CHAPTER 1: Mentor, Again

Darkness and cold were Haymitch's only companions in the wee hours of the morning. Sleep had evaded him, as it often had since he quit drinking. Nightmares, like those he knew Katniss and Peeta had the bravery to face free of any medicine save each other's arms, had returned to him.

Strange, he had been blocking out the faces of his family and friends lost to him after his Victory in the Hunger Games that he had finally truly forgotten them. It seemed to him that they were someone else's family, whom he had met in passing, not his own flesh and blood.

No, his new family's faces wouldn't be drowned out, no matter how many bottles of liquor he forced them to the bottom of. They were too damned stubborn. Katniss and Peeta, for whom he had been responsible for years now, their faces, would not leave him alone.

In his nightmares, they were back in the Games, back in the Arena, and like all of the Tributes from 12 before them, he was helpless to stop their slaughter. Of course, he knew that this wasn't the case, that they were his neighbors, alive, and as well as their experiences would allow.

It didn't matter. This knowledge brought him no comfort. He had 23 years of Hunger Games to play out in his dreams, watching Katniss and Peeta die in the ways that he had been unable to save 46 before them from doing.

So this morning, darkness was a preferable companion to such images.

He pulled his threadbare blanket up tighter to his shoulders and let out a breath. It hung in the air, a frozen exhale of his life, gone forever. He wondered, with a smile, how many puffs he had left in him.

Why was it so damned cold anyway?

He was in an armchair near his wood burning stove, no reason for the place to be so damned frigid unless... He set his bare feet on the icy floor, and winced. All his joints protested, creaking and complaining for him to settle back into the soft chair as he got to his feet.

Upon opening the door on his stove, he could see that his fire, which had roared the night before was a dying mess of glowing embers. "Hmph," he laughed to no one. Just like him. Slowly dying embers.

He shuffled his way into the kitchen, holding his blanket around him like a shawl. He didn't need the light to navigate his kitchen, he had done it so many times stumbling drunk that darkness provided no challenge at all.

He felt around in his cupboards for the tin of coffee and banged through his sink for the kettle, which, after a shake, revealed itself to be empty. He filled it.

He returned to his wood burning stove, wanting to prepare his coffee before the embers died out for good. He found himself reminiscing with a chuckle the day of the Victory Tour, when Katniss and Peeta had come to him, dragging him awake from his drunken slumber, and then feeding and caffeinating him.

The nostalgia made him ache as he settled into his familiar spot at his kitchen table. Today was the start of the Voting Education Tour and despite himself, he had hoped that they would come say goodbye. He wasn't too sure that he would be around when they got back.

This was better though, he told himself. A goodbye would feel too final anyway. They had never been good at them. Even before the Games, the first, and the second into which he had sent Peeta and Katniss, they had parted with a joke, a thank you. Never a goodbye.

Plus, if they could just make it to the train station and out of District 12, he would know that they no longer needed him, they no longer needed to worry whether he was awake, or drunk or anything of that nature, because this journey they would take alone. They no longer needed a mentor to keep them alive - they had each other for that now, and he had only the darkness.

A honking from outside reminded him that he also had his geese. His geese and the darkness, and, whether the last time he saw them would be in his nightmares or in person, he had family - the one thing he never imagined he would have when he finally died.

Before his thoughts could turn any darker, he heard something else. It was strange but familiar sound, unmistakably Peeta's thumping gait coming up his steps. The boy seemed to understand that this mind was made up. Maybe respected it. Could be he's coming to say goodbye- but then, why is the thumping so quick?

If he was undecided about Peeta's insistence, the loud, sharp raps to the door, an uncharacteristic growl made it clear. The boy's upset about something. Haymitch thought absently. More pounding, and Haymitch made no move to open the door. He made no move at all. The door handle jiggled, and Haymitch mentally praised himself for his paranoia. Finally paying off after all of these years.

"Haymitch!" Peeta's sounded ragged, "Haymitch, come on!"

Come on. Huh. Haymitch is not going anywhere.

"Haymitch, answer your damn door! Haymitch!" And Peeta is nothing if not the marvelously frustrating combination of stubborn and strong.

Haymitch's door really never had a chance.

Peeta was panting as he finally stepped through the remnants of the door, his face gaunt and his eyes wide. This, finally, inspired Haymitch to stand. He had only seen this look on Peeta's face a small handful of times. It never means anything good and it always means that their girl is in some kind of trouble.

They said her name simultaneously, Haymitch as a question, Peeta as an explanation.

Haymitch expected all manner of disaster when he opened their front door, thinking only briefly of glaring at Peeta to show him that Victors can use doors, too, you know. But he was thrown by the relative quiet of the entryway. Nothing seemed amiss. There was a humming from the kitchen and the sounds of breakfast being made.

But Peeta's face still had a look of horror on it and he seemed unable to cross the threshold.

"Come on, then, bub. What's happened?" Haymitch growled and ventured into the kitchen, leaving Peeta to play frozen deer on the porch.

Haymitch, expecting to see Katniss huddled under the table, rocking back and forth in the fetal position, wide-eyed and humming to herself, was surprised to see that she was standing at the stove, pushing some of the goose eggs he'd given them around a pan with a wooden spoon, humming cheerfully. Every hair braided back, not a single one out of place. She looked... fine.

"What's wrong with your beloved husband, then, sweetheart?" Haymitch questioned, expecting a sharp reply. Instead, Katniss just continued humming and sprinkled some pepper over the eggs. The humming was beginning to feel unnerving and he realized that she was transfixed on one line from one old song, are you, are you, coming to the tree.

"Sweetheart," he tried again. Nothing. Just that one line, again and again. The eggs, he noticed, were beginning to burn. This, strangely, she seemed to notice somehow and turned the stove down. As she turned just slightly to do this, Haymitch saw clearly what had startled the unflappable Peeta out of his skin.

Somewhere behind him, Peeta had found the courage to lumber inside, and was saying, in his softest, kindest voice. "Katniss, your name is Katniss Everlark, you are 20 years old, and your home is District 12, real or not real?"

Katniss gave no response. She was nearly catatonic in her stillness, her face stone-set with her vacant gaze. Haymitch thought he had seen enough of Katniss's masks, but this was not one of them. This was something entirely different; nothing. Her eyes as empty as clouds, her mouth barely closed to make that awful, haunting humming.

"Katniss, I'm Peeta, I'm your husband," Peeta pleaded. "Real or not real?" The young man suddenly sounded boyish, and terrified. "Katniss, real or not real?"

Haymitch chanced a glance back at Peeta' and saw the growing panic in his face. If he didn't do something, he was going to have catatonic Katniss and hijacked Peeta to deal with. Neither one of them was going to make their damn train to go off on their latest mission to make the world a better place, and then they'd be around to fuss over him every minute until he finally puffed his last exhale into the cold morning air.

"Peeta," he tried to keep his voice calm, but his hands shook this morning, as they did every morning for quite some time. He jammed them into the pockets of his trousers to hide them from Peeta, who was looking at him in the way that he first had, on the train on the way to the Capitol, as if somehow, he, Haymitch Abernathy, had all the answers.

He looked at Peeta, chewing on his words, trying to make them come out perfect. These two, it seemed, were not ready to face the world without a mentor. With a surprise, he realized that these two didn't just need him arbitrarily, but rather, believed in him. Believed that he, like them, was not too damaged to be capable of doing some good with the time he had left.

This was why they wanted him on this damn tour with them.

He found, when he searched his heart, and found one thing to be just as true now as it was when they were a couple of trembling children: He could not let them down. His words came, clear and commanding. "Peeta, get your things."

"But-," Peeta was almost as still as Katniss now.

"Your train leaves in 45 minutes, and it's gonna be a long walk to the square, bub." Then, he repeated, "Get your things."

Without another word, Peeta rushed upstairs, and returned in a moment with two suitcases.

Haymitch nodded to them, "That everything?"

"Yes," Peeta replied, a question in his eyes.

"Get the door," instructed Haymitch, and with that, he pulled his hands from his pocket, surprised to find them steady, and strong. In one sweeping motion, he snatched the still-humming Katniss up around the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder. If his joints and muscles hadn't enjoyed standing that morning, they were really gonna love this. She was heavier than the last time he'd had to manhandle her.

Peeta stared in shock as Haymitch carried Katniss through the door and out into the morning, which was still as black as coal. In the distance, he could see steam rising from the train yard. They must be warming the engine up.

"Well, come on," He grunted to Peeta. Peeta obediently shut the door and fell in step behind him.

Katniss remained still until they got to the edge of the Victors' Village, then she began to wail. She screamed and shouted threats and obscenities that were sure to wake every living soul in District 12.

Sure enough, as they made their way, heads popped out from doorways, eyeballs could be seen peeking through curtains. Peeta kept his head down, trembling, and tired, but trusting Haymitch was doing the right thing, and as for Haymitch, well, he sure as hell hoped he was.

This was his best guess, the best answer he had to offer. Katniss froze up at the idea of returning to the world, of once again being in the spotlight and at the mercy of the Capitol or District 13 or whoever the hell was in charge of Panem these days. He hoped that if they could just get her on the damn train that they could deal with this then.

He shrugged Katniss up a bit higher, and put on his best scowl. He began to greet the people standing on their steps in nightclothes, barking, "Nice morning, ain't it?" or "She woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," trying to convince them that Katniss was fine. This was a bad way to start a public tour. He didn't need Effie there to tell him that.

After what seemed like hours, they reached the train station. Haymitch was exhausted, and when attendants finally came to help him with his 'baggage,' he nearly collapsed. He was in a fit, shaking and coughing and sat down, hard, on a bench while the attendants dragged Katniss onto the train. Peeta ran after them. Haymitch could hear commotion coming from the train, but tried to focus, to still his tremors, stifle his cough.

He pressed his hands together and took slow, shallow breaths, holding them for as long as possible before exhaling slowly.

"That girl just took months away from what I have left," he snapped at Peeta when he re-emerged from the train car about 15 minutes later.

Peeta looked wounded.

"Oh, she's worth it." Haymitch spat reluctantly, "Every goddamn minute."

"If she's so worth it," Peeta's voice was fragile, "Give her what you've got left. She needs you. I need you."

"No you don't," Haymitch deflated, determined to stay put on this bench until the train rolled out of the station.

"Panem needs you," Peeta tried.

At this, Haymitch laughed, "Panem can do whatever it wants, bub."

It was a conversational stalemate. Peeta fell silent, Haymitch stayed silent. The minutes stretched between them, and an attendant from the train informed Peeta that it was time to go.

"Haymitch," Peeta's voice broke. "I'm all out of words to make you come with us."

"Then stop talking." Haymitch heard himself say. In his mind, he was wondering if he could actually go through with sending them out into the world on their own. Haymitch was shaken from his thoughts by Peeta seating himself on the bench next to him.

Haymitch ignored him.

The train began to whistle and hiss.

Haymitch cast a sidelong glance at Peeta, who was pointedly not looking at the train as it began to creak forward.

Haymitch set his jaw. He would not play these childish games. He was too old to get sucked up in another adventure to save Panem.

The train began to pick up momentum, and the caboose was reaching the end of the platform. Finally, Haymitch broke the silence, "Peeta-"

"I'm not going without you."

"But Katniss-" Haymitch began

"She needs both of us," he said with infuriating calm.

Peeta was wrong. He had the right words waiting. Just like his goddamned interviews in the Capitol, saving the best, most persuasive words 'til the last second, and yet, somehow, finding them just in time.

Haymitch got to his feet. He knew it would take him longer to catch the train than it would Peeta. He broke into a run down to platform, towards the quickly retreating train. He began muttering obscenities, suddenly feeling like Katniss, being dragged from her home against her will. They had always been alike, he supposed, as Peeta passed him by, easily closing the distance between himself and the caboose.

Peeta caught the rail on the caboose and pulled himself onto the train with relative, ease, then turned to Haymitch, as if waiting to see if he might stop running. He could, now that Peeta was on the train. He could just stop running, but, he realized, not if he had to see the look on Peeta's face when he did.

He couldn't let them down. That's why he really had been relieved when he thought they might leave without saying goodbye. He wondered if it had ever been an option for him not to come along after all.

Like it or not, he thought, wheezing and finally reaching the back of the train where Peeta had a hand outstretched for him, he, Haymitch Abernathy, would be on the Voting Education Tour... even if it killed him.