Where is my opening spiel? I don't know.

AU THG fic. Jumping onto the wagon of bands.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or anything associated with it. All rights to The Hunger Games and affiliated products belong to Susanne Collins, Lionsgate, and the other proper entities.

Summary: In a downtrodden world, children are sacrificed yearly to maintain the status quo. One year after her own Games, Katniss and her old mentor, Haymitch, are handed a tribute worth saving. Little do they know, he may be the one to tip the scales. Peeta.

Rating: T (For now)

Genre: Action/Drama/Romance

Pairing: Katniss/Peeta

Warnings: None.

Flares

Chapter One

Looking out over the crowd is… surreal.

That's the only thing I can think of as Mayor Undersee begins to read the history of Panem. I wonder how Haymitch stands it every year—staring out into all the terrified faces of the children of the District and knowing that you're the only one that's even close to safe. Knowing the horrors that are coming for two of them in the coming weeks. Knowing that they'll most likely die. Knowing that if, by some miracle, they survive, they will be forced to relive those horrors in their dreams almost every night.

Maybe that's why he's so drunk that the Mayor and I had to help him onto the stage.

And the Quarter Quells are supposed to be the worst. I think of the way my District partner last year, Dane White, had died in the fire that drove me toward the Careers—that death was tame compared to what Haymitch has told me to expect this year.

There's only one glass ball this year; this Quarter Quell is an all-boys event. Three boys from each District will go to the Capitol and all but one of the thirty-six will die horrible, bloody, gruesome deaths.

At least I don't have to worry about Prim this year.

The Mayor finishes and Effie stands up to the podium to give her greetings. I do my best not to glare at the back of her head. She's less upbeat than usual, her disappointment at not getting promoted to a better district this year still fresh. Children die in this tournament, and all she can think of is her career opportunities. It makes me physically ill. I mean, once you look past all the vain and self-centred Capitol airs that she puts on, I actually like Effie. She really seemed to care about me last year (although I can't say the same for Dane). But every now and again she'll make a comment, or give a certain look, that will remind me that she's from the Capitol. That she's not really my friend. That this is all exciting for her. That children dying is great entertainment for her.

As she reaches into the bowl for the first name, I clench my hands in my lap and silently beg anyone who may be listening that Gale isn't reaped. He turns nineteen next month. It's his last year. Please. Just please, give me this.

The first boy is Ryan Greene; a Seam kid, about fifteen. I don't know him. I've seen him around school, he was two grades lower than me, but other than that I have no clue who he is. Scrawny, like all the kids from the Seam, he's also short and has a sort of hollow look about him.

A terrible part of my mind whispers that he wont last long.

The second boy is also from the Seam; he's taller but even more emaciated than his first partner. Cole Hawthorne is Gale's seventeen-year-old cousin, but we've never met. They're on opposite sides of a family feud, so I know that Gale doesn't really care about him, but still. At the name 'Hawthorne', though, my heart starts to race.

Just one more.

Please not Gale.

Please not Gale.

Please.

I take a deep breath as Effie unrolls the slip of paper. The name she reads off isn't Gale's—but it's almost as bad.

"Peeta Mellark!"

I can practically feel the blood drain from my cheeks as the boy makes his way to the stage. Unlike the other two, he's from Town—he stands about a head taller than me, with broad shoulders and strong forearms. Unlike the kids from the Seam, he's grown up with enough to eat—meaning that, out of the three of the Tributes on the stage, he's the only one with any real muscle. I can see them where he'd rolled up his sleeves earlier. The blonde hair and blue eyes that are so typical of the Town families will attract sponsors, and the people of the Capitol tend to value that look over the darker hair and skin and grey eyes that the Seam kids get.

When Haymitch sobers up, he's going to suggest that we concentrate on trying to save Peeta.

And, if I'm honest, if any of them have a chance, it's him.

I'm not listening to the Mayor as he reads the Treaty of Treason. All I can think about is the fact that at least two, if not all three, of these boys are going to die in a few week's time. When the Mayor finishes, the three boys shake hands with each other, and then the anthem plays before they're escorted into the Justice Building. Afterwards, I'm shaking Haymitch awake from the chair next to me. I'm surprised he didn't snore.

"Haymitch!" I hiss at him. "Haymitch, wake up! It's over!"

"Wuzzat?" He gives a start and blinks around the Square, where people are dissipating. The chatter has increased in volume, people laughing with relief—except the three families. They're standing huddled together in front of the stage, waiting to be escorted into the Justice Building to say goodbye.

"The Reaping is finished." I tell him. "Come on, get up. We've got an hour to get you sobered up before we have to be on the train."

"Who was it this year?" He slurs as we carefully make our way down the stairs.

"Two Seam kids and a Town kid." I tell him as we make our way over to where my mother, Prim and Gale stand huddled.

"Town kid?" Haymitch squints. I don't blame him for being confused. It's not often that a Town kid gets Reaped—not impossible, but the high numbers of Seam kids signing up for tesserae make it incredibly rare.

"Yep." We reach my family, and my mother moves to take him from me. Haymitch fights us on it, but my family have kind of taken responsibility for him over the last twelve months. Like Effie, once I learned to look past his huge, gaping personality flaws, I actually like him. My mother starts to lead him off with soft, persuasive words, and I know that he'll be at least coherent in an hour. I turn to Gale.

"How's it feel?" I ask him with a fake grin. "You survived your last Reaping."

"Pretty great." He admits. He's not smiling. "I just wish my brothers and sister…"

"I know the feeling." I shoot a glance at Prim, who's following my mother. Gale and I set off back up to the Victor's Village behind them. This is the last time we'll see each other for however many weeks it takes for the Games to finish. I volunteered for her last year, and I didn't have to worry about her this year—the money that I got for winning the Games protects her from ever needing to take tesserae. But just being related to a Victor increases a kid's chance of being Reaped. Especially if the Victor loves them more than life itself.

"Listen, about my cousin…" he clears his throat, and I can't help but keep my eyes trained on the footpath. "Don't think that… you have any sort of obligation to prioritise him over the others, or anything. Because of me and my family."

"I don't." I tell him, wincing at how heartless it sounds. "I mean, we've got three Tributes to try to bring home."

Gale huffs a sigh. "I'm not stupid, Katniss." He points out. Like I need reminding. "It's pretty obvious that mentors pick one Tribute to focus on and try to save them. It happened last year." He's referring to the fact that I was the only one out of the District Twelve Tributes last year that got any gifts. The boy hadn't gotten anything, while I had gotten medicine, arrows and food when I needed them. I hadn't really wanted for much in the arena after I'd found water and claimed the bow from the girl from District One. Most of the other Tributes had killed each other off until Cato and I had come face to face at the Cornucopia and he had been killed by the mutts.

"I know." I admit.

"If any of them have a chance," it sounds like the words are being dragged from his lips now. I can hear the distaste, "it's that Mellark guy."

"I know." I repeat. "I think that's what Haymitch is going to say, too."

We quieten as we reach my house and step inside. My mother has Haymitch at the table, and she's making up some kind of tea for him. Prim is buttering some bread, and I snatch two pieces off the plate when her back is turned before hurrying up the stairs. Gale follows, and I give him one.

Gale sits on the edge of my bed while I spend the next twenty minutes going over my luggage and making sure that I have everything I'll need. I have four bags—three of them packed full of clothing that Cinna, my old stylist, has sent me over the year. I've never worn a lot of it, preferring to fit in with everyone else in District Twelve as much as I can—but I will be expected to dress and conduct myself like a 'proper' Victor the second I step out of this house.

After making sure that my luggage is in order, I say goodbye to Gale as he leaves and step into the shower to wash the dirt from the Reaping off my skin. I showered this morning, so I don't really need to wash again, but I've found that showers tend to be pretty relaxing. As I spend the next twenty minutes standing under the warm stream, I can almost ignore the nausea that rolls around my stomach. Last year, I'd only had to worry about what was coming inside the arena. This year, I have to deal with the responsibility of keeping three boys alive. I'm only seventeen—I don't know that any potential sponsors are going to take me seriously when I try to strike deals with them. Which I'll probably fail at, anyway, given my non-existent people skills.

I dry myself with a towel and dress in the white summer dress that Cinna had told me to wear when he called this morning. Apparently, the skirt-suit he'd instructed me to wear for the Reaping is not acceptable for the train ride. He has also instructed me to blow dry my hair—something I despise doing. It's one thing in the Capitol showers, where you just stand there and let the shower do its work, but it's another to sit at a vanity table and painstakingly dry each section of hair with a ridiculously noisy machine.

But I do it.

I also paint my lips red, despite my distaste. I really hate cosmetics. But the fear of angering the Capitol, and putting Prim in danger, keeps my hand moving to wield the brush with the liquid lipstick over my mouth. I'm just glad I apparently don't have to draw out my eyes. And that I'd gotten my mother to help me wax all the hair from my body last night. My old prep team would have had a fit if they could have seen the state of my legs.

When I'm done, and my hair is resting straight down my back—left out, again, as per instructions—I grab the wide-brimmed straw hat on the bedside table and place it on my head. I examine the end result. It looks pretty, but it's not my face. I've come to associate my looks with wherever I am at the time. This is Capitol-Katniss, the Victor, who smiles and shakes hands and tries so desperately not to step out of line. Yesterday—this morning, even—I was just Katniss, free to go around in my braid and old Seam shirt and trousers, trying desperately not to think about what I've been through.

But for now, I close the door on Katniss. It's time for Capitol-Katniss to make her first appearance since the Victory Tour. And to keep her family safe for another year.

Prim knocks on my door as I'm taking the hat off and smoothing my hair back down. She makes some compliment about my looks, but I brush it off as I grab two of my bags and lug them downstairs. There's a Peacekeeper at the door with a wagon, ready to take mine and Haymitch's things down to the Station. He must have gone home, because I don't see him in the kitchen when I glance in on my way upstairs to get the other two bags.

With all four of my bags in the wagon, I slip on a pair of straw sandals and kiss my mother and Prim goodbye. Then I step outside, replace my hat back on my head, and ignore the Peacekeeper's outstretched hand as I climb into the wagon and take my seat. Less than thirty seconds later, Haymitch is sitting across from me, looking as sober as I've seen him since the Tour.

"Well," I spread my arms open for him to take in the sight of me as the cart starts off with a jolt, "do I look acceptable?"

He gives me a once-over. From anyone else, I would have felt violated. But I trust Haymitch, and he's the only one I can really count on to make sure I don't screw up as a Mentor. "Very nice." He nods. "Cinna'll be happy when he sees you on screen."

We're silent for the rest of the five-minute trip. Stepping down from the wagon at the station, we're immediately swarmed by reporters—neither of us speaks to them, but once my bags are safely stowed aboard I make sure to plaster a bright smile across my face and lean out of the window to wave at them. The clicking of the cameras and multiple flashes momentarily dazes me as I pull my head back in.

I'm watching through the tinted windows from my compartment as the three boys are brought up. Cole is glaring at everything and everyone. Ryan looks pale, like he's going to be sick. And Peeta looks as if he's been… crying? I can't be sure, but it looks like he's tried to repair his face at least a little, and he's taking deep breaths as he steps into the train behind the other two.

It only takes about ten seconds for the doors to close and for the train to start moving. I sit on the chair in my room and take deep breaths as I try to calm myself. This is it. The brief hour I had at home was merely a respite. The nightmare is back in full swing.

About ten minutes into the train ride, Haymitch enters my room.

"Ever hear of knocking?" I ask irritably, not bothering to look away from the countryside zipping past outside. He ignores me and sits on my bed. I finally turn away from the window and look at him. "What?"

"We have to talk about what we're gonna do." He says bluntly. "I've just met the kids—"

"Two of them are my age." I point out. "They're hardly kids."

"—and I've decided." He ignores me. "We're going to have to concentrate on the Town kid. The little one'll be lucky to make it through the bloodbath and the tall one is overconfident and angry. If the Tributes don't kill him the Capitol will."

"So we just abandon them?" I sigh.

"No." He shakes his head. "We pick our battles. The other two are a lost cause. He's got the best shot."

I bite my lip, my eyes straying back to the window. "Well, you're the experienced one."

"Damn straight." He stands. "I wont guarantee that we can bring him out, but…"

"We can try." I finish in a flat voice.

"Right." Haymitch starts toward the door. "But remember; we act like we're going to help them all." A pause. "Dinner's in half an hour." And then he was gone.

Here's me, trying to keep characters in-character for an extended length of time. Wish me luck.

Reviews are love!

Until next time,
Sparkly Faerie