Portia worked wonders on him in getting him camera ready with less than an hour before he went live for his final interview. She stuffed a large piece of rich, velvety cake into his mouth and pressed a glass on him that would fill him up enough to last several hours as she applied more powder to his under eyelids and stripped him of his wrinkled suit. In its place she had him dress in a blood-red tuxedo with a coal-black vest, mid-tone grey undershirt, shimmering black pants, and boots to match. In the mirror, Haymitch had to do a double take to make sure the person looking back at him was actually him. From less than twenty-four hours ago, Portia had changed him with the clothes alone to make him look like embers fighting against ash to become a fire once again. The colors, acting with the powder, made Haymitch's face look fuller again and almost rosy. All that remained of the man from the night before were the unforgiving eyes.

"You gave them everything last night, so don't feel that you have to match that tonight," said Portia, using a small duster to brush away any particles that may have landed on Haymitch's shoulders. "Just get through it quickly and then you can leave."

"I don't know what I'll say, but if it comes back to you and Cinna and Effie, just know that you've been…you've…" He couldn't form words to show his appreciation for Portia, but she understood all the same by the quick peck on his cheek she gave him.

"You are an individual, Haymitch, not and never a piece in their Games. It was my privilege being your stylist."

Someone knocked on the door. "Is he ready?" rang Effie's voice.

"Are you?" asked Portia.

"This time, yeah."

Caesar Flickerman rose to greet him with an extended hand before the cameras started rolling and glanced around somewhat anxiously as if checking for hidden cameras or microphones.

"You've made quite an uproar since last night, Haymitch. Now, I can't tell you what to say or not say once we air, but—"

"Your job isn't at stake here, Caesar," said Haymitch shortly. "And neither is your life. Everyone in Panem knows that what comes out of my mouth came from my head first, not someone else's. I've spoken to the people and said all I needed to, so everything that happens here will be strictly between the two of us. You ask the questions and I'll answer them directly. Sound good?"

"You mustn't think I'm scolding you! No, no, on the contrary, Haymitch, I've never seen such, well, resilience. You look positively glowing as opposed to last night, but I think your stylist is to thank for that. As for you personally, I see a man who has suffered through absolutely everything the Capitol has thrown at you and emerged, perhaps broken in places, but still you. Regardless of whether or not anyone wanted you as the victor, you've made yourself unforgettable now."

"Caesar…"

"What?"

"You said, 'everything the Capitol has thrown at you'. Normally I would hear you say 'we', or has something changed in you since last night?"

Caesar paled under his overly tanned skin but he was an expert in his field, quick to recover and quicker to conceal his mistake. Though until now, Haymitch had never known him to make such a telltale mistake.

"Rolling in two," said the cameraman.

Haymitch perched on the edge of the couch, hunched over thanks to Portia who had left out his back brace so that he could be himself and not have to put on a false act for anyone. The cameraman pointed to Caesar and the dazzling white smile claimed the host's face without missing a beat as he welcomed Panem and did a brief summary of the previous night's events. While he talked, Haymitch remembered his agreement to come across as mentally disturbed because Snow obviously didn't buy his claim that Peeta meant nothing to him. Haymitch had to convince the audience that he had acted last night out of insanity and that he wasn't fully aware of what he was doing. Just as Katniss had tried to convince Snow that she was madly in love with Peeta, now Haymitch had a role to play for the cameras.

It didn't sit well with him at all. Haymitch hated not having the last say in anything and was determined to leave the Capitol with the people still afraid to even look at him. They had never before been put to such shame and Haymitch intended for it to stick with them at least until next year's Games.

"So, Haymitch, you gave everyone quite the scare last night when you had your fill of things to say. I don't think we've ever heard a victor talk about the aftermath of the Games in the same way you have. What was going through your head when you decided to speak out?"

"Nothing but rage, Caesar. I was—I am—angry. You thought Johanna was a bit wild in her pre-Games interview, but my anger went far beyond that. I suppose I'm compensating for all of my fallen friends who can't voice their opinions after having to kill each other. See, I don't care that it made me look weak to other victors and makes me unappealing to the audience; I'm glad that the only death that came by my hand was accidental because I would have killed myself instead of holding Denno in those last few seconds before the hovercrafts came. I couldn't live with myself knowing that I had to shed their blood and I like to think that if any of them, even Brutus and Enobaria, had survived instead of me, they would have done the same."

"I have to say, you did show incredible support to your team—on both sides, I might add."

"I was trying to avoid mass bloodshed. I knew the Careers would be doing the killing, but I'm actually sort of thankful to Brutus for doing most of those killings because it meant that I didn't have to and that only one person was doing the evil deed. He was always a brute, but he proved to be more than just a mindless killing machine when he came back for Sickle, Cobalt, and me. I don't know what was going through his head to make him do it, especially since he killed Cobalt less than six hours later, but he saved us right then and there, which is sort of unheard of from Districts 1 and 2, sometimes 4. They never look out for anyone outside of their own districts, so for Brutus to break that tradition, I think he may have set things in motion for more interesting Games in the future."

"You talk about breaking tradition; why do you think Cobalt, a good friend of yours, played the Games the way he did?"

Wouldn't we all like to know, Caesar? "I can't say for sure, but I think it was largely due to the fact that he was copying my plan to get Katniss out. He wanted Shade to win, so when she was one of the first to go after the initial bloodbath, his plan collapsed on him. Who should he team up with now? Who could he trust? Who would trust him? He'd already made himself an enemy in training to the rest of us besides 1 and 2, so he knew none of us would take him back. So we butted heads for a few days and I came close to sticking him with my knife several times, but I'm glad I didn't because otherwise I would have always thought him to be a traitor. Instead, I saw him give himself up for Tilly and I suppose I can almost forgive him for that."

"Your reactions to the other victors' deaths were well concealed for the most part, except for Sickle, Katniss, and Denno. I understand Katniss, but why the visible grief for the other two?"

"It goes without saying, we were friends, Caesar. Denno was probably the purest individual to ever go into the Games, but he never killed because he knew that by doing nothing, he wasn't hurting anyone in or outside of the arena. The second time around, though, he had Lash with him and he loved her, so when Brutus snapped her neck, he changed. As for Sickle, he volunteered to go in twice for younger or less-able-bodied people and I don't think he expected to survive either time. These selfless acts are moving, even to people who didn't know them well, but for someone like me who did know them, well, it was emotionally scarring."

"What will you do now that you've survived?"

"Honestly, I can't answer that. Since I never intended to survive, I'll have to come up with some sort of plan to accommodate myself. I could go back to drinking and grow out my beer gut again, but I think the alcohol has kept me in the dark for too long. I don't want to drown out the memories anymore. Even if it means I'll have nightmares until the day I die, I want to remember what happened in this particular year."

"Do you have any final words to say to the people before we let you go until the Victory Tour?"

Haymitch locked his eyes on the camera. "I want you, Panem, to remember my face. I want you to see this face in your nightmares when you realize that nothing goes unpunished. My face will be the one you see when the cold sweat grips you and you scream in the night as you're pursued by shapeless demons. And when you wake, knowing it was all a dream and that you're safe in your cozy, silk-draped beds in your lavishly decorated houses, I want you to remember that my face survived your Games twice and would have no problem at all slitting any of your throats. You, who sentenced him to die. You, who don't blink twice as you see children with their ribs showing being carted off to die in the arena. You, who would raise your children to think that killing is acceptable, as long as it doesn't affect you. Well, it does affect you because Katniss Everdeen sparked the beginning of a hatred that is seventy-five years strong and I'm here to feed the spark. Don't fall under the delusion that you're safe because no one is, not in this world. We are all players in a much larger, grander set of Games and you might find out very soon how well you would fare if the country became the largest arena to date."

The light behind the camera went dark before Caesar could close the interview out. Haymitch stood up and gave a mock bow to Caesar. "I know I said I'd stick to direct answers. I lied."

/ /

He was at the train station and still alive, which surprised him beyond belief. He expected Snow to send Peacekeepers by the swarms to prevent him from leaving the Tribute Center, but they never came, which led to the suspicion that Snow might be planning to pitch Haymitch's train off the tracks halfway home. It was, however, a battle to get out of the car and onto the train since the station was packed with women vying for Haymitch's attention, just as Snow had predicted. Haymitch shoved through them and snarled at a woman who managed to hold onto him for more than two seconds. He didn't see Cinna or Portia as he left and prayed that they had made it out in time, that they were hiding somewhere in the city. Once on the train, Effie and Peeta switched on the television to see if Haymitch's interview had made any sort of impact among the people, but all seemed quiet and normal on the set, so they turned it off as the train pulled out of the station.

Haymitch ordered a bucket of ice and sat crunching away at the cubes for at least three hours until, without warning, Effie swooped down and kissed him, causing him to send his bucket flying across the room.

"Effie, what the hell?"

"You showed them that they can't get away with this, Haymitch," she wailed. "You carried on Katniss's rebellion."

"No, I didn't. I only said that because I wanted to go out on a strong note. Does this look like the face of the rebellion?" Haymitch gestured to his waxy complexion.

"It does now," said a voice and Haymitch dove for the table where the silverware sat as two Peacekeepers appeared in the doorway, one of them most assuredly Snow Number Two by the sound of his voice. "Drop the knife." Haymitch let the butter knife fall to the floor. "Mr. Abernathy, follow us, please."

"No, you can't!" shouted Effie and Peeta moved to try and block Haymitch, but he instructed Effie to shut up and pushed Peeta aside, striding forward with as much dignity as he could muster. The train had come to a stop in a patch of trees and the Peacekeepers escorted him off, leading him further away from the train until they were well out of sight. Snow Number Two nudged Haymitch forward a few more steps and pulled out his gun.

"You make sure you tell Snow that he can go to hell," said Haymitch, bracing himself for a bullet in the brain. He had been delusional himself to think that Snow would let his words go unpunished. "And—fuck both of you."

Snow Number Two removed his helmet and Haymitch saw a man with golden hair going white, a rather hooked nose, and eyes that would have been emotionless if not for the fact that they were a brilliant shade of lavender. "Your yapping trap is going to get you killed one of these days, Mr. Abernathy," said Snow Number Two. "I will tell you right now and just once to keep it shut while I am talking because we don't have time for interruptions. My name is Praxis Septum and I have had to pull many strings to get you safely out of the Capitol after your stints. This plan has been in motion for months, years even, but we never knew who our final player would be. You will not be going home to District 12. Instead, you will come with me now after I've fired a shot, leading your companions to think you are dead. The less they know, the better and it would be far too difficult and troublesome for them to try and locate your body. I have assurances that you will lend your voice and your face to our cause."

"Whose assurances? What cause? Just what the hell is going on?"

"You said yourself that you've fed the spark that Katniss Everdeen started, correct? Or did you not intend to follow up with that?"

"I can't follow up with that," said Haymitch with an obvious motion at himself. "Look at me. The only reason I'm not dead is because people keep force-feeding me. It's not like I have any sort of will to live. I don't care what happens at this point."

"You should, because you could put Snow in his place, which is in the ground," said Praxis.

"And how would I do that?"

"Lead the rebellion, Mr. Abernathy. Or at least, assist in it."

"Assist who or what?"

"Me," said the second Peacekeeper and as the helmet came off, a braid fell from within, woven down the side of the young woman's face. And there, pinned at the neck where the helmet obscured it, was a golden mockingjay pin.

|To those of you who have read this one, thank you. I always make a point of thanking my readers because without them, stories cannot flourish. Please, let me know what you think.|

Sequel: Wander, completed and posted