Title: Making Plans for the Future

Fandom: The Hunger Games

Author: dannybailey

Genre: Drama

Rating: PG-13

Summary: "Peeta was simultaneously harder and softer than most tributes to come out of District 12. Haymitch marveled at the apparent contradiction. Not having spent his childhood on the brink of starvation, Peeta carried an air of invulnerability about him. The boy had absolutely no notion of what it meant to die." Haymitch is ambushed by Peeta, who has a unique outlook on what it means to win the Hunger Games.

Author's Note: The next installment in my ongoing study of interactions between Haymitch and Peeta. I switched the POV around this time so we get to see Haymitch's perspective, which was a lot of fun. Sorry the wait was so long for this. I appreciate everyone who took the time to read, and especially those who also reviewed. Your positive words kept me focused on finishing this. Thanks again!

Disclaimer: All original concepts and characters are mine. All of the familiar concepts and characters are property of the author, Suzanne Collins. I'm not making any money off of this work. It's all in good fun.

Haymitch looked around at the abandoned dining table. Katniss had returned from her training session with the Gamemakers, angry tears streaming down her face, and locked herself in her room. The rest of the entourage from Twelve had dispersed after that. After briefly pounding on her door, Haymitch had returned to the table and debated the semantics of "sober enough" with himself, finally deciding that between Katniss's sobbing and Peeta's reticence he deserved another drink. He took the liberty of pouring it for himself, from the cabinet that someone had decided was safe to leave unlocked that evening.

Deciding that it would be prudent, Haymitch took the decanter with him and set it on a low table in the living quarters. He groaned as he sat back into one of the deeply cushioned chairs that lined the room. Tentatively, he took a sip from the low ball glass. Unlike the pure tasteless burn of the white liquor distilled in Twelve, the spirits in the Capitol always had a flavor. Pine needles, woodsmoke, bubblegum. Haymitch preferred the unadulterated misery that accompanied his local alcohol but, as Seam mothers told their children, debtors call no shots. And just like every Seam family, every Victor owed someone.

Just when Haymitch had started to give serious consideration to a nap, Peeta walked into the living quarters. Peeta Mellark, like his father, had an air of quiet contentment that Haymitch decided must come from kneading bread all day. Great way to work out your frustrations, but not the recipe for a survivor. Haymitch didn't think much of Peeta's chances.

"So you've finally decided to talk again." Haymitch knew he was antagonizing Peeta unfairly, but it helped him keep his spirits high.

Peeta pulled his hands out of his pockets and sat in the chair opposite Haymitch. "I have to ask you for something," he said.

"Oh ho," Haymitch chuckled into his glass. "A favor. Ask away. No promises though," he added.

Peeta took a breath, blowing it out in a soft huff before he began. "I need to you talk with the mentors from District 2," he said, as if he were completely serious.

Haymitch did laugh then, full and guttural. "I can see where you're going with this. You think no one from Twelve has ever tried that before, kid? No matter what I say to Brutus, his kids aren't going to give a shit about you. And if they tell you they do, you can be sure they're only saying it so you'll stick around long enough for them to knife you in the back." He noticed that Peeta's hands were relaxed, his fingers still and calm where they rested against his leg.

"I don't think so," Peeta said evenly. "I've already talked to Cato."

"Knife," Haymitch emphasized. "Back."

Peeta took him by surprise with his response. "Not if I have something he wants."

Haymitch looked more closely at the boy, trying to guage how serious he was about this. He caught no uncertainty in his expression, no hesitation in his voice. He decided to hear him out.

"And what is it that you think you have?"

"Connections," Peeta said immediately. "I told Cato that I have a connection to a Gamemaker."

Peeta didn't elaborate until Haymitch glared at him for a solid silent minute.

"I told him that my mother had an affair with the Head Peackeeper in Twelve. I told him that he's my father. Cray's brother really is a Gamemaker. I heard that from Darius."

Haymitch remained silent while he took this in. The matter-of-fact way that Peeta explained this treasonous lie was both impressive and terrifying. If anyone were to look into it, Peeta's family would be the ones to pay. He probably didn't know that though, and maybe his story would hold up. No one would be surprised to find out that Cray had a few illegitimate spawn running around the District. And Peeta's older brother was friends with Darius, so it was possible that he really did share that valuable piece of information with the Mellark family.

While Haymitch considered Peeta's admission, the boy went on. "I told Cato that Gaius, Cray's brother, knew about me. That he had promised Cray he would keep the mutts away from me in arena, at least in the beginning. Cato seemed really interested, but he said he had to talk to his mentor. So I thought maybe you could say something to whoever that is. Reassure him that I'm not lying."

"You are lying," Haymitch growled as Peeta finished his explanation.

"Well yeah," Peeta agreed casually. "But it won't matter anyway by the time anyone would find out. Which they probably won't, since I told Cato to keep it quiet if he wants me in the pack."

Haymitch decided not to tell Peeta what they outcome would be if "probably won't" didn't work out. "I can talk to Brutus," he agreed. "But you should know that talking your way from Twelve into the Careers' pack is not going to be as simple as all that."

Peeta looked quizzically at Haymitch.

"You have to be able to take a hit." Peeta chuckled at that. "And you have to be willing to draw blood."

Haymitch expected naiveté. No teenager from the back of beyond could possibly have any notion of what it was like in the arena. Peeta did not disappoint. "I can take a hit," he affirmed, lightly touching the side of his face where Haymitch had sucker punched him less than a week ago."And if I'm valuable enough the Careers won't care who I kill. They'll probably be glad to have the kills for themselves."

Haymitch took an enormous gulp of the spirits, swallowing all that remained in the glass. Before he reached for the decanter, he leaned forward and looked Peeta in the eye. "You will kill, boy. To get out of the arena alive, you will. There isn't one victor who hasn't."

Peeta looked slightly sad, his eyebrows knotting together, but he didn't seem particularly upset. "That's another thing," he added. "At the interview, I'm going to tell Caesar Flickerman that I'm in love with Katniss."

Haymitch, who had been pouring himself a second glass of spirits, sloshed the liquid over the rim on the glass. His blood, thinned by alcohol, coursed through his veins as his temper sparked, but he kept careful control over his hand. Slowly, he lowed the decanter back onto the table. He let Peeta's words hang in the air for a moment while he leaned back with his glass in hand. When he spoke his words came out in a growl. "You don't know what you're going to say at the interview. Because I haven't told you yet. But you sure as hell aren't going with that."

This time it was Peeta who was silent, his face impassive and his whole being completely relaxed. It made Haymitch's pulse race faster still. He took a deep sip from the glass and tried again, "That's not going to win you any points with those Careers, if that's what you're hoping. They don't appreciate weakness. And that's what they'll see when you admit you've got a little crush."

Peeta nodded, "I know. This isn't about the Careers."

Still glaring, Haymitch leaned back from the low table between them. "Then why the hell would you say something like that? For Sponsors?" Haymitch laughed. "You might get a few weepy housewives, but honestly, appealing to the tender-hearted only works when you look like Finnick Odair. So, why?"

Peeta's smile had something missing from it, was just a bit too soft around the edges. "Because it's true, Haymitch."

Peeta's blue eyes had never seemed to Haymitch so bright. Was he tearing up? Haymitch had seen his red-rimmed eyes on the train platform in Twelve. He didn't want to deal with another crying tribute, so he ran his tongue over his teeth and said "Well, this should be fun."

"I should tell you something now so that you don't get the wrong idea," Peeta said, his voice flat and steady. "I don't have any illusions about winning. I'm being realistic; there's only one thing I expect that I can do. I want to make sure that Katniss goes home."

Peeta was simultaneously harder and softer than most tributes to come out of District 12. Haymitch marveled at the apparent contradiction. Not having spent his childhood on the brink of starvation, Peeta carried an air of invulnerability about him. The boy had absolutely no notion of what it meant to die. He could not possibly have confronted his own mortality and arrived as so casual a conclusion as to give up his life for a girl that Haymitch was well aware he hardly knew. Haymitch groaned. "No kid," he said. "You don't have to make this into a martyrdom. Sponsors don't go for that shit, if that's your plan. They're not interested in self-sacrifice. It makes the tributes seem too much like humans, when they want to see us all as animals."

Peeta looked like he was about to say something, but before he could speak up Haymitch dealt his last argument, the line that his mentor had used on him and that could convince any kid to wise up. "Don't make your family watch you kill yourself, Mellark. Not over some crush."

Keeping his eyes on his lap, Peeta spoke in a soft voice, "Before I left the Justice Building my mother came in to say goodbye. She said to me that Katniss Everdeen was a real survivor, and that maybe District 12 will finally have a winner this year." He looked up at Haymitch as if expecting a response, but Haymitch just stared back and so Peeta continued talking. "I told her I loved her and I asked her to leave. She pursed her lips, got up, and walked out of the room. I don't think she has any expectations of me doing anything in the arena other than dying."

Haymitch looked at his tribute. Peeta's hands remained still as they rested in his lap, his eyes bright and intense, and the boy did have a way with words. His voice carried determination, touched with just enough sweetness to keep it appealing. Peeta would play well in front of the cameras, and if he was as committed as he said, well maybe Haymitch could find a way to help him. Hell, between the two of them maybe they could bring a winner home to District 12.

Haymitch blew out a sigh, and set his glass down on the table. Meeting Peeta's blue eyes, he said, "Tomorrow morning I'll tell Katniss that you requested to be coached separately. If you want this to work, you'll keep your mouth shut around her. We'll need her reaction to be genuine. The girl can't hold herself back for anything, and we don't want to let the cat out of the bag too early."

Peeta blinked, taken aback by Haymitch's sudden change of heart, and then nodded. "Thank you, Haymitch. I know you're only agreeing to this because you want to bring home a tribute. But it's important to me to make sure it's Katniss, so thank you."

Before Haymitch could reply, Peeta walked away, smiling softly and leaving Haymitch wondering who exactly he had just agreed to save.