I forgot to add this when I first uploaded: for this first scene, I think it's important to know that my theory is that Haymitch is much more calculating and intelligent than Katniss realizes, and since the books are all from her perspective, we miss a lot of what is really going on. Haymitch might even know from the beginning that the Gamemakers won't pass up a romantic plot and can be manipulated into allowing two victors. He can read Peeta like a book, and uses this to keep both of them alive. Peeta's POV throughout, since he is perceptive.

"Well, there's been a change of plans. About our current approach," says Haymitch.

"What's that?" I ask. I'm not sure what our current approach is. Trying to appear mediocre in front of the other tributes is the last bit of strategy I remember.

Haymitch shrugs. "Peeta has asked to be coached separately."

I look out at the city below me, the Capitol lit up and alive with excitement over the impending Games. How different a place this is from District 12, where we may only have a few hours of electricity each day. My father's ovens can be powered with a variety of fuels for this reason. The thought of my father, of my family, is too much at this moment, so I think about what happened today instead.

The day's events have been overwhelming, too; the growing anxiety as we get closer to our time in the arena, our displays of skill, the Gamemakers giving us our scores. My respectable 8... Katniss's 11. I think of myself as a Gamemaker momentarily, what it would have been like to be indifferent to her, almost feel disdain for her, 'The Girl on Fire,' an idea completely designed and orchestrated by her stylists, and then be surprised into paying attention to her skill with the bow and arrows. I imagine I would be the man falling into a bowl of punch, completely shocked and feeling embarrassed. I decide almost immediately that I need to talk to Haymitch.

I open the door to my room as quietly as possible, walk past Katniss's closed door, and back into the living room of our impressive apartment. I find Haymitch still sitting in a chair in the living room, many half-empty bottles on the table in front of him, a full glass in his hand. His eyes are closed, and since I don't want to set him off, I sit down and wait a few moments to see if he opens them on his own. I'm about to nudge him when his eyes pop open, a look of fear on his face before his eyes focus on me.

"Hey, kid, can't sleep?" he says.

"Not really," I admit. "There's something I need to talk to you about, Haymitch." He nods and gestures with his free hand to urge me along.

"For the interviews, and the rest of the time before we enter the arena," I take a deep breath and say it quickly. "I want to be coached alone." Haymitch doesn't react, but studies the brown liquid in his sparkling glass. I notice it has designs cut into the glass, a pattern that looks like snowflakes.

"Okay," he agrees. "That's probably a good strategy at this point. Any particular reason?"

I take another deep breath, but it gets stuck in my throat and all I can get out is a strangled whisper, "It's her."

Haymitch nods slowly, and for a moment I think he may fall asleep, but instead, he says, "I think I understand. She may be a smart hunter, but she can be pretty blind to-" he takes a sip of his drink "-other things."

"Yeah," I agree. I'm not quite sure if I know what he's talking about, but I decide that Haymitch may be more intelligent than I first gave him credit for. He may be drunk most of the time, but what if that's merely to dull his sharp thinking? He must have difficult memories of his time in the arena, and losing all of his Tributes the past 23 years of coaching. What if he actually does know what he's doing when he's coaching, and Katniss and I are the first pair of Tributes that he cares about and he genuinely thinks one of us can win? I think of him saying earlier, "In public, I want you by each other's side every minute. Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other."

Now, he interrupts my thoughts with a question. "How long?" he asks. I shake my head, pulling myself away from pondering Haymitch's experience, not sure what he's asking me.

"How long since what?" I ask.

"You aren't as good at hiding your thoughts as you might think, Peeta," Haymitch says. He leans forward in his chair and moves the glass around in his hand, letting the liquid roll around, catching the remaining light in the room, which is all artificial but seems warm and cozy, the opposite of the feelings this place gives me.

"Oh," I say, realizing that he's probably right. I'm usually quiet and don't think anybody notices me, but Haymitch is smart and has clearly been watching my every action, my every mood, since I stepped onto the stage in District 12. "My father first pointed her out to me on the first day of school. He was in love with her mother," I say. This is the first time I've said this aloud. I force myself to go on and all the words tumble out, "I had never heard him mention this before, so I paid attention. My father said that she'd left him for a coal miner, who had a singing voice the birds would stop to listen to. I watched the girl with two braids down her back, wearing a red dress. My father told me her name, Katniss Everdeen. I knew I'd never forget her name. In music assembly that day, the teacher asked who knew the valley song, and Katniss volunteered right away, and when she sang, I just knew." I stop, realizing I've never told anyone else about this. "I watched her go home from school every day, tried to think of ways to talk to her, but never could bring myself to actually say anything-"

"Who else knows?" Haymitch asks abruptly.

"Nobody!" I say, but then stop, realizing that might not be true. "Well, I haven't said anything specifically, but my father might have an idea. He always points out when she and Prim stop to admire my cakes in the window of the bakery, and I'm sure he notices that I make excuses to go out front and watch them through the window, and he mentions when he's traded for squirrels with her. But he'd never say anything, he's a private man."

"That's good, that nobody else knows. We can use this," Haymitch says.

No, I think, no, this is one thing the Gamemakers can't have, one thing that is just mine. But I think of Haymitch's experience with all of this, and nod. "How?" I ask, now curious about Haymitch's plans.

"You're sure she doesn't know?" he asks, sitting back in his chair and propping his feet on the table in front of him.

"I'm sure," I say. Suddenly, I'm brought back to the day I saw her out in the rain, rummaging through our trash, obviously the thinnest she'd ever been. My heart broke for her, I wanted to run out in the rain and hug her, pull her inside and dry her off, sit her near the ovens and warm her, give her as much food as I could, to take home to her mother and Prim. But my mother was in a particularly bad mood that day, having argued with my father that morning. I had to think quickly, and knew that we could never sell loaves that were slightly burnt, but someone very hungry would appreciate them. The hearty raisin and nut loaves in the oven were nearly done. My mother was busy up front with a customer, trying to bargain, and I knew it would be a few moments before she would return. I left the loaves in the oven just a moment too long, the ends nearest the flames turning dark brown. I pulled them out just seconds before they turned black, and my mother returned at that moment, screaming at me about how stupid I was, how nobody will buy these loaves, how I should throw them to the pigs. I didn't say anything, and this angered her even more, and she hit me. I didn't care, just turned and brought the bread out into the rain. I avoided looking at Katniss, pulling off some of the darkened pieces and tossing them to the pigs. When I knew my mother had gone back up front and Katniss was watching me, I threw the bread in her direction, quickly going back into the bakery and watching through the rain-splattered window as she gathered the loaves, tucking them into her jacket, and ran off. I think of the next day, seeing her in the school yard, the first time I think she ever looked at me, ever noticed me, too. She can't possibly know how I feel.

"Then you have to tell her," Haymitch says, bringing me back to the present. My chest tightens and I feel panic rising from stomach to my chest, gripping me with a fear I haven't ever felt, even when my name was called in the reaping. I have never allowed myself to hope-no, even to imagine-what telling her would be like. I get a picture in my head of sitting with her in this apartment, telling her how I care about her, how I've felt for as long as I can remember, and it feels all wrong. What could her reaction possibly be? I know she is friends with Gale Hawthorne, and I imagine their time in the woods isn't spent merely hunting. Instead of jealousy, all I feel is resigned.

"I can't," I choke out. "She wouldn't like it." I clarify, "I don't think she'd like knowing how much I care about her, knowing she'd have to kill me to get back to her loved ones." I specifically don't say 'to get back to her family,' thinking of Gale, tall and handsome, most of the girls giggling when they see him in town.

"So you don't tell her directly," Haymitch says.

"Then how-" I stop. "The interview." The short interview which is required viewing for all of the Districts, to get to know the Tributes, to begin to care about them and to get personal information about them in order to place bets. Caesar Flickerman in his glossy bright suits, year after year, taking kids into his confidence in front of all of Panem.

"Yes, Caeser usually teases the Tributes about there being someone 'back home' that they are fighting to get back to," Haymitch pulls his feet off the table with some effort, obviously more drunk than when I first sat down with him, and fills his empty glass with more liquid, this time from a different bottle, the contents a blue color.

"And if he doesn't?" I ask.

"You figure out a way to bring it up. Surely he'll ask your thoughts on the other Tributes, or what you think of your odds, or something," he waves his free hand in a loose gesture. "You're smart, you're charming, you'll think of a way."

I sit silently for a few moments, mulling this over. "And what kind of strategy is this?" I ask.

"You can protect her," he says. How does he know that this is my intention? Haymitch was probably a child genius, ruined by the Games, I realize. "You know her, how harsh she can seem!" Haymitch nearly shouts. He stops and closes his eyes, saying, "The Gamemakers want a show, that's all this is to them. This isn't about remembering our past and all of that nonsense, this is television." He sighs heavily. "You love this girl, and you want to protect her, right?"

Love. Do I love Katniss? I think about how I felt as a child, seeing her in school and being happy but nervous around her. And I think of how I felt, hearing Prim's name called, knowing Katniss would volunteer, knowing her bravery and her fierce devotion to those she loves. "She has no idea. The effect she can have." I couldn't look at her after I said that. I know my feelings for her are deeper now, but does it matter how I really feel? I have no chance of winning the Games, but I know Katniss does. I want to help her, protect her.

"Yes," I agree with Haymitch.

"The Capitol will lap it up, your love for Katniss, and maybe they will love her, too. This could get you sponsors," he says. Sponsors can mean the difference between life and death in the arena, and I know Haymitch is right. My desire to help Katniss may inspire others to want to help her, too.

"And if you position yourself correctly, you can make allies out of the Careers," he says.

"How will that help?" I ask, feeling instantly stupid and like I've missed something, some crucial step in Haymitch's idea.

Haymitch sighs and starts, "You admit to everyone that you love her. People will feel sorry for you, for the odds are definitely not in your favor." He smirks, and I momentarily hate him. He continues, "With her 11, the Careers are going to target her. She's quick and smart, and will be able to hide for a while. You can make an alliance with them by making them believe you know her strategy. And you do. You help them track her, but keep them off the exact trail. They'll believe you, based on your admission, they'll know that you've watched her and seen her train. But you can keep her safe, at least until the end." He takes a big gulp of the last of the blue substance, and sets down the glass on the table. He leans back again and says, "You appear to sacrifice yourself for her, and who knows what might happen?"

I think about this. Admit my feelings. Make allies. Get sponsors. Protect her. Get her to the end of the Games, with only a few Tributes left to kill. Get her back to District 12, safe and able to live her life freely. Haymitch's plan seems simple, now that I put it together. The hardest part won't be getting into the arena, it will be playing like we are on the same team and keeping her safe, knowing when she can take out the remaining Tributes, knowing when to sacrifice myself.