.

'I just thought you had more loyalty than hanging out with a townie.'

His condescending, dismissive style makes me lose my patience.

"You want to talk about loyalty, Gale?" I snap at him, so forcefully that he flinches. "How's Leeveey? You know, the girl whose wedding is being cancelled because you can't keep your hands off what isn't yours? Where's the loyalty in that?!"

’I just…’

"You were busy screwing around with a girl who was engaged, while your mentor, who saved your ass, nearly died of alcohol poisoning," I reply ruthlessly, and Gale turns even paler.

"'Sweetheart, leave me out of this..." Haymitch begins, but the thing is, once I get really angry, there's no turning back, and right now I'm very angry.

 "Shut up!" I snap at Haymitch. "You're his mentor, which means you belong with him, and if I'd been in that fucking arena, this would never have happened, because then, you would belong with me, and I'd have ripped your balls off before I let you drink that much. And you have the nerve to talk to me about loyalty?!" I turn back to Gale.

’Sure’ Gale is hissing. ’Talk your way out of fucking a townie, go ahed!’

The argument stops for a moment; I stare in astonishment at my 'best friend.'

’Out’ Haymitch growls quietly, but with such force that Gale immediately turns on his heel. " ''Get out of here!''

 As Gale turns away, a mixture of hurt, pain, and anger wells up inside me, then bursts forth. If he's this angry with me, he must have been peeking through the window and saw Peeta kiss me on the cheek. There is something deeply unsettling about the idea that he was watching us, then rushed down the stairs to meet me in the foyer and hold me accountable.

I didn’t do anything wrong.

"Go ahead, you coward, and while you're at it, ask Ena about District loyalty!" I yell after him.

Gale doesn't turn back, but rushes out the door into the deepening snowstorm.

Chapter Text

- Gale –

I fuced up, I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up, I so fucked this up. This becomes evident as soon as I rush out of Haymitch's house and the snow and wind hit my face.

The message is perfectly clear: Katniss thinks I meddled in something that was none of my business. She always does this: if she thinks you've crossed a line, she cuts back just as sharply, like a razor blade. In that respect, she and I are similar. At times like that, she throws every insult she can think of at you, without even thinking twice.

You were busy screwing around with a girl who was engaged, while your mentor, who saved your ass, nearly died of alcohol poisoning!

And if I'd been in that fucking arena, this would never have happened!

And while you're at it, ask Ena about District loyalty!

Her insults ring in my ears without any logic or order, repeating themselves over and over and over again. Strangely enough, the fact that Haymitch sided with Katniss and not me, that he threw me out of his house, burns just as painfully on my soul as some kind of mark.

My instinctive reaction is to protest: he is my mentor, and no one else's, so shouldn't he favour me? But wasn't that the essence of Katniss's opinion? I don't treat Haymitch as someone who is important to me, as part of my family.

The snow is freezing my face, but I still snort. I don't buy this talk that Haymich and all the other Victors are spouting about how the Victors are like family to each other. Just because we all survived an Arena doesn't mean I have anything in common with these people. And as for Haymitch, I won on my own. That old goat did nothing for me.

….Because then, you would belong with me, and I'd have ripped your balls off before I let you drink that much!

Isn't it strange that Katniss would rather have Haymitch as part of her family than me? I'm her partner. I grit my teeth. Lately, it seems to me that Katniss would prefer anyone over me, including Peeta fucking Mellark. I know, I know, okay? I had a thing with Leeveey, but she was just a placeholder. A bit of fun, doesn’t mean anything. But I know Katniss, and I saw her experssion, when she looked at Mellark.  She never lets anyone cloose to her, unless they are important to her. Fuck!

For a moment, I feel a pang of guilt about Leevey; I didn't want to ruin her chances of marriage. Then I push the thought away. The girl will find someone who wants to fuck her. I don't have the energy for this.

I bypass most of Victors Village; after I won my Game, Haymitch offered to let me move into the house, which was across the green from his, but I felt that house was too close to Abernathy, so I declined. 

Then Haymitch mentioned that the building three houses away from the first house he offered, was in good condition...but I didn't feel thats my own,  either, so I said no to that one as well. Haymitch didn't say anything more.

I stop in front of the last house in the Village, the farthest from my mentor and the two houses offered. My own.

I don't belong here, and the building has never felt like home: it is a part of Victors Villige, but just barely, which perfectly expresses my feelings. But, like every other house in the Village, it has thick walls to keep out the winter cold, the windows are in perfect condition: there is always hot water, and even electricity. My family never goes hungry. And I will protect them from all other dangers, even if I have to kneel before the Capitol whores for it. Katniss can talk about District Loyalty and dignity all she wants, but she knows nothing about anything. I wipe my feet, enter the house, and carefully close the door behind me, then hang my coat on the hanger.

'Posy, come back here right now!' I hear footsteps, accompanied by the voice of one of my little brothers, Rory, and sure enough: in the blink of an eye Posy appears, shiny, black, long hair, and intelligent, chocolate brown eyes; the little girl runs towards me at full speed, a big smile on her face, and she is all giggles.

'Gale save me!' she screams, and I can’t help it, I open my arms laughing, and my little sister jumps between them without thinking.

‘What have you done, Posy-Rosie?’ I ask, teasingly, using the nickname only I am allowed to use, and I lift her up easily in my arms. She’s gained some weight now, thanks to her regular eating, but it’s still not enough.

’I’m in no mood for…’

’Washing your hands’ Rory finishes the sentence, appearing in the opposite dorway from us. My younger brother is fourteen, the same age I was when I started hunting with Katniss, and he looks a lot like me, in his features, dark hair, and gray eyes. But unlike me, in that age, his features are not bony from hunger, his arms are not thin, but visibly muscular, and thanks to good food, they are not weak. Every time I look at him, I feel proud.

Fuck Katniss Everdeen and her moral superiority.

"Come on, Pose, you know Mamma won't let us eat dinner with dirty hands," I say to my little sister, pretending not to notice her grimace. Rory and I grin at each other. I put the little girl down to the floor, and my little brother continues to lead her towards the bathroom.

I head towards the kitchen, where divine smells waft in. My mother is standing over the gas (we have a real, electric stove!) frying small sausages.

"Hi, Momma," I say to her and stop next to her, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

’Hello, my darling’ she smiles. ’Hows Haymitch?’

’Alive’ I reply shortly, and I fish a small sausage out of the sizzling oil with my hand; it's scalding hot, but so delicious that I don't care if it burns my tongue.

’Gale!’ Mom scolds me, but I can see that her brown eyes are soft from a smile. None of us can get enough of the fact that we can now access fresh food at any time. My mother no longer has to tear her back to pieces as a laundress and can live as a stay-at-home mom, raising my siblings.

’Sorry, sorry’ I grin, though I don’t feel sorry at all. My mother snorts, but she doesn't seem really angry.

'You've got some official letter,' she notes lightly. 'I put it on the study table.' The bite stops in my mouth and suddenly turns bitter, despite all the good spices. I appreciate that my mother never opens my letters; she has long considered me the man of the house. But that doesn't change the fact that letters in District 12 don't mean anything good: they're most likely calling me to the Capitol, and those are invitations I can't refuse.

"Please let me know when dinner is ready," I say, suddenly quiet, and my mother senses my mood change.

"It'll be soon, honey," she calls after me, but I don't stop as I walk out of the kitchen.

 The study is on the west side of the house, and this is the place I like the least. The room is spacious, with a dark mahogany floor and a commanding table of the same wood in the middle; behind the table is a deep armchair covered in green velvet.

Behind it are bookshelves to the floor; I don't think much of reading. I am still a survivor at heart, and words do not feed me. But now we have almost unlimited resources, and while I prefer to buy tangible things like winter clothes and food, my mother regularly orders books from the Capitol.

I still get a reflexive revulsion at the thought of accepting anything from the Capitol, but my mother—like Katniss, it seems—has no problem calling me a hypocrite. She repeatedly points out that the ship of my pride has long since sailed: that I do accept things from them, like the house I live in, the clothes I wear, the food I eat.  That books are no different from food in this respect, and my siblings deserve the best education we can give them.  And, every time, she adds that although winning the Game is no glory, because it is bloody, I have earned it all.

Where is the loyalty in you, killing your own district partner? Winning the Game is no glory, because it is bloody. Sometimes I feel like my mother and Katniss secretly have the same opinion about me.

Regardless, the shelves in my study are slowly but steadily filling up with books. Scientific works, adventure novels, detective stories, disgusting romances. Thick storybooks, studded with beautiful pictures, textbooks. I have it all.

This doesn't make me proud: but my other little brother, Vick, who is exactly in the middle in age, between me and Rory, loves it. He spends a lot of time reading, even after school. I s find him there today as well, in the deep green armchair behind my desk, with a thick volume on the table in front of him.

The study door is directly across from the table, and when the door creaks, Vick looks up and grins faintly at me. He’s the shortest of us boys, but he shares our black hair, and unlike Posy, who has our mother’s brown eyes, Vick’s eyes are gray, like my father’s were.

'Hey, man, what are you doing here?' I ask, hopefully lightly. I want to be alone, but he's my little brother.

’School was shorter today because of the snow," he replies, gives me another smile, then returns to his book. Now I'm glad he's the quietest of us.

He also never touches my stuff. The letter that came to me lies untouched on the edge of the table; thick, elegant, creamy white envelope, with the Capitol’s crest on it, and looking at it makes me nauseous. I take the letter-opening knife from the table - a horror of pure withe gold, decorated with roses of white diamonds, and green emerald leaves, that came with the house - and open the letter.

President Snow cordially invites you to the Capitol Ball in celebration of the Winter Solstice.

I suddenly don't feel like eating dinner.

*

Two days later, when I get on the train, the snowfall is less frequent. The snowflakes don't stop, not completely, but there are trains running. I haven't seen Haymitch or Katniss since the fight. I don't mention to anyone that I have to go to the Capitol, just Mom, even though Haymitch would come with me if I asked.

I feel a slight pang of guilt, knowing that my Mentor would do this for me, even though Snow has already killed everyone Haymitch has ever loved. Although... the old goat still considers the elder Mellark his friend, I can see it, and despite his best efforts to hide it, he's letting the Everdeens in closer. But I don’t want Haymitch here. I don’t need anyone.

I could bring a partner to the ball, but there's no one I'd be willing to take. Well - no one I'd be willing to take, and who'd be willing to come with me. I consider Leeveey for a moment, but then I involuntarily snort, even though I know it's mean. There’s nothing wrong with Leeveey per say – she is smart, and shy, and even pretty. But she is no Katniss.

There is something proud and dignified about Katniss's posture, and no Capitol butterfly can match the sharp look she gives a person when she thinks. Katniss could wear any hideous Capitol creation with a dignity that would make any material beautiful.

My breath catches at the thought of Katniss wearing warm colors: deep reds, soft, gentle browns, dusky yellows. Fiery colors. But the fact is, Katniss Everdeen doesn't want to go anywhere with me, so it's a waste to even think about it.

I step onto the luxury train, plop down on one of the deep brown leather seats, and order myself a whiskey, neat. This is not a good idea:  the booze makes me mean, and I know that as a fact. Still, I want to get as drunk as possible during the train ride, so that I can forget what the party is really about.

It's just an excuse for the President to gather as many Victors as possible in one place so that they can entertain as many... clients as possible. The ball comes in handy for this too: to an event like this, he can invite the Capitol elite, as many wealthy citizens as possible who can pay any amount for anything.

The thought makes me nauseous, and I start drinking, drinking, and drinking some more. The edges of the world are softer, my mouth is bitter, my temples slowly start to throb. When sleepiness drags me down like stones into some heavy, dark, watery dream, I suddenly find myself in the Arena.

Again, I'm standing in that fucking wooded area again, the trees looking dark, and Cato, Marvel, Glimmer, and Clove pushing me to kill my own district partner. They're like a pack of bloodthirsty hyenas, giggling, panting beasts. There’s no fucking way I can kill them all, and I won’t run like a coward. I have no choise, no chance, at all.

’Come on, hunter boy, do it’ Cato hisses. ’Or are you a coward?’ Oh, yeah, I am. I’m scared shitless, can’t you fucking see? Dumb blond killing machine. But I can’t tell him that. I raise my head high and look into his eyes. Don't blink, don't blink, don't blink.

’She is my district partner’ I protest. ’She is from home.’

’She is from home! She is my district partner! Oh, mommy, don’t let me do it!’ Clove imitates what I said in a high-pitched voice, mockingly.

I feel a burning anger and step towards her, but she puts a knife to my throat so quickly that I don't have time to attack her.

I freeze, but I keep a sharp eye on the whore from under the knife's edge.

'Oh, please, little hunter, give me a reason,' Clove whispers. 'Just one reason to slit your throat. Is your blood as filthy as your district is?’

I don't stand a chance. Cato has a sword; the sword I wanted; Clove has a knife in each hand, Glimmer has a bow, which she uses four times worse than Katniss would, but still... and Marvel has a spear. One on one I would be a worthy opponent to any of them, but against all of them, I am dead.

 I slowly turn towards the body writhing in the trap, Clove's knife slowly following my movements. I try to think of it this way. It's just a body: the carcass of an animal that I have to slaughter to feed my family, and Katniss is about to... it's just a body, it's not the girl who was nice to me, who kissed me on the train. It's just a body, a body, a body.

Ena Garton is constantly moving, never staying still for a moment, trying to free herself from the rope that has captured her legs and is hanging her upside down from a tree. Her face is fiery red from the blood flowing there, and the girl reaches down with all her might for the knife left in the grass, but of course she can't reach it. Her brown hair is out of the tight bun at the back of her neck, her blue eyes are tearful from the pain.

When I bend down to pick up the knife from the blades of grass, Ena freezes. There’s something dishonorable about killing her with her own knife, but of course everything in this situation is dirty, from my own trap to the fact that we come from the same place and yet I’m her enemy.

"Come on, baby hunter, do it!" Glimmer encourages me, and I want to stab the stupid blonde cow in the throat with the knife I'm holding. But the girl has about a thousand arrows.

This time Ena tries to lift her head to look into my eyes. Her irises are a beautiful deep blue, special.

’Please, Gale, don’t’ she wispers, and my heart would break, if I still had one, but I don’t.

I cut her throat as quickly as I can, with a clean, straight cut, from ear to ear. The sound of the canon fills the space, my hands are covered in blood, and...

'NO!' I scream, my eyes pop open, and I'm sitting on a train that just stops silently.

’Please, Gale, don’t.’

*

If I didn't hate the Capitol so much, I might even be willing to admit that the frozen streets are beautiful as I get off the train and head towards Victors Hotel.

 The Victors Hotel is - obviously - the very fancy place where the Mentors stay during the Games or other social events. Our own suite is also the place where our 'dates' take place with the richest, most influential Capitol citizens who pay the price for our... company.

With an aching forehead, I hurry through the frosty white streets and enter the Hotel's gold-lined doors without even glancing at the Peacekeepers standing on either side. Dirty lapdogs.

 Without any originality, each Victor is housed on the floor that represents his own District, so my suite is on the twelfth floor.

I dispise the Capitol and everything that goes with it, but even I admit that since my suite is located on the top floor of the Hotel, the view from the rooftop terrace from the rooms is simply breathtaking.

I’m considering sitting out there before my first appointment when I run into the District Seven Victor, Johanna Mason, outside the elevators. Johanna is tall and muscular, with chocolate brown hair, a pixie cut, and intelligent, sharp, dark eyes. She’s only a few years older than me, but we’re not close. I don’t have any friends among the Victors.

’Mason’ I murmur. I've heard that Johanna despises rudeness, and I'm not in the mood for an argument.

’Hawthorne’ she nods, in a surprisingly friendly voice. Then when she notices my expression, she smiles faintly. "Who spat in your cereal this morning?" she asks.

’Snow’ I replay. It's a dangerous thing to say, but I'm still a little drunk, have a headache, and am in a bad mood.

But Johanna's dark eyes soften at what I say, and she actually laughs.

’Welcome to the fucking club, Gale’ she notes. The elevator arrives and I let Johanna go ahead, who accepts the gesture with a cheeky grin.

“Mich didn’t come with you?” she asks, and it takes me a moment to realize she means Haymitch. Of course: almost all Victors are friends. It’s a club I’m not a part of.

"I don't need a daddy to take care of me," I reply irritably.

"But it wouldn't hurt to have one to discipline you," Johanna replies dryly. The elevator doors close and the elevator starts moving quietly, and I can't decide if I'm offended or if I just want to be touched by someone. Someone of my choosing. ’To have some manners.’

I grin and take a step, and now I’m directly in front of her.

'Are you volunteering?' I ask. 'How will you discipline me?'

Johanna flinches in disgust, then laughs with a snort. This is not the reaction I'm used to.

’Oh, baby, did you just made a move on me? You are really not a big enough boy for this yet.’ I clench my jaw and step closer. I place one hand gently on her wrist, though there is strength in my touch.

'You don't have to pretend.'

Johanna raises her eyebrows and looks down at my hand for a moment, which is gripping her wrist perhaps tighter than necessary

’Who the fuck is pretending?’ she asks, then she takes a step back, but I don't let go of her wrist.

’Okay’ she mutters, and for just a second, I feel like I convinced her, then she clenches her hand into a fist and pulls it back without shaking my hand off her wrist. She punches me so fast and with such force that my head snaps back and slams against the other side of the glass elevator which is behind my back.

The glass doesn't break, but I think my nose does, because blood starts pouring out of it: I grab my hand from Johanna's wrist and press it to my nose, blood pooling all around me

’What the fuck, Mason?’ I hiss. There’s blood absolutley everywhere.

"Didn't Daddy teach you not to corner girls?" Johanna growls, her eyes almost black from anger. "Oh, I forgot: Daddy's dead, and you feel like you're above Haymitch."

If she broke my nose a second time, it couldn't have caused more pain.

"I thought the Victors were all friends. Shiny, fluffy trauma club and all," I hiss.  Even my shirt is bloody.

'Oh, but darling,' Johanna purrs, every word dripping with sarcasm. 'For that club you would need to learn not to be an asshole. At least not to the other Victors. Alas.'

The elevator stops with a quiet jingle on the seventh floor, and Johanna turns around. Without stopping, she steps out the elevator door and raises her right hand, waving without looking back.

’That was fun’ she sings. ’Lets do it again sometime!’

I think she broke my nose in several places, if that's possible.

*

I decide that instead of retreating to my suite, I'll go down to the bar and have a drink. It's not a good idea, but my nose hurts and I'm not willing to go down to Medical to have it fixed by the doctors who are on duty constantly, in case  any of the Victors' need anything. If the Capitol whore wants me, this has to do.

 The bar space plays in deep emerald and black tones, highlighted by golden and bronze lights. From the ceiling geometric chandeliers hang down, made of cut glass and gleaming brass.  The walls are covered in dark velvet, into which a subtle rose pattern is woven – the roses appear sometimes with golden contours, sometimes in a pale blush shade, as if the play of light brings them to life.

The counter is made of black marble veined with gold, while the barstools have tall backs upholstered in emerald green leather. I find several Victors around the counter; Chaff from Eleven is in deep conversation with Cecelia, whose fiery red hair is flowing freely. Old Woof is talking to Mags, quietly. Seedeer listens with visible interest to Beetee's explanation of something.

I try not to look at anyone directly, and sit in a secluded spot, but nothing escapes Finnick Odair’s attention. The handsome man from District Four immediately raises his eyebrows as he sees me.

’Gale, what happend to you?’ he asks, and there’s worry in his voice: I know that he thinks a client hurt me, and I feel ashamed.

’Johanna’ I bark shortly, and I order a double wishky. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Finnick's gaze turn icy; his sea-green eyes suddenly are steely. Of course: Johanna and he are extremely close. Excellent.

"I feel like I should smash your head through a concrete wall for what you did to her, whatever it was, but Johanna already did," Finnick remarks coldly.

’Spear me’ I growl, then down the whiskey as soon as the bartender places it in front of me. The alcohol is so strong that for a moment I feel like I can't breathe.

’Why should I?’ asks Finnick, darkly, and I suddenly remember that he won his Game at just fourteen years old, the youngest ever. He is dangerous. ’Did you spear her?’

I sit up straight, but Finnick doesn't lseem to be bothered. He sighs wearily and orders a grog with a wave.

'We have enough enemies, kid,' he tells me, even though he's not much older than me. 'Don't make more, out of potential friends.'

’I’m not a kid’ I murmur, but for some reason my eyes start to sting. I ask for another round.  Odair takes a sip of his own drink and looks at me thoughtfully.

’Whats going on with you, Hawthorne?’ he asks, and suprisingly, he sounds honest. ’You can tell me, I’m good with secreets.’

Maybe it's because of the alcohol, but everything is pouring out of me. Katniss. Ena. Haymitch. Leeveey. Everything.

Finnick listens patiently to what I have to say; but when my words finally dry up, I suddenly feel naked and jump to my feet before he can speak.

"I have to go" comes out of me, and I feel pathetic.

’Gale’ the man exudes so much tenderness towards me that I can't bear it.

’I have a client’ I tell him, and I almost run out of the bar: Finnick doesn't come after me.

I’m pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. Just pathetic.

*

In my suite, I take a shower so cold I can barely stand it. I wash my hair, shave, and pull out a suit, hat is—by Capitol standards— a simple one, and sapphire blue. The walking closet in the suite is full of clothes, shoes, and accessories that are made for me, so I don't have to worry about the size. But the color, as always, reminds me of Ena, and I almost hang the set back up.

Are you as good a kisser as they say? Her question echoes in my mind.

Then I grit my teeth and shake my head. This is my punishment. I wear a crisp white shirt under my suit jacket, and my pants and leather shoes are a matching blue, while my pocket square is a shade lighter. I decorate my tie with a silver pin shaped like a lion: just like Haymitch did the night of our interviews.

When the client knocks on the door, I try to hold my head high and smile at her. Valeria Snow is an objectively beautiful woman, even in her older years, and I'm trying my best to forget that she's the first lady of Panem.

"Good evening, Madame," I say politely.

When I find myself on my back on the bed, I close my eyes tightly.

Chapter Text

Peeta

The wind blows hard as I say goodbye to Katniss, but it could be a firstorm, for all I care. I am happy; perfectly, soaringly happy. The girl I never dared to talk to before took a walk with me, and it seemed like she didn't mind me kissing her on the cheek. I only dared to look at her for a moment as I said goodbye, but her face seemed to flash with surprised joy. It's a perfect day.

As soon as I enter the bakery, the sweet-smelling warmth hits me in the face. Other times I associate the smell with home, but now the air catches in my throat as I see my mother behind the counter.

’Where were you?’ Mama asks darkly, and I try my best not to flinch. If you do, its even worse with her.

'I walked a customer home,' I answer cautiously. 'Papa knew about it.' She snorts, as if Papa's opinion doesn't matter.

'What kind of customer?’ I know what she means; whether the person came from the Town, that is, whether she was a merchant, or whether she was from the Seam. I don't want to think about it, and I don't think it's important anyway, but I can't lie to her. It'll come out anyway. I grit my teeth.

’It was Katniss Everdeen. Mama, the storm was horrible, and it was the gentlemanly thing to…’

I have no chance to complete my setnece; her dark eyes became huge, and the usual unbridled anger takes hold of her face.

’ The gentlemanly thing to do?!’ she is hissing, and this time, I do flinch. ’Who cares if you are a gentleman to that piece of trash!’ She screams so loudly that I can feel the sounds resonating inside my eardrums. I raise my head high and think about how many times Papa has remained silent, just to calm her down, just to pay for the imaginary sin of once loving someone else.

'Don't talk about her like that,' I say quietly. My mother's eyes widen even more; she's not used to be contradicted.

’Is she Asterid Everdeen’s bastard, or not?!

'She is her daughter, yes,' I answer softly, and there's no stopping from here.

"Turn the sign around," my mother growls at me, and even though I shouldn't, I obey her; I turn the sign on our door so that the word "closed" now appears, and then I pull down the shutter on the glass.

Mom throws herself at me without a word, but her continuous, painful blows land on my skin like hail. My nose is bleeding, my face is burning from the slaps; her hand wraps around my neck at one point; darkness slowly settles over me. From somewhere, a frying iron falls into her hand, which slams into my skull; the world fades and...

‘What the hell is going on here?!’ My father’s voice is almost as painful to hear, as my mother’s punches, and I want to ask him to be quieter, but I don’t have the strength; how did I end up on the ground?

’Peeta? Son, can you hear me?’

Quieter, please.

*

Katniss

I’m walking home in a particularly good mood. The fact that I clean Haymitch's house every day means that that it is almost sparkling clean. I also keep his clothes tidy and iron them; he's not enthusiastic about it, but after I remind him that I have absolutely no interest in his underwear and that if he has a problem with it, he can wash them himself, he quiets down.

I'm quietly happy that he ate the pie and the pretzel, and I make him some creamy mushroom soup, of which he also eats a little, though not enough, in my opinion. But he insists that I should take home as much of it as I want and I won't object. The man may have been a Victor for decades, but he was born in the Seam and never became a snob; he knows that in our neighborhood, gifts should be useful, that they are worth most when they help you survive. Giving me food is his way of expressing that he doesn't actually hate me.

As I walk through our door, I think to myself that the next thing I need to do, what I need to see, is Haymitch's fireplace cleaned; it's been quite difficult to light it today, and even though the old man said I didn't need to, I know he's cold.

’Hey, everybody, I got food!’ I shout happily as I enter the kitchen. The smile freezes on my face as quickly as it has never happened before; on the kitchen table lies the blond boy who insisted on taking me back to Haymitch’s today. The one who is always nice to me; the one who gossiped with me as if I were a normal human being, not some frozen creation who has only focused on survival since her father died. My boy with the bread.

Peeta's forehead, his entire skull is wrapped in a thick white bandage, but the white material is already bloody; my mother is gently peeling the gauze off him; she looks up, and I see that her blue eyes are worried and sad.

’Katniss’ she says gently.

"What happened?" I step closer to the table, my gaze on the pale Peeta, who is clearly unconscious. Under the bandage, deep, punctured wounds alternate with burn marks, and my stomach churns.

"We've had a little accident," a sad male voice says from the other side of the table, and I flinch. I didn't even notice that Otho Mellark is here as well.

"A little accident? "I repeate. ’Thats something little for you?!’

'Katniss,' my mother snapps. 'Don't be rude.’

I shiver and take a closer look at Otho’s face. He’s as pale as his son, his hands shaking as he grips the edge of the table at Peeta’s feet, his blue eyes so bright I think he might burst into tears at any moment. Guilt grips me.

"I'm sorry," I say with quiet sincerity. Of course, he didn't do this to Peeta. He is a good man.

"Hey, Katniss," Prim steps up to Mom, stepping out of our bedroom, handing Mom fresh bandage.

Primrose is the one who inherited our mother’s gift for healing. My throat tightens when I look at Peeta’s pale face, and my eyes start to sting. I grit my teeth; I won’t cry, I won’t cry, I won’t. Mom and Prim wouldn’t get it anyway: I never told them about how I did get that bread. And in a weird way, I feel like its none of their buisness, which of course, isn’t true. I just don’t want anyone to touch my feelings regarding Peeta.

Wait –

Before I can think about where this came from, Prim speaks softly;

"Katniss, you said you brought food?" she asks, her smart blue eyes seeing something on my face. "Mr. Mellark, can we offer you some?"

'I really can't accept it...' Otho mutters, and I understand; he's a merchant, while we live in the Seam, so he feels like he's taking away our food if he accepts, and insulting us if he refuses.

But I think about how Otho Mellark is always nice to me; he always offers more for the game than anyone else. Sure, Gale would say that he still wants to get into my mother's panties (disgusting), but of course that's not true.

Otho is just naturally nice, I think. I suddenly remember the rumors about how the baker often hides candy and lollipops in bread bags for the children of the poorest families in Seam; how he tried to help me with Haymitch's eating, just because they were friends once upon a time.

Gale would say that Otho doesn't understand the Seam families; that with his free gift he's only imposing a debt on them that they can't repay, but I think he just wants to help. Of course, my best friend would also bring up the assumption that Mellark is only trying to help me so much with Haymitch because Haymitch is a Victor. But I think Otho is just loyal to a friend.

I think Otho is basically an older Peeta, with the difference that Otho chose a terrible wife for himself, and perhaps too peaceful, in the face of the witch's cruelty. But Otho is a good soul, and his son is injured, so I swallow my tears and look at him.

'Come on Mr Mellark,' I tell him. 'I made the mushroom soup, I promise it's not poisonous.'

The man lets out a wet laugh and nods slightly. We pull into a different part of the kitchen, sit down at the counter where my mother usually selects her herbs, and eat.

’Its really good’ Mr. Mellark comments softly, and I’m able to give him a small smile; I may not cry, but my heart is beating fast. Peeta.

’Don’t worry’ I murmur. ’Mum and Prim will help.’

’I don’t deserve their help’ he wishpers. ’What kind of father lets his son be beaten up by his own wife? By anyone for that matter? She hit him on the head with.... with hot iron. Hit him over, and over again.’

The spoon clatters out of my hand, nausea and anger struggle within me. Breathe. I force myself to look up, into Otho's blue eyes, which are just like Peeta's.

’You brought him here’ I say. ’That’s enough.’

*

Peeta doesn't wake up for days. My mother and Prim do everything they can; they barely sleep, but the boy doesn't move. I stay by Peeta's side whenever I can, and when no one can hear, I hum quietly to him.

Visitors appear beside me; the mayor's daughter, Madge, with her golden hair and intelligent blue eyes, who brings me homework from school, and reads to Peeta.

Delly, who even in this situation smiles sadly; of course - I've heard they're friends. The plump, pretty girl is so genuinely friendly that it's strangely not bothering me that she's there. Delly leaves us four beautiful, red apples as a kind of payment, although she doesn't owe us anything and I have no idea where she got the fruit in the raging winter. Maybe she feels she owes us something because my mom treats her best friend. Maybe merchants and those born in the Seam aren't so different.

Peeta's brothers take turns with stubborn constancy, though none of them ever say a word, they just give worried glances to their father, then sit down next to their little brother. The eldest, Bran, is even bigger than Peeta, almost brutally strong, and the quietest of the three; his medium-length blond hair reaches almost to his shoulders and is sometimes held back with a piece of leather. Her other brother, Rye, is also blond, but his hair is curly, like water droplets clinging together. He sometimes accepts a cup of tea from my sister.

The next day, I scrape the fireplace with such aggression that even Haymitch notices it and looks up from his current book.

’What twisted your braid this morning, sweetheart?’ he asks, only half sarcastically, but when he sees my gaze, his face becomes serious. ’What is it?’

'Peeta,' I say simply, and my heart races again. 'Otho Mellark's youngest son, he's...' I trail off, and strangely, Haymitch waits patiently, just raising an eyebrow.

I grit my teeth again. Don't cry, don't cry, don't...

"His mother beat him," I force out. "The hot iron..." Haymitch flinches, and curses so colorfully that I forget to cry in surprise.

'I told that fucking idiot not to marry that damn harpy...' the man grumbles, and there's something so accurate about that statement, it makes me laugh.

Haymitch looks at me in surprise, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth; then he just shakes his head and doesn't say anything, but it's still good to have him there.

The unbearable old man.

*

The next afternoon, Haymitch shows up at our place, a bottle of wine in hand.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Haymitch Abernathy? Is that alcohol in there?" my mother asks, changing Peeta's bandage. To my surprise, I notice Otho Mellark smiling quietly in the background.

"Hey, good wine is good for circulation, and Otho needs all the help he can get here," Haymitch protests, grinning.

Otho laughs. I don't think I've ever seen him laugh before.

"Thanks, Hay," he says softly. It's strange to hear Haymitch have a nickname, but after all: these two men are friends.  My mother glares at them both, and the two fools lower their heads like teenagers.

"I want to let you know up front that if any of you get alcohol poisoning, you'll stay on the floor and die," my mother says, but her voice isn't sharp. There's something about it that I can't quite place. Is she teasing them?

"We understand, Ast," Otho nodds meekly. . My mother's gaze loses its edge and she sighs, then walks to the cupboard and takes out two glasses.

My mother also has a nickname. It's a strange day.

'Don't die, you idiots,' my mother says, setting the two glasses down in front of the men, then looking at me. 'Honey, can you get me some goat cheese? We really need it.' I don't object.

When I return with the cheese, Haymitch is opening the bottle and looking at me with interest.

"Would you like a round sweetheart?" he asks.

'No, she wouldn’t,' my mother snaps before I can open my mouth. ’Panem, Hay, come on!’

’You come on, Miss Vodka Champion, before her twenty-first birthday’ Haymitch answers dryly, but with a half smile. 'This wine is of good quality, she won't be harmed by a glass.’

’Oh, so its not the type of crap you prefer?’ asks Otho with a slight grin.

’Only a best for you’ shrugs Haymitch with a grin of his own.

Suddenly I understand what’s so unusual about all of this for me. They are just people. Otho Mellark is not just the baker, and Haymitch is not just the district drunk Victor, and my mom is not only the widowed healer. They are frineds.

"You could have a drink with us," Mr. Mellark ventures. My mother looks at him for a long moment, then turns back to the cupboard and takes out another glass.

’Wohooo!’ celebrates Haymitch.

’Shut up, Hay’ mutters my mom, but she smiles softly, and settles down opposite the other two.

That evening they drink wine and eat goat cheese; it doesn't chase away the darkness, but it helps a little.

The only one who doesn't show up is Peeta's mother.

*

Two nights later, the snow starts falling again, and I wake up; suddenly I can't bear the thought of Peeta lying alone in the dark kitchen, in a strange place, even with my mother's blankets and pillows around him. I move over to his side, feed the fire, and gently touch his wrist; as I throw more wood into the flames with one hand, I suddenly feel movement under my other palm; I freeze. Maybe I'm just imagining it? Slowly, slowly I turn around.

Peeta Mellark's beautiful blue eyes almost glow in the dark as he looks at me..

Chapter Text

Gale -

When I get back to the District it's still cold, although I think I feel terrible more because of what happened in the Capitol, not because of the miserable winter. I don't expect anyone to be waiting at the station; I haven't told my mother when I'll be back, and I haven't told anyone else about the entire trip, so I'm surprised when I recognize the shivering figure.

'Leeveey, it's not like I don't find it touching that you're here, but I'm seriously not in the mood, right now'

The girl lifts her head and looks at me sharply. Her eyes are gray, her hair is a shade darker than Katniss's, jet black.

'And you think I'm in the mood for you?' she asks as I jump off the train, my feet clacking on the platform. 'My wedding was canceled because of you. But I need to talk to you.'

I respect her for not being shy in front of me. I've always liked girls who have spirit. But, at the same time..

"I didn't force you to do anything," I tell her, and start walking towards Victors Village. I don't wait to see if she comes or not, but she keeps up with me without a problem. Damn.

"You didn't force me to do anything?" she repeats, with a sneer that would even earn Haymitch's respect. "Is that your excuse? But, I'm not saying it's all your fault. The thing is though, I'm pregnant."

I stop, as if Johanna had punched me in the nose again.

’ Pregnant?’ I repeat, amazed.’ And you're telling me this like this? At a train station?’

"Oh, please, it's not like you're expecting a romantic dinner," she snaps. "You didn't force me to do anything, remember?"

I stare at her; Leeveey always seemed gentle, soft-spoken, which is why I was surprised to see her so temperamental just now. Up until now, I've mostly had fun with her because she looks a lot like Katniss.

"'Are you sure it's mine?' I ask then, more quietly. 'Isn't it Black's bastard?'

Leevey snorts deeply, and I shudder: what am I doing with the girls that they're all became sharp and dismissive of me?

'If I had any sense, I wouldn't even look at you, I'd stay with Coltson,' she declares, mercilessly. 'Polite, gentle, curious Coll. But I was bored.' She spits out the words like they were water 'That's exactly why I ended up with you, because Coll wanted to wait until marriage. I'm an idiot, and now I'm paying for it. The child is yours.'

Her words hurt more than they should. I have no right to feel this way, but they sting, and I find it offensive that she's treating my child like a punishment for her.

"If you want to be a man about it, marry me," Leeveey continues harshly. "If your dick is soft, tell me now and I'll handle it without you."

I stare at her; how is she going to do it alone? There aren't many options for single women in the District, especially those with children. I may not be worth anything, but I won't leave the mother of my child begging for crumbs on some street corner.

"I'll marry you," I say shortly, and start walking home again. "Meet me in an hour in front of the Justice Building!" I throw it over my shoulder.

"Don't let your heart be torn apart by the great romanticism!" the girl screams, with such force that my ears hurt; but she doesn't say she's not coming, and I experience this as a victory.

*

Maybe I'm a coward, but my plan is to sneak home, change, and meet Leeveey alone so I don't have to explain myself to anyone. My plan is immediately thwarted, however, when I run into my mother in the hall. Hazelle Hawthorne may be a kind, gentle nature, but she knows immediately when I'm doing something wrong.

"What, Gale?" she asks sharply. "What did you do?"

I summarize what happened with my head bowed, I feel like I'm five years old again. My mother's dark eyes are huge and incredulous.

'But it doesn't have to be a big deal,' I say quickly. 'I'll change, meet her, and we'll get through it.'

’Doesn't have to be a big…?’ Momma bites off the end of the sentence and her hand lands on my face in a sharp slap, that shocks me more than anything.

My mother believes that violence is the weapon of the weak, so she never, ever hit us; my hand goes to my face and I squeeze the spot where she hit me.

“You’re a grown man,” my mother says with soft coldness. “I never wanted to tell you who to spend your time with or what to do with a girl; I thought I’d already taught you respect. I was clearly wrong. I don’t blame you for what happened to Leeveey, although I’m not proud of it.” My mother takes a deep breath, and I feel so ashamed that I want to defend myself.

’Momma…’ But she raises her hand; she's not done yet.

'But to act like a thief in the night and marry that girl as if you were ashamed, when you are both equally at fault, is dishonorable, Gale.'

Dishonorable, this word seems to haunt me. My mouth is bitter.

"I'll tell you what happens," my mother declares, and I can tell from her voice that it's useless to argue.

'You change, put on a suit, the best one they made for you in the Capitol. Then you go to Town, and ask the jeweler, Gregor, to make you a pair of rings.'

I instinctively grimace; I have no desire to owe anything to a Townie.

'Maybe he can melt the ones that I already have. ’ My clients who feel uncomfortable after dates often pay me with jewelry to ease their dirty souls.

My mother clicks her tongue sharply.

"I don't know what you did to deserve them, Gale," she says darkly. "And I'm sure your future wife wouldn't want to know either. Every girl deserves her own ring. Your father worked for months for mine. You're Victor: pay for your bride's ring!"

The last sentence is so loud that Momma could have hit me again; she's gasping and I want to sink into a hole.

'In an hour, me and your siblings will be in front of the Justice Building,' she then announces. ’After Gregor,  you go, invite the Everdeens, and...'

 'Momma, I don't want..’ My mother cuts in with a sharpness that could draw blood.

'I don't fucking care' My mother swears so rarely that the words get stuck in my throat. 'You go invite Asterid, Katniss, and Primrose, because those three are like family to us...'

’Mom, Katniss…’

"Should be in Leeveey's place, but you've already ruined that, son," my mother nodds. 'When you're done with all this, you go to Haymitch and ask him to be there too; just like the Everdeens, at the Justice Building, and at the Toasting as well.'

I'll grit my teeth. Maybe I can still win this.

'Mom, I don't want him anywhere near….’

'He's your mentor, he saved your life, he'll always have a place with us,' my mother grumbles, cutting in again. 'Panem, haven't I taught you anything? While you take care of these things, I'll go to the Mellarks for bread for the Toasting and prepare the reception for after the Justice Building. Go.'

You're his mentor, which means you belong with him, and if I'd been in that fucking arena, this would never have happened.

He's your mentor, he saved your life, he'll always have a place with us.

The parallel between the two hits me in the face with such force that I bow my head. I have no say in my own wedding, starting with the bride, ending with the guests. I guess I deserve it. At least I don't have to go to the Baker's for bread, only to see Peeta's gloating face.

*

Gregor is a huge, muscular man, no one would think how delicate his paddle-like hands are. When he asks what kind of ring I want, I almost tell him I don't care at all; but then I remember my mother's voice and take a deep breath.

"Something that will last a long time," I say, and Gregor raises his thick, red eyebrows.  Everything about Gregor is thick and fiery red, from his eyebrows to his curly, thick hair; but his skepticism is indeed justified. I obviously want precious metal, and that usually lasts a long time.

'Something of fine workmanship'I risk it; although I feel like I'm having my teeth pulled. We are talking lightly about fine jewelry here, as I stand in the District's jewelry store, in Town; I am talking lightly, in the palest silver-gray suit I have ever owned.

But that doesn't mean District 12 isn't a dark, cold place where most people go hungry. I don't know if there's room for anything fragile, anything delicate, even if it's jewelry.

The man unpacks several rings in front of me, but honestly, they all fill me with a certain disgust. They're all thick, too many, too ostentatious, too...

But then I see something that might work. The ring is delicate, like it's made up of elegant waves; Gregore sees what I'm looking at, and notes that the ring is white gold, and the tiny pale green stone in the center is a real emerald.

"I'll take it," I say quickly, hoping I can finally get over it all.

"It'll be a bit expensive," Gregor remarks. I raise my eyebrows and look at him unflinchingly. The man flinches. I guess I deserve this because I don't really identify with the Victor persona like every other Victor I know; but still.

"I'll pack them," the man grumbles, and I say no more. I'm lucky; the other half of the ring, the one  for me, is simple, unadorned, a bit thicker, white gold, although it also has a small emerald in the center, but it's not ostentatious. I might even be able to wear it.

Yet I hate it all, and as I leave the store, with the two green velvet boxes in my pocket, I feel like crying. I pretend it's from the cold.

*

’Good job, Peeta!’ Primrose's cheerful voice hits me in the face as I enter the Everdeens' house, walk through the hall, through the living room, and into the kitchen. I just catch a glimpse of Prim jumping up happily to throw her arms around Peeta's neck. What the hell is he doing here?

Katniss is the first to notice me, of course. She gives me a sharp, gray look.

"Gale," she says briefly, and the message is clear: I have not been forgiven. Mellark turns immediately, as if Katniss's voice were gravity to him, though the boy doesn't let go of Primrose; I notice that his hand is still protectively on the girl's shoulder.

As if Prim has anything to fear from me, asshole. I wanted to help her before you even knew she existed.

Although the way he looks might answer why he's here. Mellark's face is covered in bruises that are different colors depending on where he's at in his healing with each of them, and his skull is wrapped in a white bandage. What the hell happened to him?

Although I can see that he is doing his best to stand perfectly straight, there is still a certain tiredness emanating from him.

My gaze drifts from Mellark to Katniss, who stands across the kitchen from him and Prim. She holds her head stubbornly high, her mouth a straight, unforgiving line. I really screwed this up. But her positioning provides another answer; Mellark has to walk from one Everdeen sister to the other. It’s a balancing exercise Mrs. Everdeen uses for head injuries.

"I didn't come to fight" slips out of my mouth, pitifully.

Katniss doesn't say a word, but Primrose takes pity on me and smiles at me.

’Hi, Gale! How was the Capitol?’ she asks.

I flinch. So, my mom did tell them.

’Amazing as always’ I tell her a bit dry, and apperently that’s not a good choice because Katniss’s gaze is even more sharp now. 'I'm actually here to invite you all to my wedding. Justice Building, Toasting, party, all of it.'

’Oh, a wedding!’ Prim squeals, young enough to see nothing but romance in these things, even where there’s none.

Katniss opens her mouth and I know she wants to refuse, I can see it in her face, but before she can, Mrs. Everdeen beats her to it.

"We'd love to go, Gale, thank you," she says.

Katniss's gray eyes widen.

'Mom, we can't leave Peeta here alone!'

Oh, so he is more important than me?

I know the thought is petty, but the feeling is only deepened by Asterid Everdeen's gentle smile, as if she knows something Katniss doesn't. Damn it!

"Katniss, I'll be fine," Mellark says quietly, and it annoys me even more because his voice rings honestly, and he doesn't think for a minute that I invited him too. ’Don’t worry about me.’

"'It's my job to worry, isn't it?' Katniss argues, and I hate that her voice isn't sharp with Peeta. 'You came to us to be healed.'

I want to tell Katniss that I know she's hiding behind the mask of healing so she can spend time with Mellark, but I'm already in deep enough water with her, so I keep my mouth shut.

Mrs. Everdeen's smile widens.

"Katniss, you can be sure that I won't leave any of my patients alone," she notes, her voice gentle. "Peeta, is it okay if Greasy Sae comes over to keep you company while we're at the Toasting? She can tell if anything's wrong.’

I'm waiting for the Townie to complain about being left alone with a Seam vendor, but Mellark just smiles faintly.

'That would be perfect, Mrs. Everdeen, thank you'

"I told you, call me Asterid if you want," the other one says, and this is at least the third slap I've received today. I never got this offer from the woman.

Katniss's shoulders relax dramatically at the thought that Bread Boy will be safe, and I can't do this anymore.

"I'll see you there," I murmur in goodbye, and turn around.

I’m already at the door when Primrose catches up with me. Everyone says Katniss looks like her father, but Primrose is clearly an echo of Asterid, with her golden hair, soft, white skin, and blue eyes. Her hair is like liquid gold as I open the door and the pale winter light falls on her.

’Gale!’ I can’t do this. I can’t. But I stop, and I look at her.

"I hope you'll be truly happy," Primrose says, gently.

I smile at her, even though there's no chance of that happening.

*

’Are you fucking insane, Hawthorne?’ Haymitch stares at me as if he's seeing me for the first time.

“Is that a rhetorical question?” I mutter, my mentor’s face remains unsmiling.

"Why the fuck would you drag anyone into this shit?" he growls.

'You mean marriage?'

’Cut the crap, you know what I mean!’

I want to bring up the fact that he had a girlfriend once, but despite what everyone says, I'm not  mean by nature. Of course I know what he means; Leeveey will be in danger if she marries me. The Capitol uses everyone against its own Victors. I'll be lucky if my wife is 'just' another name on the list of people with which they can blackmail me. My shoulders slump under his gaze.

’Haymitch, she is pregnant. I have no choice in the matter and I refuse to run.’

I refuse to run, wasn’t that my problem in my Games? If I run away, they might think I'm a coward, but they wouldn't know me as the traitor who let down his own District partner.

My mentor lets out a long curse.

"Would you please come?" I ask, surprising myself with the vulnerability in my voice. What the...?

Haymitch raises his eyebrows, but there's no mockery on his face this this time.

’Sure, kid.’

I want to tell him I'm not a child, but I change my mind and stay silent.

"I'll see you in half an hour," I say, and turn around.

"'Will there be booze?' the man calls after me, and I raise my hand next to my head in a gesture without stopping.

’Bye, Haymitch!’

*

I arrive at the Justice Building at the same time as Leeveey and her parents. I would love to repeat the curse word Haymitch just used, but of course I won’t.

I have to admit, Leeveey is pretty; she's wearing a withe dress that's decidedly simple, but loose at the wrists and intricately laced. Perfect for a wedding, and classy by District standards. The girl's chocolate-colored hair is tied into an intricate bun on top of her head, with only two loose strands framing her face. She obviously paid attention to every detail, but I can't help but think that she planned these details with someone else. Both her mother and father stare at me suspiciously as I walk over.

’Gale’ I have never been so happy to hear Katniss' voice in my life, and this time her tone is gentle. I nod quickly to Leeveey's parents, and as I turn in the direction of the voice, I see Katniss standing not far from me in a sunny, pale yellow dress that looks like it came from Asterid's old Merchant wardrobe, but it's still elegant. The cheerful color sets off her dark skin and creates a beautiful contrast.

She waves.

Asterid, wearing tired, old lavender silk, is engaged in deep conversation with my mother. Everyone is wearing bright colors, from my little sister, who is in pale pink, to my Mom, who is om a delicate green fabric, to Primrose, who chose the palest teal I've ever seen.

My gaze wanders back to Katniss, who is joking with my two younger brothers; Rory and Vick are both wearing classic black and white suits that fit them perfectly, and under normal circumstances this would make me happy, but now my heart aches.

"You're staring at the wrong girl, kid," a raspy voice growls next to me, and I jump so high I almost knock Haymitch over.

’What the hell….’

’My question exactly’ nodds my mentor. "Quit it!"

"Well, I invited you," I say with a certain self-loathing, and Haymitch laughs softly, raspingly. "I deserve it."

I take a deep breath and take Leeveey’s hand, who doesn’t object. Inside the building, we stop in front of the mayor. Mayor Undresse is as blonde as her daughter Madge, though his eyes are a kind brown instead of Madge’s blue iris.

The ceremony is short and simple, and it washes over me like water. I repeat the lines of the oath almost in a trance. Cherish. Love. Protect. Will it be real if I don't really feel it's sincere? Maybe we doesn’t need real or sincere; we are going for offical to protect Leeveey and the child from shame. Protecting them – that, I can promise, thats something, right?

The kiss is short and soft - it only makes me sadder. So far, at least our kisses have been real, hungry, and hot, but now the heat is only followed by ashes.

There's really nothing left of me.

*

The party is huge. My mother throws the house door wide open and invites practically everyone in the District.   She sends a little boy with three large packages full of food to the Mellarks and Greasy Sae who are almost the only ones not present.

I understand what she is doing. Victors Village is physically further away from the rest of the District, as if whoever built it wanted to separate the Victors from their previous community. This is also just a form of torture.

As such, most of the District largely avoids us - no one wants anything from the Drunk and the Traitor. They fear Haymitch - almost everyone, except Katniss and the Mellark boys, whose father I don't think would ever say anything bad about Abernathy - and they hate me.

My mom wants to show them with the party that we're no different from them. They threw us into an Arena and we had to survive, that's all. For my part, I don't think it's going to work. People will eat - no one in the District is stupid enough to turn down free food at a wedding - they will dance, sing, and then go home, but their opinions won't change.

My heart aches. Katniss is visibly ignoring me - she'll dance with anyone but me. I can't help but feel anger as I watch Haymitch spin the girl, her intricate braids following the movement. A flute is playing.

‘Would you mind not staring?’ Leeveey’s sad voice snapps me out of the moment.

'I'm sorry,' I say, and this time I mean it. I hold out my hand and force a faint smile. 'Dance with me?'

The girl's gray eyes look almost silver with grief, but she's still and lets me spin her. I'll have to try Leeveey. She's the mother of my child.

Someone starts a line dance, and more and more people join in. The lone violinist is joined by a guitar, producing an energetic melody. I see Darius dancing with Griselle.

"Katniss, sing something for us!" I hear Primrose shout from somewhere. I see Katniss shake her head hastily, but the people seem to like the idea.

’Sing! Sing, sing, sing!’

Soon a small chorus forms, and Katniss gives in. She takes a few steps back from Haymitch, but keeps her eyes fixed on him, I guess so she doesn't have to look at me.

One night to be confused
One night to speed up truth
We had a promise, babe
Four hands and then away

Both under influence
We had divine sense
To know what to say
Mind is a razor blade

To my utter astonishment, Haymitch sings back, more hoarse and not as clear as Katniss, but there's still something appealing about his voice, creating a contrast with hers.

To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no

One night of magic rush
The start a simple touch
One night to push and scream
And then relief

Ten days of perfect hues
The colors red and blue
We had a promise, babe
We were in love

To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough

Katniss claps rhythmically for the man, creating an effect like the sound of a beating heart. It all works, and as more and more people join in, I only feel lonelier in the circle. Leeveey touches my cheek and I look at her.

"Eyes up here," the girl warns, and I nod.

I turn away from the duo of Haymitch and Katniss, whose voices can be heard even in the chorus of many, and bury my face in my wife's shoulder, and we slowly rock. My wife. What a thought. The dance lasts until dawn, and then slowly, as the dawn light filters through the windows, people start to wear out.

The word violin slowly dies away, the guitar falls silent. My mother sends everyone home with a big package of food, and my former neighbors, my schoolmates, step out my door onto the pale road.

My little brother, Rory, who feels like a man now, pays the musicians handsomely; when I next look up, it’s just Leeveey’s parents, the Everdeens, and Haymitch around me. When I look at Leeveey, she smiles faintly at me.

Suddenly I don't mind that the Toasting have witnesses. I don't want to be alone.

My mother conjures up the bread; the dough is spectacularly whiter and softer than the tessare bread, the roughness of which I am used to. But, I guess the only advantage of being Victor is that I can afford better quality things now. Yet, it still feels foreign. We walk into the kitchen, I kneel in front of the fire, ignoring the nice material of my pants, and Leeveey throws wood into the flames.

My mother, my three siblings, Haymitch, Katniss, Prim, and Asterid form a loose circle with Leeveey's parents. The inner circle is made up of my mother and Leeveey's parents, Rory, Vick, and Posy, followed by Haymitch, and then the Everdeen women.

Insignificant, small details stick in my mind: the way the light from the flames reflect off Haymitch's dove grey, soft colored suit; the heat of the fire on my face. Leeveey and I, we are slowly toasting our first bread together.

I watch with a certain respect as Leeveey lifts the bread from the fire without hesitation as it darkens to a crispy brown, even though the dough must be piping hot. The girl calmly breaks off a bite of the bread and feeds it to me with a gentle movement.

The bread is deliciously soft, and there's definitely a pinch of salt in it, and it looks like it's sprinkled with flaxseed. Its perfect.

I chew it, then swallow it; then I break the bread too, and with my free hand I stroke the side of Leeveey's cheek, I watch as she accepts it from me and then slowly eats it. The delicate white gold ring sparkles discreetly on her hand, which she keeps in her lap.

Haymitch whistles sharply as I lean forward and kiss my wife, but I’m not angry with my mentor now. This kiss is softer and more emotional, and I can see why people in the District think Toasting is the seal of marriage. I suddenly want to be close to Leeveey and hold her face in my hands, but the kiss ends too quickly.

I blink. I'm married.

Leeveey’s mom hugs her, and mine is kissing me on the cheek. Katniss gives me a short, sharp smile and is out the door. Asterid's smile is softer than that, and she walks out after her daughter, Prim at her side.

Haymitch catches my eye and nods; my mom and siblings are spending the night at his house tonight. I don't think it's necessary, but my mother thinks it's inappropriate to share your wedding night with anyone, but your love, and I don't argue.

My  sister takes my mentor by the hand, who looks surprised, but doesn't pull away, and the little girl pulls the man out the door. If my throat weren't so tight, I'd laugh. Before I know it, only Leeveey is standing next to me.

The Master Bedroom, the largest in the house, had belonged to my mother until now. Now the room is cleaned, the air is fresh here, and mother's personal belongings are gone. She must have moved into one of the spacious guest rooms, of which there are several in the house. There's nothing wrong with guest rooms, they're fit for a queen compared to what our house was like in the Seam, and I appreciate the gesture, but I still feel guilty.

There is a soft, pale green blanket on the bed; I believe it is one of Asterid Everdeen's wedding gifts, and Leeveey looks pleased.

I walk over to the girl and kiss her hungrily, wanting to relive the feeling in front of the fire, but she pulls away.

‘Do you think we can do it?’ She asks quietly.

"We already did it," I reply lightly, but of course I know what she means. Not sex, we've never had a problem with that; living together, raising children. Everything.

’Sure.’ Though, of course, I’m not sure.

Leeveey kisses back, then pulls away again.

"Will you wait until I undress?" I can tell from her voice that she wants to do it alone. I find this a bit unnecessary, again, but I don't argue with her.

’Go ahed’ I tell her, and I get a real smile for this. I step through the small door from the bedroom into my mother's former private bathroom, wash my face with cold water, and slowly undress. The face that looks back at me from the mirror is tired and foreign. I walk back to the bedroom with soft steps.

My new wife is lying unconscious on the floor next to the bed.

Chapter Text

Katniss

The sudden silence of my home is a stark contrast to the sounds of Gale's wedding. It is surprisingly peaceful. I take off the yellow dress and carefully hang it in my mother's closet. It's a little worn, but since the material must have been incredibly expensive when it was new, the dress is holding up well.

Even though we now have a steady income, thanks to my job at Haymitch’s, the hunting, and my mother's healing skills - I'm still extremely careful with her old wardrobe. Being frugal is ingrained in me, because I vividly remember what it was like to be hungry. So I doubt I'd ever be able to afford fancy clothes, even if I had the money. All three dresses we wore to the wedding - the yellow, the teal, and the tired lavender - belonged to my mother, once.

I decide I'm going to wash up. Peeta brought in three buckets of fresh well water while we were away, even though we washed before the wedding. This is partly a good thing - this boy has the kindest heart in the world - but it also worries me. Peeta should rest.

I scrub my skin thoroughly with the homemade soap my mother made. Before I started working for Haymitch, I was annoyed that my mother used some of the tessare oil to make soap, even though most of the ingredients were sunflower oil... sure, I agree, being clean is important, but still.

But now I'm thinking about including soap among the things I usually offer for exchange; game, berries, seeds, cheese, herbs, and soap, why not? I can try.

I dry myself off and pull on a light material nightgown. I walk into the kitchen, where Peeta is reading one of our medical books by candlelight. As he looks up, his blue eyes look even more pretty, and softer in the light than usual.

"Did I wake you?" he asks worriedly. "I'm sorry."

’Nah, I haven't slept yet,' I reassure him, and sit down in the chair across from him at the table. 'What are you reading about?'

"'It's anatomy,' he says, excitement creeping into his voice. 'Your mother let me borrow it. It discusses different parts of the body and describes which herbs are good for each injury. It's amazing!'

I find his excitement surprisingly sweet, and I have to smile.

'You know,' I say quietly. 'If you show me the herbs, I can gather some for you. It's always different to feel them in person.'

I surprise myself with this offer; this openness is unusal for me. But Peeta is special.

’Serusly?’ His enthusiasm increases dramatically, and this time I laugh

’Course’ I grin. ’You can come with me as well, if you want.’

Those sky-blue eyes widen with joy, but before he can react, there's a rapid knock on our back door. My muscles tense reflexively and I jump to my feet. A visitor at this late hour is never a good sign. It's always someone who is so sick that they need immediate medical attention.

‘Mom!’ I shout and run to the door, throwing it wide open.

Gale stands on the other side of the door, his hair disheveled from running, his white shirt wrinkled, and Leeveey lies in his arms, still in the sleek white dress she wore to the Toasting.

'She's unconscious, Catnip!' the boy says, his voice trembling. 'She's breathing, but she's stiff, and I can't wake her up!'

I am terrified; I am not completely useless, I can treat basic wounds, maybe even set bones, but I am completely unfit for that. But I try. I raise my head and step nimbly out of the way of the door.

'Come in!'

I am incredibly grateful when my mother appears behind me and firmly but gently instructs the boy to lay Leeveey down on the kitchen table. In addition to her deathly pale and snow-white skin, her dark hair, which has been pulled out of a complex hairstyle, is even more spectacular. As always, when I worry, everything around me sharpens, and for a moment I realize that Leeveey's hair is actually jet black, not brown as I had thought.

My mother checks the girl’s pulse gently and quickly, but I can see she’s worried. I hear Peeta step next to me and take my hand gently. I don’t pull away. Gale, pale, starts pacing up and down. No one stops him.

“Did she eat anything special from the District tables?” my mother asks. Peeta and I exchange glances; the boy frowns. Of course, he wasn’t there, but I don’t quite understand the question either. Apparently Gale doesn’t either.

’Pardon?’ ” Gale asks, and somehow shame oozes from him.

My mother looks up from Leeveey's face, surprise and impatience mixed on her features.

'Over the past year, your mother has written several letters to your fellow Victors. She's on friendly terms with most of them now, didn't she tell you? I guess she thought it was good to be in contact with people who could understand what you were going through.’

I understand the logic behind the idea, and if I were to go by Haymitch, maybe most of the Victors are good people, who have experienced terrible things, but Gale stares at my mother like she's crazy.

'So,' my mother continues, hurriedly. 'She talked to some about books, to others about gardening or family, again, with others about cooking.'

Gale shakes himself.

'Mrs. Everdeen, with all due respect, what does this have to do with Leeveey? We don't have time for this.'

’We don't have time for your ignorance, son," my mother snaps, with an edge that makes both Peeta and I flinch.

"For the past few months, your mother has been asking all the District Victors for some interesting food that is typical of that district for you and your siblings to try. She wants to instill some culture in you, Gale. I guess there wasn't time for this taste test, but the food she had saved up came in handy now, and your mother was able to use it for the reception."

District tables. Now I'm starting to understand. But Gale just blinks helplessly, and I can't help but feel deeply sorry for him.

 "Hazelle set up different tables, for each district, so that everyone could try something exciting at the party," my mother speaks in such a hurry that her words are blurred. 'Didn't you question how she was able to put together a reception so big that the entire District could come - in one day?’

Gale looks like he's about to die of embarrassment, and I can see why. He's not paying attention to the details. Not that I have any reason to blame him – I, myself was too busy eating hot meat pies from the Mellark Bakery, which were so delicious that I didn't even notice the District tables.

'I asked what Leeveey ate because exotic foods can have different effects on the body,' my mother explains. 'So - what did she eat?'

’I’m… I’m not sure’ mutters Gale, and I want to hug him. ’She… I wasn’t with her throughout the entire party, and she walked around, exchanged a few words with everyone’

That's true; she even stopped next to me at one point and asked me how I liked the pies, even though there's been some tension between us lately, even though there's never been anything between us, with Gale, just friendship.

My mother strokes her forehead tiredly.

There is something in her comment that makes me flinch again, even though my mother is right. Hazelle has an eye for detail that Gale clearly didn't even notice. The boy turns on his heel, and before I can blink, he's gone. The front door remains open behind him, and cold air rushes in.

*

Haymitch

It feels quite unusual to spend my evening surrounded by a family again. This has not happened with me since my mother and Sid passed away. The Hawthornes are noisily using the bathroom, I can hear the two boys arguing about who should take a shower first, until their mother yells at them to knock it off.

Then Hazelle looks at me anxiously and apologizes for the disturbance for the thousandth time, but honestly, and strangely enough, I don't mind them being here, which I tell her so. The little girl—Posy, I remind myself, her name is Posy Hawthorne—hasn't let go of my hand since the Toasting ended, and again, unexpectedly, I don't mind.

The kid even suggests that she'll sleep next to me tonight, but her mom tells her that's out of the question; I have to grin at the little one’s disappointed expression.

"Don't be sad, flower seedling," I tell her suddenly. "How about we make pancakes together tomorrow morning?"

"Yeey," Posy cheers; her brother has obviously brought her pancakes from the Capitol. "Which one is your favorite?"

"It's a complicated question," I reply, pretending to think deeply. "Can I decide by tomorrow?"

’Sure!’

Hazelle smiles gently at me, and suddenly I start to feel awkward: I don't know what's come over me. This is dangerous.

"Say good night, Posy," Hazelle instructs her daughter.

'Good night, Haymitch!'

'Night, flower petal'

As the two of them climb the stairs leading from the living room to the guest rooms, following Rory and Vick, I decide to check the front door. I usually don't give a damn whether the door is open or not; honestly, I would be deeply grateful to any thief who wants to slit my throat; but not today.

It's foolish, but I feel responsible for those who spend the night under my roof; there are traces of my mother's former guidance, so here I am. I lock the door, which is sturdy and intact, then leave the key in the lock and decide to try to sleep. I usually drink until I pass out, but since I was foolish enough to promise the kid pancakes, I can't be completely useless tomorrow morning.

I'm not drinking more tonight; what I had at the party causes a pleasant buzz in the back of my skull, but nothing more. I guess it's because it was good quality wine, instead of the harsh, raw white liqueur I usually consume.

I walk into the master bedroom, which I rarely use (I usually sleep where I drink), but since Sweetheart has been cleaning here, it's perfectly clean too. Katniss's thoughts bring back memories of us singing together. Of course, I blame the wine for that too. That girl has exactly the same voice as Burdock had, and it makes my chest tighten, but with a kind of unexpected, grateful tightness.

I take off my jacket and hang it on the back of one of the chairs. Lenore Dove would have loved this color; that's exactly why I chose it. I slowly start to unbutton my shirt and consider taking a bath, using the private bathroom, which opens from here, rather than the one downstairs that the boys used earlier, when something clatters against the window.

My hand slides down to my suit trousers, and I grab the knife in my pocket, which I never go anywhere without since the Arena. The sound repeats itself. What the...?

Someone is throwing stones at the window because the front door is locked.

I swing the knife open, which makes a reassuring clicking sound, then I go to the window and throw it wide open. Below the window stands Gale, looking as if he has just crawled out of a muddy hole.

'Hawthorne? What the hell are you doing here?'

'I need my mother'

"On your wedding night?" Indeed, I've never been able to hold my tongue.

'Fuck you, Haymitch, Leeveey is sick, and my mother might be able to help. Let me in!'

I may be an asshole, but I'm not that kind of asshole. I spin around and in the blink of an eye I'm out of the room and into the hallway.

I am very lucky; I almost crash into Hazelle, who is now wearing a simple white blouse with black skirt instead of her lovely green gown. It seems that I am not the only one in this house who has trouble sleeping.

"What's going on, Haymitch?" she asks, her dark eyes alert, her gaze intelligent. For the first time, it occurs to me that she wouldn't be a bad ally or friend to have, and that hasn't happened since Burdock, Asterid, and Otho.

"Gale is here, Leeveey is in some kind of trouble, and they need your help," I blurt out, and I'm glad that's enough for her: she nods firmly and asks no questions. We almost run to the stairs, where I let her go ahead of me.

On the other side of the front door, the boy looks like he's seen the devil and is babbling about food. Of course: I heard that Hazelle wrote to every single Victor, which I approve of. The kid needs someone—even if he doesn't trust me.

Or maybe he does? While his mother braves the night streets, the kid looks like he's frozen into a pillar of salt, staring at me helplessly.

"It's my fault, Haymitch," he wails. "I should never have married her!"

You're fucking right. But of course, I can't say that out loud.

"You had no choice," I remind him, trying with all my might to soften my voice. "Unless you wanted to see your kid in the Community Home, and that's no fun."

It doesn't seem to help: Gale is shaking all over, and before I can do anything about it, I find him in my arms, despite all his muscle and height.

I'm really shit at this, but I can't push him away; I put one arm around his shoulder and run my fingers through his thick, jet-black hair with the other. He buries his face in my shoulder, and for a moment we just stand there in the night.

*

Katniss

"A blowfish?" Gale repeats, stunned, and I can't blame him. This conversation is astonishing.

"Fugu," Hazelle corrects him, as if he should know this. ’ The meat is cut into extremely thin slices and arranged in a floral pattern – for example, like a chrysanthemum shape - on the plate. Mags recommended it from the fourth district, and Leeveey loves fish. Didn't you know?’

Gale shudders, and although I really like Hazell under normal circumstances, I find this a little unnecessary. Why draw his attention to yet another fact he doesn't know about his wife? Gale looks terrible anyway; everything is wrinkled, he looks like he's been crying, and he's standing surprisingly close to Haymitch in the corner of the kitchen. What's even more surprising is that Haymitch doesn't comment on it at all.

’ Mags recommended it from the fourth district?’ repeats the boy, astonished and sharp. 'Did you accept advice from a Carrier District mentor?'

Carrers - We call those districts whose children mostly train in secret for the Arna, such district, although I now know from Haymitch that the fourth district is more relaxed than the first two. And—ever since I've really known Haymitch—I've been reluctant to judge any mentor, honestly.

"No one asks to be born in a particular place, son," Hazelle retorts. "If this were the culture here, like in fourth, you wouldn't question it."

"Not to mention that there are few people in the world kinder than Mags," Haymitch remarks. "She was one of my mentors because we didn't have a living Victor during my Games. So watch your mouth."

Peeta and I look at each other: his face shows the same surprise I feel. I didn't know this, and it seems that most people in the room feel the same way. Only my mother's face shows no bewilderment; she has obviously heard this before.

"I'm sorry," Gale mutters, and I can't help it, I feel sorry for him. This is not his day.

"But what's important to us," my mother says quietly, "is that we now know that certain parts of this food are extremely poisonous because of tetrodotoxin." My mother looks down at Leeveey, who is still unconscious. "We need to figure out what kind of antidote we need, and we have a chance."

"When you figure it out, let me know and I'll order it from the Capitol," says Haymitch, then adds darkly, "They owe me that much."

I want to know what he means by that, but then I notice Gale's grateful glance at his mentor, and that distracts me.

"Hazelle," Haymitch says thoughtfully. "You said that these slices of meat are usually arranged in a flower pattern, right? Do you happen to remember what kind of flower pattern they used for the ones you served at the wedding?"

Haymitch and Gale exchange a strange look that I don't understand. Something seems to be taking over Gale's face. What...?

’Well’ says the other slowly. ’As I said, usually its in a chrysanthemum shape, but this time, these were arranged to form a large rose. Why do you ask?’

Chapter Text

My days are slipping away, and I spend less time with Haymitch than I would like. The man insists that I spend my mornings at school like everyone else my age, and only go to his place in the afternoons to clean.

"But why?" I have nothing against books, but I feel it's a little pointless in our district. We're not like the people in District 3, who use their minds specifically, in the Games. The 12th is a mining district; and although in theory this could be used in the Arena, for example if they taught how to assemble bombs or control explosions in school, they don't.

"I know that some misleading nonsense has made you think you're stupid, but you'd actually be smart if you used your brain," Haymitch replies gruffly. "But to really use your brain, you need practice; that means school."

I look at him; somewhere behind the edge, he actually complimented me, and that surprises me.

"The Game is all about violence," I counter. "I'm not going to win with my brain."

Haymitch raises his eyebrows.

’I did.’

’Thats because you have a brillaint mind’I tell him, completely honestly. He must sense how sincere I am, because for a moment a look of shock crosses his face, then he lowers his head.

"Go to school, Katniss," he murmurs, and the sincerity in his voice, similar to mine, grips me.

I could swear.  We argue, and we both enjoy it, and the closer we get to each other, the harder it seems to say no to this man.

’All right, all right. School. Great.’ I mutter. Haymitch grins, the bastard.

"Do you realize that we've been making each other's lives miserable for a month now, and neither of us has killed the other?" I ask. "I have to go to Hazelle's soon to get my wages, but I'm putting it off because it doesn't seem like the best time..."

Haymitch puts his book down on the desk in the study, and for a moment I feel his gaze on my face as I dust the bookshelf that runs along the wall behind the desk, all the way to the door. Hazelle spends every waking moment in my house, next to Leeveey.

“I'd ought to pay you anyway,” he remarks, and this time there is no mockery in his voice. “You work for me, not Gale. How much do I owe you?”

"I have no idea," I reply honestly, my face burning with shame. This is not like me; I'm an excellent negotiator when it comes to game meat, but I didn't ask Gale how much he was willing to pay because I hate the subject.

"So it's up to me?" he wonders aloud. "Oh, sweetheart, I have to teach you how to do business, this isn't..."

The man sits up straight and suddenly falls silent; for a moment, I don't know what he's listening to.

"Did you hear that?" he asks tensely.

I silently place the dust cloth on one of the shelves and stand motionless, watching, as if waiting for the approach of wild animals.

And it arrives. Three knocks, confidently from the front door. Knock. Knock. Knock.

'Expecting someone?' I ask, my lips barely moving.

’Please’

Knock. Knock. Knock.

'I'll check who it is,' I decide.

"I'll go with you," Haymitch replies without hesitation. I raise my eyebrows, but there is something dark in Haymitch's expression, and as he stands up, it suddenly occurs to me that this man is Victor to an Arna that had twice as many opponents as usual.

I don't argue. Haymitch picks up his knife, which is lying on the table, but instead of putting it in his pocket as usual, he opens it and hangs it loosely at his side. He walks ahead, and I follow softly, silently, behind him. Suddenly, illogically, I wish I had my bow with me.

The man firmly opens the door, and for a moment I feel relieved because there is no one standing on the other side.

"Well, that was a lot of fuss about nothing," I say, turning to Haymitch. " 'I don't even..." I stop mid-sentence when I notice Haymitch staring at something, his face filled with disgust. I turn to look.

There is a large, golden vase in front of the door, and I wouldn't be surprised if it were made of solid gold. The vase contains a large bouquet of snow-white, overly perfect roses, and an elegant cream-colored card is pinned among the flowers. The sight of the flowers fills me with an instinctive fear, and I find their penetrating scent too sweet. I lean forward to get a better look at the card. The letters are finely crafted.

Coriolanus Snow warmly congratulates you on your young Victors recent marriage.

*

As I walk home, I can feel the cold in my bones, even though the weather is getting milder. I can't get the image out of my head of Haymitch lifting the vase and then throwing it to the ground with all his might. The vase does not break, but the flowers scatter and are damaged.

Haymitch starts drinking at a speed I've never seen before, and in between mouthfuls he tells me that the President considers roses to be his personal symbol and regularly sends them to the Victors. I hear details about Finnick Odair and the death of Johanna Mason's family, and I am overcome with self-loathing and guilt for judging these people. When Haymitch remarks that these things happen to all Victors, something occurs to me.

"Haymitch," I say softly. "Where's your family?"

He looks at me, his blue eyes dark with sorrow.

’What do you think?’

I look at him, and I am overcome with sorrow and anger. I step in front of him as he sits there in his armchair; I am not so disrespectful as to say I am sorry, because I know how little that means in light of what he is facing.

I gently and briefly touch his cheek. He doesn't pull away, but raises his eyebrows.

"Don't waste your feelings on me, sweetheart," he advises. "I'm an asshole."

"There is a sharp difference between a bad person and a person who has had bad things happen to them and therefore done bad things themselves," I reply reflexively.

Haymitch's eyebrows slide even higher.

’What was that?’

"Something my father thought was very important to teach me," I reply quietly.

’Its a very Burdie thing to say.’

’He is right. You are not bad, you’re just trouble.’

I get a half-smile in response, and so he is shocked when I quickly snatch the wine glass from his hand and pour the rest into the empty bucket I used for washing up.

’What the hell are you doing?!’

"You don't need another alcohol poisoning," I snap. "If you do, I won't be here to clean up your ass, so I'm going to stop you from drinking so much. Or would you like me to sleep here? The guest rooms are clean."

He stares at me motionless for a moment.

’Fine’ he murmurs then.

’Exellent’

Now, as I head home, I can't shake the thought that Haymitch said that the same thing will happen to all Victors as happened to Finnick if they are considered attractive in the Capitol.

I think of Finnick Odair, as everyone knows him: the bronze-haired sea god, the youngest Victor to ever leave the Arena. I am filled with remorse for looking down on the young man, who appeared on every broadcast with someone else on his arm. It was not his choice.

Then I remember young Haymitch; his Games are mandatory viewing in the district, over and over again, though they only ever show snippets. Golden blond, with icy blue eyes, and visibly strong. Heartbreaking. Could it be...?

I suddenly stop; maybe Gale has been rude to me lately, and I can't explain to him that he doesn't have to help me, and that I'm actually not his type. But the fact is, he's attractive, with his black hair and gray eyes. He's not... is he?

Fighting nausea, I walk through the front door of my home, wipe my snowy shoes, and hang up my coat. Excited voices can be heard from the kitchen.

"Katniss! Katniss!" I hear my sister calling, and suddenly I start to worry. I quicken my pace.

’Primrose?’ As soon as I enter the kitchen, my fears subside. Prim is fine and smiling broadly, and my mother radiates a sense of satisfaction.

"Peeta found the antidote!" Prim announces excitedly. "In the book Mom lent him?"

My gaze slides to Peeta, who stands somewhat shyly by the kitchen table; the bandage is no longer on his head, but the marks are still visible. His white skin is paler than usual in places, not to mention his blond hair is missing in patches. Fucking bitch.

"Water snake venom," my mother explains. "Certain healers in District four extract it from the fangs of fallen snakes and use it for this purpose. Peeta was brilliant!"

"I was just lucky," the boy remarks and blushes, but I smile at him. He deserves it.

"Haymitch ordered it from the Capitol, just like he promised," Prim adds, and I nod.

Leeveey is still lying on the table, but her grey, almost silver eyes are open, alert, though tired.

’Hello, Liv’ I say softly. We were never really friends, but this girl went to hell, and now she is back.

’Hi, Katniss’ she wishpers, and even gives me a pale smile. As I look up, my gaze meets Gale's angry stare. What's his problem?

I follow his gaze and notice that he is looking at Peeta, who is deliberately keeping his eyes fixed ahead, not looking at us. Does it bother him that Peeta found the solution? I'm about to open my mouth to say how ridiculous and petty all this is, but suddenly I realize something and pause.

Haymitch helped Leeveey. Haymitch got those roses for a reason. Oh, no.

I'm turning on my heel.

'I have to go!'

"Katniss, what...?" my mother begins, but I don't have time for that.

"I have to go back to Haymitch," I say quickly. "Will you come with me?" I ask Peeta, who immediately nods.

Gale growls, but I don't care; I don't need a boy who's jealous of the man who saved his wife, I need a boy who was nothing but kind to me. I start running, and although I haven't given any explanation for why I'm afraid, Peeta doesn't ask any questions, he just quickens his steps. I'm worried that running will be difficult for him after his long recovery, but he grits his teeth and keeps pace with me. I'm getting more and more scared. No, no—

"Haymitch? Haymitch!" I shout as soon as I see his house in Victors Village, hoping that he has left the door open again, as he usually does. I rush to the door, but Peeta's voice rings out beside me

’Katniss!’  I turn toward him; the boy is looking at something next to the wall of the house. The cold air catches in my lungs when I realize what it is.

It's Haymitch, with a deep gouge on his neck.

Chapter Text

Gale

I’m petty; I know I am, but I can’t help it. The Everdeen house is full of sick, pale, sweating, miserable souls drifting in and out of consciousness. Haymitch is much the same as the others; he regains consciousness for a very brief moment and recognizes that Mellark and Katniss are standing on either side of the bed, which Asterid Everdeen has given to the Victor.

’Who… who are…?’

’I’m Peeta Mellark’ answers the boy with real tenderness in his voice, and I hate him for it. 'I found you with Katniss and brought you here.'

’You are Otho’s boy?’

’I am,’ He replays, with a proud smile.

’Thanks.’

’Your very welcome, Sir.’

’Haymitch’ The worry in Katniss's voice tightens my throat.

The man's gaze shifts from Peeta to Katniss's face, and neither of them notices that I am standing nearby, in the small space that separates the kitchen from Mrs. Everdeen's sleeping area.

’Hey, sweetheart’ he wishpers, and Katniss gives him a sharp look.

’You scared the fucking shit out of me!’

Haymitch raises his eyebrows mildly.

'Worried you'll lose your job if I kick the bucket?’

"This has nothing to do with the job, you bloody idiot!" Katniss snaps, and I can't help but notice that her voice is shaking. "The job can be replaced!"

Haymitch, however, can not.

Even from this distance, I can see the Victor's eyes widen, and Katniss lunges forward, wrapping her arms around his chest. Haymitch gasps, and Katniss freezes, but the Victor awkwardly strokes her hair, and she relaxes. I can't watch this anymore.

I turn around and start walking out of the house. Someone poisoned the wells, Mrs. Everdeen was telling us recently, with some kind of slow-acting poison, which is why so many people in the District are sick. We don't know what kind of poison it is; that's precisely the problem, and Haymitch is a special case because of the snake bite on his neck. The whole thing is ridiculous; snakes are very rare in the District.

"Are you leaving?" I hear a surprised voice behind me, and I freeze. As I turn around, I find myself face to face with Prim, who has tied her golden hair back with a white scarf so that it doesn't fall in her face while she tends to the sick, helping her mother.

"Yeah," I murmur quietly. "Leeveey is doing better, your mother let her go home."

Primrose presses her lips together, and her expression suddenly reminds me painfully of her sister.

"Let me rephrase the question," says the girl, suddenly seeming surprisingly grown up. "Your mentor is lying in my mother's bed, poisoned and bitten by a snake, and you're leaving?"

’Leeveey…’

’Is better, and has your mom’ Prim cuts me off. ’Whats with you, Gale?’

’I… Nothing, I just have to go.’

"It's Haymitch," I hear Primrose's voice again, and I can sense her newfound loyalty toward the man who helped Katniss with the job.

The job was my idea, I want to tell her, but I don't have the courage. It's mine, it has nothing to do with Haymitch! Although, according to my mother, Katniss never came to collect her pay, which means that my mentor paid her.

I turn to leave, but Prim keeps pace with me.

'Are you leaving because of Katniss? I thought you two had gotten over your fight. We were at your wedding!'

I don't stop, and Primrose stubbornly continues. I have the feeling that people don't realize how similar she is to Katniss.

"Mama said the President punished Haymitch for helping Leeveey, and that the President doesn't like that you got married without his permission. But that's silly! It's not your fault, it's President Snow's!’

I hadn't thought about that specifically; I assumed Haymitch was the victim of communal poisoning, and perhaps the president specifically loathes our district for some reason. There are those who whisper about our Victor before Haymitch, Lucy Gray; I don't fully understand what the President and Lucy have to do with each other, I just accept that Snow despises us more than any other District in Panem.

The idea that Haymitch is sick because of me hits me like a cold shower, and I feel like screaming. As always, my anger is directed at the person closest to me, and I glare wildly at Prim.

"Don't say things like that out loud!" I snap. "It's dangerous!"

The girl isn't scared of me; she lifts her head high, gives me a sharp, cold, blue stare, and even though everything about her, her eye color, shape, everything, is different, she perfectly imitates her sister's expression.

’That doesn’t make it any less true, does it?’

*

The fucking snow is falling again, as I walk home, and I am overcome with self-loathing as I pass Haymitch's house, then quicken my pace as I leave the other two houses he recommended behind. I stop in front of my own and hurry inside. Something feels strange as I hang up my coat.

The silence is too loud. Where Posy lives, there is never silence.

I walk quietly through the hall.

’Mom?’ It's ridiculous, but suddenly I want my mother, and I call her reflexively. She appears from the kitchen almost immediately, and my dread only deepens. Let's start with the fact that my mother is wearing a perfect, meringue-white blouse with long sleeves and jabot; she is wearing a black pencil skirt with black stiletto heels, and in her hands she is carrying a tray with a porcelain tea set, hot tea, cups, a small jug of honey, and another of sugar. Her jet-black hair is tied back in a tight braid, and even before she speaks, I know what's going to happen.

"Gale," she says, her voice strangely lifeless. "You have visitors."

’Mom, who is…’

'You'll find a suit in the kitchen, along with all the items of clothing you might need. Get changed and come to the study as quickly as possible.'

I grab the simple but elegant black suit as quickly as I can. Where are the rest of my family? What happened to them? What have I done? Is this all because of my marriage? What will happen to me?

It feels ridiculous to knock on the door of my own study, but I do it anyway. As soon as the deep male voice speaks, my blood runs cold.

'I try to pull myself together; I survived an Arena! But as I walk through the door, I am forced to bite my lip. Across from me, in a deep green armchair, sits Coriolanus Snow, dressed in an immaculate midnight black suit, with a single blood-red rose in his lapel. Come in!'

He is holding a cup of tea in his hand, into which he is spooning honey as he looks up. Next to him, in an identical chair, sits a middle-aged woman wearing incredibly heavy makeup. I don't know her.

On my desk, there are two open-topped glass globes on either side, not much different from those used in the Harvest, only smaller.

’Ah’ says the President with a smile. ’Kind of you to join us, Mr. Hawthorne’ he tells me as if I had any choise. ’Do sit down.’

I sit down without saying a word, but even when seated, my back remains straight.

’Where is my family?’ My voice is sharp, like every time I’m truly afraid.

The president raises his eyebrows, his blue eyes cold.

'But Mr. Hawthorne, I am quite certain that I just saw your charming mother, who was gracious enough to bring us tea. Speaking of which, don't be rude, young man. Tea?' he asks, as if he is not sitting in my home.

’No, thank you’ I say shortly. ’Sir, please, don’t play games with me’ I plead, and I can’t belive that I’m already begging, under five minutes. ’Where are my siblings and my wife?’

The president's eyebrows rise even higher.

"But Gale, what do you think of me?" he asks. "I'm not a violent man. I asked your kind brothers and sister to take your wife for a walk. I heard she's been unwell lately. Fresh air is good for her health. Now drink! I insist."

The president pours me tea himself, and it seems noisy in the great silence as I take it.

"How is your beloved mentor?" he asks as he watches me take a sip. The tea is so hot that it burns my mouth.

"I'm not sure," I reply darkly, glaring at him. I loathe, loathe, loathe this man.

"Food poisoning at his age," Coriolanus Snow chirps, and I can't help but narrow my eyes. Is this the lie he's spreading around the Capitol about what happened to Haymitch? I have enough.

’Mr. President’ I say. ’ What do you need from me?’

What the fuck do you want?

The other one smiles sharply.

’Need?’ he asks. ’My dear boy, I need nothing from you. I’m here to lighten your mood, which you certainly need. I’m here to play a little game with you. Do you like games Gale?’

’Not particularly, Mr. President, no.’

’Such a shame’ Snow observs. ’Then I’m here to change that. Pick a name!’

’Pardon?’

Snow cheerfully points to the two glass balls, and I want to hit him.

'I respect free will, Gale, especially in Victors. I'm glad you exercised your free will when you wanted to get married. I will do the same in the case of the Games. But I am merciful, and I will let you have a say. Go ahead!'

I reach into one of the glass balls and pull out a slip of paper.

Posy Hawthorne. I break out in a sweat, and my hands clench around the paper. I look up. Snow is watching me with interest.

’Another’ he tells me, almost softly.

Primrose Everdeen. This time my hand starts to shake, and I hear Snow laughing lightly.

’Oh, Gale, playing does not come to you naturally, indeed. Its suppose to be fun! Pick a different one!’

Katniss Everdeen.  I bite my lip so hard that it bleeds. In my frustration, I take another shot.

Meinir Garton. Ena’s baby sister. I want to cry.

’Hm…’ Murmurs Snow. ’Maybe the next one?’

Leeveey Hawthorne.

"You really are having no luck," Snow remarks. "Maybe boys bring you fortunes? Choose from there!

I blink at him. When it is going to end? Whaever I did, I get it. It was wrong.

’Go on!’

Rory Hawthorne. I want to scratch my skin off.

"Ah, there are so few left, let's choose one more," says the president, and I have no choice.

Vick Hawthorne. I'm shaking. I can't do this anymore.

’Mr President…’

’Sush now, Mr. Hawthorne’ he lifts his hand. ’The best is saved for last. Pull.’

Haymitch Abernathy. I… What?

’But Sir’ I start. ’He is a…’

’Victor?’ the other man nods. ’ But next is the seventy-fifth year, the Quell. Who knows what twist our ancestors had in mind for this Game? Perhaps we will draw from among the existing Victors. How interesting it would be if the next Quell were won by the one who triumphed in the last one, wouldn't it? Remember, Gale, free will is a sharp knife.’

Yeah, I know.

The president rises from the table as if he has done his job well. Perhaps that is the case. Not even a trace of me remains whole.

’Thank you for the lovely Game, young man. It was excellent fun.’ He is already on his way to the door when he stops. Indeed, the woman on the neighboring chair hasn't moved.

"How silly of me, I forgot to introduce the lady," he remarks. "This is Wisteria Trinket, the lovely Euphemia's mother." The president looks at me and my stomach churns, knowing what's coming next.

'Make sure she has a wonderful time with you.'

Chapter Text

Katniss

Life… does not go back to the way it was before. There’s always sick people in my house now, which to some extent was always the case, I guess, but now, there is no break from it. They sweat, they groan, some still haven't regained consciousness, others toss and turn at night, tormented by terrible dreams. Still others suffer so much that they beg for their mothers, even grown men whose parents are long gone.

I am not a born healer, unlike my mother and little sister, but I change sheets, make tea, and reduce fevers without saying a word.

Everyone in the District helps, those who remain healthy. The Mellark brothers take turns bringing fresh bread, which is how I get to know Bran and Rye, but most of the time it's Peeta who comes, which I'm quietly happy about.

Well – almost everyone helps. Gale only shows up once, and murmurs something about things going well for us. Again, to some extent, he is right; people in the Seam doesn’t like depts, so noone comes without something to give as payment. Some bring jam, others dried fruit, or a piece of ham wrapped in a cloth. Relatively few people who are not merchants pay with money, but everyone tries.

Everyone likes Mama, regardless of how ill they are. Some see Asterid March, the apothecary's daughter, who has golden hair and blue eyes just like most of the merchants in the district. So they trust her.

Some see Asterid Everdeen, Burdie’s wife, who almost died of grief after her husband died, but still came and tried to keep the injured miners alive, even though she is not originally from the Seam, but a merchant's daughter. So they trust her. And everyone loves Prim, who is gentle, and smart for her age, and a mix of my parents.

’I’m really sorry about this’ murmurs Lentin, one of the miners, who still has trouble standing, yet he has to go to the lavatory.

’It’s fine, don’t worry’ I say, because its really not his fault. Haymitch chooses this moment to leave my mother's bedroom and head for the front door. He is still deathly pale, his neck tightly bandaged, his voice not quite right, but he is definitely better. But still.

"Peeta?" I call out to my new confidant reflexively. "Do you have a minute?"

The boy, who is busy putting away the bread, appears almost immediately from the kitchen and takes stock of the situation, stepping in front of Haymitch.

’Hi, remember me?’ he asks him, kindly.

’Otho’s boy, right?’ mutters the other. ’Well, kid, its not like I’m not grateful, because I am. But I really need to get the fuck out here.’

’Sir, I don’t think thats a good idea just yet.’

’Haymitch will be fine’ murmurs the Victor. ’And why do you care?’

’My father considers you a friend’ answers Peea softly.

’I know he does’ Haymitch’s voice is suddenly quiet, and I don't think it's because of the bite. Regardless, he tries to get around the boy, who skillfully stays ahead of him.

"Swap?" I ask my sister, who joins us at that moment. Prim nods with a faint smile and wraps Lentin's arm around her neck with surprising dexterity.

I step next to Haymitch.

’Where do you think you’re going?’

’Home.’

’Do you want to die?’

’Yes.’

I stare at him intently, without blinking.

'Well, I don't want you to die. Don't do this!’

’Tough.’

’There's nothing I can do to stop you from walking out of here, right?’

’No.’

’Then, I will go with you’

’Why would…’

"In the past month, since I've known you, you've almost died twice!" I snap. "Let me worry about you!"

Without realizing it, my two hands land in his blond hair, and I instinctively run my fingers through it as I talk to him. Interestingly, he seems to enjoy my touch; his eyes close for a moment, then his gaze becomes even sharper. Maybe he is touch starved? My hands immediately fall limply to my sides.

"Will you walk with us?" I turn to Peeta, who smiles at me as if I've done something nice.

’I would be happy to.’  I can’t help it, I smile back at him. Haymitch groans.

’So, basically, I'm your chaperone?’ I can feel my face turning red; I have no idea what he means by that.

’You can always just stay here’ I advise, sharply.

’Lets go’ Haymitch sighs.

"That's what I thought," I note somewhat darkly. "Mom, Haymitch, Peeta, and I are leaving!" I call out after my mother, who pokes her head out of the kitchen.

My mother looks at Haymitch for a moment, then her gaze becomes tired, and I see that she has decided not to argue.

’Both boys are yours, my love’ she tells me, and I realise, that Mom monitored Peeta during the bread runs. Yours to look after, is what she won’t say, but its there, and we all can hear it.

’Aren’t they always’ I nod, and I find that I don’t mind. They are mine.

I take Peeta by the hand and grab Haymitch by the wrist, pulling them out into the open; they both let me do what I want.

'So, you're not wearing gloves and you don't have anyhing on your head?’ I look from one to the other.

’No, Mum’ Haymitch answers for both of them, but his voice is cheerful and joking, instead of the usual mockery. I gently let go of Haymitch's wrist, and the man puts his hand in his pocket, but I still hold Peeta's hand with my other hand and I don't feel like letting it go.

'You sure you don’t mind that you had to come with us?' I turn to Peeta, but he smiles at me in a sweet way.

’Not at all’ he reassures me. ’As I said, my Dad actually likes you’ he looks at Haymitch, who gives him a strangely gentle look. ’And I’m really greatful to have a reason, and be out of my Moms way. She and Dad – they argue a lot recently.’

’As they should’ growls Haymitch darkly. ’After what she did to you.’

Haymitch and I exchange a dark, approving glance. I really, really hate Blake Mellark.

But Peeta stares ahead, a little embarrassed, for a moment as we walk, and I squeeze his hand.

'You said you were interested in the forest, right?' I ask, trying to distract him. 'There aren't many plants growing right now because of the snow, but maybe we could go and watch the foxes if you want. They're hard to catch for hunting because they're fast and good at surviving, but they're beautiful to look at. What do you think?'

Peeta's face lights up, and the sight warms my heart.

’That would be amazing’ he says. 'But we won't hurt the foxes, will we?'

I laugh to myself. Peeta is just as kind-hearted as my sister.

'We didn't hurt anyone, I promise,' I tell him warmly. 'We're just going to lie down and look at them. Their fur would be valuable, but almost no one in the District can afford it.'

’Good’ murmurs Peeta softly, then he looks at Haymitch. ’Would you come with us?’

’Thanks, kid, but I’m too old for this.’

I raise my eyebrows.

'You're about as old as Dad would be, aren't you?' I ask. 'Actually, Mom said you're half a year younger than Dad. That's not old.'

'Look at that, sweetheart, that was a real compliment, thank you! But I just want my bed.'

I look at him and he really does look tired. I reflexively touch the side of his cheek and I can feel how cold it is even through my gloves.

’All right, then’ I say softly. "You can still have some hot tea, I'll make it when we get to your place," I look at Peeta. "We'll need it if we don't want to freeze to death while fox watching.’

‘Lead the way, Captain!’ Peeta salutes playfully, and Haymitch and I both laugh.

*

The chamomile tea steams in the mug I hand to Haymitch, but he doesn't even flinch as he takes it. Somehow he still seems cold, so I pull the blanket tighter around his legs.

'How come all the blankets in this house are torn, worn or thin?' I growl.

’Such is life, sweetheart’ he says, and takes a sip.

’You are the oldest Victor in this damn District…’

’That’s no glory, Katniss.’

’I know that’ I wave. ’What I mean is, you are our Victor, the least they owe you is some freaking blankets. Order some!’

'I don't need anything from the Capitol.'

I sigh.

'So I can learn to knit. Great.'

Haymitch looks at me over his mug, laughs, then sits up and kisses me on the forehead, which shocks me so much that I can't speak.

'Go watch foxes with your boy, sweetheart’

My voice is back.

’He is not my boy!’

’Ah, but he wants to be!’

Peeta chooses this moment to emerge from the kitchen, holding two thermoses full of tea, so I can't tell Haymitch to shut up.

‘Can we go?’ he asks. "Thanks for the tea," he adds, looking at Haymitch.

'No problem,' the other nodds. 'Just choose thick bushes!'

‘For what?’ Peeta asks. ‘For the foxes?’

For the kissing.

’Yeah’ I mutter. ’For the foxes.’

*

It's bitterly cold out there, but I don't mind. Although I don't think we'll see a fox, because Peeta is loud. Not exactly, but - his footsteps are heavy and noisy. I don't mind crouching down next to him and occasionally taking a sip of tea silently though. Its nice.

I blink, and we find ourselves in one of the small wooden shelters, on a tree that my father left behind. It's so cold you can see our breath ripple white as we sip our tea.

"This is all so beautiful, Katniss!" Peeta whispers enthusiastically, and I have to smile as the boy's blue eyes glide across the frozen landscape.

’I’m glad you like it’ I say, and take a síp. It should annoy me that he only sees beauty, when this landscape has meant only nourishment and peace to me for so long, but it doesn't annoy me; I'm quietly glad that he's happy.

'I wish I had brought a pencil!' I'm surprised.

'I didn't know you could draw!'

'Well, it's an exaggeration to say I can, but I like to draw,' he replies shyly.

'Can I watch it sometime? As you draw?’

’Sure. What do you wanna see?’

’Anything really. Its up to you.’

He smiles at me and then turns back to the landscape.

'I need to see the sunset from here sometime,' he muses. 'That kind of orange is my favorite color.'

’Thats pretty’ I give it to him.

’What’s yours?’

’My what?’

’What’s your favourite colour?’

’Green’ I tell him by reflex, thinking of the forest we are in right now, and how its like a second home to me.

He nodds silently, and I was suddenly filled with concern for him. The scars are still visible, all around his skull, and where the wounds extend, his deep blonde hair is thinner. And he doesn't have a fucking beanie.

Completely reflexively, I smooth my hand over his cheek; his skin is ice cold. He flinches in surprise, but doesn't pull away, just looks at me; his gaze is kind. I am bad at planning; meals, hunting, life requires planning. But every time I bury myself in deep planning, I start to worry and imagine the worst.

Now I don't plan, I just do what I want. I lean forward and kiss him; his lips are pleasantly warm, and almost immediately he wraps his arms around my neck and kisses me back.

Everything is soothing, soft, and safe, and this is where I want to die, kissing him.

When it ends, the cold cuts even deeper into my face, but even though Peeta pulls away, he isn't far, and he immediately takes my hand, which falls into my lap. He smiles broadly, and dimples appear on both sides of his face.

"Panem, I should have asked you long ago what your favorite color is, if it causes such a reaction," he says, and I have to laugh.

Then I see a reddish flash out of the corner of my eye, and I freeze.

’Peeta, look!’ I wishper. Of course, its happening now. Of course its Peeta Mellark, in whose company something unexpected and improbably good happens to me. The fox is surprisingly large, vocal, moves skillfully, and is clearly looking for food.

’Stars, he is so fast!’

Peeta's enthusiasm is almost palpable next to me, and I squeeze his hand.

’He really is!’

And then it happens. An arrow flies through the air toward the fox, and I hear Peeta cry out beside me. His blue eyes flash toward me for a moment, but of course, I didn't shoot it. I don't have my bow with me.

The shot misses, and the animal disappears unharmed behind a tree; I exhale. My good mood disappears with it.

’Who?...’ asks Peeta.

’I don’t know, lets go find out!’

I don't feel like it, but I let go of his hand and climb down from the tree, and he follows me a little more slowly. As soon as he reaches the ground, he instantly reaches for my hand again; my grumpiness fades away, and I smile faintly at him.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Gale emerges from the trees, arrows strapped to his back, bow in hand. I don't like the way he talks about Peeta as if he weren't here, but Peeta just stands calmly and doesn't let go of my hand. Gale's gaze fixes on our intertwined fingers for a moment.

"We were watching the fox," I reply simply. I don't feel like arguing. I don't understand why he's so upset.

"Instead of killing him?" asks Gale.

"We don't need the meat, and the fur is too expensive for the locals," I snap. It's one thing that Peeta doesn't know this, but Gale does: he's just being argumentative.

"We don't need the meat” the boy repeats mockingly. "Of course,  if you work for our eldest Victor..." He trails off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air, making me feel weak.

"You're Victor yourself, remember?" I snarl at him. "What's the difference?"

"Guys," Peeta says quietly, but Gale doesn't even notice.

"I'm not going to waste a perfect opportunity for meat and fur just because I'm not hungry anymore!" he growls. 'If nothing else, we could sell it to the Capitol!'

"I thought you didn't want to accept anything from the Capitol, nor give them nothing!" I blurt out without thinking.

Gale stops and stares at me, there is so much disgust in my voice.

’Guys!’ snaps Peeta, and its so unusual for him, that we both look at him finally.

’Is that a howercraft?’ He points to the sky.

Chapter Text

Katniss

Suprisingly enough, between the three of us, its me, who reacts first. I’m not suprised at Peeta; he is simply too good for this world, and he is not used to danger. But I am, in fact shocked at Gale. He was always a survivor at heart, and he is a Victor after all, and Haymitch says you never really leave the Arena. But maybe, thats the problem. Perhaps the trauma is paralyzing him.

’Get down!’ I shout at them, grab them both by the shoulders with one hand, and we quickly hide in the bushes. Peeta is silent and motionless on my right, but Gale finally comes to on the left. He unbuckles two knives from his belt and hands them both to me, since he still has his quiver full of arrows on his back and his bow is intact.

Without thinking, I hand one to Peeta; I can sense Gale's irritation at this, but I don't care. I won't leave Peeta unarmed. The boy accepts the knife and holds it with practiced ease, which is reassuring.

The sound of running footsteps reaches my ears, and two shivering figures of our age appear from among the trees: a boy and a girl. The girl has fiery red hair, and just as they reach us, she stops, panting, and gasps for air, leaning on her knees. The Howercraft is looking for them, and the thought makes my blood run cold.

"Lavinia!" breathes the boy. "Come on, we have to go! Now!"

’I… I can’t!’

I feel Peeta move beside me; the frozen leaves move with him.

"What the fuck are you doing, stay still!" Gale hisses at him, and I understand what he's doing. The hovercraft didn't bother us, and the boy and girl didn't notice us; we're still safe. Its going to change, if we talk to the pair.

"What hell is wrong with you, we have to help them!" Peeta snaps, and if he didn't have to whisper, I think he would be shouting. That's the difference between the two of them. Gale is right, but... who do I want to stand with? The boy who loves his family more than anyone else and is willing to hide, or the boy whose heart is so big that he won't hide?

I move together with Peeta to step out of our hiding place, and I see the boy's blue eyes light up at this.

"Stay put!" Gale growls at me and forces me to the ground. The gesture is astonishing.

"Get your hands off me, what do you think you're doing?" I hiss at him, and I can see that I've hurt his feelings, but I have to make my own decisions. He doesn't let me go.

’Don’t be stupid!’

’Don’t tell me what to do!’ He doesn't let me go.

’She said hands off’ Peeta is calm, but he's holding the knife blade toward Gale; my best friend snorts.

’Oh, please, just try’ His tone is is sarcastic and reminds me of one of the Carrier girls from his Game, who threw her knives with cruel precision.

’Guys!’ The truth is, we argued for too long; Lavinia and her boy have started running again, and at this very moment they have disappeared among the trees. The hovercraft follows them ominously in the sky. My heart sinks, and I wish them luck, silently, but I don't think they stand a chance.

"We made the right decision," Gale mutters darkly.

"Debatable," Peeta replies softly, his voice sad.

I want to cheer him up, but I have nothing to do it with.

*

"Tell them what a stupid idea it was!" Gale sneers.

We argued the whole way back, and I'm tired of it, but Gale won't let it go.

We end up at Haymitch's, as we always do these days. I originally wanted to go home, but the streets full of posters reminded me that the president is giving a speech on TV this afternoon, which is mandatory viewing, and Haymitch's house is closer than the Seam on the way back, so we stop by. Although built-in TVs detect how many people are watching the device, it doesn't matter where we watch the program from, as long as we don't run into Peacekeepers during broadcast time or after curfew.

"And why would any of them care what I say?" Haymitch asks Gale. His voice is softly mocking, as if he is amused. Gale clearly didn't expect this reaction, and now he's even angrier.

’They both have a thing for you, apprenetly’ he murmurs darkly.

’A thing?’ Haymitch repeats, with a dry laugh. ’Ah, most people at least buy me a drink, before a thing!’

Gale blushes deeply, and I feel sorry for him, and so does Haymitch, it seems.

"It was dangerous," he remarks, looking at me and Peeta. I nod; I can agree with that. "But there was decency in it," he adds, and Peeta smiles faintly at him. I can understand that too, and I nod again.

’ Decency’ growls Gale. ’ Decency is useless, if you are dead.’

"At least you won't die an asshole," Haymitch shrugs. Gale curses quietly, but the argument ends because the program is about to start and the TV in the living room turns on automatically.

The president appears behind a dark mahogany desk, impeccably elegant as always; Coriolanus Snow wears a deep blue suit with a deep red rose in his lapel.

I notice that Haymitch and Gale are staring at the president with identical, burning, disgusted expressions, and suddenly I remember what Haymitch told me about Victors in general. Coriolanus Snow has no idea that every single one of them is his enemy.

’Good evening, Panem’ he tells us, and while there is nothing downright mean in his tone, I notice, that Haymitch’s hand is shaking in his lap. I have a feeling that its not because of the alcohol this time.

I exchange a quick glance with Peeta; a silent system has developed between us over the past period, and these days we don't even need words to understand each other. He sees what I see and quickly settles down on the left side of Haymitch on the sofa. I sit on the man's right side, take his hand in mine, and wrap my hands around it, which calms his trembling. I can feel his surprised gaze on my face, but I don't look at him, keeping my eyes fixed on the screen. He doesn't pull his hand away. This arrangement, of course, means that we take up the entire length of the sofa, and Gale is forced to sit on the floor, cross-legged.

I feel a little sorry for him, but at the same time, I can't get over the fact that he was so sure he had made the right decision. I'm no better than him; I feel like a coward for even considering staying hidden, unlike Peeta, who didn't hesitate to help. But at least I could be swayed in the right direction; I would have been willing to stay with Peeta, to help. Gale was unshakeable, and that bothers me.

’I have good news for the entirity of our beloved nation’ Snow continues. 'From now on, the last week of winter will be known as Winter Celebration, with one day of rest for all of Panem. Let this be a celebration for all of us, which we can spend with our families, friends, and loved ones, giving each other gifts and recognizing how fortunate we are to be part of such a glorious country.'

"I'm going to throw up," Gale mutters, and I look at him thoughtfully. Something about the president's announcement doesn't sit well with me, but interestingly, a holiday with an extra day off doesn't seem dangerous. Still, something tightens in my chest.

"What is he trying to achieve with this?" I ask Haymitch and Peeta, but Gale answers. "Exercising control," he replies grimly. "He wants to rub it in our faces that, even though we can't see, he decides how we spend our days. If he wants us to work, we work; if we're good dogs, he rewards us with a day off."

"Partly," Haymitch replies. He gently frees his hand from mine and brushes a strand of hair from my face that has slipped out of my braid. 'He wants to give the people bread and circus. Hungry people are dangerous, so he needs to give us at least some food, and bored people are bloodthirsty, so they need entertainment too.’

"And the Games are maximum entertainment for the Capitol, while punishing the Districts, so it has to give us something too," Peeta realizes.

My gaze wanders from one to the other, and I have to admit that they are both extremely intelligent. The idea of the holiday, which until now had filled me with restrained interest, turns bitter in my mind.

*

Regardless, there is quiet excitement throughout the District at the news. Honestly, I'm not one bit better than them. For a long time, I only had to think about my mother and Primrose, but this year is the first time since my father's death that I love more than just them.

When I quietly ask my mother to teach me how to knit, her blue eyes light up with enthusiasm. I know she wants something that belongs to the two of us. My fingers are clumsy at first, and the yarn is expensive, but my mother says not to worry about it, I work hard enough. I would like to knit a beanie for Peeta, give Haymitch a pair of gloves, and knit sweaters for my mother and sister.

I decide to try a scarf for Madge, and maybe one for Peeta’s dad, but that's where I draw the line. I'll bring wild meat for Gale and his family, but I can't take on any more than that. When I'm not at Haymitch's or at school, knitting takes up all my time. At first, the material falls apart in my hands, slips off the needles, and I curse—but then, slowly, slowly, I learn. My hands hurt from the work.

Haymitch's gloves are the first to be finished. They turn out to be surprisingly durable and quite light blue—I'm trying to match the shade of his eyes.

Then there's Peeta's beanie, which is deep green because it's impossible to find orange yarn in the district that comes close to his favorite color. But green is a nice color, and the beanie might turn out even better than the gloves.

For some reason, scarves are easier for me, and Madge's cherry red one is quickly finished. I'm also knitting when Gale knocks on our door.

"I can't believe you're knitting a scarf for the mayor's daughter," he remarks as he sits down next to me, his voice tinged with the usual disapproving sarcasm. I know what he's trying to say. Madge is wealthier than the rest of the District, and as such, Gale automatically sees her as an enemy. But I like Madge, who is smart and quiet.

Besides, I can't get the occasion out of my head, a few days earlier, when I find Haymitch even drunker than usual, and he talks to me at length about Maysilee, Madge's aunt, who was with him in the Arena.  Maysilee, the girl Haymitch Abernathy hated, then slowly began to respect, and ultimately considered his sister. I'm thinking of Madge's mother, who Haymitch says looks just like Maysilee and who hasn't been able to get out of bed for years. Madge may have different problems than I do, but she has problems nonetheless.

"Why?" I ask Gale, casually looking up from my knitting needles.

"Some would say that the mayor's daughter is rich enough not to deserve a scarf made from the hard-earned pennies of a Seam girl," the boy replies darkly.

"And some say that Gale Harwtorne is a traitor to District 12, a Victor who doesn't deserve my friendship. Since when do we listen to what some people say?" I ask him sharply. Gale turns bright red and doesn't say anything for a while.

"Will you knit me a scarf too?" he asks then.

"Unlike Madge, you already have a scarf," I reply. I don't want to knit any more. Although my mother and Prim's light gray sweaters are already finished, I still don't know what color to choose for Peeta's father.

Gale snorts, but doesn't argue.

'Pick a nice shade of brown for him,' my mother replies when I ask about Peeta's father. 'He likes brown.' There's something in her voice I can't quite place, but she lowers her eyes, so I don't press the issue.

"What does Haymitch do on the day off?" my mother then asks. I am slightly surprised and feel guilty. He must be alone.

’I don’t know’ I tell her honestly. ’Why?’

"Invite him for lunch and dinner," she tells me. "He can spend the night here too. It's awful to be alone when everyone else is celebrating, and we've got enough food for more people now."

"Good idea," I reply slowly. "'Thanks, Mama."

"Don't thank me," my mother replies with a smile. "He was my friend first."

Neither of us invite Gale, and he doesn’t say anything about it.

*

When I get over to Haymitch’s, I find Peeta there, who took to bringing fresh bread and other hot, fresh baked goods to the Victor, for which his father would not allow Haymitch to pay.

’Panem, something smells really good' I greet the boy as I put my bag down in the kitchen, then think for a moment and kiss him on the cheek. He smiles broadly at me.

"These are cheese buns," he explains. "I brought some for you too."

’You are the absolute best’ I answer, honestly. I take a bite, and my eyes widen. ’Stars, these are perfect, Peeta!’

He laughs.

’I glad you like them’ he tells me kindly. I smile back at him.

"If you want me to eat any of that, stop flirting so badly, because I'm going to throw up!" Haymitch shouts from the living room.

’Lalala’ I reply almost melodiously, indicating that I don't care and don't believe him.

Regardless, I put four hot, fragrant cheese buns on a plate and bring them to him. Peeta comes with me.

'What are you doing on the day of the Winter Celebration?' I ask.

’What do you think?’ Haymitch raises the wine glass in his hand, sarcastically.

I roll my eyes.

'Come, have lunch and dinner with us,' I say instead. 'My mother suggested that you could sleep there too. Don’t get drunk alone.’

’Get drunk in company instead?’ he asks, but he smiles slightly. I win.

’If you’d like’ I shrug, but my mouth twitches into a smile. ’So, will you come or not?’

’Sure, why not’ he murmurs, but his tone is kind this time.

There's almost a sense of gratitude in the air between us, and I can't handle that, so I turn to Peeta.

’And you? Big plans?’

’My mother wants to go to her sister’s’ answers Peeta, but I don’t think he really likes the idea.

I suddenly feel shy, but at the same time it comes out of my mouth:

’Wellyouguyscancomeaswell’

Peeta blinks. The whole sentence is slipping into one, I say it so fast.

’Sorry?’

’You guys can come as well if you like’ I repeat, forcing myself to articulate the words. ’Your dad, and your borthers, if your mom has something different in mind, but you don’t want to go there?’

Peeta's beautiful blue eyes widen.

'Seriously?' he asks. 'Won't your mother be angry?'

’My mom adores you’ I state the obvius. ’You can move in even, any time, if you ask her.’

’That would be amazing!’ he blueshes. ’I mean dinner and lunch, not moving in.’

I have to laugh.

’I’m really going to be sick’ sings Haymitch, but I'm in too good a mood to be annoyed by this.

’Ah, do shut up’ I tell him lightly. ’I was under the impression you liked Otho Mellark’

’I do like him’ he admits simply.

’Well then’ I nod.

"What should we bring?" asks Peeta, who is clearly already excited.

"Nothing is necessary, but anything is welcome," I say, in a warm voice, remembering that there will be at least seven of us.

’Such as?’

’Well, I wouldn’t say no to more cheese buns’ I admit with a grin.

"It can be arranged," Peeta replies, laughing, but then he gets serious.

’Whats wrong?’

’Well… its just… Bran has a girlfriend, you see. She is a community home kid, and has noone just him. Her name is Giada.  Would it be a big problem if she came too?’

Who can say no to Peeta Mellark and his honest, big, blue eyes? I certainly can't. And I find it mildly impressive that huge, muscular Bran Mellark, the quietest of the three brothers, would dare to stand up to his mother and date a Community Home girl. I shrug.

"Tell her we're happy to have her," I reply.

’Thank you, Katniss!’

He kisses me on the forehead, and I feel pleasantly warm.

*

My mother doesn't seem to mind that I've invited extra guests, although an expression crosses her features, similar to the one she had when I asked about the color of Otho Mellark's scarf. She sews small bags as peresents, from the remaining yarn which can be closed with a button. Bran's is a nice cocoa brown because it's made from yarn from Otho's sweater, Rye's is blue like Haymitch's scarf, and Gaida's is cherry red like Madge's.

*

I rise early on the day of the Winter Celebration, and my walk in the cold is rewarded with a lucky hunt. I shoot enough rabbits for the feast, and some as gifts for Gale and his family.
I'm collecting leaves. Prim is putting a pressed daisy in Gaida's little bag, but I feel like the boys need something too. I find three interesting leaves, frozen in untouched stillness by the cold. One is blood red, with almost golden veins, the other is golden yellow, and the third is a delicate, tired brown. Although I should only need two, I hid all three in my bag on some instinct.

On my way home, I cross Victors Village and leave the gift rabbits on Gale's steps. I should go in, but I don't want to. Gale will know from the clear, through-the-eye shots that the rabbits came from me, and that should be enough. I stop at Haymitch's house, though. He's less drunk than usual.

’Just come, okay?’ I ask him. ’Just come.’

"If I promise something, I keep it, Katniss," says the Victor.

’Do you?’

’Yes, I do.’

’Good. Spend the day with us, Haymitch.’

*

I'm only home long enough to tell my mother and Primrose that I'm taking the scarf I knitted for Madge. "Wait a minute," my mother says, and I stop. Mom pulls out two small, buttoned bags like the ones she knitted for the two Mellark brothers and Gaida, this time in tired gray. So she found the yarn I used: I just hope Prim and her surprise didn't show.

"Please take these to Merrilee and Kieran, okay?" my mother asks. I blink. I need a minute to realise that she is talking about Madge’s parents. The plus leaf I found, the delicate brown one comes in handy now, and I put it into the mayor’s present. I feel very grateful for Prim and her collection of pressed flowers, when she hands me a nice, pressed bluebell for Merrilee Doner.

*

Madge's face turns bright red from the cold as we talk in front of her house. The girl invites me in, but I gently decline.

"Oh, Katniss, this is beautiful!" she exclaims as soon as she sees the scarf and immediately wraps it around her neck. The bright shade goes well with her blonde hair. ’Thank you so much! Actually, I have something for you guys as well, hold on!’

The girl steps back into the house and returns a moment later with a wicker basket, but she doesn't hand it to me at first, but simply places it on the ground in front of her.

Instead, she unties a bunch of brightly colored silk ribbons from her wrist, too fine to be from the District. They're for hair, and I think Madge ordered them from the Capitol.

"We thought the pale pink was for Primrose, the gold was for your mother, and the emerald green was for you, but of course, it's up to you," she tells me.

I stare at her. That means she really meant them for us, she's not just saying them to make herself feel better.

'Thank you, Madge,' I say quietly and sincerely. 'They're perfect.' I put the pink and gold ribbons in a pocket, then undo my braid and recreate it using the green.

'You're welcome,' the girl replies with a smile. 'You look so pretty with it. This color suits you,' she adds, as soon as my new braid is done.

I have a hard time handling praise, so I hand over the gifts I brought to her parents. Madege's blue eyes sparkle.

'Did your mother make these?' she asks. 'They're flawless!'

’She is really good with this’ I tell her with a certain pride, and she nods, respectfully.

'Just don't squeeze them too hard or the surprises inside could break.'

"My mother will love them," Madge promises. I suddenly think of Merrilee, who lost her twin sister in the Arena.

"Would you like to come to dinner and lunch?" I suddenly offer.

A deep sadness crosses Madge's face, and my heart sinks.

"We'd love to come," the girl admits. "But Mama's not well enough for it. I'm so sorry, Katniss!"

I quickly shake my head: that wasn't my intention.

"You never have to apologize to me for anything like that. My mother is a healer, remember?" I give her a quick, hopefully comforting squeeze on the shoulder.

'My father asked me to give you this basket of honeyed dates, he ordered them from the Capitol,' the girl says, with a sad smile. 'Have you ever eaten one of these?'

‘No, but they look fantastic!’ I say, thinking that it would come in handy when we have so many guests. ‘Please tell him we are very grateful. And thank you for the ribbons.’ I lift the basket into my arms.

’Happy Winter Celebration to you, Katniss’ answers Madge, with a smile. I give her my own smile, as I start my walk home.

*

As soon as I get home, there's a lot of commotion. My mother and Prim set up our single, long table in the middle of the kitchen, which my mother had covered with a white tablecloth. Our dinnerware is beat up and not all of it matches, and I'm not sure the table will be big enough for all of us, but strangely, I'm not worried.

We also have plenty of rabbit left over, which my mother has already roasted, and now we have dates. There is always fresh well water, and I bet Haymitch will bring some kind of alcohol if my mother or Otho Mellark wants it.

Prim is wearing a fluffy white blouse and a black skirt, which we usually save for Harvest, and my mother is wearing one of her old, elegant dresses from when she was a girl. The dress is very simple, with elegant straight lines, made of raven black satin, completely unadorned, and it emphasizes how slim my mother is.

When I hand over the colorful silk ribbons Madge sent, Primrose squeals with delight and immediately re-braides her two thick braids with the pale pink gift. My mother just smiles quietly and ties her own gold ribbon around her neck instead of jewelry.

’Gold is my favourite colour’ she tells us, softly.

’Merrilee must have remembered it’ I answer.

My mother's eyes light up with joy and she does something she rarely does; she kisses me on the cheek. She only gets one of my usual half-smiles from me, but she is is clearly pleased with it.

Since everyone is so pretty, I decide to change too. I pull on a deep green material, a dress I also wear at the Harvest, and get it done as quickly as possible.

Our guests slowly arrive; the three blond Mellark brothers, and Otho, not to mention Gaida, a black-haired Seam girl with green eyes. Despite the winter, the girl is wearing a thin, white glove on her right hand, and at a glance I realize that it's because part of her little finger is missing. Peeta has snowflakes in his hair and on his shoulders, and his lips are cool, when he kisses me on the cheek.

Otho hands my mother a large bouquet of pale tulips; there's something about his kind smile that reminds me of Peeta. Mama laughs; she puts a strand in her hair and places the rest in a broken vase in one of the windows.

"Come," Primrose says kindly to Bran and Rye, who look a little lost.

The Mellark men bring a pile of sweets; caramelized pumpkin pies, cheesecakes, steaming breads filled with butter and chives. Everyone sits around the table, and I’m overjoyed when Peeta takes my hand under the table.

Still, I'm not completely at ease; through the window I can see the snow is freezing, falling in huge cold flakes, and Haymitch is still nowhere to be found.

"He'll come, don't worry," Peeta says in a quiet, kind voice.

’Yeah, but where is he? Last time it was poision, the time before it was the booze…’

’If we don’t hear from him within half an hour we go and… oh, look!’

Haymitch walks through our front door, a canvas bag slung over his shoulder and an oak barrel under one arm. I want to punch him; but I’m grateful Peeta is by my side, and I kiss his forehead instead.

’Thanks for putting up with me’ I murmur to him.

’Always’ he says in a gentle voice. I’m damn lucky.

’Give me a minute, okay?’

’Go ahed’ he smiles, and he turns to Gaida.

Otho Mellark whistls softly as he sees the barrel.

"So, are we having whiskey?" he asks cheerfully.

"No, I just brought it as a decoration," jokes Haymitch.

I stop in front of him.

'You've come,' I say.

'I told you I'd be here'

’Good’ nod. ’Sit with me and Peeta?’

’Promise no PDA?’

I roll my eyes.

’Sit down Haymitch.’

He sits down at the table, grinning, and I feel good about myself, walking to the front door to lock it. I've already spoken to Madge, and everyone else I care about is safe under my roof.

*

We eat; rabbit meat holds up well to the passage of time, and I am in love with Mellark baked goods. And the dates are the best thing I have ever tasted. I'll make a mental note to thank Madge again when we meet.

After lunch we exchange gifts; interestingly, Haymitch starts by unceremoniously handing me a beautifully carved brown box with a paper-wrapped, red-hot chestnut inside. I already love the smell of it, and I look at it with a smile that reaches from ear to ear. The box has a Mockingjay carving on it, but Haymitch doesn't add anything to it.

"Look at the bottom of the box, Sweetheart," he murmurs instead, sipping whiskey.

'Oh,' I breathe. It's a thin, fragile, unadorned silver necklace. It's not the kitschy jewelry they like at the Capitol; I already feel close to it, and even though I'm not a girly girl, I can imagine it on my neck. It's simply, understatedly beautiful. I look up at Haymitch. ’Thank you.’

I try to pack as much depth into those two words as I can, and Haymitch feels it, trying to stare into his glass. But I’m not done.

’Help me with it?’ I ask, and I turn.

’Sure’ he mutters, and indeed, he fastens the chain around my neck. The silver lands softly on my skin. I turn back to Haymitch.

’What do you think?’

He actually smiles at me.

’Its fucking perfect, sweetheart.’

When he unwraps his own package, his eyes widen.

'Did you knit me gloves?'

"You needed it," I state simply.

'Did you learn to knit because of me?'

"I told you so," I reply, and get another sincere smile. I could get used to this.

Haymitch's other gifts are also thoughtful; my mother's box is carved with a star, and along with the hot chestnuts, she gets a slender silver bracelet, the twin of my necklace. My mother kisses Haymitch on the cheek without a word, and he blushes deeply, then she also fastens the jewelry, which matches the simple black dress.

My sister's box has a flower carving on it, and after a blink I realize that the flower is a Primrose, which is what Prim is named after. My little sister eagerly eats the paper-wrapped boiled chestnuts, but I'm caught up in Haymitch's gaze; he watches with a clever glint as Primrose discovers the other gift, wrapped in shiny cellophane, at the bottom of the box.

When that happens, Prim raises her head, and her gaze is so similar to my mother's that it sends a pang of pain through my chest.

’Are you serius?’ Prim asks.

’Like a heart attack, flower-girl’ he answers. ’You don’t like it?’

’Are you… of course I love it Haymitch!’

Prim pulls out a very, very pale pink dress made of the finest material, with barely noticeable delicate floral patterns running through it. My mother quietly notes that the pattern is called cherry blossom.

The pleasant squeeze in my chest tightens. Primrose is practically a merchant girl, or she should be, with golden hair and blue eyes, born in the Seam.

She deserves the finest, most exquisite things, but we can’t give her those things; and Haymitch has done it now. Of course, Primrose always gets angry when I bring this up; every time she says she’s glad Burdock was our father, even though she doesn’t remember him. Yet, now I see that she’s is very happy with the dress.

’Try it on’ I advise, and she runs to our mother’s bedroom, and locks the door to do so.

’Look at you, having a heart over here’ I tease Haymitch, but I think he can hear the gratitude in my tone.

’I never said I didn’t have one’ he notes midly. ’ I rarely use it.’

Primrose appears from behind the door; the delicate fabric suits her perfectly, the dress is unadorned except for the floral pattern, pale pink and pale white in places, and leaves the little girl's arms free. Perfect. Prim whirls in front of Haymitch, flashing her typical sweet smile.

’Thank you, Haymitch!’

’Don’t mention it, flower-girl’ he murmurs, and sips on the wishkey, to hide his sudden shyness.

’Its too late’ I tell Haymitch softly, with a half smile.

’Hm?’

’You can’t hide now’ I explain. ’She officially considers you ours.’

’Oh, but I thought I already was’ he tells me somewhat sarcastically.

’You are not wrong.’

He looks at me.

’Ah, Panem.’ He downs the whiskey in one gulp, and I have to grin.

Peeta's box has his own monogram engraved on it, as do his two brothers' and Gaida's, but while the two older brothers' boxes, and the girl's has bittersweet chocolate, (a luxury item, in the Districts,)  next to the chestnuts, Peeta's hides something different.

“You’re crazy!” Peeta exclaims, but his voice is happy, not insulting.

"I've been called worse," Haymitch notes peacefully.

"You actually heard what I was talking about!" Peeta says in surprise.

'Yeah, just don't tell anyone else,' Haymitch replies easily. 'I have a certain reputation I want to maintain.’

I laugh and see Otho Mellark grinning into his own drink.

"I always try to talk to Haymitch when I bring the bread," Peeta turns to his father.

'It's not an easy task,' Otho replies, smiling.

"Hey!" Haymitch exclaims, but Otho just playfully raises his glass higher, as if to toast Haymitch.

"I mentioned I like to draw," Peeta continues.

’Did you?’ asks Otho.

That explains Peeta's gift; a large pack of snow-white, good-quality paper bound with black velvet, paints, in all sorts of colors, and a large pack of colored and black pencils; brushes.

"Are you sure I can accept this?" Peeta asks his father, and I understand what he's asking; the gift is so valuable that even a rich merchant wouldn't be able to afford it. Peeta only got it because Haymitch is a Victor.

But before Otho can speak, Haymitch interrupts.

"'If you don't want them, I'll throw them all away,' he says firmly, though not angrily. 'Don't waste it, boy.'

Peeta smiles at Haymitch, and that smile is just as heartbreaking as Prim's, in my opinion. And it has an effect on Haymitch, who lowers his head.

'Well, I'm more than grateful,' Peeta says, his eyes sparkling. 'And it's my turn next.'

Peeta hands Haymitch a large, brown basket, in his own name and that of his family, in which, covered with a white cloth, lie some kind of eggs.

“Goose eggs,” Otho says softly. A look of open emotion crosses Haymitch’s face, and I see my mother and Otho exchange a strange look.

The eggs have some significance to Haymitch that only the three of them understand. I want to ask him, but I feel Peeta’s gentle grip on my arm, and he shakes his head, his eyes serious when I look at him. Maybe he’s right. Let’s leave Haymitch’s past to him.

"Thanks, guys," Haymitch mutters hoarsely. Then he shakes himself and pulls a small black pouch from his pocket, which he hands to Otho. The man raises an eyebrow as he pulls a simple key from it.

"If you and your sons ever want a new environment," Haymitch adds.

At least that’s a reference I get. Peeta’s mother is violent and unbearable, and Haymitch, whose house is full of guest rooms, gives his friend an escape route. Otho looks at him seriously, then wordlessly, gratefully, squeezes his shoulders, and pockets the key.

The momentary solemnity is broken again by Peeta, who gives my mother a painting in a simple wooden frame. The painting shows the three of us: my mother, Primrose, and me, so lifelike that the air in my lungs becomes trapped.

Photographs are almost impossible to come by in the district, and we only have one picture in the house, of my father. I'm sure that this picture will end up on the wall next to it.

’Oh, Peeta’ my mom wishpers. ’Its beautiful!’

’I’m glad you like it’ my boy answers, in a kind voice.

Wait. Since when do I think of Peeta as my boy?

The boy hands Primrose a beautiful, small, pale yellow cupcake, the kind my sister had so often admired in the bakery window but we could never afford to buy. The sweet is topped with a delicately sculpted doe.

'Peeta, this is so pretty, I can't eat it!'

’Oh, do eat it!’ smiles Peeta. ’Otherwise, it going to go bad, and I worked hard on that doe, I have to tell you.’

’You did this?’ I ask with real admiration as Prim bites into her present.

’I do the decorations in the bakery’ he admits very shy.

’You are amazing at it’ I tell him honestly, and his huge smile returns.

’I have something for you as well’ he says, almost tenderly.

Peeta pulls a small brown cloth bag from his pocket and hands it to me. Inside is a tiny pearl; I gasp as I hold it in my hand, it’s so beautiful—and real.

’How…?’

’Well, remember, how Haymitch said, that Mags, the Victor from Four is really kind, and all?’ he asks. He puts his hands in his pockets and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, smiling. My eyes wander to Haymitch and I nod. His mentor, during his Games.

’I just wanted to get to know her, and Haymitch said it’s okay to write to her, and so I did’ Peeta tells me. ’And she is indeed really kind, and I really wanted to know more about a different district, you know?’

I nod. Such a rare opportunity: most of us only know our own District, we are born here and will die here as well, if we don't make it to the Arena.

’She lives near the sea and she sent me shells and all sorts of things, but this pearl is my favorite, almost as beautiful as you, so I thought it must be yours.'

"Almost as beautiful as you," Peeta's words echo between us, and I blush.

’I really do love it, Peeta’ I tell him honestly, and its as if I’m talking about something else.

*

Gale

I've been wandering in the heavy snowfall for hours. I'm drunk, and I know I am. I can't face my mother or my wife like this, and I don't want my siblings to see me like this. I consider simply going over to Haymitch's for a drink, but my mentor's house is dark and still. Of course - he's spending the evening with the Everdeens, where I wasn't invited. Of course, if Mellark is there, I don't want to go.

My mother is making a complicated dinner, with the rabbit we clearly got from Katniss and the crab that Mags sent my mother. The injustice of my mother's apparent deep friendship with another Victor burns my soul.

My mother though – she adores her gift from Mags, and that makes me feel even worse. She prepares the crab as though it were a quiet ritual. With graceful precision, she lowers the fresh crab into a pot of simmering, salted water perfumed with white wine and a hint of bay leaf. The kitchen fills with a delicate aroma.

As the shell blushes to a deep coral hue, she lifts it gently, letting the steam rise in elegant ribbons. Her fingers, deft yet reverent, crack the shell open to reveal the tender flesh within. She drizzles it with melted butter infused with lemon zest and a touch of pink peppercorn — not to overwhelm, but to awaken the sweetness of the meat.

On a porcelain plate, she arranges the pieces like fragments of coral reef, a glimmer of gold on white. A final brush of herb oil gleams beneath the candlelight.  Apparently the method of preparation also comes from Mags, one of their endless conversations, in writing.

The idea that a stranger gave the ingredients for my dinner, and that my mother doesn't need anything from me - that's what drives me out of the house. I run and grab a bottle of vodka from the pantry and drink it on the open street, at night, in the snow.

My mother comes after me, she tells me not to go, she wants to serve the rabbit loin with thyme and potatoes and horseradish sauce, but I don't care; I don't stop.

It’s snow, and night, the alcohol burning my throat, but not warming me. I find myself in the Seam; I see a candle burning in the window of the Everdeen house, but I don’t go near it. I see the door of the small wooden building next to the house is tightly closed.

Even Lady the goat is taken better care of than I am. Someone - presumably Prim - made sure the animal didn't get cold at night.

I walk away from the Everdeen house, drinking and drinking and drinking. I pretend the alcohol is forcing tears out of me. I drink until everything is dark around me.

Chapter Text

Katniss

’But why?’ I ask.

Gale purses his lips and gives me a sharp look.

’Snow uses those who are close to me. I don’t want to put you in danger.’

’Ah, but it was okay to put me in danger till Peeta didn’t come along?’ I’m sarcastic, but also I realise something. I'm almost certain that's why Haymitch had that big fight with both of my parents, back in the day, even if he is not willing to talk about it. To keep them safe.

Gale grimaces.

'And what if I don't want to be where Mellark is?'

I roll my eyes.

'My family will be there too,' I say. 'You like my family, remember?’

Gale raises his black eyebrows.

'And who is in your family?'

"What the hell do you think? Primrose, my mom, and Haymitch," I reply without thinking, irritated.

’Did you just include Haymitch as your family?’

’He is your ment…’ I bite the word mentor and shrug. I tried. If he doesn't want to come, that's his problem.

’Forget it!’ I turn around and I shoot for the others. ’Thanks for having me, Hazelle, I’m off now!’

’Catnip, come on!’ He comes after me.

’No, Gale, you come on!’ I turn back, and stare at him. ’When I don’t invite you to our Winter Celebration, because I assume that you would want to spend it with your family, and your new wife, you act all hurt. Mainwhile you have no problem hanging out with me, just now, even though everyone can see that Leeveey has a compliacted prengancy. The girl can’t get out of bed, G! But when I do invite you two to spend an afternoon at the lake with me, you say no. I can’t do it right, can I?’

’But its not just for hanging out with you, is it?’ asks Gale. ’Its you, your family, Haymitch, Mellark, my family, my wife, my siblings, my mother – everybody! We never have time, just the two of us anymore!’

"I'm not helping you betray that girl, Gale," I hiss.

'Who said I wanted to let her down? She's the mother of my child!'

’Then act like it!’ I shout at him. ’Spend time with your family, your girl, invite your mentor over on holidays, because without him, you would be fucking dead, and don’t talk about how you want to take care of your best friend instead!’

I spin around and two steps later I'm out of the house. I stop and take a deep breath.

’You are having a day, sweetheart?’

I look up; Haymitch is standing on the other side of the fence. Winter is slowly receding and the weather is milder, and he’s wearing a light blue linen shirt that brings out the color of his eyes.

’My best friend is an asshole’ I inform him.

"Your father would understand the problem," he replies, and I realize the comment is dripping with self-loathing.

’Nah, I’m just fucking this up’ I tell him. I jump off the stairs, walk over to the fence, and swing over it easily without opening it, landing next to Haymitch.

'Papa would never leave you alone and would fight for your friendship, but I just can't handle Gale.'

We align our steps and head towards the fence that separates the District from the forest and the lake.

'He really fought for it,' Haymitch notes quietly. 'He came, day after day, washed me of my vomit, your mother cooked for me, and your father let my comments slip away, no matter how mean they were. But, then, I did something he couldn’t let go.’

My lungs are gasping for air, I'm listening so intently; it's nice to hear about my parents, from someone else, especially since they were noticeably decent and kind with Haymitch. I feel proud.

’What did you do?’ I ask softly.

'In time, your mother became pregnant with you,' the man replies. 'I threw stones at her.'

I suddenly stop.

’What?’

"So, sweetheart, do you still want to be my friend?" he asks. His voice is calm as he turns to face me, but there's self-loathing on his face.

He did it to protect them from Snow, I remind myself.

'You're a huge idiot,' I reply, but then I start again.

’What? Thats all?’ I can hear the astonishment in his voice as he keeps up with me.

’You are a moron’ I state. ’And Dad punished you enough for it already. You should’ve just told him, that you are afraid something will happen to us because of you.’

’I was terrified.’

There is such sadness in his voice that I finally look at him.

’I know’ I nod. ’But you should’ve just let Dad and Mom decide if your friendship worth a risk or not. They were adults.’

’They would’ve never went away… I…’

'Then it would have been their decision. Theirs, Haymitch!' I clamp my mouth shut. 'We're in danger anyway, you know that. At least give us the right to decide who we share that danger with.’

’Fair’

"I think he missed you for the rest of his life, anyway," I say honestly. "He never called anyone else his best friend."

Haymitch flinches, but he brought up the subject

’I miss him too’ he mutters, staring at his own steps.

’Good’ I tell him, a bit bitter. ’Not to mention we were suppose to grow up around you, with Prim, so good job on that.’

’No big loss.’

’You are an idiot!’ I growl at him. ’Of course its a big loss, you absolute moron, you are already my friend, and you shuld have been my friend for years now! By the way, the mean bitch tactic won't work on me, I'm telling you in advence.  All you'll get is a bucket of ice water thrown over your head.’

Haymitch stops and starts laughing hoarsely, loudly.

’Point taken, sweetheart.’

*

The sunlight is weak in the clearing by the pond where my father taught me to swim; Peeta is already there, painting the landscape, using the new tools Haymitch gave him.

I start running as soon as I see him and swoop down beside him like a tornado; he reacts quickly, scoops me up into his lap and spins me around.

’Hey!’

’Hi, Katniss!’ he answers with a kind smile. ’Hello, Haymitch!’ he adds polite, as always.

Haymitch nods, pulls one of the large, torn blankets out of his bag, and spreads it out.

Peeta reaches past my torso and, with both hands, gently lifts the drawing paper that’s lying in the grass. The page features a breathtakingly lifelike painting of the lake.

’Its for you, Sir’ says Peeta sweetly to Haymitch. ’Thank you for these, again.’

Handing the drawing to Haymitch, he gestures to the papers, brushes, and paintings in the grass around him.

’Its still Haymitch’ notes the Victor. ’And thank you.’

My mother and Prim appear from the trees; my mother has a woven basket on her arm, with thermoses of tea inside. Prim looks unusually gloomy.

’Whats with you, little duck?’ I ask at once. If somebody was mean to her at school I will punch them.

"Today was the draw for the analysis," Primrose answers darkly, and plops down on the blanket next to Haymitch, briefly hugging the man.

Peeta and I groan in unison. Analysis is always terrible. It's usually pulled in front of lower grade students because some stupid teacher thinks it will excite the little ones, which is obviously not true. Haymitch brushes a strand of golden hair away from Primrose’s forehead. The gesture is surprisingly gentle. Maybe our conversation on the way here, made sense to him.

’Whats that?’ asks the Victor, and Peeta answers.

"Game analysis is mandatory in school every year," he explains. ’First they draw District, then they draw whether it's single or mixed, and finally they draw Arena, single or mixed. Every district is in there, and every Victor.’

'Sometimes they just draw Victor first, and that decides almost everything,' I add bitterly. 'Which District did they draw?'

"Our own," Primrose mutters, and after a moment's thought, she snuggles up to Haymitch, who has a loose arm around my sister's shoulder.

I flinch.

’Single or mixed?’ asks Peeta.

’Mixed, for both Victor and Arena.’

’No’ comes out of my mouth. ’Absolutley not.’

“What does that mean?” Haymitch asks, letting my sister hug him with all her might.

’If they got 12, then single would mean a single Arena, and a single Victor. We would watch one whole Game, whitchever it is, and talk about that’ answers Peeta, sadly, but patient.

’If its mixed’ I add darkly. 'That means they mix your Game with Gale's, showing bits of the Arena, the Game, but as if the two formed a complete Game. Where there are multiple Victors, they still draw within the mix to decide whose Arena to mix with whose. But since there are two of you here, there is no such question.'

"Disgusting," Haymitch mutters, stroking Prim's hair.

’It is.’ I nod. 'And since you have the Quell, it's long enough to make the mix three Games worth.'

I unwrap myself from Peeta's embrace, walk over to Haymitch, and kneel in the grass in front of my sister.

’Hey’ I say gently. ’Hey Prim.’  My sister lifts her head from Haymitch’s shoulder. Her face is wet.

'Analysis is compulsory for the whole school,' I say. 'That means we can sit together.'

"You always skip the analysis," my sister, who is too smart, shakes her head. "Even when you didn't consider Haymitch your friend, you skipped it because you remember how desperate Dad was over Haymitch."

"I do," I admit quietly, my gaze meeting Haymitch's blue eyes. "I do always miss it. And now it's going to be even more fun..."

"I didn't think you'd remember your father's reaction," my mother whispers. I look at her.

'He always sang continuously during reruns, to drown out the noise of the Arena,’ I answer.

I see my mom and Haymitch turn pale, and I suddenly regret speaking up.

I look at Prim.

’Listen’ I tell her. ’I will be there, I promise okay?’

’Even if you hate the Quell?’

’Even if I dispise the Quell, yes’ I nod.

’And even if the other is Gale’s Games?’

I flinch. I hate this. But…

’I promise.’

I take a deep breath.

'Let's not worry about this now,' I advise my sister. 'That's not why I called you here. We can have a picnic, and - I'd be happy to teach you how to swim, just like Dad taught me. What do you say?'

Prim cheers up visibly, sits on Haymitch's lap, but doesn't let go of the man.

'Really?' she asks enthusiastically. Her gaze wanders to our mother. 'Would you mind, Mama?'

’No, why would I?’ says Mom kindly. "Your father taught me to swim after we got married, and Katniss is just as good at it."

I don't show it, but her praise makes me happy, and I smile faintly at her.

‘Peeta, would you like to join?’ I ask. The boy gives me a light, kind smile and playfully salutes.

"Tell me, coach, where to stand," he replies obediently.

"On your legs will be perfect, for starters," I say, laughing, then look at Haymitch.

'And I assume you can swim anyway?'

"You're assuming wrong," Haymitch replies, with an emphasis I suddenly can't decipher. He is not ashamed, is he?’

'Really? How come? Didn't Dad teach you?'

’No.’

’Why?’

'Stones'

’Ah’ I nod. Now I’m sure that he is ashamed, and its stupid. ’Well, no time like the present, right?’

I can see that he wants to protest, so I give him my best stare. It doesn’t have the indended effect; he actually laughs, the bastard, but then he nods.

’All right’ he grins. ’But if I’m gonna die in that puddle, I will return to haunt you,' he declares.

"I would never let anything happen to you, idiot," I say, rolling my eyes, but Haymitch seems to be focusing on the point, not my emphasis, because his smile softens.

The water in the lake is quite cold, I have to admit, since it's still very early spring, but if you move around in the water, it's bearable. I divide my attention between Peeta, my sister, and Haymitch.

Surprisingly, Primrose is the most skilled of the three; my sister easily takes the waves around her and can mimic my movements relatively quickly. Peeta seems a little stiff; I wonder if I can see the marks of his mother's blows. Haymitch seems cautious; I wonder if he's secretly afraid of water, but I don't mention it. We practice for almost a full hour, during which time I can at least master some minimal basics in all three of them.

'Okay, I think that's enough for today,' I remark as I see the corners of my sister's mouth turn pale blue. 'But we could come out a few times a week until you guys are sure you're swimming well.'

‘Are you doing this for the Games?’ Peeta asks quietly as the four of us climb onto the shore. Haymitch, Peeta, and I exchange dark looks. All three of us are reminded of Haymitch telling us about Annie Cesta; one of the Victors from District Four who won the entire thing because she was the best swimmer, and the Games Masters flooded the Arena.

I can see in his face that Peeta is thinking about what Haymitch said; that despite what all of Panem thinks, that Annie is completely crazy, that the Arena has shattered her mind, she is actually a nice girl, and extremely intelligent when she has her moments of clarity. It's just that no one knows that except the other Victors.

'It can't hurt,' I say wearily. 'I couldn't live with myself if I could have given her a chance, in case she got selected, and I didn't. Dad taught me to swim when I was five.'

The three of us watch as Primrose runs over to our mother and sits on a sunny patch of grass to dry her hair.

’She is smart’ notes Peeta kindly. ’She can win with her mind. She is a healer like your mom, she can treat her own injuries, and you can show her what to eat, or not eat, in a forest.’

’If her Arena has a forest’ I answer unsure. But I take Peeta's hand and squeeze it anyway, and luckily, he understands that I'm grateful for the encouragement and smiles at me.

"I think I've had enough health for one day," Haymitch remarks bitterly, and I know that talking about the Arena has taken its toll on his spirits. ‘I’m going to go and have a pint of beer at the Hob.’ The old mine, now the District’s black market, is like a second home to me. It’s where I trade venison, or my mother’s herbs and creams, for things I need. Even though I wasn’t planning on going today, I feel like I better keep an eye on what Haymitch is up to.

'I'll go with you,' I say, simply. 'I have some cheese from Lady that I could trade. Mama, you need more yarn, don't you?'

My mother nods enthusiastically, and I see Peeta's face also beaming with curiosity. Haymitch and I exchange glances. A golden-haired merchant boy is greeted with suspicion in the marketplace, but..

'If you want to come with us, boy, stay close to sweetheart, you hear?'

’Thats all I want to do, anyway’ Peeta answers in a sunny voice. Haymitch groans loudly and I blush, but honestly, I like what I hear. Peeta easily picks up my sister, who laughs and lets him sit on his neck.

"It can't be such a terrible place, can it, Prim?" Peeta chatters pleasantly. "You're blonde too, and half-merchant, and you are welcome."

"Yeah, but only because of Katniss, who's practically Papa, in a girls form’ Prim replies lightly. I have to laugh at that, although I like the idea. ’She scares away those who are mean.’

’So, she can protect me, once we are there.’

We all know I would.

Prim runs her hand through Peeta's golden locks, and the boy smiles at that. We walk out of the forest and sneak over the fence, our clothes slowly drying in the weak sunlight.

Mama breaks away from us at one point and goes home, but the four of us continue on toward the Hob. At one point, Prim gets off Peeta's neck and steps between me and Haymitch, then takes the man's hand.

*

Haymitch

I have to admit, it's been a good day so far. But the conversation reminds me of the Arena, and even the air around me is turning bitter.

What will I do if Katniss is chosen? Or Peeta? Or worse, Prim? The girl is an excellent hunter, and the boy is as strong as a bull - and the little girl is indeed an excellent healer, but either of them could die in the blink of an eye in an Arena. And if that happens, I'll hang myself from a tree, no matter what I promised to my dove. At least I'll see Burdie again and I can finally apologize.

Suddenly, a warm, gentle hand slips into mine and strokes it.

"Don't do this, Haymitch," says Primrose, her voice much more serious than a little girl her age should have. I look into her blue eyes, which are just like Asterid's.

’What?’

"Don't worry about us," Prim replies, not letting go of my hand as we walk. "We're not in the Arena yet, but if one of us is chosen, you'll be there for them, and we'll figure out what to do together. But that hasn't happened yet."

"Did you hear the conversation?" I ask.

’No, but I know my sister well’ she smiles. 'The weather is still too cold to learn to swim, but she insisted, and she insisted because the next Quell will be here soon. Thank Panem that it went well for me; maybe that will reassure her.’

If one of us is chosen, you'll be there for them.

"I've never brought anyone home before," I tell her grimly.

"You will," Prim replies. "And if my name is drawn, I'll be glad that my mentor isn't a stranger, but someone I like and everyone in my family likes, even my father."

My throat tightens when I hear about her trust, which I have not earned.

'Wouldn't you want Gale? You've known him your whole life.'

Primrose looks at me, her golden eyebrows arching.

"No, I want you," she says simply. "You're smart and resourceful. Gale won't let anyone help him, so how can he be expected to help others?"

There’s no Everdeen girl, who doesn’t have my heart, apperently.

*

The Hob is dirty and noisy, but comfortable and safe at the same time. I can't help but grin as I watch Peeta busily turning between tables, eager to do business with the vendors, while Katniss watches his every move like a hawk, making sure he doesn't get ripped off.

The girl does indeed have some cheese, which she brought with her to the shore in her canvas bag, and she starts to trade it with Sae. Primrose lets go of my hand and walks over to another table where there are small boxes, dusty dolls, hair clips, and ribbons.

For my part, I walk over to Ripper, who sells brown beer as well as white liqueur to those who can afford it, and buy myself a pint.

I walk back past Prim, who is still standing at the same table, looking at a pale blue hair ribbon. I toss a few coins onto the table in front of the vendor; this is the only benefit of surviving the Arena. I don't have to worry about money, and no matter how dangerous it is to have people I care about again, at least now I have someone to spend it on.

Prim immediately raises her head, lunges forward, and hugs me tightly, almost knocking the pint out of my hand.

’Thank you, Haymitch!’

’Your welcome, golden girl’ I murmur, I give her a quick kiss on the hair, then pull away from her. The girl immediately turns back to gather the ribbons, and I go to find a table among those randomly scattered around the Hob, so that anyone who buys food and liquor can consume it here.

I find a free table, plop myself down, and take a sip of my beer, which is quite bitter. Some vendors are cooking over open fires, others are selling secondhand clothes. I let the noise wash over me. I haven't moved this much in a long time, and swimming leaves me with sore muscles; with a groan, I stretch my legs under the table.

"Feeling generous today, Abernathy?" asks a raspy voice. I look up; sitting at the next table is Devlin, an old, bitter miner who drinks even more than I do.

’And old’ I tell him lightly. I can see that he's very drunk, the booze is making him pushy, and I don't feel like fighting.

’Would you be this charitable to me too, or do you have to be a little girl for that?’

The assumption fills me with disgust and anger, but I take a deep breath.

’Fuck you, Devlin’ I answer, articulated. ’Wouldn’t be charitable to you either way.’

I go back to my beer, but the old devil just keeps on ranting.

"Victors," he hisses. "Useless, your whole kind. You should have been slaughtered in the Arena, I tell you."

"Lucky no one cares about your opinion, Devlin," a cold voice says in front of me, and I realize it's Katniss, followed by Peeta and Prim. The girl is holding a plate with some kind of meat on it, along with a knife and fork, just like Prim, while Peeta is holding two plates.

’Go away, Everdeen’ growls the man, and I suddenly remember that there’s bad blood between him, and the Everdeens. The miner got hurt in the same accident what took Burdie’s life, and Asterid had to cut off one of Devlin’s legs, to save his ass.  But the man is not intelligent enough to see that Asteird saved his life: all he perceives is that she took away his foot, his livelihood, and his pride. So he growls every time he sees one of the girls.

"I didn't come here for you," Katniss replies coldly, placing one of the plates in front of me. "Eat something with that beer," she tells me.

’Thanks, sweetheart’ I murmur.

’Ah, yes, sweetheart’ mocks Devlin. ’Is she one of your girls as well? What else do you do with…’

’Don’t talk about her like that!’snaps Peeta, and as he straightens up, plate in hand, it suddenly strikes me that gentle, kind Peeta Mellark is even more formidable than I had thought.

"Shut up, merchant boy," Devlin spits, but before the quarrel can escalate further, Prim speaks up in her own gentle way.

’Ladies and gentlemen, does anyone know what Haymitch's signature weapon in the Arena was, besides his mind?’

"Knives," Peeta and Katniss answer simultaneously, giving the impression that teachers at school often ask this question.

"Right," Primrose nods. "I wouldn't try to test how skilled Haymitch is with a knife if I were you," Prim turns to Devlin. "My mother fought hard enough for your life. If you're going to risk it, she could just as easily have let you bleed out on our kitchen table, couldn't she?"

There is something chilling about what Prim, who is otherwise always kind, says to the man. Devlin's gaze jumps to the knife next to my plate. He visibly turns pale, but still manages to mumble something.

"No matter how much you threaten me," he grumbles. "Gale is living proof of how useless the Victors are." With that, he scrambles to his feet and limps away, leaning on his makeshift wooden crutch.

’What does that mean?’ asks Katniss, frowning.

’Listen’ Peeta raises his head even higher and listens to something I can't hear for a moment. And there it is. Gale's drunken singing rises above the background noise. The boy is drawing up some sea shanty, which I guess he heard from Finnick.

… Put him in a long boat till he's sober

Put him in a long boat till he's sober

Put him in a long boat till he's sober

Early in the morning

’Ah, fuck’ comes out Katniss’s mouth, then at once. ’Sorry Prim.’

The little girl just waves. I guess she's seen enough sick and drunk people around her mother. ’What should we do with him?’ she asks, watching, as Gale almost knocks over the table where he is sitting while singing.

"Stay here," I murmur, exchanging a dark glance with Katniss. I am his mentor; he is my responsibility. Katniss moves with me because he's her best friend, and Peeta moves with Katniss because he's Peeta, but she shakes her head.

"Would you stay here with Prim?" she asks cleverly, hiding the real reason behind her sisterly concern; the boy is the last person Gale would like to see right now. And because Peeta has the best heart, he simply nods, and sits down to my desk, with Primrose.

Katniss and I circle around people, bypassing them, staying close to each other until we reach Gale's table.

"Did you leave some for me?" I ask amiably as we stop in front of the table.

’Hi, G’ says Katniss carefully.

’No’ mutters Gale. ’Go away. Just go…’

’No can do’ I tell him, with force cheerfulness.

When his head finally hits the table, sweetheart and I look at each other and step to either side of his chair.

’Came on, man’ I mutter, as I wrap one arm around his shoulder and we both struggle to get him to his feet. We pull him between us rather than walk.

’You don’t understand’ he mumbles, slurring his words, filtering them, clumsily. ’Its horrible…’

’Yeah, yeah, I get it’ I tell him, because I know. I really do. ’It is terrible.’

Being a Victor is always hard.

’No, you don’t get it!’ Gale suddenly snaps, and the sudden movement almost causes Katniss to fall backward, on the other side. 'He showed it!'

"He showed me the list of names, who he's going to pull out, whose name he chose," Gale mutters, and Katniss and I both freeze.

He is talking about the president.

’What…?’ starts Katniss, but I focus on the white piece of paper under the table, between Gale's legs. Snow white. Flawless.

I bend down and disgustedly for the piece of paper. The list is long: he wants to send more people to the Arena because it's a Quell.

The first name starts with P... Po... I suddenly look away before I can see any more. I crumple up the paper and throw it into one of the open fires with a single movement.

The piece of paper burns to nothing in the blink of an eye.

Chapter Text

Katniss

I watch as Gale wraps his arms around Cato's shoulders and neck. The other boy hasn't had a chance to grab the sword yet, which is in the weaponry pile, and the last thing he expected as a real enemy, was the miner boy from our District.

The Carrer alliance hasn't formed yet, and although Glimmer, that stupid goose, watches in amazement, she doesn't move to help. Marvel already has a hammer, but he's too interested in what's happening to actually move. The first to help is Cato's District' partner, Clove.

"Cato!" the girl hisses, coming running from the other side of the Cornocopia. The first knife flies from her hand with frightening precision, towards the two boys, but Gale spins around, still holding Cato, so the blonde monster is practically a human shield protecting my best friend.

The knife lands in Cato's hand, and the boy screams.

"It's up to you," Gale growls at the girl. "You can try to hit me, and kill your partner, stand here while I do it, or give me what I want."

"What the hell do you want?" Cato yells, and I think he's more angry than scared at this point, even though Gale is squeezing him so hard that his hands are turning white.

"Being part of the alliance," Gale replies. The first time I saw this, live, the air caught in my lungs. Our district is never part of the alliance.

’No fucking way, hunter boy’ Clove's voice drips with anger, and she's still twirling the knife in her hand, searching for a way to cut Gale's throat without hurting Cato.

'There's something funny about even a Carrer helping her partner, but not a boy from our own District’ says a girl, about Primrose's age, sitting two chairs away from us.

We are sitting in the largest room in the school, rows upon rows of chairs, and in the far corner of the room is a projector where we watch the Game, for Analysis.

"Shut up, Linn!" Prim growls, looking across the two empty chairs, staring unblinkingly at the brown-haired girl. Every age group in the school is represented, and Linn grimaces.

’Whats it to you, Everdeen?’ she asks, with such contempt that my hands clench on the armrest of my own chair.

’Do you have a problem?’ I ask coolly; Linn's beetle-like eyes widen as she realizes how much older I am than both of them. I'm not the type to intimidate little girls, but this little girl exudes malice.

"No," she mumbles and turns away. I smile faintly at Prim: I like how loyal she is to Gale even when he's not around, but she's been acting more temperamental than usual lately, which worries me.

"Clover, calm down," Cato gasps on the screen. "Let me go and we can talk," he says to Gale.

"You're not serious!" Clove exclaims. The girl is short, her green eyes are angry, and although lighter than both boys, she is quite frightening; her features are pretty, but there is something hard about her face.

"Do I look like a complete idiot?" Gale laughs without any humor. "I'll let you go and you'll kill me. I want your word that you won't harm me and that you'll give me what I want, or I'll strangle you.’

The screen changes, and I flinch reflexively; I find myself facing young Haymitch, his blue eyes gliding icy across the beautiful, flower-covered Arena.

I hold a pencil in front of me in both hands, and now I let the edge of the pencil cut hard into my skin. I have a surprisingly hard time with the parts that show Haymitch's Game. I hope that since the entire room is shrouded in semi-darkness and only the projector is lit, no one will notice what I'm doing, but I'm wrong. A strong, gentle hand clasps my wrist.

While Prim sits on my right, Peeta is on my left, now smiling at me with understanding, concerned eyes. I let go of the pencil, and even though my palm is bleeding, he takes my hand.

’Okay, okay, I won't hurt you, you coward!' Cato yells. ’Clover, stand the fuck down!’

’And?’ Gale is hissing.

’And you can be part of the bloody the alliance," he growls. ’Now fucking let me go!’

’Unbeliveable’ Clove mutters, but she lowers her knife.

The screen changes. Haymitch befriends an intelligent, dark-eyed boy, and I know from his stories that he is Ampert, Beetee's little boy, from District Three. The sight of him makes my throat tighten. Ampert being in the Arena is Beetee's personal punishment from President Snow. There is no Victor whom Coriolanus Snow would not punish. This story is one that not only I, but Primrose and Peeta have heard from Haymitch. Prim hides under my arm, and Peeta squeezes my hand.

Cato falls to his knees, coughing, and spits when Gale lets him go.

’Fucking….finally’ the huge, blond boy coughs.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ena Garton grab a backpack from the pile and a handful of knives, two of them on her belt, one in the sleeve of her coat, and start running toward the woods. The forest seems safe, even though I know Ena will die there.

The screen changes and I see Haymitch running with all his might, running to reach Mayselee, who reminds me so painfully of Madge.

I close my eyes tightly. I don't know how much longer I can take this.

Time slows down, I can't breathe. I don't open my eyes for what seems like a long time, because the next thing I remember is Peeta's sweet voice.

’Katniss’ he says. ’Hey Katniss, its okay. Its over.’

All I can do is giving him a pale smile.

I don't remember the analysis part at all, my brain rejects it. I can't wait for it all to be over: I need air. However, Mr. Redwore stops everyone when class is over.

'Don't forget the Harvest Dance, everyone!' the teacher shouts, over the noise of the students packing up. 'This year it's a ladies' choice, ladies, invite the boys to dance!'

Every year, on the eve of the Game, the Harvest Dance is held in the Districts, where you can dance, eat, and have fun before the election.

I’ve always thought of this custom as morbid, like being treated to my last meal, but now I feel a strange tension. I glance uncertainly at Peeta as the three of us walk out of the room. Should I invite him? The boy says nothing, but he continues to hold my hand.

Some of the students milling around us are talking about dance, but some are arguing about the Game.

'Abernathy is a huge disgrace,' says Carl, a boy who is the same age as Gale, so this is his last year. 'Did you see how strong he was during the Game? And look at him now!'

"I'd like to see what's left of you after the Arena, Grey," I growl. "Maybe something Sae can chop up for her soup? Although that might be asking too much."

Carl Grey spins around, his face red with shame.

’Everdeen…’ He starts, threateningly.

’Yes?’ Peeta asks, curious before I can speak, but his eyes, when I look at him, are unusually icy. 'Please, Carl, go on.'

Grey's eyes move from me to Peeta, who lets go of my hand and straightens up. He's not threatening him per say but - Peeta Mellark is spectacularly huge.

Carl curses, but then turns away.

’Thank you.’

’Your very welcome, Miss Everdeen.’

As we walk out to the school building, I take a deep breath. After all, I want to spend more time with Peeta, right?

’Peeta?’ I ask.

’Yeah?’

But I am a coward, after all.

’See you later.’

*

When we get to Haymitch's house, we find our mother there as well, peeling potatoes over a pot. Haymitch is sitting across from her, talking to her, with tea in his hand.

'At least let me disinfect it!' Prim says as we enter. 'Hello, Haymitch, hi Momma!' she adds.

"'Primrose, my hand is fine!' I reply, for about the fifth time since Peeta said goodbye to us.

"Liar!" Prim snaps at me energetically. She walks over to our mother and kisses her on the cheek, then pulls up a chair next to Haymitch, sits down, and snuggles up to the man.

'Hi, darlings,' Mama replies, a little surprised. 'Katniss, what happened to your hand?'

"Nothing," I answer quickly, maybe a little too quickly.

"Lies, lies, and lies," Prim mutters, pulling even closer to Haymitch.

“What’s going on?” Haymitch asks, but obediently puts his arm around Primrose’s shoulder.

'I had to watch you in an Arena all day, from now on we'll stay like this until the end of time,' my sister replies.

"Ah," Haymitch replies, apologetically. "I understand, ma'am."

My mother grabs my hand so quickly that I don't have a chance to pull away.

'Katniss Everdeen, what are these... twenty-two stab wounds on your hand?!' she exclaims

'Pencil tip marks' I mumble reluctantly.

'Sharp pencil point punctures,' my sister corrects.

’Primrose!’

'What, that's the truth!' Prim protests. 'And I know, for a fact, that it's twenty-two, because that's how many times Haymitch has appeared on screen.'

Haymitch groans deeply and Prim buries her face in his neck.

"Go to the bathroom and get me some sanitizer, Katniss," my mother says.

’Momma…’

“Are you still here?” my mother asks, eyebrows raised.

I sigh, but obediently make a pilgrimage to Haymitch's bathroom, which I keep in strict order, taking out antiseptic and gauze.

'You were heartbreakingly handsome by the way,' Prim gossips to Haymitch.

’Thank you… I think?’ answers Haymitch.

'What?' my sister asks, seeing my surprised face. 'I'm twelve, I'm not blind. You can't say that his eyes aren't pretty.’

'They're really pretty,' I leave it at that, thinking that my sister is a much more keen observer than I thought.

’New topic please!" Haymitch declares as my mother carefully disinfects my wounds and skillfully bandages them with white gauze.

"Did you stab yourself every time Haymitch's Game came on?" my mom asks, worried.

'It was fucking awful,' I say honestly. 'Ampert was the same age as Prim is now, and Mayselee looked like Madge if she had long hair!'

'Oh, I know,' Mama replies. 'May was my best friend,' she adds sadly.

"Not to mention I had no way to help Haymitch, but I had to watch," I add bitterly.

Mama quietly fixes my bandage, and when she's done, I thank her.

"This year at the Harvest Dance, the girls invite the boys, but Katniss is too big a chicken to ask Peeta out!" Prim announces, trying to ease the sad tension in the air.

‘Primrose!’ I exclaim, horrified.

 Haymitch chokes on his tea, from sudden laughter, and the corner of my mother's mouth twitches.

'What, don't think I didn't see the doe-eyed look you gave him and then you didn't ask him!' Prim replies calmly, patting Haymitch on the shoulder, which only makes him laugh even harder.

When did my little sister become so lively?

"Why, who are you going with?" I ask, partly hoping to drop the subject, but Prim doesn't seem bothered.

"I asked Vick a thousand years ago," she replies.

“What did you ask Vick?” Gale asks, and I jump in fright because I didn’t hear him come in. My best friend brings three squirrels, on a hook. Prim, on the other hand, is just drifting with the events.

"'Hey, Gale!' my sister smiles. 'This year the girls are inviting the boys to the Harvest Dance, and Vick and I are going together.'

"Ah," Gale replies, a little taken aback. "Did you know in advance that this was this year's theme?"

'I like talking to Mr Redwore,' shrugs Primrose. 'He's always kind to me, and it came up, so I asked your brother to the dance.'

'Lucky boy,' Gale remarks.

'What are you doing here?' I ask Gale because I can't handle my little sister suddenly being so grown up.

“I was going to give these to you,” Gale says, lifting the hook slightly. “But you weren’t home, so I came here because you’re always here nowdays.” There’s a bitterness in his voice that I ignore.

"Thank you so much, Gale!" my mom says, saving me from having to react. "Haymitch, is it okay if I chop up the squirrels for the soup?"

"You never have to ask, Ast," Haymitch replies, implying that my mother is doing him a favor.

"I'm making the soup for you," my mother reminds him gently, but she starts peeling the fur off the meat.

"And if I eat, you eat too," Haymitch replies stubbornly. I'm starting to feel better; it's always interesting to see that my mom and Haymitch are actually friends.

"I'll go," Gale grumbles, and I get the feeling the boy doesn't like the fact that the meat he brought us will be shared with Haymitch.

'Stay,' I try. 'The soup will be ready soon, and anyway, you worked for it.'

'There's enough for all of us,' my mother adds.

Gale is silent for a moment, then nods briefly. Victory!

Prim, Gale, and I begin setting the long table in the kitchen, and Haymitch joins us, bringing cutlery.

"Did you hear about Mellark attacking Carl Grey at school?" Gale asks at one point.

I stop.

'Peeta didn't attack anyone, and Grey is an idiot!' I snap, without thinking.

"Well, Carl said that Mellark was on him just because he criticized the Quell."

'Again, Grey is a moron,' I say stubbornly. 'And Grey wasn't criticizing Quell, he was criticizing...'

’It’s Victor’ Prim finishes for me, easily. ’And Katniss told him where to go, obviusly.’

"You don't have to defend me, Sweetheart," Haymitch mutters quietly as he sits at the head of the table. He's embarrassed again, and I'm angry at Gale for bringing up the subject.

"Haymitch, Grey is a complete idiot and has no right to say anything about you," I say fiercely. "And a coward as well. I'd like to see what's left of him after an Arena. Not to mention that Peeta didn't do anything, he just agreed with me, and stopped Grey from…’ I stop.

"From what, sweetheart?" Haymitch asks very quietly, and his gaze suddenly reminds me of the way he looked around the Arena. His eyes are icy and cold.

'Well, I think he was going to hit me,' I answer honestly, then quickly add, seeing Haymitch's expression. 'But I had Peeta there, and I can defend myself anyway!'

'Tell me if the boy ever speaks to you again,' he says in a chatty voice. 'I'd like to keep his internal organs in a matchbox. I think I remember how to.'

"Haymitch, the boy is just a kid," my mother says quietly, but he shakes his head.

’I don’t care, Ast’ he tells her. ’I really, really don’t care.’

*

The days roll down before me, in a tired, golden light, the weather is getting warmer. I'm keeping my word and teaching Prim, Peeta, and Haymitch to swim every single day. Prim is the first to learn to swim perfectly: she is agile and confident in the water. Peeta is also a good swimmer, but he moves through the water with heavier movements.

Haymitch is the slowest learner, but I'm all the more happy when - two weeks before the Harvest - suddenly, it's as if some invisible wall breaks through, and his movements become fast and precise. It's a very strange - almost unreal feeling that I taught three human beings to swim.

They can do something, and I am the reason for it.

"Perfect!" my mom exclaims as Haymitch swims deftly around the lake.

Mama swam with us today, her golden hair all wet, but she smiles broadly as Haymitch surfaces next to her, looking like a huge, wet dog, shaking his matted blond hair and grinning at us.

'Victory!' I declare, with half a smile, and Haymitch stands up in the water and playfully leans towards me, splashing a good amount of water on me in the process.

'Hey!' I shout at him, splashing back, and he pulls me with him, and we land in the water, coughing and laughing.

"'Play nicely, kids!' my mother says, laughing, then turns toward the shore. Peeta chases Prim across the grass, and the little girl screams, happyly.

“So, have you asked your boy to the Harvest Dance yet?” Mama asks. I groan: it’s just lucky that Primrose and Peeta are too far away to hear the question.

’He is not my boy’ I mutter.

’Ah, please’ snorts Mama. ’Of course he is. What’s the problem? You seem to like him.’

I really do like Peeta. That’s the freaking problem. But I can’t tell that to my mother. These kinds of questions spread like wildfire through school. Today, outside the building, Madge asked Darius out loud if he would come with her, and the young Peacekeeper immediately said yes.

Peeta noticed on his way over today, that his best friend, Delly had been talking all day about Thom coming to the Harvest Dance with her.  Maybe I'm just shy. The thought of being shy makes me angry and makes me hold my chin high.

’Hm’ murmurs Mama. ’Maybe I just didn’t teach you how to do this, did I? Do you know the rules?’

But my sister didn't have to be taught.

’Rules?’ I ask instead.

’Well’ says Mama. ’Before you ask somebody, make sure that you are actually free to go, and you didn’t have another promise to anyone else.’

’Thats a bit obvius’ I rase.

’Is it?’ smiles my Mom. ’Before you ask, make sure the other person is free, and if they say no, simply accept it and don't pressure them.’

’I would never pressure Peeta into anything!’ I snap.

’I know Katniss, but we we're not just talking about Peeta, but about the rules of asking someone out in general’ Mom answers patiently. ’ "It's best to call him aside somewhere quiet if you don't want anyone else to hear the conversation. But if you're not worried about the audience, it's not important."

I nod slowly. That's helpful. I don't feel like humiliating myself in public if he doesn't want to come to the dance.

'In general, I would advise you to invite someone you like as a person. It's nice to spend the evening with someone who has beautiful eyes, but if their head is empty, you'll quickly get bored. But with Peeta you don't have to worry about that: the boy is smart and nice.'

I nod again, though it doesn't help my nervousness. Of course I'm not inviting some random person. I want Peeta.

'It doesn't have to be complicated,' my mother continues calmly. 'You can just invite someone as a friend.'

I start chewing on the edge of my mouth. I want Peeta.

'Oh, for the love of Panem,' my mother sighs. 'This isn't nuclear physics, honey.'

My mother gracefully jumps into the water, turns around, swims past me, then stops in front of Haymitch; she emerges from the water and looks at him kindly.

"Haymitch, would you like to come to the Harvest Dance with me?" she asks simply.

“Is this a teaching moment?” the man asks, raising his eyebrows but with a faint smile.

'No, I was going to ask you anyway, but this is a double benefit,' my mother replies, her smile widening.

“What would Burdie say?” Haymitch asks quietly, and my throat suddenly tightens at the mention of my father. But my mother shakes her head.

’That we both need some fucking fun, and if he can't come with me, his best friend will have to!' she declares, and the pressure in my throat eases. 'Unless you think Lenore would mind?'

Lenore. So that’s the name of Haymitch’s girl.

Haymitch grins.

’Nah, she would mock me to no end about becoming boring and old.’

’Lets prove her wrong then!’

’Lets!’ this time Haymitch gives my mother a real smile. ’I would love to go to the Dance with you, star girl’ he says, and with one hand, he brushes a golden, watery lock of hair away from my mother's forehead.

’Thank you’ she says softly. Then she looks at me, and winks.

’See? I’m still alive.’

*

The situation is becoming untenable. Gaida asks Bran publicly, in the bakery, if they're going to the Dance together, as if it's not obvious since they're dating anyway. As luck would have it, I'm there buying pretzels for Haymitch.

"Who do you think Rye is going with?" I ask Peeta, just to fill the silence as I pay.

’With the girl of the week, I guess," Peeta replies easily. His middle brother is a big womanizer.

I have to laugh from the lightness in his voice. His face is dimpled from smiling.

As I walk out of the store, carrying my package, I run into Gale.

Finally someone who won't talk to me about who they're going to invite because it's obvious who they're going with.

'Hi! Finally someone who isn't affected by the public hysteria!' I tell him enthusiastically, matching my steps to his.

’Public hysteria?’ the boy repeats, his dark eyebrows rising high.

’The who-is-going-with-who-to-the Harvest-Dance- hysteria’ I answer in a monotonous voice, tiredly.

Gale doesn't say anything as we walk, and it's weird.

"Katniss, would you come to the Dance with me?" he asks quietly, and I think I misheard him.

’What the fuck?!’

My question in response is so sharp and loud it makes Gale flinch.

’You heard me.’

'Yes, and you're crazy!' I scream.

'Why would I..'

’Because you're married!' I shout. And it's a lady's choice anyway!'

’It doesn’t…’

'If you say it doesn't matter, I'll hit you, I swear!' I interrupt. 'Damn, I'm an idiot! A fucking idiot!'

I spin around and start running towards the bakery.

’Katniss!’

I hear Gale's voice, but I don't stop. I open the bakery door with such force that the little bell hanging on it goes crazy.

"Peeta..." I gasp; the boy's face is astonished behind the counter.

’Katniss? Are you okay? Did you forget something?’ he asks, worriedly.

’No, I…’ I straighten up and take a deep breath. ’Come with me, to the Harvest thing? The dance? Please?’

A huge smile appears on Peeta's face.

’You want to go to the Dance with me?" he asks enthusiastically.

Isn't that what I said?

’Yes!’

Peeta's smile grows even bigger, if that's even possible.

’Yes!’ he says happily, then his face goes scarlet red. ’I mean I would love to go with you!’

’It’s a date then’ I nod, and finally I can breathe again.

*

Time speeds up. To my surprise, Peeta's middle brother, Rye, joins us for our daily swim. Rye is loud and has a slightly crude sense of humor, but I don't send him away because he is incredibly gentle with my sister, which I think is a sharp contrast to his usual behavior.

It must be quite unusual, since even Peeta—the kindest soul I have ever met—cannot help but glance at him in amazement from time to time. But Rye peacefully lets my sister weave flowers into his blond, tightly curled hair and listens without complaint to Primrose's life coaching.

"Another girl, Rye, seriously?" Prim asks one day. "Come on!"

"What's wrong with Tulip?" Mellark asks innocently.

"There's nothing wrong with Tulip," Prim replies. "Until she's yesterday's news. You change girls like other people change their underwear, man!"

Peeta starts laughing so hard that he spits out the sugared apple that Rye brought for my sister.

"Well, missy, I can't wait until you grow up!” says Rye gently.

' I've already grown up,' Prim remarks, but she doesn't press the issue, which I'm glad about.

That day, as we head home, they begin setting up free screens in the district so that everyone can closely follow the events during the Game, wherever they are.

In the days leading up to the Game, the broadcast is tuned in, and details from previous Games are played in each District, focusing on the Arenas won by the Victors of the relevant District. This means that, for example, while Johanna Mason and Blight's Games are the focus in District 7, in District 11 people see Chaff or Sedeer over and over again, alternating between Annie's Games with Finnick and with Mags in District 4, and so on.

We haven't even gotten home yet, and one of the free screens is already coming to life.

"The winner of the Quell is none other than Haymitch Abernathy!" shouts the commentator, and the screen shows the young—and very pale—Haymitch, with the President, who slowly places the victor's crown on the boy's golden blond hair.

’Oh, for the love of everything!’ I cry out in fright and reflexively grab Haymitch's shoulder as he walks beside me.

’You okay?’ asks Peeta from my other side.

’Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just…’ I sigh. ’I just really, really hate this. Sorry.’ I add, and I let go of Haymitch’s shoulder.

The man quietly shakes his head, but says nothing.

"I always thought it would be Gale's Game that you would react so strongly to," my sister says, looking back over her shoulder with concern; she and Rye are walking ahead of us.

"I'm all right, don't worry," I reassure her quietly. "It's not about me anyway... I just hate it." I look up: Haymitch is deathly pale on the screen, facing the camera with the crown in his hair. His expression is like he's about to cry. How did I never notice this before?

The screen changes, and suddenly I see Gale cornered in the pouring rain; on one side is Tresh, the huge, dark-skinned boy from Eleven, and on the other is Marvel, the boy who always has a look of mock contempt on his face. Gale is lucky: Tresh attacks Marvel first, because this boy killed his District partner, Rue. This would be the moment I would start running if I were in the Arena: but Gale is like a bloodhound, and he also throws himself at Marvel.

"Sometimes I think it wouldn't be so bad if we didn't care about both of them," Prim says sadly, referring to both Gale and Haymitch.

"It would still be awful," Peeta replies gloomily. "It's terrible because they're from home, but it's extra bad because they're both important to us."

’This is my stop’ says Haymitch at some point, at the roadblock that separates Victors Village from the rest of the District. ’I have to get home in time for the big announcement of what the theme of Quell will be’ he ads, with dark sarcasm.

"You're not going to watch this rotten thing alone," I shake my head immediately. "No way."

"You're welcome to join me, but you shouldn't leave your mother alone either," Haymitch says tiredly.

"Then come over to ours, and we'll watch it together," I reply immediately. I look at Peeta, then at Rye. "All of us, I mean."

’Deal!’ Rye cheerfully nods.

’Thanks, Katniss’ smiles Peeta, and suddenly I remember what he told me earlier today: that his parents argue so much these days that he and his siblings seize every opportunity to spend as little time at home as possible.

’What were you thinking’ murmurs Prim, as she watches Gale, who kicks the motionless Marvel one last time, on the ground.

’You know what Papa said’ I remind her gently. 'We will not hold our own people accountable for what they did in the Arena. The important thing is that they come home.'

’Papa was talking about you’ Prim looks at Haymitch.  "And that's..." My sister points to one of the screens, where Gale is wiping the blood from his mouth and turning to face Thresh. "That was unnecessary."

"The Arena confuses the mind, golden girl," Haymitch mutters. "But thank you."

*

Mom gives everyone fresh well water, and we munch on the leftover candied apples that Rye brought as soon as the broadcast begins. Haymitch, who would never touch anything sweet, eats the fruit plain, his gaze unusually dark as he watches the screen.

The Game Clips Gallery switches from Gale to Haymitch, and we catch him just as the boy takes a terrible blow to the stomach. It's the kind of injury that is sure to leave a mark, and the sight of it makes us gasp sharply.

’Okay, no’ I say, after he literarly have to hold his internal organs in place with his hands. ’We are absolutley won’t do this.’

I feel Haymitch's gaze on me as I close my eyes and begin to sing.

One day, I am gonna grow wings

A chemical reaction

Hysterical and useless

Hysterical and..’

’One day, I am gonna grow wings..’ I repeat, as young Haymitch cries out in pain on the screen. My eyes pop open, and I find myself looking into his blue eyes, older now; endless sadness pours out of them. My voice is gentle and strong, but it cannot suppress the painful gasps.I put one arm around his shoulder and rest my head on it, and he doesn't pull away.

’One day, we are gonna grow wings’I wishper, and I can feel his smile.

’So you even remember which song Dad picked with each moment’ my Mom wishpers.

’He just had way better voice’ I murmur.

’You have the exact same one, sweetheart’ says Haymitch, and he kisses me on the forhead.

The Game Mix is over, and we now have a live broadcast from in front of the presidential palace. Two little boys dressed in snow-white, hand over a black wooden box with chains to the impeccably elegant Coriolanus Snow, who takes out a white envelope to reveal the theme of the Third Quell.

"This year, the Capitol announces that eight selected participants from each district will enter the Arena—four girls and four boys," reads the president, and I am overcome with nausea. That means even more Players than in Haymitch's Arena.

"There's no chance to volunteer this year," Snow continues, and I grimace for a moment. Who would want to volunteer for the slaughter? But then it hits me: I would volunteer for Prim's place anytime if it would save her life, and now they've taken that chance away from me.

I try to breathe deeply, and Haymitch's hand slides gently onto the back of my neck to calm me down.

"The people must remember the weight of the sacrifices," Snow continues. "And as such, the surprise twist will only be revealed to the Players in the Arena."

"'Because eight people per district isn't enough of a surprise?' Peeta asks in astonishment, and I couldn't agree more

Suddenly everything seems dark around me, I reach forward with my free hand, and Peeta squeezes my arm.

*

For the first time in my life, I am grateful for the Harvest Dance as Reaping Day approaches. People are throwing themselves into preparing for the Dance with all their might, and I completely understand that: anything to distract me from the Election.

As we are returning from swimming one day, we run into Hazelle, who tells us with a smile that Clerk Carmine Clade has accepted her invitation to the Dance. I know Carmine; he plays the fiddle, and on a particularly rough, drunken night, Haymitch confesses to me that the man was also Lenore Dove's stepfather. So I sort of understand the strange, painful expression that crosses Haymitch's face, and I squeeze his hand unnoticed.

"Gale isn't keen, of course," Hazelle notes. "He thinks I'm too old for such nonsense."

I find the idea hurtful: Hazelle is really pretty with her jet-black hair and dark, kind eyes, and she looks great for her age. But I don't know how to respond because I'm too angry to speak.

Peeta, however, who is sunshine and kindness in human form, knows what to say.

"'He must be joking," he remarks lightly. "Since you are becoming more lovely every day, madam. Besides, you deserve some fun, just like everyone else."

’Thank you Peeta’ she says, and she gives him a honest smile.

As we walk on, I instinctively kiss the boy on the cheek; his sincere kindness is one of his most attractive qualities.

*

I blink twice, and the night of the Dance—the eve of the Election—is already here. I let my mother and Prim choose something for me to wear from my mother's old clothes. I don't really care about it, but I want Peeta not to be embarrassed by me.

Mom and Prim agree on a simple cherry-red dress for me, with a bell skirt, and I have to admit that the shade looks gorgeous on my cocoa-colored skin. The only jewelry I am willing to wear is Peeta's pearl, which I pin to my neck on a thin, simple piece of red fabric. For the evening, I release my hair, which falls down my back. It feels strange not to have it braided, but Mom and Prim agree that it's more appropriate for the occasion.

Primrose wears the pale cherry-pink dress Haymitch gave her for the Winter Celebration, and there is something undeniably delicate and elegant about her.

My mother chooses a sunny yellow dress that matches her golden hair and the ribbon she wears around her neck, which she was given by Madge's mother.A delicate silver bracelet glistens on her right wrist, the gift from Haymitch.

Speaking of Haymitch, to my surprise, he is the first to arrive. He is wearing a crisp white shirt, black suit pants, and polished black leather shoes. He has even shaved, which is very rare.

He gives my mother a small circle of flowers: the yellow daffodils encircle my mother's free wrist, and she explans to us that its called a flower corsage, and that it was considered a gesture of honor, celebration, and affection before the Dark Days. A traditional gift exchanged between a couple attending an event.

"It's a rather dangerous gift these days because it's forbidden," says our mother, but I can see her eyes sparkling warmly and enthusiastically as Haymitch helps her put the flowers on her wrist.

"Well, someone told me I should have let you and Burdie choose what was worth the risk for you," Haymitch remarks, and I instinctively smile at him.

’Did she now?’ Mom’s smile is radiant. ’I agree.’

The second to appear is Peeta, wearing a light blue shirt that highlights the brilliant blue of his eyes.

To my surprise, I also receive a flower corsage from him, mine consisting of delicate red tulips. Haymitch nods slightly as the boy hands me the gift; I regularly forget that the two of them have a friendship separate from me, and now, as always, I am happy when I remember.

Primrose grows increasingly anxious as time passes and Vick is still nowhere to be found. Vick is a quiet and thoughtful boy, and it's not like him to let anyone down. The whole thing somehow reeks of Gale; if Gale has some personal problem and Prim is suffering because of it, I'll have a word with him.

But as we walk out the door, Vick arrives, breathless.

’Sorry, sorry, sorry, I had a horrible night, and…’ The boy stops dead when he sees Prim, his eyes  widening. ’Wow!’

His reaction is so sincere that we all laugh, and Primrose smiles broadly. Vick blushes deeply and somewhat awkwardly pulls something out of his pocket: the flower corsage. It seems Haymitch had time for everyone. This corsage is made of pink Penoys, and Primrose adores it visibly.

Golden lights twinkle on the trees in the main square, and violinists and musicians of all kinds play melodies. I'm not usually the dancing type, although I do have a sense of rhythm. But who can say no to Peeta Mellark? Not me.

Before I can protest, I've been dancing for half an hour, mostly with my blue-eyed, blond, kind baker. The boy is so visibly happy that I wish I had asked him to come sooner.

As the melodies slow down, I lean forward and kiss him, ignoring Gale, who is walking alone among the crowd.

Chapter Text

Katniss

On Harvest Day, I wake up early, as I always do at this time of year. Two blinks, and I find myself in the forest: the leaves, the air, the tranquility help a little, and I try to ignore the suffocating fear.

Primrose.

Peeta.

 No!

Even the forest doesn't help. I rush out of the trees as fast as if I were being chased by the devil, even though I have four squirrels. My first stop is, of course, Haymitch. The house is too quiet and still, and I suddenly feel uneasy as I enter.

’Haymitch?’ I ask, frowning. I find him in the kitchen, forehead pressed against the tabletop. There is no trace of the kind-hearted, intelligent man who made sure yesterday that my mother was enjoying herself at the dance, who brought fruit punch for all three of us, who made a point of dancing not only with my mother, but with me and my sister as well.

My father's friend, who made sure that even the boys got home safely, and who walked home with Vick, so that the teenager wouldn't get into any trouble and the peacekeepers wouldn't get involved. He kissed my mother's hand when he said goodbye and treated her like a true friend.

I throw the damn squirrels on the floor and dash to the table. Haymitch reeks of strong white liquor, and I suspect he's been drinking all night.

"Haymitch?" I ask. "Haymitch, come on, you have to wake up! Hay? Can you hear me?" I shake his shoulder hard, and his whole body jerks, lifting his head with difficulty; his blue eyes are teary, which makes me feel even worse; I've never seen him cry before.

’Haymitch’ I say, with all the tenderness I have.

"They're going to die," Haymitch mutters. "Eight kids, green as grass, and they're going to die, and there's nothing, absolutely nothing, I can do about it."

"Bullshit," I reply. "You're one of the smartest human beings I've ever known, you can help them!"

"They're going to die," Haymitch repeats colorlessly, grabbing the neck of a bottle of booze on the table that I hadn't noticed before.

"You brought Gale home too!" I say stubbornly. I grab the bottle and take it away from him. "That's enough of that."

He doesn't fight for the bottle, which is even worse, he just blinks sadly.

’Dumb luck.’

’No!’ In my anger, I throw the damn bottle on the floor, smashing it to pieces and leaving alcohol all over. ’No, you built an acutal fucking personality for Gale, which is no small thing, because although I love him, he can be a real asshole when he wants to be, and yet the Capitol adored him. And you would have done it for Ena too, if Gale hadn't lost his heart and screwed you over. Tell your players that their own district partner is a fucking no-go zone, and everything will be fine!’

By the end of the monologue, I am gasping for breath from rage and exhaustion, and Haymitch says nothing, which is awful. Exhaustion suddenly overwhelms me.

"Haymitch, this is my last reaping," I say suddenly, quietly, and the man flinches. "The very last, but I need you to be there. I can't do this alone."

I instinctively step forward; I am always the strong one, always the one who takes care of things, but when the sudden anger evaporates, only fear remains. And yes, I am terrified that Peeta and Prim are going to the Arena, but a dark, selfish part of me fears for herself.

Haymitch reaches out and pulls me toward him, and I don't resist; no one can see us, so I snuggle into his lap.

"Come with me," I whisper in his neck. "Please come with me. I love Gale, but I don't trust him. Come with me."

"I'll be there," Haymitch promises in a barely audible voice, and my muscles immediately relax.

I don't break the embrace, but I pull back so I can look at him. I stroke his cheek. He blinks.

"You'll need clean clothes," I say kindly.

’I don’t care.’

’But I do’ I murmur. ’I do, Haymitch, you deserve better than whatever you did with this poor shirt.’

The man is wearing the same clothes as at the dance, his white shirt is wrinkled, and Haymitch has torn his arm, his dark trousers are stained with booze.

"I'll have to stitch that at some point," I note, without any enthusiasm.

’No you don’t’

’Yes, I do’ I repeat stubbornly.  'I'll find you some decent clothes; take a shower, I'll leave what I find at the door.'

When I pull away, he pulls me back, and without saying a word, he wants to tell me not to go.

"You need a suit," I remind him, quickly kissing him on the forehead, which he allows, and I stand up. ’Take a shower, Haymitch!’

I choose a light silver shirt for him, which shimmers ever so slightly when the light hits it. I'm sure he doesn't care what he wears, but now he's mine; there's no way I'm going to let the nasty rumors about him continue to spread. I find some nice gray trousers and matching shoes; someone once tried to take care of our eldest Victor.

I leave the clothes spread out on a chair in front of the bathroom door, call out to Haymitch that I'll be back, and then practically run home. At home, I wash myself carefully with ice-cold well water, and I don't argue when my mother lays out a simple, pale blue dress on the bed for me to put on.

The only change I make is to put Peeta's pearl in my pocket and ask my mother to fasten the slender silver necklace Haymitch gave me around my neck.

Primrose is wearing Haymitch's pale pink gift again—now I understand why my mother got up at dawn to scrub the delicate fabric clean. I pull my hair into a tight, dark braid, while I tame Prim's golden locks into two, using the ribbons Marylee gave her.

We walk toward the main square in unusual silence, more and more children joining us; Peeta steps beside us and takes my hand without a word, Rye quietly settling in on Prim's other side. For a moment, I see Madge, dressed in cheerful cherry red, her blonde hair glistening in the sunlight, with a bird-shaped brooch on her chest. I nod to Delly, who is wearing a golden bell dress and looks deathly pale.

My mother kisses us both on the cheek as we arrive at the main square, nods to the boys, and goes to the end of the gathering crowd of children, stopping at the back with the other parents.

We stop in the middle, between the rows of boys and girls. This is the end of the road; here we must part ways. Even the girls are divided by age, with the youngest at the front and the oldest at the back.

I'm not one for public displays of affection, but today I don't care; without thinking, I kiss Peeta on the mouth and run my fingers through his hair. Someone whistles sharply and long from the boys' line, but I don't care, it just makes me kiss the boy even harder.

"Don't you dare," I mumble to Peeta, who is still cautious enough even in this situation and smiles faintly at me. Don't you dare end up in the Arena.

"I don't even dream about it, ma'am," he replies kindly.

"Good luck," I say to Rye as I break the hug. Primrose lets go of my hand and, to my surprise, jumps into Rye's arms. It seems they've become better friends than I thought they would be. Rye, impolite and sharp, Rye who kisses a different girl every week, gently hugs my little sister and spins her around in his arms, making her laugh. I am grateful.

I already miss Primrose's hand in mine as I take my place among the other girls. Gale stands straight-backed on the podium, his face cold and controlled; emotionless. He is dressed entirely in black: jet-black suit pants, shoes, and shirt, and as he brushes a dark strand of hair from his face, I see that he is wearing his wedding ring, silver in the sunlight.

Is he mourning us in advance?

Haymitch stands to his left, and although his face is tired, I was right: the silver shirt suits him perfectly and is understatedly graceful. As they stand there side by side, I feel like I am looking at night and day.

Our eyes meet as our two Victors retreat and sit down at the long table set up at the back of the stage to make room for our District's escort, Effie Trinket.

Time ceases to exist. Effie's voice is sharp as she announces that this year we're starting with the boys.

Wait, the boys? Why?

There is no explanation for this: our suffering is entertainment for the Capitol. Breathe.

"Rye Mellark!" Effie's voice rings out, and suddenly I understand the surprise that comes with the Quell. Even though he's old enough to be free—a year older than Peeta—it seems he can still be called up.

The boy's face shows perfect shock as he slowly walks forward; he wears a light blue shirt that highlights his eyes, which are just a shade lighter blue than Peeta's. My hands are shaking. Someone is sobbing quietly.

’Now the girls’ says Effie, and she is in such a good mood, I want to hit her. So, that’s how we are doing this. A boy, then his partner, a girl.

’Posie Hawthorne!’ I bite my lip so hard that it bleeds. What kind of person am I? I 'm so fixated on my sister and Peeta that I don't even think about Posie.

The little girl is wearing a long, fluffy white dress with a red belt. I can see her lips trembling as she steps out of line, but she presses her mouth shut and doesn't cry. It seems Gale isn't the only stubborn one in the family.

Posie fixes her gaze on her brother as she slowly walks toward the podium. I can see that Gale is holding his hands tightly behind his back at this point, I guess to hide his trembling. He doesn't look away.

"Oh, one of Victor's little sisters, how exciting!" Effie comments on the events in the dead silence, and my hands clench into fists.

It's so quiet that you can hear the escort skipping the next piece of paper. I look at Peeta, and my heart breaks for him; Rye is his brother. The boy's eyes are completely expressionless, and it terrifies me.

’Rory Hawthorne!’ Effie announces, and I am forced to close my eyes tightly. What did Gale do to make the president so angry with him? Stunned murmurs run through the crowd. Everyone thinks this is cruel. Rory takes Poise's hand as he steps onto the podium.

"Technically speaking, this is not allowed," notes the escort when she sees the gesture.

"Miss Trinket—-the next name, please," Haymitch says suddenly, and although he doesn't say anything literally insulting, his voice is so sharp that Effie flinches. For a moment, I almost feel sorry for her, but then I remember the brother and sister on the podium, and I look at Haymitch, who looks like he wants to hang himself.

Meinir Garton’s name is up, and is getting riddiculus. Even the stupidest of us must know now that this is punishment for Gale, because its not fucking enough to pick his sister and brother, but the sister of his late district partner, whom he killed?  How could he look this girl in the eye and help her survive?

Meinir resembles her sister, with dark hair and dark skin, although her hair is boyishly short, her eyes are not blue, but a nice shade of green, and she has a burn mark on her right cheek. This girl is shorter and stockier than her sister, and she also seems stronger.

Her expression is dark and withdrawn, and she ignores Gale, standing on the side of the podium closest to Haymitch. That's an opinion if you ever saw one.

’Colston Black!’ A sharp scream pierces through the crowd; as I turn around, I see Leeveey, who, despite being heavily pregnant, is standing among those of the parents. When I first see her today, I think how nice it is that she has come to support Gale; but now, as she presses both hands to her mouth... as she blinks with bleary, tear-filled eyes, I feel a deep, burning pity for Gale.

This puts him in another impossible situation: why should he have to breathe the same air as someone his wife clearly prefers? And what has gotten into Leevee? Why can't she see that this is a living nightmare for Gale anyway?

Coltson stands to Meinir's left; he too is closer to Haymitch than to Gale, as is Rye, while Rory and Posie naturally stand beside their brother at the front of the table.

'Tulip Steal!' The girl my sister teased Rye about, steps out of line with her head held high; her fiery red hair is tied back in a simple ponytail, she wears a green blouse and black pants, and her nose is covered in freckles.

Rye looks like he's about to be sick on stage. Although I seem to recall that they had already broken up, when the girl appears on the stairs, Rye takes her hand, and Effie Trinket does not comment on the events this time.

"And the last boy..." Effie says. I close my eyes. Don't let it be Peeta or Vick, don't let it be Peeta or Vick, come on, just don't take Peeta, please...

"Carl Grey!" the escort shouts, and my eyes pop open. It's not Peeta!

Carl is deathly pale as he walks between the rows of boys and girls. I catch his gaze, and his gray, lifeless eyes widen.

'Abernathy is a huge disgrace,' says Carl, a boy who is the same age as Gale, so this is his last year. 'Did you see how strong he was during the Game? And look at him now!'

"I'd like to see what's left of you after the Arena, Grey," I growl. "Maybe something Sae can chop up for her soup? Although that might be asking too much."

Our conversation rushes through me as if it were happening now, and judging by Carl's expression, I think he remembers it too. I'm not malicious. I simply nod to him; I don't actually want him to die.

Grey presses his lips together and pauses for a moment in front of the table when he reaches the podium—but then he stands next to Rory, closer to Gale.

I lift my head and fix my gaze on Haymitch. I don't close my eyes. If I have to go to the Arena, I will find out by looking into the face of a friend.

Effie pronounces the following first name with a particularly long vowel.

’Primrose Everdeen!

The world is tearing apart, and I scream until everything goes dark around me.

Chapter Text

Primrose

Everything is ice cold around me as they herd me into the Justice Building reception room, where I have one hour to say goodbye to my family and anyone else who is willing to visit.

The first two to enter the door, just after I sit down at the table in the middle, are my mother and Katniss. My mother's face is white with fear, and Katniss's skin looks sickly gray. My sister looks embarrassed; I think she's bothered by how sharp her reaction was when she heard my name.

The moment the Peacekeeper closes the door behind them, my sister throws herself across the table and hugs me. For a moment, I feel safe, even though my heart is beating wildly.

I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, die, die, die.

I feel Katniss stiffen slightly as my mother embraces us both, producing a complicated three-way hug, but she doesn't pull away.

I am the first to move, and I pull away. I have to get used to the fact that they won't be with me. I have to get used to being alone. I sit down at the table, and they both settle down opposite me on the two chairs after exchanging a quick glance. Perhaps the one benefit of this whole nightmare is that it will bring the two of them closer together. Katniss fixes her gaze on me sharply, desperately, her gray eyes like my father's.

"You can win," she declares emphatically, and it's such an absurd idea that I snort, and she recoils as if I've hit her. ’Don’t laugh!’

’Please’ I say, a bit more gently. ’We all know its a lie. The best we can do is accepting the fact, and for me to die with some dignity.’

’Not an option!’ Katniss glares, widly.

’Katniss, we both know I’m not like you. I had virtually no time with Dad, so he had no chance to teach me to hunt. And even if we had time, I’m useless. I feel bad hurting animals, even when I know that we need the food. How am I to kill people, when I can’t shoot a squirrel?’

My sister is about to open her mouth to protest, but surprisingly, my mother beats her to it.

"You don't have to be like Katniss or Burdie," she says. She gives my sister a quick smile. "All three of you are wonderful, of course, but you don't have to be like anyone else, just yourself. You are a healer; that means you can treat your own injuries in the Game, and you can also cause pain if you have to."

Katniss gives our mother a genuine smile for pointing out my strengths.

"If I am a healer, then I am like you," I note quietly, and my mother rewards me with a pale smile. "But I don't think I could deliberately cause anyone pain."

"I'm not saying you should plan it," Mama shakes her head. "Just that you know what to do if you have no other choice."

I bite my lip. But what if I choose not to hurt anyone? Not to take part in this?

Then I will die.

Katniss wears the expression of a hunter; her face reflects intelligent, motionless attention, and I feel as if she can hear my thoughts.

"Promise me," she says tensely. "Promise me you'll try to win!"

’I…’ I start, but she shakes her head. ’ Promise me!’

Katniss never asks anything of me; hot fatigue overwhelms my muscles, even though I haven't had to run for my life yet.

’I promise’ I wishper, and both Mom and Katniss looks visibly relieved, as if that means anything.

"Good," my mother nods hurriedly, because we're running out of time. "We brought you something." She pulls something out of her pocket, and I suspect it will be my talisman: everyone who goes to the Arena can take something with them that reminds them of home, as long as it's not a weapon.

When I recognize what it is, the air catches in my lungs.

"Mom, I can't take your only photo of Dad!" I cry out.

"This picture isn't just mine, it's ours," my mother replies calmly. "Your father would definitely want to be with you if he had a choice."

’But…’

"If you're so worried about the picture, just give it back when you come back," my mother retorts.

When. Not if.

I look down at the photo, and Katniss's reassuring gray eyes look back at me: I can't help but smile faintly.

"All right," I say quietly, resignedly. "Thank you. I'll take care of it."

"Take care of yourself," Katniss says. "We love Dad with or without a picture. And listen to Haymitch; if you have a choice, choose him as your mentor."

There is something unspoken in Katniss' words that I don't understand: I frown.

"I'd choose him anyway," I reply, referring to Haymitch.

 'Good,' my mother nods. ' He's brilliant. Don't worry about anything else. I'll keep an eye on Lady and Buttercup, I promise.'

'Thank you' is a relief; I love my cat and my goat, but I would rather they looked after each other.

’I…’ starts Katniss, but our time is up;

Two peacekeepers pull them away from the table before I can hug them again.

’We love you!’ Katniss cries out, and I can't shake the feeling that this is the last time I'll hear her voice.

As soon as the door closes behind them, my tears start flowing.

"Prim?" asks a worried boy's voice. "Primrose!"

I look up and, to my surprise, Peeta is standing in the door, holding a bag from which a delicious, sweet scent wafts. Why is he here when his brother is being sent to the Arena? How can he be so kind?

"Peeta," I sniffle. "I need to ask you for something big." I need someone to be there for Katniss when I die. Rye can come home.

Peeta's blue eyes are kind and nonjudgmental.

"Go ahead," replies the boy. "But can we talk about it while we eat cookies?" He lifts the bag a little higher.

I smile involuntarily through my tears: there is no one like Peeta Mellark.

*

When visiting hours are over, my stomach is full, my mouth is all crumbs, but I feel a little better. Many people have visited me; Delly and Madge came together, and Madge offered me the brooch, the Mokingay, which I know from Haymitch used to belong to Mayselee. My heart aches, but I refuse; I can only have one talisman. Delly brings apples, which we munch on together and gossip, mostly about boys. We act as if it were just another day, and when the girls have to leave, they both kiss me on the cheek.

Vick appears too: his face is tortured, and we just sit opposite each other in silence. The boy holds both my hands; it's nice that he's here, considering that his two siblings are going to the Arena.

When the Peacekeepers escort me out of the building, I try to walk with my head held high, and unlike Grey, who starts fighting with them in front of the train that will take us to the Capitol, I board without resistance.

We easily find Haymitch and Gale; they are sitting in one of the gilded compartments of the modern train, at a large circular table opposite the door. There are chairs around the white marble table, and I quietly settle into one, directly opposite Haymitch. In front of Haymitch stands a precious crystal glass filled with golden whiskey.

Rye settles down on my right after giving me a faint smile, and Ena's little sister, whose name I shamefully cannot remember, sits on my left. The girl's face is still dark, but she nods to everyone without saying a word, which I return. I lean forward and wave to Tulip, who is sitting on the other side of Rye; she grins at me in surprise and waves back. Rory sits on Gale's free side, holding his little sister in his lap, while Grey remains standing.

"Don't you want to sit down?" I ask the boy, who is wiping his nose, which is bleeding from the fight. He gives me a strange, angry look and shakes his head.

"All right," Gale says, without any introduction. "There are eight of you here, and I plan to come home with a Victor, so let's get to work. Rory, Posie, Prim, and Grey, you're with me. Abernathy will take the rest. Let's go and..."

I stare at him. Is he serius?

"No!" slips out of my mouth reflexively. Gale freezes mid-sentence.

’What?’

I take a deep breath.

"I said no," I repeat, forcing myself to remain calm. "'Thank you for the offer, Gale, but I won't be taking you up on it.'"

Gale presses his lips together in shock and anger.

'This isn't a business offer, Prim, your life is at stake. This is...'

"It's a choice," I interrupt coldly. "And you're not my choice, Gale, with all due respect." I turn away from him and look at Haymitch, who is quietly sipping his whiskey. "I'd like to be with you, Haymitch, if you'll have me."

Haymitch raises his blond eyebrows with a faint, self-deprecating smile.

"Gladly, golden girl," he replies. "But are you sure? I won't be offended if you say no."

"I want you," I say firmly. This will be the last free choice of my life.

"That's ridiculous!" Gale snaps. "Just because Katniss has some weird obsession with the guy, because of your dad? Why should she..."

I hear Haymitch's glass clatter on the table as he lets go of it, and suddenly my mind is filled with red rage. How dare he?!

"A strange obsession?" I repeat, and I think there's something in my voice, because Gale suddenly falls silent and turns pale. "Are you out of your mind?"

’Prim….’

’It’s Primrose’ I cut in. ’Better yet, it’s Miss Everdeen, or nothing at all. If I’m old enough to go to an Arena and kill people, then I’m sure as fuck old enough not to be looked at as a kid, and old enough to choose my own mentor.’

"Prim," Gale begins, then shakes himself. "Primrose," he corrects himself. "I just want to help and..."

"You're insulting my sister, my late father, and Haymitch all in one breath," I note. "As far as I'm concerned, this argument is over. Thank you for your concern, but Haymitch is my mentor for as long as he wants me."

’He does’ notes Haymitch, with self-mockery in his voice. "Then it's settled. If you ask me," Haymitch continues. "It's a choice you're all entitled to make. I won't be offended if you all want to be with Gale, and I'll try to get sponsors for all of you either way, but we need to discuss this. Are we preparing together? Separately? If separately, I advise you not to share your strategies with each other. If we do it as a team, then gossip away, but don’t say anything to anyone from a different district.’

’If Miss Everdeen is the only one who wants to work with me, then I have only two pieces of advice for the rest of you: remain polite to the other players and avoid conflict with them outside the Arena.’ Haymitch gives Gale a sharp look.

'And for the love of Panem, do not harm anyone from your own district, either inside or outside the Arena, until there are only two of you left and you have no other choice.'

Ena's little sister—Meinir!—I finally remember her name—Meinir snorts deeply and darkly.

"Would you be my mentor, Mr. Abernathy?" she asks, without any explanation.

"'With pleasure, Miss Garton,' Haymitch replies slowly.

"He killed her as much as I did," Gale mutters, and I can't believe my ears.

’Shut the fuck up!’ snaps Meinir. ’Don’t talk about Ena!’

My head is starting to hurt.

’I’m just saying…’ murmurs Gale.

’Enough’ I say softly.

"'You just don't say anything!' the girl growls. 'Don't talk to me, don't look at me, do me a fucking favor and pretend I'm not even here!'"

’Well, that doesn’t change the fact that…’

’Enouh’ I say more loud, this time, but it doesn’t help.

"That doesn't change the fact that my sister is dead, dead, and you slit her throat!" the girl screams. "Haymitch at least tried to help her!"

'He helped her a lot, I can tell you that,' Gale remarks dryly, and suddenly I've had enough. I jump up and grab the expensive cut crystal glass that Haymitch has left almost untouched.

"Enough!" I snap. "Enough, enough, enough!" I scream, and with all my strength I throw the glass against the opposite wall, where it shatters into a thousand pieces. Gale, Rory, Posie, and Haymitch are forced to jump out of the way to avoid the broken glass.

"We're about to be in the fucking Arena, and you're arguing?" I yell. "Do you think we have time for this? Gale, since when do you mock someone's dead sister? And you wonder why I don't take your advice? And Meinir, don't waste our time, or we'll end up just like Ena! What the hell is wrong with all of you?’

The anger and tears flow, and I don't want anyone to see my tears, so I rush out and stop in front of one of the windows so that only the passing landscape can see me sobbing.

The tears slowly bring relief, even though they only make my head hurt more. I want Katniss. I want my mother. I even want my father, even though I was just a baby when he died.

When the door creaks behind me, I sigh raggedly. I don't want to argue anymore.

"So, you've got some of your sister's temperament, huh?" Haymitch's teasing voice rings out. "You've kept it well hidden."

I'm spinning around.

"It seems so," I whisper. My throat tightens.

’Well, good’ Haymitch nods. ’They all deserved it anyway. Now…’

My heart is pounding in my throat, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes again, which makes my mentor pause.

’Haymitch’ I squeeze it out of my throat, and without thinking, I throw myself into his arms to hide, hide, hide. Haymitch doesn't pull away from the hug, but picks me up with surprising ease and wraps his arms around me.

’Its fine, golden girl’ he mutters. ’Its perfectly fine. You picked me for your mentor, and so, you are stuck with me, no way back now. Its you and me now, you can’t get rid of me.’

"I don't want to," I whisper back to him, which is true.

"You had a real choice, and you chose me," Haymitch grumbles. "It's been a long time since anyone chose me freely."

The tightness in my chest is easing.

"Liar," I say, in a kind voice. "Katniss took one look at you and claimed you as her own, not to mention our parents."

Haymitch snorts with laughter, and I hide my smile in his shirt.

"Hey, is the party here?" Rye stands in the doorway, smiling bashfully, holding Tulip's hand with one hand. "We're looking for a free mentor.’

Haymitch gently sets me on my feet and doesn't let go of my shoulder, even when he looks at the other two.

Maybe this won't be so terrible.

*

Haymitch is officaly Rye’s and Tulip’s mentor now, and I’m glad. I love Rye, with his with his crooked smiles and sly glances, and although I don't know Tulip well, she seems nice.

’…Being an absolute idiot about it!’ Rory says as we return to the original booth.

Although I didn't hear the beginning of the sentence, it must have been something powerful, because Gale lowers his head for a moment, then looks up, giving Rye and Tulip a cool stare.

"So, if I understand correctly, you two are with my dear mentor?" he asks.

’Right you are, man’ notes Rye cheerfully. I have a feeling that the unwavering cheerfulness he has been wearing like a mask since he heard his name is a mechanism that protects him. But I notice that Rye won't let go of Tulip's hand and instinctively stays close to me, as if he wants to protect me. Honestly? I don't mind.

’So, that leaves me with my siblings, and Black? Great’ mutters Gale.

’Are you kidding me?’ asks Colston. ’You are married to my ex; you're the first one who's going to throw me to the dogs.’

’I wouldn’t..’ starts Gale, but Black shakes his head.

’Mr. Abernathy, can you help me?’ he asks, and Haymitch lifts his eyebow.

’That’s the question, isn’t it?’ he asks, dry. ’But, I will try, kid.’ He shighs. ’Okay, so Gale will mentor his siblings, and the rest of you, stuck with me. We will find sponsors for all of you, together, but the rest is on you. How will we do this? Together as a team, or everybody with his mentor?’

’Together’ answers Rory, before anyone else.

’Rory…’ starts Gale.

’No, Gale.’ he says temperamentally. 'We'll have enough enemies in the Arena, twice as many as Haymitch had! I don't want to imagine enemies where there aren't any, I don't want to keep our strategy secret! And we need Haymitch's help. This is your first time doing this!'

’I can do this’ Gale argues stubbornly.

"I have no doubt about that," Rory replies just as stubbornly. "But I wouldn't bet my sister's life on it, only my own."

Gale flinches as if he burned his hand, and I feel sorry for him.

’Fine’ he mutters.

’Excellent’ nods Haymitch. 'But in order to have a strategy, we need to see who we're up against. I suggest we look at the Harvest in other districts. Come on, folks, we've got a long night ahead of us.'

I take Rye's hand as we walk into a cabin with a display screen; the boy grins and suddenly picks me up, then sits me on his shoulder with one hand. There's something about him that reminds me incredibly of Peeta.

I can feel Gale's burning gaze on my neck, but I don't look back.

*

Gale

I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this so, so, much. I just wanted to help Prim, but her reaction was so sharp, something I had never seen from her before. She was just like Katniss.

"You took the decision out of her hands," says my little brother when Prim and Haymitch disappear after Prim storms out following our argument. "She might have chosen you, but you took it for granted that she would, and we had so little freedom of choice as it is anyway."

When did my little brother become so smart?

As we rush off to watch the Reaping, my conscience won't let me rest. Would my brother and sister be better off with Haymitch? He is the more experienced of the two of us, that's a fact. Did I isolate my siblings by not giving them a choice?

I watch with a touch of bitterness as the others settle into the deep leather armchairs around the display, Tulip in Mellark's lap. Avoxes bring small sandwiches on silver trays, cookies, chocolate covered marshmallows, hot chocolate in deep mugs, orange juice, spiced lemonade, soups in snow-white bowls.

"Try to eat slowly and consistently over the next week," advises Abernathy. "Some of these foods are heavy, and not all of you are used to them. You don't want to get sick in the middle of training. Nevertheless, try to eat properly; you'll need every extra pound in the Arena, because we don't know if you'll have regular access to food."

Some of these foods are heavy, and not all of you are used to them, he says, instead of saying, some of you are so poor, it's a wonder you're still alive.

I grudgingly admit that the advice is good; my gaze meets that of the younger Garton sister, and she wrinkles her nose in disgust. She hates me.

She takes a tall glass of lemonade from one of the trays and turns away from me, and I am painfully reminded of Ena, who was bent over the toilet vomiting on the first night when I first boarded this train, because she had eaten too much fatty pork.

Mellark feeds his girlfriend strawberries. Prim deftly slides off the boy's shoulder and lands energetically on her feet, and for a moment I hope she will come over to me now. But the girl just takes two deep bowls of pumpkin cream soup, two slices of golden brown toast, and several handfuls of Camembert cheese balls, and settles down next to Abernahty. When the man waves no, the girl looks at him with playful reproach.

"Come on, Haymitch, be a good boy. Didn't Mags and Weiress tell you to eat regularly?" she asks in a kind voice, and it tugs at my chest. So Haymitch told her that Mags and Weiress were his mentors during the Games. I only know this because Mags tried to strike up a conversation with me after my Arena, but Haymitch never sayid anything about it.

"I'm sure they mentioned it," Haymitch grumbles with a grin, obediently accepting the soup.

’You shuld always listen to your mentors’ concludes Prim, throwing a piece of cheese into her mouth. Haymitch laughs dryly, but starts spooning up the soup. I can’t watch this anymore: I’m so fucking lonely.

The Reaping beings on screen. Ambrosius Vexleigh - the local escort in District One, an angelic-faced man with wavy, golden-blond hair, is drawing the first name from the boys here, too.

For some reason, those selected here fall on the older side due to the new rule, but that doesn't help. In a Carrer district, everyone from babies to the elderly is expected to be well trained. I watch as the golden-haired mentor siblings Gloss and his sister Cashmere wave encouragingly to those stepping onto the podium. Haymitch is, of course, friends with the golden twosome, which I will never, ever understand.

"Avoid confrontation with anyone from Districts 1 and 2 for as long as possible," Haymitch instructs everyone. "'Their mentors are nice, but of course all the Victors are allied with each other; that won't help you until you survive the Arena.’

"'Nor even after that," slips out of my mouth dryly.

"Gale and I disagree on the importance of the relationship between Victors," Haymitch retorts sharply. I let out a sigh and shut my mouth.

In the Third District, heartbreakingly, we mostly hear the names of twelve-year-olds.

"Poor Beetee," Haymitch mutters, his gaze never leaving the dark-skinned, glasses-clad male Victor as he squeezes one of the boys' shoulders on the podium.

"Is that his cousin?" Prim gasps. "Wasn't Ampert enough?"

"'It's never enough,'" Haymitch replies grimly. My gaze shifts from my mentor to the little girl and back again. Who is Ampert? Prim knows things I don't.

"Try to stay as far away from Cornucopia as possible," advises Haymitch, while on screen Mags hugs the girls and Finnick shakes hands with the boys. "You can get backpacks later, but the Bloodbath is dangerous. Find shelter as quickly as possible, and water."

Prim nods obediently, but keeps looking at the screen.

"Did he ask Annie to mentor  this year?" asks the little girl, and suddenly I notice the red-haired young woman on the podium, who doesn’t look anyone in the eye.

’Ask is a pretty word’ mutters Haymitch. ’He ordered her, to keep Finnick in line. And she can be very useful you know; Annie is sharp as a knife, very smart, as long as Finn is around, so she can help the kids. She was a Carrer originally, after all. Its just hard on her.’

I suddenly realise that Haymitch and Prim are talking about the President. He told a little girl about what happens to the fucking Victors! I stare at him. And he has the goal to say I’m not sensitive enough! But he just lifts an eybow at me, and doesn’t say anything.

"When we arrive at the Capitol, wave and smile," Haymitch continues. "I know it's the last thing you want, but making a good impression can lead to sponsorships.

I snort. A good impression might lead to sponsors, but nothing is guaranteed. The only way to secure gifts is to kneel down for the entire week of the Games and do whatever the rich and spoiled Capitol wives ask of me.

And so I will do; I will kneel, for Posy and Rory, and no one else. Katniss hates me already, there is no one else I should fight for.

*

Prim

It's still half a day until we get to the Capitol, and Haymitch advises everyone to try to get some sleep in the meantime. I don't mind. I hug my mentor goodbye, and he presses my face to his chest, gently stroking my cheek with his hand. I hear Grey snore; he’s the only one who chose Gale as his mentor, besides Rory and Posy.

I don't care about the disdainful sound; I just snuggle closer to Haymitch, whose shirt smells faintly of honey; Katniss washes Haymitch's clothes in the same way she washes mother's.

’Don’t drink too much, Hay’ I ask him gently, as I pull away. He doesn’t promise me anything, of course he woun’t, but he does give me a smile.

Rye, Tulip, and I walk in comfortable silence toward the othercompartments; Haymitch says we can choose any. Effie Trinket doesn't leave her own, the entire train ride: I think she took offense to Haymitch during the Harvest.

I stop in front of one of the doors and Rye kisses me on the forehead goodbye.

The cabin is huge, with a bed covered in green silk in the middle, and a door that leads, I guess, to the bathroom. I should take a shower, but I'm so tired that I just lie down.

I wake up to a knock, a few hours later; the space around me is darker, it's half-light. I think Haymitch came to tell us to continue, or that we had arrived, but on the other side of the door stands a young, pale, red-haired girl. An Avox. I'm surprised that she doesn't have a tray or fresh clothes; instead, she silently reaches out and drops a note into my hand.As I unfold the piece of paper, I see two words on it:

Help me.

*

Katniss

Time slows down, without Primrose. My mother falls silent; she disappears among the sick at the Seam, and I don’t see her again on the night of the Harvest. I avoid Peeta; his surprised, pained look pierces my soul, but I don’t know how to look at him, now that Prim and Rye are practically enemies.

I can’t ask him to cheer for my sister against his own brother, but I can’t bear the thought of Prim not winning. And if Prim wins, Rye will be dead. I don’t look Peeta in the eye as I hurry away from the square.

I return to Haymitch's house, my heart pounding as I see the silent, motionless building. I mop up the whiskey from the floor, throw away the broken glass, and air out the house. I sew up the shirt Haymitch ripped open, wash and iron his clothes, and fold them carefully in the closet. Work helps a little.

As night falls, I'm forced to head home, although I'm sure Haymitch wouldn't mind if I slept here. I find a fucking white rose on my doorstep when I get home, with a card next to it.

Don't worry, Miss Everdeen, I'll take care of your sister.

Chapter Text

*

Primrose

The Capitol is golden in the sun as the train rolls in. There is a huge crowd milling about in the station, and I am amazed to see that they are waiting for us.

“Here comes the rascal!” a girl screams, and I watch as Haymitch grins back, a casual, slightly phlegmatic grin. “Wave!” he mutters, his grin never wavering.

I'm the first to react; I look for the girl who first noticed Haymitch's presence, and I pretend it's Katniss; I smile at her, hoping my smile is genuine and natural, and then I wave to her.

To my utter astonishment, it works: the girl puts both hands in front of her mouth and then waves enthusiastically at me.

"Good," Haymitch murmurs softly, gently beside me. "How much are you against the show?"

"Do what you have to do," I tell him simply, the corner of my mouth already hurting from smiling so much.

Haymitch steps closer to the train window, then picks me up and places me on his shoulder, waving  with his free hand, but one hand never leaves my waist. The sudden movement makes me let out a small scream that people love.

‘Which one is this, Haymitch?’ one of the girls screams, and the way she puts it makes it sound a bit like I’m an object, but Haymitch refuses to to react to her style.

’Her name is Primrose’ he shuts back, simply. ’Like the flower!’

'Like a flower!' people shout. 'Like a flower, a real flower, she is a real flower!’'

‘Is everyone here crazy?’ Colston grumbles, and I have to admit that this immense enthusiasm, this sheep mentality, is truly frightening.

"Of course they are," Haymitch hisses, his smile not reaching his eyes, and he still waves as we get off the train. I don't have to get off his shoulder, so I'm the only one who's somehow above the crowd. "My job is to turn this to our advantage and save your asses. Do something they'll remember!"

Rye is the next to obey; there in the middle of the crowd, he gently turns Tulip towards him and kisses her tenderly on the mouth. The teenage crowd goes crazy.

’That’s the spirit’ murmurs Haymitch, somewhat darkly. ’We may got a chance yet.’

 And he hands me a teddy bear that one of the girls threw to him. I blow a kiss in the direction my mentor points.

*

'You can trust the stylists,' Haymitch reassures us as we enter the Tribute Center. 'Cinna and Portia are both brilliant. Cinna gets Rye, Rory, Carl and you, Colston, while Tulip, Meinir, Posy and Primrose will go with Portia. But it doesn't really matter: Portia and Cinna are a team, and they'll both be nice to you.’

Gale snorts contemptuously, but Haymitch immediately snaps:

’Shut the fuck up! Do you want your siblings to be afraid of people they don’t need to be afraid of? I know you were unable to give Portia the slightest bit of respect when it was your turn, and your only luck was that Ena was perfectly polite to Cinna, but maybe Rory and Posy know how to behave!’

'Ena's behavior helped you?' Meinir asks, astonished. 'My sister helped you?' Her gaze darkens. 'Oh, boy, if I ever get out of that fucking Arena, I'll kill you. Get ready.'

"I'd like to see you try, little girl," Gale hisses coldly, but her dark gaze remains on his face.

“Shut up, both of you!” Haymitch growls, and the two of them fall silent. My mentor carefully lifts me off his shoulders and sets me on my feet. “You’ll like Portia, don’t worry,” he says kindly. “And I really fucking need a glass of whiskey.”

*

In fact, I do really like Portia, who is a short, slender, lovely young woman with brown eyes; both her arms are covered in delicate, geometric, and floral tattoos.

’Primrose’ she smiles at me. ’It’s really nice to meet you, I’m just sad we have too meet like this. I’m your stylist. It means its my job to make the Capitol’s audience remember you, both during the Parade, and your interwiew with Cesar.’

I smile at her. There's something comforting about her, and I haven't been calm since I heard my name called at the Harvest, except for the brief moments when Katniss, my mother, or Haymitch hugged me.

"I like your tattoos," I say honestly. "I'm sorry you have to make me memorable. I'm afraid there's nothing special about me."

Portia turns her head to the side thoughtfully, examining my face.

'You know, Primrose,' she says quietly. 'I think you're wrong about that. And maybe I have an idea to show everyone how interesting you are.'

*

Katniss

’Don’t do this!’ Peeta's voice is so desperate that I stop. As unlucky as I am, I run into the boy in the main square, and no matter how quickly I try to turn around, I'm not nimble enough; the boy steps towards me in despair; his blue eyes are sad.

"I have no choice," I say darkly, but he shakes his head wildly.

"Look, Katniss, if you don't want to be my friend, just tell me," he says bitterly. "I really thought we were friends, you and me, Prim and Rye, and Haymitch, and my father, and your mother. You and I - I thought maybe we were even more than that. But if not, I want to know."

I stare at him. What do I want? When did that matter in this life?

"It's not that I don't want to be your friend," I mumble. Or more, it's running through my mind, but I'd rather cut out my tongue than say it.

"Then why..." Peeta starts, but I can't take it anymore.

'Prim and Rye are enemies now!' I blurt out in despair. 'I know they're originally friends, but only one of them can come home from the Arena, so they have no choice. And I can't ask you to be happy if it's not Rye but Prim, so…’ My explanation chokes on breathlessness and something stings my eyes, but Peeta just frowns in confusion.

’They're not enemies, Katniss," he says slowly. "They never will be. They're District Partners, and they'll help each other out in the Arena as long as they can. And if either of them dies, it won't be by the other's hand. And if Rye dies and Prim comes home, I won't blame your sister. Just as I hope if it's the other way around..." I can't breathe, but Peeta just keeps going. ’You won’t blame me either.’

I won’t blame you, because I will be busy killing myself.

’But until either of those things happen, I would like to be around you’ he almost begs. ’You are the only one who really understands, how is it, having a sibling in the Arena.’ He takes a big breath, and my heart breaks for him. ’I mean, there’s Bran, but he doesn’t speak Katniss. At all! He didn’t had one single word since Rye went, Katniss! He doesn’t make a sound, and…’

Peeta suddenly falls silent, as if out of breath.

"And my mother won't leave my father alone for a moment," he whispers, and I notice with horror that his eyes are wet. He's always been her favourite, and she keeps croaking that if my dad had worked harder, Rye would never have made it to the Arena. Of course, that's not true: Rye isn't there because of his slips, but because of the Quell twist.'

This all sounds terrible, and for the first time since Prim left, I feel something other than burning pain and fear. Instinctively, I pull Peeta closer, and he hugs me tightly.

"I can't go back there," he whispers.

’You don’t have to’ I murmur back. ’I’m here.’

*

It's time for the first mandatory show: the Parade. Each District has its children parade around, dressed in costumes that are a nod to their location, in the hopes that the sponsors will remember them. The 12 have always had terrible costumes until Cinna, but with Cinna and Portia here, we have at least a glimmer of a chance.

We're huddled in front of the screen in my home; my mother is with a patient again, and I think she'll watch the show there. Her absence affects me more deeply than I thought, and I'm trying my best to ignore the feeling.

First, the mentors are shown standing on a tall circular platform, surrounded by a Capitol audience dressed in colorful robes. For the first time, I don't feel contempt at Finnick Odair's bright smile.

The man holds a short, silver-haired, pretty-faced, elderly woman with kind, soft blue eyes in one arm. Mags. On the other side, a young woman with burning red hair stares into nothingness; Annie Cesta.

Haymitch is deathly pale and stands more stiffly than usual; he's wearing a very, very pale sun-yellow suit that goes well with his blond curls. As soon as he though, notices the camera, the stiffness disappears; a cheeky smile spreads across his face, he playfully puts his arm around Gale's shoulder, who is standing next to him, and begins to wave. Gale, who is wearing a pale, pale, pale pink suit, joins in; he raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, as if he's just realized Haymitch is there, and then blows a kiss to the camera. No one would say they weren't friends.

I couldn't tell what the others are wearing; my attention only sharpens when the mounted ceriots appear, bearing the number 12. I suddenly understand Haymitch and Gale's elegant but surprising colored suits.

The first to appear on the chariot is Primrose. But I don't see a little girl; my sister has understated makeup, but the technique used to apply the paint to her eyes highlights the bright blue of her beautiful irises. Her golden-blonde hair flows freely behind her, curled.

The dress she's wearing is a shimmering, subdued deep gold that follows her every move. My sister is a living flower. A Primrose. She looks perfect.

Rye is wearing a deeper gold next to her, but to my astonishment they match, and hold hands. The audience murmurs; Partners in the Game usually ignore each other, but they are clearly a team.

’Are they just…? ’ asks Peeta, when Rye raises their clasped hands high and the audience begins to cheer.

’Yeah’ I breath. They did something nobody ever did before in the Games, as far as I know. And people adore them for it. 

And Haymitch wears her colors, out of the eight of them.  This only makes me feel even deeper love for him, and his absence cuts deep into my soul. He makes it clear who he is loyal to, for all to see.

I slowly get the concept as Rory and Posy appear behind them. Posy's dress is lovely, a very, very pale pink. Posy pink.  Then comes Tulip, in a romantic red. Deep gold Primrose. Pale, pale, harmless posy pink. Tulip red.  In Meinir's case, they play on her beautiful green eyes, leafy green, the commentators chant. They are the flowers of District 12, they say.  Every boy wears the girl he is paired with.

’Haymitch and Cinna and Portia just made a team out them!’ Peeta realises with a sweet smile, and I nod. I’m happy, I’m tired, and I’m scared. This can work, but hope is dangerous. And what will happen when the team has to break up?

*

Primrose

’You were fucking amazing, Prim!’ Rye tells me with one of his rare honest smiles, as our chariot stops; Haymitch and Gale are waiting for us at the end of the road, and Rye jumps off, then as he lands, he reaches up and gently lifts us down from the height.

’You were great too!’ I tell him panting; the blood is hot in my veins, I am enthusiastic and perhaps foolishly hopeful. How many kids thought they had a chance after the audience chanted their name? But what if we really do have a chance? Haymitch immediately jumps next to us, and his presence reassures me.

’Great show kids, this is how its done!’ He grins at Rye and gives him a quick squeeze on the shoulder, then his arms are around me and he lifts me up high, I have to laugh.

"Couldn't you say who you favor more clearly?" asks Coltson Black's dark voice as the boy jumps off their own chariot, leaving Meinir to her own devices.  Coltston looks good in Meinir's emerald green, and the audience loved him too, so I don't see what's wrong with him.

"I'll kneel for you just the same, boy, don't worry," Haymitch says dryly, helping Meinir down, extending one of his hands to the girl. "Regardless of whether you prefer Gale."

Colston has enough honor to blush deeply. Haymitch doesn’t put me down, but carries me into the mentor center, in his arms. Behind us comes Seedeer, with her children. She’s one of the Eleven’s Victors; a pretty, deep-brown skinned woman with golden brown eyes who smiles at me kindly when our eyes meet. I wave back over Haymitch’s shoulder, and Seedeer laughs quietly.

*

Peeta

On the night of the interviews, a soft summer rain beats against the windows of the Everdeen house. Mrs. Everdeen - Asterid, I remind myself - is nowhere to be found again, and though Katniss doesn't say it, I know she's sad.

I stare at Rye, who stands on the stage of the Capitol studio in a deep gold suit, Cesar, the talk show host, opposite him. His heavily gelled hair is a different color every year, and luckily for us, this year it’s gold.

"Admit it, Caesar, you chose this hair color to match me!" Rye teases lightly. Each player is expected to have a distinct role and personality; Rye's is clearly the Jokester.

'I'm caught,' Cesar replies with a laugh; he helps most people, his job is to make everyone look their best. 'But I'm not really as elegant as you. What's that flower on your jacket, can you tell us?'

'It's a primrose,' Rye replies, suddenly serious. 'For my district partner, and friend, Miss Everdeen. We're a team.'

'Ah, how touching,' Cesar replies, and the audience aws. 'But tell me, what will happen if you can no longer be a team in the Arena, Rye?'

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Rye replies, unusually serious, which reminds me of another conversation we had.

"Keep an eye on Bran, okay, baby brother?" Rye asks, in our farewell hour. "I know he's the older one, but he... he's going to have a hard time with me, not being here."

'And I don't?' I snap, suddenly angry and desperate. 'I want you to come home too!'

Rye grins at me.

‘I know you care for me, Peet, and I love you too’ he says, so simply, that I’m surprised.

'But you are strong, and Bran will not be able to go on alone. ‘Take care of the Bear, will you?’

Bear is Bran’s childhood nickname; I sigh; how could I deny him anything, right now?

‘I will, I promise’ I tell him softly.

‘And Dad?’

‘And Dad.’

‘And yourself.’

'You have no other wishes, do you?' I ask suddenly sharply. I can't do this anymore.

‘Peeta.’

‘Okay, okay, fucker’ I mutter, and Rye, the fucking bastard, laughs. ‘Try, and come home!’

He doesn’t react to that, but he gives me a real smile.

‘I will try and help Primrose. She is sweet, and kind, and you love her sister.’

'Don't sacrifice yourself so I can have a chance with a girl, you hear? I would never ask that of you!’

'I know, little brother,' he says seriously. 'I know that very well.’

Rye grins broadly at Cesar on the screen.

"Do you know what else is special about this flower?" my brother asks.

‘I have no idea’ the host shakes his head.

"Lean in and smell it," Rye suggests, and Cesar complies. My brother carefully squeezes the flower on both sides, and a thick stream of water shoots out of the center, hitting Cesar in the face. The audience laughs loudly. Cesar is a good sport about it; he shakes himself like a wet dog and laughs as well.

Maybe it's foolish, but deep in the corner of my soul, I quietly hope.

*

Katniss

My little sister is beautiful on screen. She sits elegantly in her golden evening gown, each piece of which is made up of tiny, delicately crafted primrose petals. There is a gentle kindness about her that makes the boisterous audience, and even Cesar, pause.

"So, tell us, Primrose," Cesar asks, his voice unusually low. "How do you plan to win?"

'How is your health, Cesar?' My sister doesn't respond to the question, and this surprises the host.

‘I think I’m okay, thank you’ he says, his eybows up. Although maybe I should eat a little less,' he adds, then turns to the audience conspiratorially, one hand pressed to his stomach. 'I've been a bit out of sorts lately, can you tell?'

The audience protests, laughing.

‘You are perfect, Cesar!’ somebody screams, and he smiles at them.

Primrose doesn't smile, her eyes are serious and cold.

‘Our dear Victor, Gale has anger issues, so he have a higher chance of having a stroke than others," she declares. The audience suddenly falls silent and listens. The camera shows Gale, who looks calmly, unflinchingly, into the lens.

'Tulip and Meinir are malnourished,' Prim continues calmly. 'So their lifespans will probably be short. The same goes for Colston; that's dangerous in the Arena.' Prim glares at us. 'Everyone has a weak spot, and I'm a healer in District 12. I'm used to seeing other people's weak spots. I'll find them and use them, Cesar. That's how I intend to win.'

A moment of silence falls over the studio, and to my surprise, I shiver. There's something unusual about Prim that I don't recognize. I understand the tactic, and I think it's effective, but at the same time, I don't know how smart she is to reveal her talent to everyone. Wouldn't it have been better if she had been underestimated?

Cesar shifts uncomfortably in his chair, facing Primrose. His awkward reaction only adds to the effect.

‘Interesting, so very interesting’ he says but he is clearly feels that its weird, a sweet little girl with such cold words. His eyes lit up. ‘And what about Haymitch?’

‘What about Haymitch?’ Prim asks back, golden eyebows up.

‘What about his week sposts?’ I feel like Cesar is asking this because he wants to somehow change the weird mood, and that's why he's not afraid to humiliate Haymitch if necessary. But he doesn't succeed.

‘Well, he drinks’ says my sister, and I have to smile, because she answers the question in a very specific tone; she is polite, she is Prim, after all, so Cesar can’t be officially offended, but her tone also suggests that the host is maybe a little slow. Primrose turns to the audience, among whose rows the mentors are also sitting. She gives Haymitch an angelic smile.

‘But he has nothing to fear. He can drink as much as he wants to; he is mine, so I will take care of him when I get home.’

It's a bit arrogant, perhaps, but the angelic smile creates a contrast to the cool politeness that has been there until now that everyone is charmed. Haymitch is on his feet in an instant; I blink and he's already rushing up to Primrose, who immediately throws herself into his arms.

The public thinks they are seeing pure showmanship; and to some extent they are right. But I see the second of genuine weariness on Prim's face as she snuggles into Haymitch's arms, and also the worry that crosses Haymitch's features.

These two are genuinely worried about each other. Maybe even about making a fool of Cesar too sharply. I wonder if anyone else noticed that Primrose didn't make fun of Rye, Rory, or Posy. She only mentioned some of her district partners, because she had to.  Will the tactic work? I hope to Panem it would.

*

Primrose

"I honestly can't believe this, Haymitch!" Effie Trinket screams as Haymitch leads us downstairs towards the Training Center. I'm wearing light black pants and a matching black half-sleeved top with a red number 12 on the back. They give me a pair of flawless black shoes, that I tie several times, and I pull my blonde hair into a single braid that reminds me of Katniss.

"We wanted to impress them, Eff," Haymitch says, as he has three times in the past hour. "Which we did."

‘With Rye splashing water in Cesar’s face and Primrose implying that the host was stupid?’ Effie hisses.

"Water in the flower is a classic joke, Cesar can't be offended by it," Haymitch replies, though his voice is a little worried. ‘It’s a part of Rye role as the jokester.’

‘And Primrose?’ Effie asks a bit coldly.

‘Primrose is right here, Miss Trinket’ I snap, because this conversation is so weird. Effie's face softens.

'I'm sorry, dear,' the woman says. 'I'm not angry with you, I'm just worried.'

I smile at her silently. She is ight in a way; maybe what I produced on stage was too much, but there's nothing I can do about it now.

"Maybe the implication that I'm the only one who doesn't have to be afraid of her was a bit much," Haymitch admits. "But the emotional play that followed maybe softened things."

‘I wasn’t playing!’ I object. My expression of emotion was sincere, and Haymitch immediately realizes it the moment he looks at me.  He steps forward and kisses her on the forehead.

‘I’m sorry, golden girl’ he murmurs.

‘You are a bloody idiot’ I tell him, and he grins. ‘Don’t laugh; if I get out alive, I will look after you, and if not, you will still have Katniss, and Mom, and however you bring home.’

‘Don’t you say such things, girly’ he mutters, and he holds me to himself. I hum.

‘Enough of the drama!’ says Effie Trinket of all people, which is a bit riddiculus. ‘You all have traning to do!’

Haymitch pulls away from me reluctantly and looks at us all. Gale is nowhere to be found.

‘Okay, people, as we talked about before. Don't get into conflict with anyone. Don't show anyone your strength. Try as many stations as you can, and try to make as many friends as you can. I recommend District Eleven, Seven, Three, and Four, but I have no objections to anyone. Understood?’

"Yes, sir," I answer obediently, in perfect unison with my seven District partners.

"Good luck," Haymitch nods, pressing a button on the wall next to his hand, and the door to the Training Center opens silently.

*

The training center is a large, modern area, full of tables, and various trainers, weapons, and a fighting area. I nod to my District Partners and walk around. Let's pretend I'm just here to make friends. I'm good with friends; people like me easily. I have no reason to be afraid.

I stop at the knife-throwing range, next to an older girl. Haymitch suggested I try the knives; a knife is a small weapon, fits easily in my hand, can be hidden if necessary, and if I aim well, I don't have to get close to my opponent.

The girl is tall and pretty, with deep brown skin and short, long, curly, dark hair. Her appearance makes a deep impression on me, but I'd be interested to know where she got the spectacular burn scars and deep grooves in her skin that show up at the tip of her rolled-up top. Her knife hits the target well; not quite in the center, but it's close to the second circle.

"'Nice shot!' I tell her honestly, and she turns to me; her thick, dark eyebrows raise in surprise, but her golden brown eyes are kind, and she smiles at me.

‘Not really, but thanks! I’m Liselotte.’ She hands me another knife and I accept it, then turn to face the table.

‘Primrose’ I introduce myself and throw the knife away. It goes a little further into the board than Liselotte's knife, but honestly, I'm happy to hit anything.

‘Ah, you are one of Haymitch’s little ones?’ she asks, and throws two knives at once. Her voice is nice, so I'm not offended, but I'm surprised. This girl has an excellent memory, having memorized every District and mentor, including their names.

‘Yeah, I’m from District 12’ I answer. ‘You?’

‘11’ she replies. ‘My mentors are Seedeer and Chaff.’

We get out of line because the people waiting behind us are getting impatient. Without words, we fall into an easy rhythm with each other.

‘Can we check out the edible plants station?’ the girl asks. This is the station I need the least, because Katniss taught me everything there is to know about the subject, and I’ve also spent a lot of time looking through my father’s plant book, which has been passed down from father to son in our family. But I find Lisolette likable, so I don't object.

There are surprisingly many people at the station, and since the trainer is busy, I quietly point and explain to my new friend what each plant is good for.

‘You are really good at this’ she observes. ‘Thank you, Primrose.’

‘My mom is a healer’ I tell her. ‘And my friends usually call me Prim. You can use it, if you’d like.’

The girl gives me a nice smile in response.

‘Its Lotte, then. Hi, Prim!’

‘Hey’ I smile back. Did I make a friend?

'Don't touch that, it's poisonous!' I say reflexively to a boy on the other side of me who is picking up a wall of nightlock. The boy blushes deeply and immediately lets go of the berries, but it seems I've hurt his pride by pointing out something he doesn't know.

"Who asked you?" he snaps at me, and I'm honestly amazed. I straighten myself up as much as I can, but of course he's much taller than me.

'Hey, don't talk to her like that!' Liselotte hisses at the boy, coldly. 'She only wanted to help, but maybe she should have let you die before we even entered the Arena!’

"Look, who taught the trash to talk?" the boy growls, and steps towards the girl, but Liselotte doesn't move. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a knife flashing in her hand; she must have stolen it from the previous station, even though fighting is forbidden before the Arena.

We've clearly made an enemy, my new friend and I. We made an enemy, and I’m completley useless. Think, I remind myself. Every kid knows in our district, that Haymitch won his Game with his mind, instead of force.  Oh wait!

‘Oh, hey, Haymitch!’ I say and I let my features settle into an enthusiastic smile; I start waving to someone behind the boy's back, even though our mentors can't come to the Center with us.  The boy flinches at the thought of being caught in a conflict, and it breaks the tension. Liselotte grins.

'Cowardly dog' she measures the other one one more time, then turns away.

The boy's mouth twists into a bitter snarl, but before he can say anything else, a girl - I assume one of his district partners - calls out to him.

‘Hey, Tulle, what are you doing with those?’ as if we were objects, not people. ‘Come on, man!’

The boy grins, turns away, and in the blink of an eye, he's gone.

‘His name is Tulle?’ I repeat, amazed. He is from District 1 then, presumably. District 1 is the wealthiest district in Panem, whose primary industry is the manufacture of luxury items for the Capitol. As a result, District 1 has a generally favorable relationship with the Capitol. And – weird names.

 But Tulle?

"I thought it was a girl's name," Lotte remarks, with a sharp grin. It's mean, but we both have a good laugh.

*

The week we spend training goes by at a frightening speed. I obediently spend a little time at each station and become acceptable with the knives, but no more. Haymitch is quite pleased with my skill at making friends, especially since the others aren't great at it.

Rye is still the most skilled, after me, but he prefers Tulip the most, and since he honestly doesn't believe he'd survive the Arena, he doesn't even try. Meinir is constantly angry, and this scares people away. Posy is scared and quiet, and that keeps Rory busy. Coltson is withdrawn and Carl Grey is simply too arrogant.

But I’m good with people. Lotte introduces me to one of her district partners, Miller, who is a big, stocky, quiet boy, but polite to me.

Haymitch is particularly pleased with this development. He keeps saying that alliances in the Arena are only temporary, but still, having someone to protect us during the Bloodbath is good. I don't like to think of people like that; as human shields, like Gale used Cato in his own Game. But I don't say anything.

I'm constantly racking my brains over what to show the Game Makers that will give me good points: until the sponsors see me in the Arena, this is my only chance to survive. I'm not the only one who has a problem with this, so much so that I have to remind Rye of what he's good at.

"Are you kidding me? You were the school wrestling champion last year!"

"Just because Bran aged out, and Peeta is younger than me," he replies with a grimace.

'Whatever!' I reply energetically. 'It's still something you can use in the Arena, something you can get points for!'

‘Golden girl here is right’ Haymitch murmurs. 'If you show them how strong you are, it might be worth something'

'And you,' I turn to Posy. 'I hear you're the best at logic problems in your class.'

'My sense of puzzles is of no use in the Arena,' the little girl whispers, but instead of feeling sorry for her, I feel anger.

'Of course, you're getting a lot out of it! Am I the only one who has to watch Haymitch's awful Game every year?!'

‘What?’ Posy asks, shocked.

I give her a cold look.

"Every year we're forced to watch the Quell," I say. "We watch Haymitch suffer, we can't help him, I almost cry, my sister disappears into the woods for days..." I take a deep breath. 'But the point of this terrible practice is that every kid in the District knows - or at least I thought they did - that you can win with your mind. Use your brain if you've have one!’ I snap. 'You have great logic: it means you'll be better at outsmarting the Game Makers in the Arena than any of us. Who cares if they underestimate you? That's how Johanna won!'

Tears sting my eyes, and I suddenly realize that my mentor has listened to my rant.

‘Haymitch…’ I look at him.

‘Your sister disappears into the woods for days?’ he asks horrified.

‘Well, surprise, she doesn’t hate you’ I tell him, dry.

‘I don’t want you to cry’ he says. ‘Not for me.’

‘I will cry for you as much as I feel like it, thank you kindly’ I answer him, and he grins. ‘But I still don’t know what to do for the Game Makers.’

Haymitch grins, his face sporting that signature foxy, sly smile I saw in the Arena.

'Well, since you have such great confidence in my mind, Miss Everdeen,' he says. 'I may have an idea.'

*

It's all risky, but... I trust Haymitch, and he's making sure I'm the first Tribute from District 12 to go to the Game Makers. I take a deep breath and run into the room, pushing the two heavy doors open with great force. I throw the two small knives I hold in my palm with as much force as I can. The throw is simply lucky: I'm not really that good; not as good as I seem right now.

The two knives are embedded in Seneca Crane's shoulders; both blades are small, so they won't cause fatal injury, but the force with which I throw them is enough to make both wounds painful and deep, tearing through the man's expensive suit. The unfortunate man let out a deep, rasping howl; a stunned, motionless silence followed the painful cry.

'So, ladies and gentlemen,' I say into the silence, broken only by Seneca's whimper. 'May I show you what a gifted healer I really am?'

They blink at me as if they've just seen a human being for the first time.

Chapter Text

Primrose

'Insolent... foolish... dangerous...' Effie Trinket mutters incessantly. ''One would think you've already paid the price for rebellion, Haymitch. Would you like Katniss and Asterid to meet your mother and brother?''

Haymitch, who until now had been listening calmly, even cheekily, to the escort's ranting, immediately turns deathly pale. Of course: his mother, his younger brother Sid, and the girl he never talks about died because of what happened in the Games.

"Hey!" I snap. "That crosses the line."

Effie shudders: ever since I've been at the Capitol, I've been acting more sharply, and now I'm overcome with guilt for taking it out on Effie; but I still think she was unnecessarily mean.

"I'm sorry," I say more softly to the woman. "But I can't take back what I showed the Game Masters. This was a decision we both made, Haymitch and I—so if you're angry, be angry at both of us, but stop picking on Haymitch."

"But you’re just..." Effie begins.

"A child?" I finish the thought. "Or someone who is sent to an arena to kill because it's a big, big, big day? Pick a line, Miss Trinket."

Effie blushes deeply, and I feel a pang of guilt, so I turn away from her.

"They let me finish, though," I turn to Haymitch. "I pulled the knives out of the wounds, cleaned the cuts, and bandaged them. His shoulders will hurt for at least three weeks, but he'll survive, and I got through the whole exercise."

My mentor's blue eyes light up.

"Good!" he replies. "You were memorable, and that's what we wanted. We can't do any more than that."

Then Haymitch turns away from me and nods encouragingly at Rye. He's the next one to go in. The boy stands up, takes a deep breath; when he hears his name, he straightens up—I quickly smile at him, and he forces himself to wink at me.

Once the door closes behind him, the wait is killing me. Tulip paces nervously in the waiting area, but I can't join her. Reflexively, I hide close to Haymitch, who obediently lifts me onto his lap and strokes my hair, but keeps his eyes fixed on the door that separates us from Rye.

"What is he going to do?" I ask quietly.

"He challenges one of the Game Masters to a wrestling match and hopefully wins," replies my mentor.

"We're really giving them a workout today," I note, and Haymitch laughs.

"Which one?" Effie inquires, referring to the Game Masters.

‘Atlas’

Effie's blue eyes widen.

“But he's huge! A real giant!”

"There is no survival without a price," Haymitch counters grimly.

The door swings open, and Rye grins at us.

“How was it?!” asks Tulip before anyone else.

"I won!" Rye announces gleefully. "And Atlas didn't mind! That man is incredibly strong! But when I pinned him down, he just laughed, I thought he was going to suffocate. He said I could give wrestling lessons if..."

The boy's voice trails off, his smile fades, suddenly.

If everyone present, except Haymitch and Effie, is dead, then he is the Victor.

I won't let him get bitter.

"'Well done, Rye!' I say to him enthusiastically. 'I'd also like to take this opportunity to formally apply to be your ally, if you'll have me!'"

This breaks the ice, and Rye smiles.

“You and me, Miss Everdeen” he nods. “Always.”

I turn to face Haymitch in his lap and smile at him.

"Look at you," I say softly. "You constantly impress the Game Makers as a mentor."

"Let's hope the wind doesn't change direction," Haymitch replies bleakly.

"Your brother asked me to give you this," he says to Posy, and with a deft movement, he tosses the little girl a small black remote control, which she catches without any trouble. "When you go into the room, ask them to darken everything, then press the middle button. Spots of light will appear on the wall, hiding you. The Game Masters will only find you if they figure out the solution."

"And what if they don't figure it out?" Posy raises her eyebrows.

"Hopefully they won't find you" replies Haymitch with a hint of a smile. "When it's clear to you that they're not getting it, you step forward and explain what they're missing. You show how much smarter you are than all of them.”

"Is that wise?" Effie ventures.

"Every kid in the District knows"... I reply.

"You can win with your mind," Posy finishes the thought with a slight nod. "How can you be sure I'll figure out the solution?"

"I have faith in you, flower petal," Haymitch replies. "You're logical, but most of these are like a dull knife."

Effie snorts indignantly, but Posy laughs, and that's what matters. When she is called, the little girl tosses her black hair back firmly and enters the room without looking back.

"It was your idea," I assert gently. "You figured out what would help Posy, even though Gale insisted on being her mentor."

Haymitch shrugs his shoulders gloomily.

"This is his first year," he replies bitterly. "And he makes it a matter of prestige that he mentors his siblings. But for me, this isn't a game of appearances. I want to help all of you as much as I can."

I give him a sharp, angry look.

“What?”

“You bastard” I tell him. “I love you so much, and you wasted a shit ton of time, we could have together as a family, but no, you being kind, and amazing right before I’m going to die.”

Haymitch blushes, then grins at me.

"You know, I don't think your sister would be happy with your new vocabulary," he remarks.

"Do you see her anywhere?" I ask.

“No”

“My point exactly.”

“By the fucking way, I love you too, and you’re not going to die.”

“Language!”

“Where is Gale anyway?” Rory cuts in darkly. And he is right; we hardly saw his brother since we arrived at the Capitol.

“Out on official buisness” is all Haymitch says.

“What does that even mean?”

The stubborn expression with which Rory sizes up my mentor is all too familiar. Temperament has spared no one in this family, it seems.

Suddenly, I remember what I know about Finnick, Gloss, Chasmere, and many Victors, and my throat tightens.

“Let it go, Ror” I advice, softly.

“But, Prim he is…”

He can't finish his sentence because the door opens again, revealing an enthusiastic, blushing Posy on the other side.

"They didn't know!" she says, gasping for air. "They didn't realize the pattern of the light! One of them tried to chase me, but he missed, and I had to explain! It worked, Haymitch!"

Before we can blink, Posy jumps toward us, and Haymitch, still holding me in his arms, stands up and spins us both around. Laughter bursts from my throat.

“It worked, Haymitch!” I' say it again because I'm proud of him, and I’m happy for Posy.

"They were impressed," Posy adds.

"Just as intended," Haymitch nods, looking at both of us with gentle blue eyes this time.

“Rory Hawthorne” says the robotic voice, and my good mood is no more.

Posy jumps in front of her brother and kisses him on the cheek before Rory enters the door, but I'm afraid that won't be enough to bring good luck.

*

Gale

I'm kneeling. My hands are tied behind my back. The bitch lights a candle, and the flame gets closer and closer to me. The fire is terribly painful on my skin. But if this is what it takes to help Rory and Posy... I stifle my scream.

*

Primrose

Rory shows the Game Masters how good he is with a bow; the simulator creates fiery opponents for him, armed with various weapons, and he seems to take them all down quickly and without error.

This makes a good impression; these people still remember Gale vividly, and although Gale is better at setting traps than with a bow, there is something noticeably similar about the two brothers. We're having a good run.

"Is there anyone among us whose performance was thought up by Gale, and not you?" I ask Haymitch.

"I would refrain from commenting at this time." So, that's a no. Panem.

When Meinir's time comes, a huge explosion rocks the room.

“Haymitch Abernathy, what on earth was that?!” Effie screams.

'What did it sound like?' he asks, a little sarcastically, but when he sees Effie's face, he sighs. "Effie, Twelve is a mining district. What you heard is called a controlled explosion. We showed them that if Meinir gets the right raw materials, she can produce something dangerous that is characteristic of the district she came from. Of course, there is little chance that she will get everything she wants at the Arena, for that, but ultimately it is all a matter of sponsors. And anyway, it's our job to shake up the Game Masters.”

“And that, we did” I observe, with a grin. Haymitch laughs.

Effie mutters something about the freaking rascal and his kids, but at the end of the day, it’s the first time I see a honest smile on Meinir’s face, when she comes out, one which Haymitch reciprocates.

Tulip asks for a single baton and challenges all the Games Masters present, telling them to attack her. Of course, she can't win because there are too many of them, but she says it is swift and effective, and the judges love it.

I'm just thinking that we can't lose, because we've all made a good impression so far, when our ship's luck turns around. Coltson and Carl Grey both emerge quietly, pale and dejected, and neither of them reveals what they showed the Game Makers or how they reacted. Colston is just sad, but Carl is furious.

"Where is Hawthorne anyway?" he snaps. "If he'd stuck his nose in, I wouldn't have had to lean on the old drunk!"

“Ah, but that old drunk at least tried to save your worthless ass, didn’t he?” asks Rye, in a conversational tone. “Unlike your actual mentor, who didn’t give a shit?”

"You got a problem, Mellark?!"

“Yes” he nods, simply, and it’s the first time I realise how huge he is, just like with Peeta in school. “You. Weren’t you the guy who tried to fight my baby brother?”

Grey is like an angry little cockerel as he tries to jump at Ryan, who doesn't move, just watches with a grin.

"No fighting outside the Arena!" Haymitch snaps so forcefully that I jump in fright. "Sorry, flower girl," he says to me more quietly. "Come on, everyone, they'll be announcing the scores soon."

As we walk out of the hallway, I take Rye's hand, and he smiles at me.

*

Gale

As I step into the elevator that takes me to the 12th floor, I am wearing a new shirt that covers my arm, fresh pants, and different shoes. I washed my hair. But I cannot get new skin for my body.  The disgust carries on.In the elevator, I run into Chaff  who ‘s heading for the 11th floor.

"What are you doing here, Gale?" asks the huge, dark-skinned giant who lost one of his hands in the Arena. There is no offense in his voice, only surprise, yet it hurts. "I thought your kids were still being introduced to the Game Makers." Of course: Chaff is Haymitch's best friend among the Victors, although he is at least friendly or polite to everyone.

“And you?” I ask back instead of an acutal answer.

“Our district is before yours in presentation, dus we finished earlier” he says, with a certain tiredness, because, I think, he can feel that I’m looking for a real fight. Rumor has it that Chaff never could back down from a fight, that’s how he won his Games, but now he won’t take the bait, and I’m bitter about it. "I'm really only here to watch the announcement of the scores with Seedeer and the children."

"What business is it of yours why I'm here?" I ask, hostile, and Chaff sighs.

"Nothing, Gale," he says wearily. "I'm just trying to have a conversation with you. Since Haymitch is your mentor, I thought..." Then he sees the look on my face and shakes his head. "Never mind. Good luck with the points." With that, he exits on the 11th floor.

I'm terrible at this: at people, but... anger is weighing on my chest, and I don't know where to direct it. I get off on our floor and walk into the common room, where the children are sitting in armchairs, on the long, snow-white leather sofa, or on the soft, fluffy white carpet, in front of the screen, in the company of Haymitch and Effie.

"Where were you?" Rory asks darkly, looking up; I see that he's been feeding Posy pieces of pear.

"Nowhere," I reply reflexively, dodging the flying piece of fruit my little brother is trying to throw at me. "How did it go?"

“Now you care?”

“Ror, come on.”

He sighs.

“Good, for both Posy and me. Posy was brillant.”

“And Rory was perfect, Gale, they loved him!” my little sister rushes to the aid of Rory, who smiles at her. My brother hasn't smiled at me like that in a long time. I hope Posy will sit on my lap as soon as I sit down next to her, like Prim does with Mellark, but she doesn't move. I feel terrible: I don’t even know what did they show to the Game Makers: if not for Haymitch, they would’ been perfectly unprepared, because I spent most of the time on my back, or on my knee. Which will be useful, for gift, once they are in the Arena – I hope – but I will have to ask Haymitch what did they do, if I want to have an actual conversation with the sponsors.

“And what about you?” I ask Grey, the only other person in the room who picked me as his mentor, freely.

“Don’t talk to me” he says darkly, not even looking at me. Amazing. I can feel Haymitch looking at me, worriedly, but I don’t look back. I hate it that I owe him even more. Wasn’t my life enough?

Then time decides to stop because the points are coming.

Rye fucking Mellark gets nine points, which is almost as good as if he was a carrer tribute. This has never happened before, and Prim celebrates; she sings and dances around the room; doesn't she understand that they are all enemies here?

“I told you, I told you, I told you so!” she sings, and Mellark is naturally full of smiles and strokes the little girl's blonde hair. Even Trinket is smiling, and Haymitch – who is already drinking - raises his champagne glass in a salute. Meinir and Tulip both get an eight, which is also incredibly fantastic. I don’t understand it.

“What did you do?” I ask Haymitch almost suspiciously. Meinir pretends that I asked her.

'Imagine, I listened to my mentor. You could try it too. Oh—wait—it's too late! Besides that, do you know what else I won't do? I won't slit the throat of anyone who is my partner!'

"Miss Garton, quiet, please," Haymitch asks quietly. "I used my brain," he tells me, whatever that means.

My anger flares up—then subsides, because, surprisingly and unbelievably, Rory and Posy get an eight, which is an amazing opportunity. The world is spinning around me. How...? I owe Haymitch more than my life now. Prim smiles so broadly that I think the corners of her mouth hurt.

Then comes the slap in the face, because Rory doesn't even look at me, but grins at my mentor.

“Thank you, Haymitch!” he tells him in a honest voice; even though I knelt all week; they beat me and humiliated me for him.

"Don't thank me, you were there, Hawthorne," he says, hugging Posy, who throws herself into his arms. "Good job, flower petal," he tells her.

Even that hurts: until this point, I was the only guy he called Hawthorne.

Tulip gets nine points, just like Mellark, which is starting to become ridiculous and even makes Effie uneasy.

"Don't the high numbers paint a target on their backs?"

Great. Question.  Our district has never received this many points before. Never. But Haymitch remains cheerful.

"Come on, princess," he says. "This is a much better situation than mine was. Have a drink," he advises. I have no idea what he means by his own former situation.

Colston gets five points, which isn't great, but it's not terrible either; and Grey gets three points, which... I don't even want to think about it. I feel mean, but maybe it takes away some of the craziness of what's happened so far.

“And last but not least, the lovely Primrose Everdeen—twelve points.”

Did he say twelve?

*

Primrose

My ears are ringing and I feel dizzy. Did he say twelve? How? I have no offensive talent and... but Haymitch picks me up and throws me into the air, then catches me easily, and I have to laugh. However, Gale's reaction spoils my joy: the boy jumps up and dashes out. That makes me feel guilty.

‘I’m sorry’ I look at Posy, but she just shakes her head, and smiles at me.

‘Don’t apologizie for doing good’ says Rory with a smile. ‘You were happy for us: we are happy for you too. My brother is just being an idiot.’

‘Can work with this’ Haymitch murmurs to me as he puts me down. ‘I can work with this’

I grin at him. I start to feel proud of myself.

"I would like to be your ally," Posy says quietly.

My grin is softens into a smile.

‘I would love that’ I tell her.

‘But I don’t think Gale would appriciate that’ Rory risks.

I sigh.

‘It’s you and me then?’ asks Rye.

‘Always, Mr. Mellark’ I nod.

This is our last night before the Arena, and Haymitch just radiates sadness all of a sudden.

‘Okay, everyone’ he tells us. 'Try to get as much sleep as you can tonight. Effie and I will come at dawn and accompany you as far as we can.'

"Don't worry about anything," adds Miss Trinket. "We'll find sponsors for all of you."

Haymitch kisses Tulip on the cheek, briefly strokes Meinir's face, and kisses Posy on the forehead. He shakes hands with every boy and squeezes Rye's shoulder as he does so. He deliberately leaves me last and lets the others slowly file out the door. There is a moment when I think, after Effie quietly says goodbye, that my mentor is simply going to leave me behind.

‘Haymitch?’ I ask, my throat suddenly tightens. There must be something in my voice, because Haymitch suddenly turns around and, unlike with the others, gives me a real hug; his shirt smells of smoke as I bury my nose in it, one arm wraps around my waist as he lifts me up, the other around my shoulders.

"You can't die," he whispers. "I absolutely forbid you to die." There is something in his voice that reminds me of Katniss. But I can't promise him anything concrete, so I just whisper back.

'I'm not planning on it'

I hold him close with all my strength, but at some point he has to let go, which he clearly doesn't want to do. His eyes seem bluer than usual when he looks at me.

"See you at dawn," he says in a gentle voice.

The short walk to my cabin seems long: the wall-mounted lights come on as they detect movement, and my heart is pounding in my throat. Suddenly, it feels unimaginable to spend the night alone, and I pause in front of a different door. I open the door: Rye is lying on his back on the bed, his blond hair even more tousled than usual among the pillows.

"Can I sleep here?" I ask, and I feel like crying.

Without saying a word, Mellark opens his arms wide toward me.

*

Katniss

My mother is finally home again, and when I see her sorrowful face, anger flares up inside me.

'Where were you?'

‘Katniss…’

‘Where?’

‘With a patient.’

"You disappeared!" I snap. "Again! I already lost Prim..." My mother immediately crosses the distance between us, picks me up from the ground where Peeta and I are sitting, waiting for the Games to begin, and hugs me close.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"Your apology means nothing if you do the same thing again!" I whisper back heatedly, but to my irritation, my anger melts away and I hug her back.

"Prim has a chance," my mother argues quietly. "Those twelve points..."

"They're painting a huge target on her back," I conclude bitterly. We slowly separate and settle down on either side of Peeta, who acts politely as if nothing unusual has happened.

‘Peeta’ Mom gives him a tearful smile.

‘Hello Asterid’ he greets her kindly.

The show begins with interviews with the mentors; Haymitch is conspicuously sober, his blue eyes sharp and intelligent. He wears a deep gold suit with a primrose in his lapel.

"'He wears her color,' Peeta says softly.

"These are their colors," I correct him gently, thinking of Rye and Prim. I lean carefully toward Peeta as the camera zooms in on the top of the arena.

*

Primrose

I feel like I've just closed my eyes when Haymitch's cautious voice wakes us up. With a loud groan, I roll onto my side, letting go of Rye.

"Come on, we have to get out of here before Effie finds out that Prim spent the night here and kills all three of us," our mentor urges us.

"We slept. Literally," Rye replies, indignation in his voice.

“I know” Haymitch shigs. “Still. Effie would say that everyone should use their own cabin. Come on.”

We walk down several corridors, Haymitch between us. He accompanies us to the two separate doors of the Launch Room, but cannot come any further. The Launch Room is the chamber where a tribute would be prepared by their stylist one last time before being launched into the Hunger Games arena. I think all three of us think about the same thing right now: in the Capitol, they call it the Launch Room, yes.  In the districts, we call it the Stockyard.

Rye takes a deep breath.

‘Any last advice?’ he asks Haymitch.

Our mentor gives us both a sharp, blue-eyed stare.

‘Stay alive, you two.’

Then he turns around, and before I can blink, he's gone.

*

Portia quietly and gently helps me get dressed. I get a pale blue, long-sleeved top with matching pants and light, elastic shoes, and a jet-black size 12 on my back. She pulls my hair into a tight braid.

The whole thing is topped off with a light but thick deep blue coat, into whose inner pocket Portia slips my father's photograph. The small pocket has its own zipper.

"Everything is waterproof," Portia states. "So, I think the Arena is water-based, but I can't be sure. I'm sorry I can't be of more help," she says apologetically.

"You've been a huge help," I reply. "Thank you so much, Portia."

"It was an honor working with you, Primrose," she says sincerely. "We'll meet again. I know you'll come home!"

But will I come home in one piece?

I ignore the thought with all my strength as I step into the glass bubble that closes around me. As the platform begins to rise toward the Arena, I keep my eyes on Portia and don't blink. She doesn't look away for a moment, and my last memory before the Arena is her encouraging smile as she nods at me.

*

Katniss

A deep, long scream erupts from my throat as I spot the platforms, and the arena where my sister must fight for her life. But before I can react further, a knock interrupts my thoughts.

Why is Hazelle suddenly in our living room?

"Asterid," Hazelle says to my mother in a hushed, fearful voice. "You have to come, please. Leeveey is in labor!"

Chapter Text

Primrose

The Arena is a vast, circular glass dome rising from an endless body of water. From the outside, it may look like a shimmering bubble, fragile and perfect —but me? I’m so fucking afraid, my heart beats so fast, that it doesn’t matter that I can swimm – I think I will have a heart attack right fucking now.

The Arena is mostly water, I think, its dark, and looks so freaking cold. Deep, dark, and cold. Small islands, like shattered fragments of a forgotten land, are scattered across the surface. I’m standing on one. Some are covered in coral-like stone, others with slick moss and twisted metallic debris. The air smells faintly of salt and rust.

I turn around. Where is Rye? Tulip? Posy or Rory? There are so many of us, I can't see them for a moment. I can't step off my tiny podium; anyone who moves before the gong dies.

The ceiling of the dome is breathtaking: painted across the glass is an enormous mural of sea creatures. Whales glide across the curved sky, their bodies illuminated by the light that filters through the water above.

One whale’s mouth is open, and inside it a man stands, holding a lantern — the light flickers, sometimes dimming, sometimes flaring, as if alive. Around him swim painted mermaids and mermen, their eyes wide and strange, as if they watch the tributes below. Between them circle sharks, their teeth glinting in the artificial glow.

In the very center of the dome rises a wide metal platform — the Cornucopia. It’s shaped like a spiraling seashell, its ridges lined with weapon crates and survival packs. My fear reaches its peak as Cesar's voice counts down from ten. True, I can swim, but what good is that? Under normal circumstances, I would follow Haymitch's advice: get away from the Cornucopia as fast as you can and hide — but we were expecting a forest, where I could use my knowledge of plants. At first glance, there's nowhere to hide here, and although I dread the thought, I'll have to get one of the survival kits or I'm done for.

Finally, I find Ry in my line of sight. The boy is deathly pale and standing much further back than me. It seems that the higher your district number, the further away you are from Cornucopia. The fact that I am where I am—roughly in the middle, but still further forward than my other partners—seems like blind luck.

5…4….3… I think of my mother's quiet, restrained smile, and for a moment I imagine eight-year-old Katniss, whom Dad is teaching to swim, as they look at each other with their kind, gray eyes. 2….Haymitch's cheerful, blue, handsome eyes flash before my mind's eye, and I jump.

The water is so cold that for a moment I feel like I'm drowning from the shock. But then I force my limbs to move, I feel too slow—but I'm making progress. I'm swimming. Gasping for breath, terrified, I reach the shore—although the movement pushes the fear down into my stomach a little—when someone grabs me from behind and wraps their arms around my neck.

Gasping for air – terror – whoever it is who is trying to strangle me, lifts me off the ground, and I kick and punch with all my strength, but my energy is steadily and frighteningly draining away. My ears are ringing.

‘PRIMROSE!’ Rye's roar breaks through the airless bubble I'm drowning in, and the pressure around my neck is instantly released. I fall to my knees, coughing, spitting out a mouthful of saliva and blood—I must have bitten my tongue.

"Get lost!" Rye's voice snaps beside me, though I don't know who he's talking to. "Prim, are you okay?" he asks. "Prim?"

I look up, my eyes watering from the effort, but slowly nod. We kneel there, motionless for a moment, in the midst of the madness and struggle. Rye's face is worried: he pulls me close for a moment and hugs me.

"Let's go," Rye advises. "If we stay here too long, Haymitch will have a stroke at home."

“Who was it?” I ask, refering to my opponent.

“The guy you helped in traning, I think” he tells me, darkly. "He's unconscious, but not dead. I just pulled him off you. Primrose, we have to go.”

So, Tulle hates me. Not suprising.

*

Katniss

"Turn around!" I scream in Victors Village, standing in front of Hazelle's screen as if Prim could hear me. “"Turn around, turn around, turn around!”

My mother insists that Peeta and I accompany her to Gale's house, I suppose out of guilt for leaving me alone so much lately. So the three of us set off running, partly to help Leeveey, and partly because if the Peacekeepers find us on the street during the mandatory broadcast, we'll be whipped.

The house echoes with Leeveey's screams, and even though I can't see her, I am immediately overcome with terror. My mother disappears toward the bedrooms, but Peeta and I pause in the living room, which is identical to Haymitch's. The Arena is visible on the wall-mounted screen, and Vick is sitting on the sofa, watching motionless.

Prim is among the first to reach the shore, and I silently thank my father for teaching me how to swim, so that I could do the same for Prim.

‘What happened?’ asks Peeta, though his gaze never leaves Rye.

"The moment Leeveey saw the arena, labor started," Vick replies. "Colston can't swim."

There is something dishonorable about her reaction to Colston, while her brother-in-law and sister-in-law are there in the same arena—my mind registers this, but I can't think about anything else but my sister. The boy wants to squeeze the air out of her body, and I am choking on my tears, barely feeling Peeta's gentle arms around me.

‘PRIMROSE!’ Rye's roar is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard in my life. He pulls the other boy off my sister's back as if he weighs nothing and throws his body aside like a rag doll. Prim falls to her knees, coughing and spitting—but she's alive.

 Rye is a slower swimmer than my sister, but he's steady in his movements—I taught him, so I know. And Prim is alive because Rye helped her.

“Peeta” Now that I can breathe again, I look up at him through my tears and try to smile. "Rye saved her!”

And because Peeta is a better person than anyone else, instead of saying, "I told you they would be allies," he says: "Rye is alive because you showed him how to swim. So the question is, who saved whom?"

Somewhere between two tearful hiccups, I grin, and Peeta kisses me on the forehead.

“Let's go," Rye advises my sister on the screen. "If we stay here too long, Haymitch will have a stroke at home."

And me, along with him.

“Posy!” Vick cries out in terror, and my attention is temporarily diverted from Prim. Posy can't swim; I never taught her, and she's still struggling in the water. Why didn't I teach her?

There is some kind of belt on her clothes that has kept her afloat until now, but it has come loose, and the little girl's terrified scream pierces the Arena.

I want to sit next to Vick to comfort him— Hazelle is in the bedroom with Leeveey, so the boy has to face his two siblings alone in the Arena, but the next moment, my blood runs cold.

Prim spins around on the shore when she hears the scream, and as soon as she understands what is happening, she starts running back toward the water and throws herself into it.

“What the fuck is she doing?!”

"She's acting exactly as you would,'" Peeta remarks softly, and he's right in a way. I would never leave small children alone, but...

Prim swims toward Posy with quick, graceful movements and is beside her in an instant.

“Its okay, its fine, I’m here” she Prim stammers, holding Posy up, who is half coughing, half crying.

With my heart pounding, I watch as my sister brings Posy ashore, miraculously unharmed. The little girl is shaking all over and sobbing, and her brother, standing next to me, is crying silently.

‘Pri…p.. Prim’ Posy groans with difficulty, and I know what she wants to say. If it weren't for my sister, she would be suffocating right now.

‘I know’ my sister murmurs. She is so much better than me; all I can think of that they have to get the fuck out of there. There are more and more tributes on the shore, at the Cornocopia; I see one of Johanna's little girls from the seven being impaled on a sword; the blade cuts through her pelvis and comes out the other side of her stomach.

‘We have to go’ says Rye, and I could kiss him. Despite this, the boy is still scanning the water, and I know he is looking for Tullip, but there is no sign of her.

‘Posy!’ Rory comes ashore, panting, soaking wet and pale, but his belt hasn't given up on him; the boy clumsily scrambles to his feet and starts running toward the other three. I hear Vick sigh beside me. The small group sets off toward the dark jungle furthest from the Cornopia, which I am certain was not there two minutes ago. Of course, there is nothing unusual about this; the Game Masters can manipulate the Arena, but it still feels uncomfortable.

Rory picks up Posy, and Rye scoops up my sister so they can move faster. The trees in the jungle are not like my trees; the air seems hot and stuffy, dark. Posy quietly remarks that she is already thirsty. The trees in the jungle are not like my trees; the air seems hot and stuffy, dark. Posy quietly remarks that she is already thirsty.

I have a feeling that Rye feels terrible about leaving Tulip behind, because the boy regularly turns back or looks behind him as they enter the forest, and that's exactly where the problem lies.

I see it at the same time as Rory, and just as late: the silver glint that marks the force field, the invisible wall of electricity surrounding the Arena. Rye looks back, and I cry out at the same time as Prim and Rory.

‘Look out!’ But it's too late; Rye walks into the wall, which jolts him and throws him backwards; I hear Peeta scream next to me, and I squeeze his hand with all my strength.

Prim is luckier: she falls off Rye's neck, but is back on her feet almost immediately, as if she hadn't been touched by the current, but Rye lies motionless on the ground.

‘Is he…?’ Peeta wishpers, and my heart breaks for him, because I don’t know. I just don’t know. ‘Is he…?’

‘There was no canon’ I tell him, because its true. If somebody dies in the Games, you can hear the canon.

Primrose is there beside him in the blink of an eye.

‘Rye? Rye, can you hear me? Damn it!’

She kneels next to him and places the heel of her hand on the breastbone at the centre of his chest. Places the palm of her other hand on top of the hand that's on their chest and interlock her fingers.  Her shoulders are directly above her hands. She tries to use body weight, admitedly not much, to press down, over, and over, and over, in places, pressing her lips to Rye's and blowing air into his lungs. The exercise is vaguely familiar, but I don't fully understand it.

‘Come on, baby, you’re doing fine, don’t give up!’ Mom wishpers, and I cringe in surprise, because I almost forgot she was here.

‘What… what is she doing?’ asks Peeta, and I can hear on his voice, that he is one step away from crying, and I hug his side harder.

‘She tries to restart his heart with cardiopulmonary resuscitation’ answers Mom softly. ‘She is doing fine, don’t give up just yet, Peeta.’

‘Every… child… in… the… fucking… district’ Primrose gasps, every word a pressure on Rye's chest. ‘Knows… about… force… fields! Did you… ever… met… Haymitch?! COME ON!’

And it works. Coughing, choking, struggling for air, Rye's blue eyes open, and he and Prim stare at each other for a moment, then Primrose slumps back in exhaustion, sitting down on the muddy ground.

"Hallelujah!" my mother cries out, and Peeta's tears flow freely.

“She… did it! Saved him!”

“We tend to repay our debts” I smile at him, and kiss him on the forhead.

Rye blinks.

‘You know, little girl’ he mutters with a tired grin. ‘If you wanted a kiss all you had to do is ask for it.”

“Oh, do shut up!” snaps Primrose, and Peeta, my mother and I laugh at the same time, through our tears.

*

Haymitch

There is a moment of silence in the mentor control room as Rory pulls Rye to his feet and Primrose hugs the boy's side, then they slowly set off again. I lean back tiredly in my chair. Thank the stars that Primrose is like Asterid!

I close my eyes for a moment. Shit, shit, shit, he almost died! I can't decide if I'll never get used to this or if I'm too old for it.

"Hang in there, old fox, you still have all your kiddies," Finnick calls out to me from the District Four table. My eyes flutter open and I’m flipping him off, laughing. Finnick is a good friend; he smiles back at me, his unique green eyes sparkling with compassion.

"They should have let him die," Gale grumbles darkly from the chair next to me. I sigh. I try to teach the boy, but it's like talking to a big, empty wall. He is just mad, because Rory helped Rye a bit.

“Because that worked out so well for you last time, did it?” I mutter back. The boy flinches, and I immediately regret opening my mouth.

"It wasn't them," he argues. "It's completely natural..."

"Nothing is natural in that place, Gale," I interrupt irritably. "If you don't care about anything else, the girls need protection, and Rory can't protect them just on his own. This situation was good: it showed what a great healer Primrose is, even though she's from the Districts."

“Even though she's from the Districts?” he repeats with disgust, and I agree with him.

“Everyone in the Capitol thinks that we are uneducated animals. She proves them wrong.”

Gale curses softly, and before I can stop him, he presses a button on the control panel.

My eyes widen as I see an astonishing amount of sponsorship money disappear from the screen, money that was collected from our team's points.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!’ I roar at the top of my lungs, so loud that several of my fellow mentors turn toward me. But there is no judgment on their faces; they know that the new Victor is always difficult to deal with.  And it doesn't matter how much I scream; the money is gone.

Gale flinches at my visible anger, but quickly composes his expression into indifference.

"They need a tent," he replies. "They have no shelter, and the jungle is dangerous," he argues.

"They need essentials, you fucking idiot," I hiss, my temples throbbing. "Water. Food. The jungle may be dangerous, but Primrose could have built a shelter. You wasted all the money on one thing, when the food would have lasted for days!"

Gale visibly turns pale, but does not admit that he made a mistake.

"I have a say here too, now there are two of us," he defends himself. ""And what are you talking about, you sent me a boody armor!"

“The fact that there are two of us means, that we talk about things, before we send them!” I growl at him.  "And I sent you that at the end of the game, when you and Cato were left, because the Capitol loved the image of bloodthirsty beasts!" I yell at him. "Now we have nothing left!"

Gale lowers his head, and for a moment I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

"If what Prim did was so impressive, they'll get more money," he argues.

“Not fast enough” I throw it back, exhausted. I get up and head out of the mentor control room.

I turn back, exhausted.

"If you think you're the only one who can get money, you're wrong," I reply. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

I can still hear that little shit muttering: "I didn't think there was anyone you'd spread your legs for," to which I respond by raising my hand high, and flipping him off, without turning around.

*

Primrose

The temperature is rising rapidly in the jungle, and we are becoming increasingly thirsty.

"Are you okay?" I ask Rye again, worriedly. We are making progress, that's a fact, but the boy's steps are slower than they should be, and that worries me. I put my arm around his side as we walk, and I can feel him breathing rapidly.

‘I’m fine baby, don’t worry about me.’ He jokes about our non-existent romance, after our "kiss," but it's not convincing. His voice sounds tired.

‘Convincing’ I mutter, dry. ‘Okay, enough of this. We are deep enough, and the Bloodbath is still going on. We can just sit down a little and…’

I’m suddenly at a loss for words, because the sky suddenly pales above us, and from among the trees comes the sound of pounding hooves, growing louder and louder as the noise approaches. Rye lets go of me, and I see the boy straighten up, readying himself for confrontation. Rory imitates him; I see the younger boy pull his sister behind him. Suddenly, I’m painfully aware that we have no weapons. It’s terribly unusual; I suppose the noise is a sign of some kind of mutant, but the Game Masters rarely resort to such things on the first day — just our luck.

The creature bursts out from between the trees; it is indeed mounted on something resembling a horse, and it’s clear that it is not natural, not born, but created. Half horse, half man — the human part sits on the horse’s back but has no legs of its own. It has no skin: its muscles and veins are visible, black blood coursing through yellow arteries.

Posy screams long and shrill, and I back away until my back hits a tree. We are trapped.

*

Haymitch

I hate the whole thing, even though I know that the patron I meet is a good man, one of the few good ones in his social class. The penthouse where he lives is the most modern I have ever seen, even though I have spent half my life in this stinking golden cage called Capitol. I enter through the glass-door terrace into the gold and white geometric living room; I don't see my host for a moment, but I hear the noise of the Game coming from the wall-mounted screen.

‘Vitus?’ I ask. ‘Vit, where are you?’ He called me here, I'm sure of the time, so it worries me that I don't see him.

"Bathroom!" I hear the young man shout, and I suppress a sigh. Vitus is a good soul, and he was part of my "stylist team," if you could call it that, during my Game. But he has a slight air of indulgence about him, and he doesn't realize that every moment can be the difference between life and death for my Players.

There is nothing minimalist about the bathroom: as soon as I walk in, I see a huge, deep porcelain bathtub with Vitus sitting in it, completely naked, surrounded by bubbles.

'What the... Oh, stars, man, come on!' I back away as fast as I can, and even then I see too much. I hear Vitus laughing loudly, good-naturedly.

‘Oh, no, Hay, come on my love, come back!’

There is still laughter in his voice, but I believe him. Vitus is outrageously gay, and it's an open secret that he would have liked to get to know me better over the years, but when I rejected him—as gently as I could—he was able to remain my friend.

When I return to the bathroom, decorated with gold and painted with black swans, Vitus is standing there with a towel around his waist, drying his blond hair. He still has metal apples studding his cheeks, just like when I was a teen.

“Ah, Hay, your expression was pricless, Panem…” he's still chuckling.

"I'm glad my suffering is entertaining," I remark darkly. The man's smile immediately fades away.

"It never, ever entertained me," he says so sincerely that it's touching. "So, your children need things. Spill it, what do they need?"

"What don't we need?" I respond, feeling a little ashamed. "Water. Medicine. Food. They didn't bring anything from Cornucopia, which I understand, but..."

"And weapons," replies Vitus, pensively. "Your little flower girl, who is so fond of you—what is her weapon of choice? Although I don't know if she'll get it in time."

“Fond of… do you mean Primrose?” I realise. “And not in time, what does that mean?”

Vitus lifts an eyebow.

“Hay, didn’t you see the mutt?”

“WHAT MUTT?”

Virtus gestures toward the living room, and I think I'm going to be sick when I see my children surrounded by trees, scattered in the corner, scattered by this...

“What the fuck is that?!”

‘I think it’s a Nuckelavee’ answers Vitus, as matter of factly as if asking for a hug.

"A mythological creature that originates from water but also attacks on land," he adds when he sees that I have no idea what he's talking about. It's not the first time in my life that it occurs to me that beneath all the flirting, the glittering makeup, and the big mouth, Vitus is genuinely smart.

"We'll need weapons, medicine, and sweet water," he lists. I understand the weapons: I watch in horror as Prim backs away, but almost immediately collides with a tree and falls into a trap. Rye quickly tears off a vine from somewhere and tries to throw it around the creature's neck to pull it back.

“Sweet water?” I ask.

“This thing hates it, it can help” says Vitus, and somehow it makes sense: the Arena is surrounded by salty water, the sea, except for the jungle. Of course, the Capitol creates or awakens a creature whose only weakness is fresh water, the one thing the children cannot get. This is going to be expensive.

‘Vit, I know I have no right to ask you for this, but…’ I start, but he cuts in.

‘You can ask me for anything Haymitch’ he tells me, briefly touching my wrist.  I feel ashamed, but I shudder, and he immediately understands why.

“Not because of that, come on!” Vitus backs away, and my shame grows stronger. "I'm not like that bunch of... bunch of animals who use Victors, Haymitch, for fuck's sake!”

“I know, I’m sorry!” I tell him fast, because I do know. “I’m sorry, okay? Vit? Hey. Come closer, I didn’t mean that, okay, I’m just an idiot.”

He doesn't move, but then quietly says:

“I would never do that to you. I would never hurt you in any way, shape of form, Haymitch.”

“I know” I feel terrible. “But this is going to be a big sponsor gift, you must want something in return.”

He looks up, and smiles at me, pale.

“I would love to be your friend, Hay, if that’s possible.”

*

Primrose

“Rye!” I scream when I see the vine wrapping around the neck of the rider, and the boy pulls with all his might.

But I have nothing to help him with, and I hate that. The rider staggers and leans his whole body toward Rye, which is dangerous in itself. Then we get lucky—a soft beep sounds, signaling the arrival of the sponsor's gift.

The holder opens by itself, and the first thing I see is a bunch of tiny knives, clearly meant for me; it occurs to me to grab them and stab them all into the rider's chest, since the backward throw leaves him free and unprotected; but the horse kicks with its front two legs and could easily trample me to death if I'm not careful. I glance at the attached message in a daze.

It hates sweet water. H.

Driven by fear, I throw out everything I see in the container, and there it is: a plastic box filled with liquid, water, I guess. Without thinking, I tear open the lid and step closer to the kicking, dangerous creature.

"Let go!" I shout at Rye, and thankfully the boy doesn't argue: he immediately releases the creature, which finally lets its two hooves touch the ground; I spit water in its face, causing its eyes to widen and its face to contort.

It dies.

“Halle-fukin-lujah” pants Rye. “We are a good team, Miss Everdeen.”

“We are” I smile at him with difficulty, still gasping for air, leaning on my knees. “Also, thank you Haymitch” I take a big breath. “And we are really greatful for our sponsors as well.”

*

Haymitch

“Your very welcome, little flower” murmurs Vitus, looking right at her. “She is very sweet” he looks at me and smiles. I'm still sweating and panting with anxiety, and the smile fades from Vitus's face: at first I think he's worried about me. The thoughtful expression deepens in his features.

“Haymitch” he says, slowly. “How did Primrose know what do with the water? Especially this fast?”

His blue, intelligent eyes make me feel shy.

""It might be possible," I say reluctantly. "That I gave her a tip."

Vitus's eyes widen.

"'Hay, accompanying messages cannot help the Players!' he exclaims in alarm. 'They can punish you for that! They can even...' He stops, but I can finish the sentence perfectly well.

They can even kill me for that.

And would that be such a bad a thing? I could see Lenore, Ma, and Sid again. Even Burdie.

But we won't continue our argument, because when we next look at the screen, Meinir Garton is being torn to pieces by a shark in the water.

Chapter Text

Katniss

. “Also, thank you Haymitch” says Primrose, and I finally let out the breath I've been holding.

“Yes, thank you, Haymitch” I repeat weakly, and for a moment I press my forehead into my palm. The mutant was incredibly frightening.

As I look up, I see that Peeta is clenching both fists so tightly that his nails are digging deep into his palms, causing blood to trickle from his hands.

“Peeta, hey, clam down” I put my arms around his shoulders, and he flinches. When he looks at me, I see tears in his blue eyes.

"This idiot tried to pull this monster toward himself," he whispers, directing the sentence at Rye.

"I know," I murmur softly, running my hand along his arm. "I know, but he was protecting Prim. I'm sorry he has to protect her, but I'm so glad that..." Peeta shakes his head and smiles faintly at me.

“Of course he would, Prim is a darling” he tells me. “I’m just sad its him and not me, that’s all.”

“I don’t think I can watch you in an Arena, no” I mutter, but of course, its not about me.

Leeveey's moans grow louder, then, and the girl screams loudly in the bedroom. She has been in labor for hours and hours.

" Vik, we need more hot water!" Hazelle shouts, and my heart aches for the boy. He's been carrying hot water from the bathroom in a basin and a bucket ever since the girl went into labor. At first, he was watching the Game too, but now he's been going back and forth between the bathroom and the bedroom nonstop. My mom also glances at the screen from time to time and spends her time by Leeveey's side as she suffers.

“We should help him” Peeta, shakes himself.

“We should do something about your hand first, and then help him” I tell him. I feel sorry for Vick, I really do, but at least, in the Victors Village they have running hot water. Should we be at our house, I would have to draw cold water from the well, heat it on the fire, and then take it to the birth.

Since the house is identical to Haymitch's, I can easily find my way around the bathroom, and Hazelle keeps the bandages in the same place anyway. I give Vick a sympathetic smile as he pours another round of hot water into a bowl.

We hear Leeveey crying and begging my mother to take the baby out; I take a deep breath, and Vick shudders. As I grab the bandages, I hear Peeta cry out.

“Peeta?” I ask, running to the living room. “What happened?”

“Meinir is dead” he tells me, eyes empty. “Look.”

If he hadn't commented on it, I wouldn't have recognized that the bloody pieces of flesh floating on the water belonged to the determined, angry girl who had left to avenge her sister's death. My stomach churns with pity and disgust. With my heart pounding, I think about how, if there are sharks in the water, I'm glad Primrose is on dry land, and how lucky she's been so far, and—of course—I hate myself for it.

“At least it wasn’t one of our own this time” I risk it, as I take care of Peeta’s hand as fast as I can. The boy wants to get up as soon as his hands are bandaged, but I stop him.

“Stay, and call, if anything important happens. You shouldn’t use your hands for a little while.”

I fill a bucket with boiling water and quietly open the door to the bedroom. It is pleasantly dim, but Leeveey is lying on her back on the bed in the middle of the room, her legs spread apart, tears streaming down her pale face, her neck glistening with sweat. Hazelle is standing on one side of the bed, and my mother is kneeling at the foot of the bed.

"No, no, I can't do it again, it's enough!" Leeveey sobs, and my hands begin to shake with sympathy and fear as I watch. Many people die in childbirth in the District.

"Of course you can," my mother replies quietly. "You're almost there, just push one more time!"

“I want my mom!” Leeveey complains, and I remember the rumor that her parents haven't spoken to her since the Toasting. “Ah, fuck!” She screams, but it seems to help, because my mother conjures up a pair of scissors from nowhere. The hot water is clearly no longer needed; the bucket slips from my hands and clatters to the floor as I watch the bloody, slippery baby come into the world.

There is a moment of silence, then the baby cries bitterly. My mother stands up, holding the little one in her arms, and I can see that she is relieved. The baby's lungs are working. I lift the bucket and hand it to Hazelle, whose face, unlike Leeveey's, is shining with tears of joy.

‘It’s a little girl’ my mom tells us, softly. ‘Would you like to see her, Leeveey?’

But the girl just keeps crying, this time silently, and turns toward the wall in bed, paying no attention to the newborn.

'She'll need a name,' Hazelle says in a gentle voice. "What are you planning to call her?"

Leeveey's tearful, silvery gray eyes flash accusingly at us for a moment, as if this whole thing were our fault.

"I don't care!" she blurts out. "Do you know anything about Colston? Is he still alive?" There is something utterly devious about this question, and Hazelle, one of the kindest souls I have ever met, presses her lips together.

‘I don’t know, Leeveey’ she answers, so cold, that it makes both me and Mom shiver. "You may recall that I currently have three children in the Capitol, two of whom are fighting for their lives in the Arena, while the third is forced to mentor them, which is just as dangerous. Forgive me for temporarily forgetting about Colston Black."

Leeveey has enough honor to blush, though I can't tell if it's from crying or shame. But she still isn't interested in the baby; she pulls the blanket over herself, so Hazelle takes the little one, gently holding her head.

“Hey there, honey” she murmurs. “Its really nice to meet you, you know. We really need something good happening around here. Now what should we call you? Ollie Mae, maybe? I think that would work really well, actually.”

I step back and quietly close the bedroom door, because I feel like I'm intruding on something I shouldn't be seeing. Gale has a girl. Its really weird thinking of him as a dad.

"Is the baby here?!" asks Vick, and for the first time since his siblings were called, I see genuine enthusiasm on his face. The boy stops in the living room, still holding the bucket.

“Yeah, she is” I tell him, and I can feel a real smile forming on my face. “Her name is Ollie Mae. Go on, meet her!”

Without hesitation, Vick is at the door, and I return to Peeta's side.

“So, a little girl, huh?” he smiles.

“Seems like it” I nod. “Anything interesting?” I wave at the screen.

"Gale sent them a tent," Peeta replies. "Which is useful, of course, but conspicuous, and Rory would have preferred food."

I frown. Conspicuous, semi-useful things are not typical of Gale.

“Haymitch didn’t send any?”

“He did, but the more the better. Haymitch's package mostly contained weapons: a bow and arrows for Rory, knives for Prim, and throwable and shootable lead balls for Rye. The food includes dry biscuits, almonds, walnut pieces, jerky, and bread, so it's not bad. But it's not enough for this many people for very long. And, if Cesar's commentary is to be believed, the water he sent is incredibly expensive, because it is the only thing that can harm the monster.”

"I wonder what he had to pay for that," I note quietly. I am extremely grateful to him for taking such good care of my little sister so far, but now I am suddenly overcome with fear—for him.

But our conversation suddenly stops because the Arena comes to life, vines crawl out of the trees and surround the tent like some kind of intricate, dense, deadly spider web....

*

Primrose

I'm going to die, I'm going to die, now, now, now this shit is over.

The slimy, wet vines growing from the trees attach me to a tree trunk, pinning my two arms to the tree, forcing my two legs apart, wrapping three strong vines around my neck, and the fucking vines keep moving, as if they were alive, breathing and thinking, growing more and more tiny arms that lock my torso into a wet, hot prison.

The tent, which Gale probably paid a fortune for, lies in tatters around us in the green ; I see that Rye, across from me on the tree stump, is experiencing the same thing as me.

The boy is stronger than me, so he struggles for a while, constantly moving under the vines, but they are too strong; as if seeking revenge, the tendrils wrap around his neck even tighter than they did around mine; they just hold me in place, but Rye seems to be finding it increasingly difficult to breathe.

„Prim-rose” he is gasping, pale, pale, pale blue eyes fixed on me.

’I’m fine’ I tell him, and I hate that even in this moment he is worried about me. I don’t deserve his devotion. I’m going to die.

I lift my head as high as I can and stare at the sky, where I'm sure there are cameras, even if I can't see them.

„Katniss, I’m fine, you don’t have to worry, it doesn’t hurt at all’ I tell her. The blue of the sky reminds me of Mum’s eyes.  „I’m so sorry, Mama” I add, for her. „Would you check on Haymitch, when he gets back, please? It’s not his fault, you know. I…”

But before I can finish my thought, a strong, green vine wraps itself around my mouth, silencing me, and another sticks to my eyes; I feel the wet, slimy touch, then everything goes dark.

*

Haymitch

„We have to help them!” I hear myself screaming, and I know I'm acting like an amateur. Realistically, I know there's nothing I can do; I could look for another sponsor, but I trust Vitus the most, and he just helped me out. He's rich, but I simply can't ask for more, at least not right now.

"These are illusory indas; they do not kill them.” Vit comforts me, as if terrible illusions were better; but I get his point, and nod, weakly. That's the downside of falling in love with your players. I watch as Primrose's vine moves painfully, and Rye twitches occasionally. Posy's quiet sobbing can be heard even from under the plant, and Rory is frighteningly still.

Would you check on Haymitch, when he gets back, please? It’s not his fault, you know.

I can’t do this; I need a fucking drink. I don't realize that I'm saying the latter out loud; but a smooth hand hands me a cocktail glass filled with some pale pink liquid.

’What is this?’

"Gin and tonic with strawberries," Vit replies with a straight face. It wouldn't be my first choice, but beggars can't be choosers; I down it without a word, and it's surprisingly strong.

’Thanks’

’You…’ I feel his worried gaze on my face, and I look back at him with exhausted eyes.

’What?’

"You'll be the death of me, Haymitch," he says, then sighs. ’Hold on.’

’What?’ He stands up and returns in two seconds with an old-fashioned, corded, cherry-colored telephone, which he plugs into the wall and dials. The strange technology is definitely rigged, because despite its appearance, it can be amplified, and a familiar deep voice speaks the next moment, as if he is sitting with us.

’Baby brother?’

’Hey, Atlas’ he smiles, and my eyes widen. Atlas, one of the top Game Masters, the one who was kind to Rye, is Vitus's brother? I’m an old fox, but apprently, I don’t know everything.

I missed the beginning of the conversation because I was so lost in my thoughts, but when I am able to pay attention again, Vitus is practically purring.

’For my birthday…’ he says.

"Vit, you can't ask me to manipulate the Arena as a birthday present!" says Atlas.

’And why not? It’s litearly your job! And who’s to say its going to work, Ats? All am asking is…’

"That I turn the Arena around so that Tulip, who has a bunch of knives and medicine, ends up in the same spot as the little girl and the others, and can free her boyfriend and the rest of her district partners? I know," Atlas sighs. "I know."

’So, why not?’ Vit is literaly pouting. 'It might not work, but it's worth a shot. Please, Atlas! Tell the others that you wanted to shake things up!’

There is a moment of silence, and Vitus and I stare at each other in anticipation.

’Primrose is just a little girl, Atlas, just like Liberty, come on! She might not win, but she doesn’t deserve to be in a never ending nightmare’ argues Vitus.

’I know’ shighs Atlas. ’But Plutarch won’t be happy. He wants to be the head Game Master, so he spends all his time kissing Seneca's ass. Who, by the way, hates Primrose because of her performance, just saying.”

I’m going to be sick. The fucking head Game Master hates Primrose, and its my fault, because it was my idea.  Vitus quickly closes his eyes.

"Tell Plutarch that I gladly accept his invitation to lunch, which he has been pursuing for some time," he says quietly. I feel my forehead wrinkling. Something is going on here that I am not a part of, but I sense that it is dangerous.

’You hate Plutarch’ Atlas objects.

’Its just lunch’

’Its never just lunch, Vit, and you know that’

"Help District 12, Atlas, please," Vitus pleads with his brother, and my heart breaks. I don't fucking deserve this loyalty.

Atlas swears profusely and colorfully.

"Tell Haymitch that he's the luckiest bastard in Panem because you like him," he growls. Then the phone line goes silent.

*

Rory

I find myself in a forest, but not in a stifling, hot, dangerous jungle, but at home, in the District, among the trees. My brother is hiding among the leaves of a group of bushes, his posture tense as he waits for the game, a quiver on his back, a bow in his hand.

’Gale!’ My cry is too loud in my enthusiasm, and I see that I have startled the game, a beautiful deer, which bolts. Gale's arrow sticks harmlessly into a tree trunk. My brother curses.

’See what you did?!’

’I’m…’ I want to say that I’m sorry, that I don’t even know what I did, because the Gale I know would never make a big deal about this, even if we had no food, because he loves me more than…

’This ends now’ says the guy, who can’t be my brother, and his arrow is stuck deep in my chest.

I scream.

Primrose

My father's body is covered in blood, bruises, and fractures where pieces of the collapsing mine struck him. In the blink of an eye, I am kneeling beside him; every inch of his body is familiar, even though we've never met; his coffee-brown skin, his dark hair, which, I see, has a few sewn-in bird feathers—Mockingjay feathers, perhaps?—the lines of his face, which are practically a more masculine version of Katniss's—and my heart is pounding so loud, I’m sure he can hear.

’Dad?’ I ask. ’Dad, can you hear me?’ So much for being a healer; my hands are shaking, and I am terrified.

My father's eyelids flutter, he opens his eyes, and I look into his kind, familiar-unknown gray irises. The corners of his mouth twitch, as if he is trying to smile. It doesn’t work; he is in visible pain.

’Primrose? Is that you?’ he wishpers, and I realise, I’m already crying, but I try to smile. Its the first time I hear his actual voice.

’Hi!’ I wishper back. ’Daddy, I’m so…’

I can't finish my thought, even if I knew what I wanted to say; I blink and Burdock Everdeen disappears from my sight.

’DAD!’

I find myself in our kitchen, my mother sitting at the table, her face expressionless, not even reacting when eight-year-old Katniss—her dark hair in two braids instead of one—tries to climb into her lap. I feel a cold tightness in my throat.

’Mama?’ I try.

She looks up, her pretty, blue eyes – the ones, people say I have – are perfectly lifless.

’You didn’t help him?’ she asks.

Before I can say anything to that, she and Katniss are gone, but the irrational guilt that almost suffocates me remains. This can’t be real, but if its not real, why does it hurt this much? Where was I? Where was I before this? I can’t recall.

Then I blink, and I'm standing in the main square, snow is falling—Katniss is tied to a pole and screaming as a whip cracks against her skin. Tears stream down my face.

Katniss!

’PRIMROSE!’

I spin around; reality turns into a silvery, molten mass around me; I find myself face to face with Haymitch, but not my version of him. This Haymitch Abernathy is a teenager, blood clinging to his short blond hair as he kneels, trying to hold his insides in place, blood pouring from a terrible, deep wound in his stomach.

’Haymitch?!’ I ask, and I feel like I can’t do this anymore; I have nothing to help him with, and its killing me.

The message is clear: you are nothing without your tools, little girl, and everyone you love will slowly, agonizingly die, and we will be here to watch you lose everything, drop by drop, and then...

’PRIMROSE!’

The vines let go, and I would fall to the ground if it weren't for Rye. But Rye is there, his strong arms catching me and pulling me close.

’Primrose? Are you okay?’ he asks, and his voice is gentle, and worried.

’Rye, Rye, Rye’ I murmur, to ground me. There’s nothing more beautiful in this world than his blue eyes.  

’Yeah, baby’ he mutters back. ’I’m right here with you, where I belong.’ His face is covered in blood, as if the plant had tried to tear off his skin, but I snuggle up to him without saying a word.

’And where’s my hug?’ asks a kind, female voice, and I look up, in suprise.

Tulip's real, gorgeous red hair practically radiates in the weak sunlight. She has knives in her hands; she obviously cut us out of our prison. She looks at me kindly, but sadly. Why...?

I turn around frightened in Rye's arms. Rory…? Posy….?

Posy kneels on the grass, her head bowed, crying quietly. . Why...? Then I see that Rory has only half escaped from the strange plant prison; half of his body is lying on the grass, and a long, strong tendril is sticking out of his chest, cutting across his back between his shoulder blades.

Rory Hawthorne is dead.