A.N. - Everything in italics is directly from Mockingjay, and belongs to Suzanne Collins. Everything else is the product of my overabundant imagination left free to run amok in The Hunger Games world! Hope you enjoy it! :)

For Us

I am standing off to the side, clapping to the rhythm, when a bony hand pinches me above the elbow. Johanna scowls at me.

"Are you going to miss the chance to let Snow see you dancing?"

She's right. What could spell victory louder than a happy Mockingjay twirling around to music? I find Prim in the crowd. Since winter evenings gave us a lot of time to practice, we're actually pretty good partners.

I start to make my way over to her, but then a hand on my wrist surprises me, and I look up, at first expecting to see Gale dragging me to the dance floor, but then I remember that he is already on the floor. I am instead shocked to see that it is Haymitch, a faint grin on the corner of his mouth as he moves the two of us to the floor with more force than is strictly necessary.

"May I have this dance?" he asks and I roll my eyes at him.

"It seems like you haven't given me much of a choice," I mutter back, just loud enough for his ears to hear, and his faint grin actually turns into a real smile as he begins to move me across the floor in an assured way that I might not have ever expected of him.

As the two of us are dancing, we catch each other's eye and, in a moment where we are especially close together, our faces only a mere inch apart, he says, "For Peeta," and I smile.

Yes, we are doing this for Peeta.

He obviously is concerned about my injuries as he takes great care to be careful in our turns and twirls, but I reassure him with just a look that I am fine, so he takes a few more liberties in his dancing, which pleases me. For once, I can see the man that he might have been had the games never destroyed him…and I like it. I like it a lot.

My sides ache slightly, but I ignore the pain, enjoying the lightness that I can see in my mentor's eyes, but I now recognize that he is no longer my mentor.

He is my ally. My friend.

Dancing transforms us.

We teach the steps to the District 13 guests. Insist on a special number for the bride and groom. Join hands and make a giant, spinning circle where people show off their footwork. Nothing silly, joyful, or fun has happened in so long.

And it is freeing.

Basking in the feeling, I look over at Haymitch, who stands next to me, having not left my side since our dance, and I smile at him, finally feeling any hostility that I might have still harbored towards him for his actions, disappear. For a moment, I forget that I am being observed and I stare at his profile and see once more the young man that I saw once in the video of the Second Quell. Handsome, strong, and resolute.

And I feel my heart pause for a beat when he looks back at me.

I am feeling something.

Something familiar…and yet completely different.

It is the warm friendship that I felt with Peeta before he'd been corrupted by the Capitol. It is the spark of fire that I sometimes feel with Gale. It is the pure attraction that I have sometimes felt towards Finnick…but it is all at once.

And it confuses me.

We hold each other's gaze longer than we should, and then when I feel my sides hurting, I realize that I am holding my breath.

Quickly, I snap my eyes away from his, but I feel that the damage has been done and he has seen everything that I did not want him to in that moment.

Luckily, I do not have to worry about anything more happening, because the cake is brought out.

Four people wheel out a huge wedding cake from a side room. Most of the guests back up, making way for this rarity, this dazzling creation with blue-green, white-tipped icing waves swimming with fish and sailboats, seals and sea flowers.

But I push my way through the crowd to confirm what I knew at first sight. As surely as the embroidery stitches in Annie's gown were done by Cinna's hand, the frosted flowers on the cake were done by Peeta's.

This may seem like a small thing, but it speaks volumes.

Haymitch has been keeping a great deal from me.

The boy I last saw, screaming his head off, trying to tear free of his restraints, could never have made this. Never have had the focus, kept his hands steady, designed something to perfect for Finnick and Annie. As if anticipating my reaction, Haymitch is at my side.

"Let's you and me have a talk," he says.

Out in the hall, away from the cameras, I ask, "What's happening to him?"

Haymitch shakes his head.

"I don't know. None of us knows. Sometimes he's almost rational, and then, for no reason, he goes off again. Doing the cake was a kind of therapy. He's been working on it for days. Watching him…he seemed almost like before."

"So, he's got the run of the place?" I ask. The idea makes me nervous on about five different levels.

"Oh, no. He frosted under heavy guard. He's still under lock and key. But I've talked to him," Haymitch says.

"Face-to-face?" I ask. "And he didn't go nuts?"

"No. Pretty angry with me, but for all the right reasons. Not telling him about the rebel plot and whatnot." Haymitch pauses a moment, as if deciding something. "He says he'd like to see you."

I don't know how to react to this, so I say nothing, my mind silently racing. One part of me is screaming, "Yes!", but another part of me is silently pleading, "No.", and I don't know which one to listen to. It seems Haymitch senses my conflict, and steps towards me, placing an arm around my shoulders.

I don't push him away.

We stand like that for a long time, his arm around my shoulders, my arms pressed up against my chest…until my arms reach out and wrap around his waist. I don't know what makes me do it, but it feels right.

I cherish the silent moment. I press my ear to his chest and listen to the steady beat of his heart, taking refuge in the brief respite that I can find in his arms. I don't want to lose him…but I don't want to lose Peeta or Gale, either.

Peeta will most likely never be the same, and I must accept that. Haymitch has said so, and now I realize that he is most likely right. And Gale is someone that I no longer truly know. He craves the fight and the rebellion more than a District 12 boy should. To him it has become a cause that must be finished, but for me it is a cause that I no longer want any part in. I simply want it to end. And, for a moment, I can pretend that it doesn't exist.

Finally, I say, "Haymitch…"

"Yes?"

I look up at him, catching his Seam-gray eyes with my own.

"I don't think I can do it."

He nods.

"I thought as much, sweetheart," he says and for some unknown reason I feel a warmth suffuse my chest when I hear him call me "sweetheart". I haven't heard him call me that since…I can't quite remember how long it's been.

I continue to stare at him, and then realize how close we actually are to each other.

And I feel what I felt earlier.

My heart skips a beat.

My breath hitches.

He stares at me, his look no longer simple comfort, but something else entirely. His arm moves from my shoulders to my waist and he draws me closer. My fingers dig into his lower back, but I don't pull away.

His breath brushes against my lips.

"Katniss," he whispers, and I can hear the question in the way he says my name and I give a minute nod, and he closes the distance between us.

And we are kissing.

Instead of revulsion or shock at being kissed by my previous Mentor, I find myself memorizing his taste and the feel of his kiss. Peeta's kisses had been soft and sweet, but without practice; Gale's fiery and passionate, but rushed and inelegant.

Haymitch's kiss, on the other hand…

There is a sweetness to it, but I can feel his whole body tensed against mine as he holds himself back. The fire is there, coiled underneath seasoned muscles, and his mouth moves over mine with a finesse and elegance that brings tears to my eyes. I respond as best as I can, but the kiss ends all too soon for my liking and I hear a faint sound of protest escape my lips as he pulls away, his fingers firm on my waist.

"I shouldn't have done that," I hear him whisper and I shake my head.

"No…I'm glad you did."

His eyes snap up to mine and I give him a watery smile, feeling the tears just behind my eyes. Not tears of sadness or pain, a type that I have become intimately familiar with during the past few months, but of sheer joy.

I brush a strand of hair from his face.

"Haymitch…" His hand comes up to mine, holding my fingers tightly, his eyes looking desperate, as though afraid I am going to deliver him bad news, but I shake my head, a small smile at the corner of my mouth. "Haymitch," I repeat, bringing my other hand to his face and carefully tracing his jaw. "Thank you for saving me."

I see the shock in his eyes. I have never thanked him for getting me out. For either time.

The first time, I resented him because he picked me over Peeta. The second time, I loathed and hated him for the same reason. He told me that it was because the Districts needed their Mockingjay, but now I know the real reason why.

Because of this.

Slowly, so as not to surprise him, I lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips and I feel him holding himself back once more.

I pull back and look at him.

"I couldn't tell you, sweetheart," is all he says and I nod.

"I know."

We stand there in the privacy of the hallway, taking the time to cherish the few moments that we have together, both of us knowing that it can't last. And that's what kills me. Now that my eyes are open, I can see how he has been trying to tell me, in his own way, how much he…well, the word can't be said. It's bittersweet and it's brutal, and completely unfair to both of us. A chance to find happiness…but we both know that we can't take it.

The revolution must come first.

Peeta must come first.

I am simply the Mockingjay and he is simply an advisor, though I suspect that he is the true intelligence behind Coin and her decisions, and so we cannot take what we truly deserve.

After several long minutes, he slowly pulls back and looks me in the eye, gray meeting gray once more, and he gives me a pained smile. His hand comes to my face, his fingers briefly against the skin of my jaw, reassuring me in the only way he can.

"We should get back," he says and I nod.

We step back into the room that is a converted dance hall and I walk over to stand next to my mother and Prim, casting one last glance in Haymitch's direction as he walks over to the bride and groom, asking Annie for a dance, and I feel a sharp pain in my chest.

"Katniss," says Prim, "What was that about?"

I look at her and I am sure my look is one of a deer caught in lamplight.

"Oh…uh, Peeta wants to see me," I say, telling her a partial truth. That is why Haymitch wanted to talk to me in the first place, so, strictly speaking, I am not lying. I look over at my mother, and I see her lips pressed tightly together, and I can tell she wants to say something, but not in front of Prim.

"Prim, I think Gale wanted a dance with you," I say to her, attempting to distract her and she smiles and quickly walks over to where he stands with Delly.

I step closer to my mother.

"Mom, you look-"

In an uncharacteristic manner, she cuts me off. "Don't," she says, her eyes focused on someone across the room. I follow her gaze and see she is staring at Haymitch. I try to feign ignorance, saying, "Mom, I don't know what you're-"

Again, she cuts me off.

"He's poison," she says, almost hissing the words out, and I flinch at her tone. "He's a drunk and he'll never care for anything more than he cares for a bottle in his hand, do you understand me?"

My spine stiffens and my resolve hardens.

"He's the same as me, mom. In fact, if Snow had had you, Prim, and Gale killed, I think I would have turned out exactly the way that he did. And he had it even harder than I did in the arena. There were forty-eight that year. How many do you think he had to kill?"

She looks up at me, her eyes wide with shock.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," I say, trying to keep my tone low and my anger under control. "Don't blame him for his burdens or how he handles them. I'm the one who's had to hear him wake up screaming in the night, unable to escape the nightmares. He went through hell, and if a bottle was how he handled it, then good for him. He could have done much worse."

She is still looking at me in the same way, so I drive my point home by saying, "He's the only who understands what I've been through. And, though it's not really your business, nothing is going to happen. We both know that."

And with that, I walk away, trying to keep the tears from falling. I can feel my eyes burning with the effort, but I manage to control it.

I look over at Haymitch once more and feel the first tear escape as he catches my eye.

It seems that President Snow has punished me in the worst way possible by forcing me to become the Mockingjay.

Because of who I am and what I represent, I am forced to sacrifice the one thing in the world that would make me happy. But I still have to see him day in and day out, forever close, but never together…and I feel a new rage burn within me.

I knew that I may have to die for the cause, but now I have a will and a reason to live.

Haymitch.

In the end, if we succeed, and I can save him…then that will be all I will need.

He gives me a look and I give him a faint nod, which he returns, a grim smile on his face, and I turn and walk out of the room. I am the Mockingjay…and I will make the revolution happen.

For us.

THE END