Dearest reader,
I believe I speak for all of us when I say that the Hunger Games is an amazing series. But me, myself, and I want to know what happened in the 76th and last ever Hunger Games. In order for You to find out as well, I decided to bring my ideas forth. I sincerely hope You enjoy reading what I offer You. My sad mission, however, is to inform that the concepts related to the original Hunger Games -series are possessed by Suzanne Collins, may God bless her sweet soul. In any case, my story starts here.

It is a Monday afternoon when they call from the Capitol. It is not Dr. Aurelius, but Plutarch, the new secretary of communications. He is in charge of televised events of Panem, and I wonder what he could possibly call me for. My question is not left unanswered for long. During the first month of my lonely new life in District 12, I have already forgotten about the horrible decision we had to make after the war. It is time to arrange the last ever Hunger Games.

"We will send a hovercraft to pick you and Peeta up from 12," says Plutarch after a brief introduction of topic. "Do you reckon Haymitch would want to get a first-hand look at the Games as well?"

I wonder about that for a moment. He has been quite engaged in drinking as usual, but he did vote for arranging the Games, so I say yes.

"That's great," says Plutarch. "The hovercraft will be there tomorrow at 8 am. Try to keep Haymitch somewhat in his senses so that he could possibly say something at the Reaping. And you and Peeta should be ready to speak as well."

The phone call ends and I sink into the chair closest to me. I am not prepared to speak at the Reaping. What could I say to the people whose children would be killed because I said so? Yes, it would be for Prim, but still, the thought was terrible. Before I sink into my sorrow over everything that has happened to me, I jump up on my feet and get out of the house. Buttercup, my sister's old stupid cat sneaks out as well. I decide to go tell Peeta about the Games so he would know to prepare himself. Maybe he would help me talk to Haymitch about it as well.

I find Peeta in his kitchen, baking as usual.

"Katniss," he greets me with a smile, and takes a few steps towards me. I was happy to see how much he had recovered from the horrors he had gone through in the Capitol. However, I sometimes noticed the remains of the Tracker Jacker venom doing tricks to his mind. It happened mostly when we were alone together. He still had to battle the hijacking.

"Hi, Peeta," I answer him, hesitantly. Once I see he is fine, I cross the room to him.

"How are things?" he asks.

"Oh, the usual," I tell him, unsure of how to bring up the subject. I know Peeta had not been exactly keen on having them arrange the last Hunger Games.

"Katniss, I know you well enough to see when there is something you need to talk about," says Peeta. Sometimes his ability to read me irritates me. In fact, it does most of the time. But now, it is a gift.

"Yes, I admit, there is something i need to tell you," I say. "I just got off the phone with Plutarch. He wants us in the Capitol tomorrow, and asked to bring Haymitch, too."

Peeta's face falls. I know now that he knows why Plutarch asked us to return to the Capitol.

"May I be honest with you?" he asks slowly, looking at me like he is afraid I would spontaneously combust at any sudden movement.

"Yes."

"I understand that you voted 'yes' for Prim when the meeting was held to determine the last Games, but I fail to understand what it will accomplish. After all, the reasons why we rebelled were the Games and the fact that the Capitol blatantly oppressed us. I cannot see how we are any different than they were," Peeta says, keeping his tone considerate.

"You know, you are allowed to raise your voice if you're angry at something," I say, annoyed by the fact that he treats me like a child.

"Fine," he snaps and goes back to kneading dough.

"Look, a hovercraft will come to pick us up tomorrow, and we need to make sure Haymitch is presentable," I say, but Peeta does not answer.

"Fine," I mutter under my breath and storm out of his house.

I decide to go to see Haymitch on my own. As I approach his house, I hear the noise coming from his back yard. I take off running and as I reach his house I see that the turkeys he occasionally raises have gone wild. Apparently they have escaped their cage. Chasing after them is a very drunk Haymitch.

"Hullo there, sweetheart!" he slurrs and trips on his own feet, landing face first on the still snowy ground.

"Could you use some help?" I ask, trying not to roll my eyes at the drunk man. After all, he is only trying to escape, just like me and Peeta.

"No no, I've got things under control," Haymitch says as he stumbles back on his feet.

I don't take no for an answer and one by one I chase the turkeys back into their cage. Haymitch is not helpful in the least.

"See?" he says after I close the cage door. "I had things under control all along."

"Of course you did," I say and tow him inside.

One would think I would have already gotten used to the putrid stench of Haymitch's household, but as I open his back door, I have to fight the reflex to gag.

"Don't you ever clean your house?" I complain as I sit Haymitch down on his sofa.

"What's wrong with my house?" he asks defensively, his eyes drooping.

I tell him to lie down and hand him a cup of coffee.

"You'd better sober up soon. We're going to the Capitol tomorrow," I say. "The last Reaping takes place tomorrow."

"Why do they need me there, eh, Mockingjay?" Haymitch asks while sipping coffee.

"Because you voted for arranging the last Hunger Games, remember?" I answer, starting to get frustrated. Peeta was so much better at handling him than I was.

"Oh whatever," says Haymitch and leans back on the sofa, spilling coffee on himself as his chin droops against his chest and he begins to snore.

I make my way across the filthy living room into a surprisingly tidy bedroom. Apparently Haymitch's sleeping habits do not involve a proper bed. As an afterthought I wonder whether he could sleep at all without alcohol. I open a large wooden cabinet and pull out a suitcase and start to fill it with clothes. I have a feeling that Peeta and I might have a wardrobe waiting for us in the Capitol, but things might be different for Haymitch, so I make sure he has got everything he needs for the trip to watch the last Hunger Games.

Halfway through the packing, I hear someone walk behind me. I turn around sharply and see Peeta, who is carrying a basket full of freshly baked cheese buns. My favourite.

"Truce?" he calls from the doorway, lifting the basket up in his hands.

I drop the tie I am holding in my hand and walk to him. The smell of the bread is divine, and I have to resist the urge to grab one instantly.

"Truce," I agree. "I'm sorry for telling you off."

Peeta shrugs. "Don't worry about it. I'm sorry for not understanding you. It's not really my place to judge your decisions. Not after what you have been through."

He sets the basket on a side table to hold his arms out for me to walk into. I take the hint and lean my cheek against his chest as he embraces me. He smells like bread.

"Don't be sorry for me," I say. "I can handle it. You have been through tough things lately as well. We're in the same position."

"Let's call it a tie then," Peeta says. I can tell from his tone that he is smiling.

I feel more relaxed than in ages as I stand there with Peeta's comforting arms around me. There was a time when a part of me would have wanted another pair of arms there, but that part is long gone. Gale is in District 2 now, and he has a life of his own. I am still conflicted, though, about what I want. So even though Peeta got better and in fact, told me his feelings for me had started to resurface, I had turned him down. I had to be sure. However, I want to keep the feeling of completion now that I finally feel it again, so I wrap my own arms around Peeta as well, closing my eyes as I do.

"Do you need help with packing Haymitch's things?" he asks after a moment.

"No, I think he's set for tomorrow. We just need to keep an eye on him, or at least make sure he's decent for tomorrow," I say and pull back from the embrace. "By the way, Plutarch wants us to speak at the Reaping."

Peeta closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He takes a deep breath, muttering something quietly under his breath. I take a few steps away. This is the way Peeta fights off the flashbacks from being hijacked. I know I'm not in immediate danger, but we agreed upon the precaution of me backing away when this would happen.

"My favourite colour is a certain orange. Real or not real?" Peeta asks after a while. This is his way of making sure the hijack seizure is over.

"Real. It's the orange of the sunset," I tell him and he takes a shaky breath.

"Why me?" he whispers. "What can I say to them?"

I can see he is talking about the people at the Reaping. I remember Effie and how irritating her speaches at the Reapings were. I did not want to give a speech like that.

"Maybe we should think about that while looking after Haymitch," I suggest. "I don't know what to say to them either."

That lightens him up a little. I am glad to see him happy. We had been in too many sad events together. We sit down on Haymitch's untouched bed. We don't dare to go sit in the living room. The stench is unbearable. As the evening grows darker, Peeta and I think about what we will say at the Reaping, and how we will present ourselves. This will be the last time anyone has to put up an image for the Games. No more silly costumes or remakes. No more fishing for sponsors. It will all end after this.

"Do you remember the first Games we were in?" Peeta asks suddenly, changing the topic.

How could I forget? I took my sister's place as tribute and that had started a resistance movement in all districts of Panem.

"Of course I do. We were unforgettable in those fire costumes," I say, smiling a little. It seems terrible that we are able to pull jokes about such a horrible thing as the Hunger Games, but sometimes it helps to make fun of sad events. It is only a way to see the world as a happier place.

"Cinna did such a good job on our wardrobes," Peeta agrees. "Still, that Mockingjay wedding dress is my favourite."

Yes, the wedding dress. In order to stay alive, Peeta and I almost had to get married. When we were called in for the Quarter Quell, the wedding got postponed and Cinna made some alterations to my dress, setting it on fire and revealing a black Mockingjay dress underneath. It was a remarkable piece of clothing. However, I wonder why Peeta chose that to be his favourite.

"Why do you like that one so much?" I ask.

"It's so you," he answers and smiles. "It says: 'No one can tell me what to do. I'll burn anything that comes in my way.'"

I can't help but laugh at his statement. In times like these, it's difficult to find anything to laugh about. Dr. Aurelius would be proud of me if he saw me now.

We change the subject back to tomorrow's Reaping, but the sun has gone down and it is getting late, so we decide to hit the hay. After learning what we must perform tomorrow, neither of us wants to sleep alone, so we stay in Haymitch's room. Peeta does not trust himself enough to sleep next to me, so he makes a bed on the floor from sofa cushions and blankets. In the end, it looks pretty comfortable. In my mind, however, I wish he could sleep with me, like he did before the Quarter Quell.

"Goodnight, Katniss," Peeta says as he lies down on his makeshift bed.

"Goodnight, Peeta," I answer and try to make myself comfortable.

My dream is full of crying children with multicoloured hair.

"Peeta, Katniss, and Haymitch! Come outside!" a mechanical voice wakes me up in the morning. I know instantly what is going on; they have come to take us to the Capitol.

I climb out of bed and step over to Peeta, who is still fast asleep. I feel terrible having to wake him up. I know he has as much trouble sleeping as I have.

"Peeta," I whisper and touch his shoulder lightly. He bolts to sit upright, looking frightened.

"I'm sorry I scared you, Peeta. But the hovercraft is here," I tell him.

"It's fine, I just had a wild dream that's all," he says and stumbles up.

Peeta grabs Haymitch's suitcase and we go to the living room. Haymitch is sitting on the sofa, holding his head in both hands.

"Somebody please bring me some liquor," he wails. "I can never go into that hovercraft before I get some beverages in me."

"No can do, Haymitch," Peeta says, authority in his voice. "You have to be sober in the Capitol."

"Come on," I say and take Haymitch's arm. I pull him up and tow him outside, where a hovercraft is waiting with its ladder hanging down for us. We climb on it and hold on tight as they pull us up into the hovercraft.

Plutarch himself greets us when we are safely inside.

"Welcome, friends," he says wholeheartedly and shakes our hands.

After shaking his hand, Haymitch loses his balance and topples down on the floor.

"I need liquor," he croaks and leans his forehead on the floor.

A smile flutters across Plutarch's face and he offers his hand to help Haymitch clamber back on his feet.

"Let's see what I can do," says Plutarch, and he leads us to a room with monitors, a large round table, and a side table full of food and beverages.

I see Haymitch's face brighten up when he lays his eyes on the brandy.

"Go ahead, Haymitch, but control yourself, please," Plutarch says and Haymitch takes off almost running.

Plutarch, Peeta, and I take our seats around the table. I sit next to Peeta in hope that he would give me some strength to go through this conversation. I have a feeling that Plutarch will want to know what we are going to say at the Reaping.

"So, how are things in 12?" he asks after a short silence.

I cannot make myself tell him about my long hours of solitude in my house in Victors' Village. Luckily Peeta saves me from talking.

"It's been good. We've been trying to start a new life in District 12. Katniss is doing well with her therapy." He smiles impishly at me when mentioning the latter.

"Why, that's great!" Plutarch exclaims. "That means you are ready to take on this task."

I am confused. Plutarch saying 'task' does not sound like only the speech at the Reaping.

"You see, there is something else I have planned with the other Gamemakers," he starts, leaning in across the table. "We have restored order in the Capitol. The houses have been rebuilt and the wounded Capitol citizens have been treated. We have decided that the tributes of the last Hunger Games will be Capitol children. Because of this fact, however, we have decided that Caesar Flickerman will not host the show this time. This is why we need you."

I am astounded. Does he really suggest that Peeta and I be the hosts of the last Hunger Games?

"No," says Peeta. "How can you even ask anything like that?" His voice is stern and his eyes full of ice.

"Peeta, I understand that you would be against the idea. But you must understand that you are a big part of this. You were one of the faces of the rebellion, along with the Mockingjay," Plutarch says.

"But I did not even want these Games to be arranged!" Peeta argues. I wish he would look at me. I long to comfort him.

"We need you, Peeta. We need you to make a last entrance, a last performance to show the Capitol that Snow did not destroy you," Plutarch argues back, taking the familiar tone of an army general.

"They can see me on television. But I will not appear as host," Peeta pounds his fist on the surface of the table. I remember when I did the same in the train on the way to my first Games. I had held a knife in my fist back then.

"Fine then. Katniss, will you appear alone?" asks Plutarch.

This time Peeta turns to look at me. His eyes are pleading, blue as the sky. I feel uneasy. I am not ready to face the croud alone.

"I can't do it without you, Peeta," I say. "If you won't come, I won't do it either."

I risk a peek towards Plutarch who has his eyes fixed on Peeta. When I turn my gaze back to Peeta, he is resting his face on his palms.

"Fine," he huffs after a moment of silence. I feel elated but try not to show it, since I know Peeta is not doing this because he wants to. He is doing this because I asked him to.

"Good, now that we've settled that," Plutarch smiles, "would you care to tell me what you have planned to say at the Reaping?"

This is a subject I do not wish to discuss, but since Peeta is even less in the mood for telling him, I am forced to open my mouth.

"We have some guidelines planned," I tell him, "but we decided to go with the feeling."

It was true. After hours of thinking Peeta and I had concluded that we could not determine what to say. I had a feeling that our plan would change anyway. This would be such a baffling experience, as we had to talk to the Capitol citizens in the manner they had talked to us for years. We just could not know what to say beforehand.

Plutarch nods. "I see. It might be a good idea. I've seen how you operate, Mockingjay. You give the audience a piece of your heart every time. I'm sure you'll do fine."

He does not say anything to Peeta. This enangers me, since he is the more charismatic one of us two.

"Peeta has a way with words. Not me," I say, trying to make Peeta feel better about the situation.

"Yes, I could see that from your performance in the Games. He certainly knows how to entertain the Capitol citizens. But can he satisfy the bloodlust of the people of the districts?" asks Plutarch.

I have had enough of this conversation. Luckily before I can do anything rash, Haymitch slumps on the chair next to Plutarch.

"This," he raises his glass, which is almost full of caramel-coloured liquid, "is some good stuff! You don't get this in District 12."

"Haymitch, just keep yourself in check, please. This is important," Plutarch says, shaking his head slightly. Haymitch, however, is past caring.

"We'll be landing in five minutes, Plutarch," a voice speaks through the loudspeaker on the wall next to the monitors.

Plutarch raises his wrist to his mouth and spoke into his watch: "Thank you, Titus."

The rest of the flight is silent, apart from Haymitch, who had gotten the hiccups. When we finally land, the door is opened and a cool breeze brings in a smell that brings only sad memories to my mind. We are escorted inside the building that used to be Snow's mansion by a group of heavily armed men. I do not like this at all. I feel all the bad memories flooding back in. People dying, guns firing, buildings burning, my sister burning.

Peeta takes my hand in his. This had been a silent plea used by both of us throughout our experiences in the Games. Once life got too hard to handle alone, the feeling of the other's hand brought comfort. I know he is not happy with me for making him succumb to Plutarch's wishes, but at least he still seeks comfort in me.

They take us through the mansion, the guards still staying with us. After a while of walking, they stop in front of a metal door that looks like one that would lead into a basement. Or a bomb shelter. The latter is correct. After unlocking the door using a number code, Plutarch and Titus, the pilot, lead us down, down, down, into a tiny room with yet another metal door. When that door is opened, I see a bomb shelter, just like the one in District 13, but bigger, and more modern. By the looks of it, this room will be our humble abode while in the Capitol, as well as our remake room. There is a hairdresser's corner on the left, a makeup studio on the right, and at the back, racks after racks of clothes, some of which I recognize as Cinna's creations. In the middle of the room, in a well-organized line, stand Venia, Flavius, Octavia, and Portia, smiling and waving at us like nothing had ever happened.

I yearn to know what You think! So click a button to voice your opinion. I always enjoy tasteful constructive criticism.

Athena's Cabin wishes You a wonderful day!

May the odds be EVER in Your favour!

AC