President Snow removes an envelope clearly marked with a 75. He runs his finger under the flap and pulls out a small square of paper. Without hesitation, he reads, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

A nervous chuckle escapes my lips and both my mother and Prim look over at me with searching eyes. What must they be thinking? I wonder. Probably waiting for me to fall apart so they can pick up the pieces. My healer mother and her little assistant standing there waiting for their reaped District 12 victor to tumble to her knees in a fit of tears, cupping her chest to keep from breaking apart. I do the opposite. I turn and head for the door.

I ignore the light touch of a hand on my shoulder and start to run. I don't know where I'm running to I just let my legs carry me. They take me down my pathway past several houses in the Victors Village. My breathing starts to get heavy and the cold starts to seep into my bones as my feet move through the snow.

"Where are you going Katniss Everdeen? You can't outrun this. You've already tried," I whisper to myself in laboured breaths. Finally, I slow my pace and stand in front of an abandoned victor home gazing up at the night sky. It's so beautiful out tonight, the sky is clear and there are so many stars it takes what little breath I managed to regain after my mini marathon away. How? How could something like this happen on such a beautiful night?

This is when I crumble to the floor. Under the watchful gaze of the playful stars beaming down on me, I fall to the ground letting the painful realization consume me until I feel like I will never be able to rise again. There are only three victors left in District 12. I am the only female therefore, I am undoubtedly going back into The Hunger Games. This is not a coincidence. This is not a mistake. This probably didn't even come into being until after Peeta and I won the seventy-fourth Hunger Games.

I can picture exactly how President Snow phrased it, "The Girl on Fire needs to be extinguished. She started a spark when she decided to test the Capitol with that handful of tiny blackberries and that spark has since grown into a flame."

Sure the Capitol citizens will be displeased that the Star-Crossed Lovers are heading back into the arena. And of course they will hate to have to watch all the victors they've grown to love fighting for their lives once again. Will they stop it? No...they couldn't possibly. They don't have the attention span to stay angry about anything for more than five minutes. Perhaps that was a little rude to say. They do get quite attached to the victors over the years, styling their hairdo and make-up after us plainly dressed District people. That won't be enough to change anything though. Why would you rebel in the Capitol when you have everything you need?

I don't know how long I've been curled up on the ground shivering with only my tears to keep me company. When I finally come to, my lashes are heavy with slivers of frozen salt water.

"Get up," I urge myself. My legs refuse to cooperate. "You need to get up."

It takes a bit of time, but I eventually push myself to my feet. I use a handful of snow to rub off any residue from my face and then wipe off the water with my sleeve. Then I start to walk. This time I know where I am going, directly to Haymitch's house to work out a plan. I already know what the plan is. It's simple really. This seventy-fifth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen will not come home. I can be almost positive that's what President Snow intends anyway. But Peeta Mellark will make it out. It's only fair.

Like always, I don't bother to knock once I get to Haymitch's home. I just barge in. He is sitting at the table in the kitchen with a bottle of white liquor in his hand. He looks at me like he's been expecting me, lifting the left side of his mouth in a smirk. "So, you've figured it out Sweetheart?"

His statement beats around in my head for a minute. Figured it out? What does he mean I've figured it out? Figured out that I am going back into the arena? That President Snow did this to punish me? That all this time he was manipulating me? That no amount of hand holding, hugging or kissing would have ever stopped him from going after me or my family? Oh yes, I've figured it out. I hear the noise of a chair scraping against the floor which snatches me out of my daze.

"Whad'dya want? You came here for something," Haymitch slurs, "Are you here to beg me? Beg me to go into the arena so the boy doesn't have to?" He places his hand on the back of his chair to steady himself.

"Perhaps you should go back in," the words leave my mouth before I've had time to think about them. "You throw your life away in drink anyways."

He pauses, watching me like Buttercup. I almost expect him to hiss. Then he sighs and slumps back on his chair. "You have a point there," is all that he manages to say.

I walk over to the table now and take the seat to the left of him. I reach my hand out for the bottle.

"What are you doing?" Haymitch growls.

"Having a drink," I respond, almost mechanically. I don't want to feel anything when I have this conversation with him. Liquor seems to numb him, why shouldn't it work for me?

I take a swing of the sloshing white liquid from the tall clear bottle. It burns as it goes down and I resist the urge to gag. Does it get easier the more you drink? I hate the taste of the stuff, bitter and pungent. This is what I imagine poison would be like. The burn is addictive though. I can't describe why I enjoy the fierce fire that makes its way down my throat in a whoosh. I take another swing, draining the bottle. Haymitch huffs at me upset that I finished the rest, but he's already had enough to get him to a state of peaceful oblivion.

When I open my mouth to speak, I feel slightly giddy and light. Already I'm feeling the effects of the alcohol. I raise my index finger and smirk noticing how ragged my nail looks. I must have chewed on it while I curled up in a ball pouring out my sorrows to the stars. "Haymitch," I start, "This time...we save Peeta."

He stares at me as the words hit him. I see his reaction change from one of suspicion to one of understanding. "He came here you know," he answers, staring down at his hands. "He told...he told me that he wants to go back in the arena to protect you. Made me promise."

"Well...that sounds like Peeta."

Haymitch lets out a deep sigh. "Said that I owed it to him since I chose you the last games."

A pang of what...pity...guilt...yearning...hits me suddenly. Instead of wallowing at the idea of having to go back into the deathly battle zone, here was Peeta Mellark forming a plan with our drunken mentor to protect me. "That was stupid of him," is all I can manage to get out.

"You're a real piece of work Sweetheart," he says shaking his head, "How you ended up getting someone like him to pine after you is beyond me."

I brush off Haymitch's statements with a wave of my hand and start to put forth my plan. "You owe him yes, but not what he's asking. You owe him his life. Peeta can do a lot more in this world than I can. I need your help to protect him. It's me the Capitol is angry with. I dragged Peeta into my mess. Please Haymitch, say that you will help me."

My gray Seam eyes plead with his bloodshot ones. I'm afraid to blink in case he mistakes my gesture for resistance. I am positive that this is what I want. The only one worth making it out of the arena from this haphazard trio is Peeta Mellark. After what seems like a decade, Haymitch nods.

"No use hiding it now," he says in a voice that is so sincere and telling that I subconsciously lean towards him.

"Hiding the plan?" I ask him, but he shakes his head. Then what? What does he mean? I'm about to ask him when the door bursts open.

"I couldn't find her, has she come back here Haymitch?" I recognize the voice instantly. It's Peeta.

He spots me sitting at the table and our eyes lock. At first there is worry that clouds his beautiful blue irises and then it changes to disappointment with a hint of anger as he spots the liquor bottle an inch away from me.

"Peeta!" My voice is a little too cheerful, thanks to the liquor, and it only deepens the furrowed line in Peeta's brow. I clear my throat and try again, "What...how you been?" Stupid. I want to hit my head against the table. How do you think he's been?

"Katniss, I'm taking you home," his voice is stern as he walks over to where I'm sitting.

"Okay," by this time I am feeling the full effects of the clear liquid I gulped back a few moments ago. I push my chair back a little too forcefully and nearly fall backwards. Out of the corner of my eye I see Haymitch shake his head, but he stops abruptly. The stare that Peeta is giving him is so intense that he recoils.

"She snatched the bottle from me, I didn't give it to her," he tries to defend himself.

"You shouldn't have let it happen," Peeta scolds.

"He didn't let anything happen Peeta," I say as I get up. I'm about to tell him how taking a merry swing from the glass bottle was my decision, but the disapproving look on his face shuts me up instantly. I glance over at Haymitch begging him to save me but he just stares back. Peeta puts his hand on the crook of my back and leads me towards the door so I won't fall over. "I'll talk to you later," I call back to Haymitch.

The tension between Peeta and I is so thick that I don't even feel the cool air once I step outside.

"Katniss what were you thinking?" His voice is calm and controlled.

"Oh I don't know," I throw my hands up expressively. "I was thinking, here I am a victor, which doesn't seem to count for anything now a day Peeta I don't know if you noticed, and I'm going back to the Capitol except it's not for a leisurely vacation. It's not for our wedding, which I guess is a no-go huh considering one of us will be dead," thoughts keep leaping off of one another and I feel a bit like I did when I was under the influence of tracker jacker venom.

I've quickly forgotten the original question that Peeta asked me as I go on, talking more to myself than him. "And then we have to act like we are all ok with it. At least the food is good. I'm probably gonna' stuff myself until I feel like I'm gonna' explode and hope I die of overeating."

Peeta places his hand on my arm. I stop walking and look at him. Gosh, does he ever look beautiful in the moonlight. I feel the strongest urge to touch him, to place my hand on his face and wipe away the crease that has found a home on his forehead.

"Oh Peeta," I whisper. Oh Peeta what? What do I say to the boy with the bread looking at me so expectantly? There is something I should tell him, but my mind is so full with so many thoughts bouncing around I can't focus. I don't know how to voice what it is that is stirring somewhere inside of me. I'm staring right into his eyes, getting lost in them. They are like clear pools. I would love to just swim within their depths. What is this feeling?

Then there's a light coming from the left side of me illuminating my arm. Slowly I tear my gaze away from Peeta and towards the light. Standing in the doorway to my house is my mother, Prim and Gale. My eyes grow wide taking him in. Gale is walking over to me, his hunting jacket flung open revealing a strong chest cloaked in soft gray fabric. His face says everything before he even opens his mouth.

"I'll check on you tomorrow," Peeta says somewhere in the distance and then directs his next sentence to Gale, "She's been drinking." With that he walks off and I stare as the boy with the bread makes the trek back to his house.

Gale grabs my hand and searches my face then he pulls me into a hug. "I should have listened to you," he whispers in my ear.

Though my mind is cloudy I know immediately what he is referring to, the time when I took him into the woods and told him my plan to run away. To get as far away from District 12 as we could and find comfort and sustenance within the woods. Was that ever a reality? No, it could never have worked. There were too many people who I wanted to take with us that could never really understand the freedom behind the woods.

"It's no use Gale," I whisper back. "It wouldn't have worked. I need to stay here."

Then I find myself wrapping my arms around Gale and pulling him closer to me. I want to bury myself in the crook of his body, taking in his smell; the smell of long evenings in the woods and coal. Feeling the warmth radiating from Gale's body brings back fresh tears to my eyes. These hugs are numbered. Once I go back to the games, moments like this will never exist again.

I pull away without another word and unsteadily head towards my home. Gale doesn't make an attempt to stop me; he knows that I will find him when I'm ready to talk about it further. The differences we may have had before the Quarter Quell announcement no longer matter within the least. My mother and Prim make an opening for me to pass through and I trudge my way up the stairs to my bedroom using both my legs and arms to propel me. I flop onto the cushioned bed still in the clothes that I ran around the Victors Village in. I can't be bothered to change. What does it matter?

I don't sleep. My mind is buzzing and my body can't seem to stay still. I start rolling around on the sheets, back and forth, wrapping myself in the blankets like a caterpillar in a cocoon. I struggle against the fabric, wiggling like a bug trapped in the web of a prowling spider. And then I emerge, Katniss Everdeen, the seventy-fourth victor of The Hunger Games. The Girl on Fire ready to take on the world.

I jump around on the bed examining my surroundings, committing everything to memory. You would never know that this is my bedroom. Nothing in this room reflects me. The walls are a powdery blue. The fireplace tile is a little too ornate for me. The bed is large enough to fit myself, Prim and my mother comfortably. There is no coal hiding in the cracks.

I step down from the bed and peer through the window. It's positioned at the front of the house so I can see the entire Victor's Village and a little ways down to the square. The square that's changed so much since Romulus Thread and his group of Peacekeeper lackeys took over.

I flop back on the soft cushioned surface, lying down on my back with half my body hanging off the end of my bed. Haymitch's words float back to me "You can stop hiding now."

Stop hiding what? I don't think he was referring to all the illegal poaching I've done in the woods. No need for me to end up with red angry scars on my back like Gale. I know it has to do with something deeper than that. I'm known for being a very stoic person; hiding my emotions and dealing with them in private if I ever choose to deal with them. He must be talking about the way I feel about something.

"Stop hiding," I whisper to myself, letting my feet play in the silky sheets. "Stop hiding your feelings Katniss." Stop pretending to be head-over-heels in love with Peeta Mellark because that didn't save you like you wanted it to. Stop keeping everything bottled up inside because you're afraid of telling the people you love just how much you care for them in case they are snatched from your grip. Stop acting like Gale is your cousin because he's not. Gale...my breath catches. What was it that I decided that night he lay on the kitchen table in a morphling induced state after his whipping? I said that, 'He is mine. And I am his.'

During the next couple months I have to live, I owe it to him to see if there is anything there. Whatever that may be.

Author Note
**Hello everyone! This is my first fanfic...ever, so I'm very excited and nervous about it. I'm really intrigued by The Hunger Games series which is why I chose to try my hand at writing my own interpretation of it. I welcome all comments and criticisms. I hope to make this story a lengthy one as long as people are showing interest in it :)**