Let the Games Begin

Throwing back the last of his wine in one gulp, he paced the plush room, trying to calm his racing thoughts. Expecting at any moment that everything would fall apart and all of this would prove to be yet another of his nightmares... Wouldn't be the first time. And it was a hell of a lot more likely than the truth.

He stalked over to the table and poured himself another glass of wine, hoping it would steady his shaking hands. His racing heart. He'd worked to stay sober for them in the arena, and was still struggling with it now, but he could only deny himself so much at a time. And really, today would be difficult. He needed something to keep him going. Today was the day he'd see them again. The day when he would determine if it was possible for them to put out the fires they'd unintentionally sparked.

And now was the time to decide if he was going to bother trying to stay sober any longer. He'd kept his end of the bargain. He'd limited his drinking while he mentored them. He'd given them a fighting chance. That was the deal. It ended with the Games. Any further move and he'd have to admit that he cared what happened to them. And if they died... he'd have to deal with that admission. Another death on his head. Or several. He took a long drink. There wasn't enough alcohol in the building to steady him today. Not with Damacles' sword hanging over their heads.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Think of the positive. You don't even know for sure that the Capitol's going to act. They may brush it off as mad love... Remember, old man, they're alive. How often have you been able to say that?

The obvious answer was: never. Not once had he managed to get a tribute out. But this time... This time they'd done it. Well... that was only partly true. She had done it. He had only given her the means to survive. And once the interviews were over and the boy had entered the arena, even Peetareally just been along for the ride. Especially at the end.

It didn't matter who's doing it was. All that mattered was the fact that for once his tributes had lived. Not only one, but both. And if Snow bought into the lovebird act, for once he might not have to go home and drink away their existence. Oh, he'd still go home and drink. But it would be nice knowing that this time he could allow himself to occasionally think, without pain, about the kids who'd been thrust upon him.

Well, he ammended, without much pain at least. The hard reality of it was that they would forever be linked in his mind to the Games. They'd always be a small part of his personal hell. But at least the knowledge that they'd lived might bring him a little light when darkness fell and the nightmares inevitably came again. And at least he wouldn't have to regret his reckless deal to stay sober enough to help them. Because he'd stupidly grown attached to them the same way he'd done with the first few he'd mentored. Back at the beginning when he'd really believed he could help them make it. Before he'd realized that part of his punishment for his unintentional defiance had been to make it impossible for tributes from District 12 to have a chance at survival. It had been years before the Capitol had lost enough interest in his transgression to allow him to really fight for their survival. By then he'd given up trying. He'd stopped caring about any of them. Let them die. It wasn't as though they expected anything out of the old drunk anyway. And it sure as hell wasn't like he wanted them to.

Then these two showed up. He wasn't sure what had drawn him the most. The fact that they were fighters, unwilling to go down. Or the fact that they actually expected him to do his job. Even after his display at the reaping.

A knock on the door distracted him from his thoughts. "What?" he growled. Probably Effie, telling to lay off the booze and get out there to congratulate them. Or at very least, congratulate Katniss. Peeta was apparently still getting some work done on his leg. His pat on the back would come later.

After a short pause, he was surprised to hear a soft, smooth voice from the other side of the door respond simply, "It's Cinna."

We owe that one an arm and a leg, too, he admitted, sighing. Least I can do is be civil. He's better than most. "Come in," Haymitch finally grunted, throwing back the rest of his wine and slamming the glass back down on the table.

The door slipped open and the well-groomed young stylist came in. His eyes immediately flitted to the man's glass, his golden eyebrows quirking ever so slightly.

Haymitch snorted at the question he knew the young man was asking. "Just two. I promised them I'd stay sober til the end." His expression hardened. "And it's not the end yet, is it?"

Cinna's face remained impassive. "Of course it isn't. It never is." He paused long enough to drive his point home before adding for the Capitol's benefit. "There's still the Tour. Then next year is the Quell. They'll be busy for the rest of their lives." His voice was smooth and gentle as always, but there was a darkness to his eyes, and Haymitch knew they were on the same page. That it wasn't just because of the endless tours and mentoring ahead that Haymitch had been fighting his instincts and rationing his alcohol. That on its own was reason to drink himself to death. No. It was the fact that his tributes were still in danger. The arena was nothing compared to what came after. Especially when you defied Snow.

He knew that firsthand...

The older man ran his hand over his unshaven face tiredly, the rough stubble scraping against his calloused hand. "I'll just be glad when this whole damn thing is over." He eyed the half-empty bottle of wine on the table, considering how many more glasses he might be able to pull from that before he actually had to go out there.

"Haymitch, leave it at two."

The old mentor glared.

"They still need you."

"You can stop reminding me," he snapped, irritably. "I've been in their shoes before, back when you were still in diapers. I know what they need. It sure as hell isn't me." He snorted as though very thought of it was ridiculous and began walking for the door. "Come on. Let's go and get this over with."

He stepped out of the room and began making his way down the hall, not even stopping to see if Cinna was following. He heard the quiet thud of the door and the sharp click of the stylists fashionable shoes on the elegant tile floor behind him.

What they need is a miracle. Not an ex-tribute who only knew how to do exactly the worst thing possible to save his own life. They need someone who can get them out of this mess, not someone who specialized in getting himself into the same thing...

He mulled that over for a moment. Though maybe that was exactly what they needed. Someone who had been there and knew how the game was played. Someone almost as stubborn as Snow himself. Someone who had nothing left to lose. It would be stupid to write them off. These two had proven themselves well enough. If his tributes were anyone else, he could have just stayed in the room and drank. But Cinna was right. They'd earned his help, and right now they needed him. And whether or not he wanted to admit it, the second she'd pulled out those berries, he'd begun trying to think them out of the mess. If he could just get through that thick head of hers quickly enough. How hard could it be? They'd communicated well enough in the arena.

Sad that they expressed themselves better with little silver parachutes than words. The only way he'd probably get through to her now would be to drop one on her head with a note that said "News flash, Sweetheart. You made my mistake and now we're all officially screwed. Congratulations."

He sighed. That's one reason he was so hard on her. Because she was just like him both in thoughts and actions. Hell, even in personality, which just pissed them both off usually. But that familiar fire was certainly one reason he'd chosen her to single out. Because sometimes his methods were questionable. Especially to the government. If he could only save one of them, he needed someone who he could actually guide from the outside. Someone who would act on that guidance. And she certainly hadn't disappointed in the arena when she'd quickly picked up his system to communicate. Something not even the Capitol had managed to work out. He could clearly tell her how to play her players, as he'd unintentionally done years ago.

His expression darkened again. And then she'd taken it a step too far. Further than even he had. The familiar cold feeling settled into the pit of his stomach, pushing past his raging need for the rest of that wine bottle. Stupid, stupid girl. How many were going to suffer because she decided to save Peeta? Save one life and kill a dozen. That's how it works, Sweetheart.

Could she stop it on her own? Probably not. Knowing Katniss, she probably didn't think far enough ahead to even realize what she'd done. Can I stop it? Maybe... if he could catch Peeta quickly enough to plan a little damage control in front of the cameras. Would be tricky to try to work it out though with the Capitol watching. Eyes everywhere. And ears. And the boy was nothing like him. You had to be blunt with him. They couldn't afford blunt.

And this had to be teamwork. It had to be perfect.

He sighed. Was it even worth getting involved again? He could just go home and drink their memories away. Drink himself blind so he'd never have to see what was done to them. His job was done. He didn't owe them anything.

Stop lying to yourself, old man. You're in too deep now to abandon them. Your own fault for letting them in. Now it's your job to make it all better. You're going to talk to the boy and remind him very carefully how much he loves her. How much she must have loved him to do something crazy like question the authority of the Gamemakers. Point out that he's lucky to have a girl who'd thoughtlessly risk their lives for love. Even he would have to catch on to that. And Katniss. As long as he could get her to smile, dote, and keep her pretty little trap shut while she left the charming to Peeta, there might be a sliver of a chance...

He finally made it to the room, yanking open the door and stomping in and slamming it behind him. He earned himself a vicious glare from Effie for his inelegant entrance. To hell with her, he thought, a touch of amusement breaking into his dark thoughts. I should plant a big one right on her lips just to freak her out. Mess up the wig and probably smear the paint job. That would piss her off.

"Would it have killed you to clean up?" she asked stiffly, eyeing him critically. Probably mentally comparing his hastily thrown on clothes, unshaven face, and bloodshot eyes to the immaculate appearance of Cinna who had already joined them. He almost wished he'd drank a little more just so he could sidle up to her and watch her try not to smell the alcohol on him.

Haymitch's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Probably. Do you really think she's going to care what we look like, Effie? Other than the doctors, we're the first people she'll have seen in days who aren't trying to kill her. She's going to come in, ask for Peeta and then start yelling at me for not giving her the damned water at the start of the games. I doubt the condition of my wardrobe is going to be very high on her priority list." And just for good measure, he added with a smirk, "God, I could use a drink. I need a whole bottle to deal with that girl."

She stiffened the way she did every time she was offended and turned away from him in disgust. He grinned, latching on to this little moment of normalcy before hell broke loose.

As if on cue, his thoughts were interrupted by the soft shushing of the door before them opening. He sighed, bracing himself. Here we go. We'll see if the little firebird still has her fight. What would it be? Berating? A quick punch for being an obstinate ass who'd ignored her when she'd asked for things in there? Or maybe she'd manage to control herself enough to just thank everyone for their help. Possibly even him. He snorted. No. Not unless they gave her a personality transplant while they were healing her up...

He tensed, prepared for just about anything.

He wasn't, however, ready for her to launch herself toward them. She almost took him down. He was so startled that all he could do was marvel briefly at how strong she was even after what she'd been through. It took him a moment to process that she was actually hugging him. A moment longer to realize that he'd instinctively hugged her back. And still another to finally realize that she'd thrown herself into his arms only. Voluntarily. Not Cinna's or Effie's. His. And not one of those stiff, formal "thanks for not getting me killed" hugs that he'd occasionally seen some of the other tributes give their mentors. This was a genuine hug of gratitude.

And here I thought you hated me... Full of surprises, aren't you, Sweetheart?

Something moved within him. Past his need for a drink. His fear of what would happen if he tried to get them out of this mess. His desperation to hide from the aftermath. From the hell inside his head.

He had a purpose.

He needed to protect her. Both of them. Because they trusted him, even though they'd had no reason to put their faith into someone like him. He inexplicably meant something to them. To people who didn't simply want to use him, but who genuinely needed him and his help.

"Good job, Sweetheart," he finally managed to whisper in her ear. We're going to get you out of this mess. To hell with your stupid move. We'll just have to work with what we've got, won't we? Beat them at their own game.His lips curved into a small smile.

And may the odds be ever in our favor...

Disclaimer (since for some reason I was unable to put it above the title like I always do): I don't own anything Hunger Games. Big surprise...

Author's Note: So, those of you who are waiting for an update of my other stuff. It's coming. I just had a brief obsession with the Hunger Games Trilogy and needed to finish it. And because I am what I am, Haymitch, a character who I'm sure for many people is about as unlikeable as it gets, wound up being my favorite character, followed closely by Cinna. I figured we could use a little more Haymitch on the site, since I'm exhausting all the non-HaymitchXMaysilee ones (No offense to those. I'm sure they're great. I'm just not into it at the moment.), so here you go.

So, a big thanks to lolo popoki for her beta work. And thanks to you for reading. Please review! Thanks and have a nice day:)