A/N: Thank you to Norbert's Mom and Blarghh for reviewing. I really appreciate it.

Norbert's Mom – Thanks for pointing that out. I made an explanation for that in this chapter, sort of.

3

It's nearly midnight and Lorelei hasn't eaten for hours, but she can't afford to stop working. Little Prim had tuckered out at around ten, and Katniss had taken her back to bed. Thankfully, Mrs. Forester had gone, too, off to spread some gossip no doubt; but she didn't care. She didn't care if she's hungry or tired. All she needed was for Ronan to get better. She presses a hand on his forehead, and frowns when she finds it hot.

Although he's in a much better state than she had found him in – she dressed him in clean clothes and let Prim feed him soup at one point – his medical condition is becoming critical. The blood poisoning is spreading throughout his body now, red streaks covering his skin and his wound inflaming. She tries not to panic as all the herbs she uses prove ineffective against the disease and ignores that she had not once before, even when she had her parents' apothecary shop to work with, did she ever manage to cure a patient with this kind of illness. They all died within hours, a day or so if they were lucky.

As the hours drag on and it becomes clear that he's dying all over again, Lorelei fights the urge to scream that it isn't fair. It isn't fair that she gave her whole life to be with him, only to have him die now. It isn't fair that she should heal so many others and then be unable to save the one that she loves the most. She closes her eyes and calms herself, because if there's one thing she learned as the Seam's next best thing to a doctor, it's that being hysterical isn't going to help anyone.

She just sighs, wipes the sweat from her brow, and silently prays for a miracle.

It was the word 'canary' that penetrated through Haymitch's clouded brain.

I have a canary at home, you know. It makes wonderful music.

Well, sweetheart, he's about to reply, If you think that's music you should hear Everdeen sing. Then he remembers this all happened years ago, that the girl he dreamed he was talking to died years ago, and that as of this morning, Everdeen was probably dead as well, and with him, any real reminder of his past life. But he's sure that the word 'canary' had been real. Someone had spoken it.

He lifts his head up from the table, wincing when even that bit of movement causes him pain. He gets up, wanting to know who spoke. That as well brings an ache to his joints. He wishes now he hadn't bothered in the first place; but since he's already standing, he might as well see what this canary business is all about. The chatting's coming from a nearby table, with a woman seemingly to plump to come from the Seam at the centre of attention. Mrs. Forester. Haymitch inwardly groans, already regretting not leaving things to be, but he goes and says, "Did you say something about a canary?"

Mrs. Forester glowers, loathing it when someone interrupts her, but she morphs her face in to a smile when she sees who it is. Haymitch Abernathy, victor of the fiftieth Humger Games and the richest man in the district, is looking at her for an answer. Well, if he really wanted it, he should pay for it—he's the only one who can afford to, anyway. "I seem to have forgotten," she says, her hand outstretched. The man glares at her but dumps some money on her palm. "Ah. Yes. Ronan Everdeen was raving about how a canary saved his life, back when I was in his house. I don't know exactly what he was talking about – he and his wife completely ignored my questions – but it was probably just fever talking."

Haymitch could hardly believe his ears. "Everdeen? Didn't he die in the mine today?"

"You're around four hours late behind in news," Ripper replies, carrying a glass of liquor. "Forester here came in a while ago, claiming that she just saw one of the Everdeen girls carry her father back home. Wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't snuck a peek."

"But how did he survive?"

"You better ask them yourself," Mrs. Forester sniffs. "Like I said, they wouldn't answer a single one of my questions. Not that it matters. He'll probably die again anyway. He has blood poisoning," she elaborates when she sees the man's confused expression. "And we all know that nothing but the fancy–schmancy equipment from the Capitol can cure that." She blinks. "Haymitch? Where are you going?"

"You idiot," Ripper says in a disgusted tone, but she can't help but smile a little. She knew what Abernathy and Everdeen were like, way back when. Never saw one without the other. "Might as well close up. He's definitely not coming back tonight."

Lorelei Everdeen almost shook with desperation. She couldn't have gotten her husband back only to have him die again. She had poured her heart and soul in to her work, putting everything she knew about healing to the test, and yet there she is hours later, her blonde hair damp and her eyes full of tears, clutching her husband's hand. He had drifted off to sleep again some time ago, and now she's scared that he'll never wake up. That she'd be alone.

She can't lose him again.

She can't!

Haymitch scowls as he looks around his home. He can't find anything at all. That new escort, the damned Trinket woman, had 'cleaned' everything up last time she was here, and now he's having trouble getting his house back to its normal, organized-messy state. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have cared. He'd wear her down, he knows it, and she'd give up tidying after him, just like her annoying smiley-faced predecessors did before her. But right now, he needs something. Something that his mentor had insisted every tribute needed to have, even if they were victors.

Especially if they were victors.

Having a burst of memory, Haymitch races to the kitchen and looks under the sink. There. His first-aid kit, bought so long ago but constantly replenished and restocked, just in case. Goods straight from the Capitol. There are snowy-soft bandages, Band-Aids that can cure minor wounds within minutes, pills that put you to a deep sleep—which don't really help, Haymitch thinks sourly, since it only means you can't get up from the nightmares. And syringes. Syringes filled with top-notch, state-of-the-art medicine. With a grim smile, he takes out the one he considers the most important.

An antidote for poison.

But he puts it away. He doesn't need it—not yet, at least.

Instead, he takes out another syringe that was said to be able to cure something else. Blood poisoning. For a moment, he hesitates, wondering why he's even bothering with all this. He isn't friends with Ronan anymore. They haven't even spoken for years, and the only times the guy ever saw him were probably either slumped over Ripper's bar or when he's onstage on Reaping Day, both times usually dead drunk. And hadn't he sworn to himself, on the day that she died, he'd cut off all ties to the Everdeen family?

But he knows why.

He remembers.

He remembers more clearly than ever, despite the long years and all the drink. When he was around eleven years old, he lost track of his baby brother. He had lived in the more dangerous part of the Seam, the part where you can get mugged or worse if you're out at night all alone. And it was getting dark. Even if he didn't care about leaving Jonas at night – which he did, but seriously, the kid loved running around so much it was tempting to just let him find his own way back – and he couldn't face his mother without him. Although he didn't care that much that his father walked out on them (good riddance), It was real rough on his mother, and he figured she had enough things to worry about besides that Jonas was missing. Again.

No matter where he looked, though, he couldn't find him. The Hob. The town square. The mines. He even sneaked inside the Victor's Village because Jonas was fond of looking at the houses. But he wasn't there.

In frustration, he kicked a nearby bucket.

"Hey," someone said behind him in an irritated tone. "I need that." Haymitch had turned around, scowling, and got his first good look at Ronan Everdeen. About the same age as him. Broad-shouldered even then, with the Seam look of dark hair, olive skin, and grey eyes. Scowling right back at him.

"Sorry," he muttered, because a fight wasn't worth it and he really needed to find Jonas soon.

"What's your problem, anyway?"

"My little brother's missing."

"Oh." Everdeen stopped scowling. "Do you want me to help you look for him?"

He snorted. "Sure, if you can name a place you haven't already checked."

"The Hob? The mines?"

"Check and check."

"The public market? The town square?"

"Yep."

"I can't think of any more, then," he said, stumped. Then he looked at him sideways. "Unless you hunt in the woods."

Immediately, Haymitch was on his guard. "And what if I do?" he asked. Everdeen was going to regret it if he even thought of turning him in.

The guy looked slightly surprised. "Really? For how long?" Haymitch didn't answer. "You must have started recently," he said, "Or I would've noticed you before." Right. He had almost forgotten Ronan was a hunter, too.

"Last month," he muttered. That's when his father left. Although he didn't say the last part out loud, everyone in the Seam knew it, and judging by the sickly sympathetic look Everdeen was giving him, he did too. "I don't use real weapons like you—my mother's kitchen knife was the best I could get, and it goes through the game's body anyway. You're not really facing any competition when it comes to quality." He's not facing much competition at all, really. Haymitch had entered the forest to keep his family alive, but he still couldn't bring himself to go in very far.

Everdeen, however, didn't see it that way. "You any good with that knife?"

He shrugged. Six times out of ten he could snag a rabbit, but he'd never managed to catch a bird or a squirrel yet. "Sort of."

"Then don't worry about your weapon. As long as you can hunt with it, it doesn't matter what it is. As for the quality, well," Everdeen said wryly, "The people at the Hob aren't exactly picky eaters."

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the pep-talk, but I still haven't found my little brother so…"

"I think I know where he is."

"You do?"

"Yep. Has he ever asked you to take him in to the woods?"

"Yeah, but I always told him no." Haymitch blinked. "He wouldn't."

As it turned out, he would. He just wanted to go around a little bit in the place where his big brother spent so much time in, but the fence turned on while was still on the other side and he got trapped. He was still trapped, actually. Haymitch yelled at him for half an hour on the other, swearing that if the fence hadn't been separating them he would've strangled him by now. "Perfect. Just perfect. What am I supposed to tell Ma?"

"You better wait for the electricity to let up," Ronan suggested. He had been watching, amused. "It'll be kind of dangerous to go back home alone, and morning is when the Peacekeepers begin to keep watch. Trust me, you do not want to be there when they do." Haytmitch didn't have to trust him. Everdeen already had scars from whippings to prove it.

"Fine," he sighed. "By the way, how did you know he'd be here?"

"Probably because I used to do it all the time," a voice answered. Haymitch turned around to see a younger girl with a mischievous expression coming towards them. She looked a lot like Ronan, since she had the Seam look too; but unlike him, she had that kind of aura that told him messing with this girl would be asking for trouble. She put her hands on her hips. "Well?" she asked Ronan. "Aren't you going to introduce me?"

"Haymitch, this is my little sister, Diana," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Dad told me to look for you," she replied, her eyes still on Haymitch.

"Diana, this is Haymitch, the guy who's been stealing our customers these past few weeks."

She whistled. "You must be good, for people to prefer your meat to hours."

"Not really. But my prices are cheaper."

"Why don't you join us then?" She made the offer almost carelessly, but he knew from the tone that she was serious; and Ronan made no objection. He stared at both of them. He couldn't believe that they had suggested the idea. For a moment, he was tempted – he was always a bit of a loner, both because he mostly concentrated on taking care of his family, and because he never really found anyone who mattered enough to make an effort. To actually let his guard down for.

Still, he shook his head. "I'll only slow you down."

She scoffed. "Please. I've seen the butcher hire you to cut the meat on rush days. And you can't have a problem with self-esteem—I've heard you boasting enough, too."

He raised his eyebrows. "You've been stalking me, sweetheart?"

She hit him on the arm before continuing. "Besides, I'm just starting out myself. Ronan wouldn't let me start hunting with him until this year. I'd love to have someone who knows less about the woods than me who can screw up and make me look smarter in comparison."

"Sounds tempting," he said sarcastically. But he smiled. "If you put it that way…sure. Fine." He looked at them suspiciously. "There isn't some sort of embarrassing initiation rite on becoming a hunting partner, is there?"

"Nope," Ronan replied. "But don't I get a say in this?"

"No," Diana said.

"Figured." He didn't sound too remorseful.

"The fence doesn't look like it's going to get de-electrified soon," she observed. She turned to Haymitch. "We can stay out here, if you want."

"Work out the details of your partnership," Ronan agreed.

"You sure?" he asked. "It's getting late."

"Definitely, though I better go run and tell Father where we are first," she said. "I'll run for your mother, too."

Ronan smiled. "Welcome to the group."

"This is getting boring," Jonas muttered. But he had no one to blame but himself.

Lorelei has finally fallen asleep, still holding her husband's hand.

She doesn't know what is going to happen; what she's going to do; how she's going to let him go again. All she knows is that she really, really doesn't want him to die. She's in a dreamless doze, wanting to escape reality just a little while longer. She only wakes up when there's a loud rapping at the door.

She hesitates, wondering who could it be knocking at this hour, but she decides it probably just a sympathetic neighbour who wants to help. Still, she takes the frying pan just in case. She lives in the Sea, after all—one can never be too wary. She softly opens the door.

"Are you trying to brain me with that thing, sweetheart?"

Lorelei could do nothing but gape as the man she knows as the victor of the fiftieth Hunger Games steps in to her house. He walks in and looks at his surroundings with a half-smile on his face, as if recalling a distant, happy memory. He quickly sobers up, though, when he sees her expression. "Sorry. Just lost myself for a bit." There's an awkward silence. "I've heard Ronan Everdeen somehow made it out of the mine explosion."

"Y-yes. He did." But he might die anyway, she silently adds. And suddenly she wants this man who can have just about anything in the world to leave. "What do you want?"

"I know he has blood poisoning. I think I might be able to help."

She has to stare at him for a good long while before she can process this. "How?"

As an answer, he produces a syringe from his pocket and hands it to her. "It's from the Capitol."

Lorelei's fingers encloses the syringe, but she couldn't help but regard it with suspicious eyes, hardly daring to hope. Haymitch had shown up drunk for every reaping day. She'd watched years' and years ' worth of District 12 tributes dying because their mentor gave up on them before they even got to the arena. Besides that, Haynitch is a victor. A killer. Why is he trying to help her husband, anyway? She's not very familiar with Capitol drugs, so how can she know this isn't just going to let Ronan die a little faster?

"It's not going to kill him," Haymitch says, like he heard her thoughts. "Look, you might find this hard to believe, but a long time ago, Everdeen and I were friends." He winces, thinking about how sappy that sounds. "Things…have pretty much gone south for both of us, but that doesn't mean I want him to die. And he doesn't want to leave you guys." He clears his throat. "Point is, he's always been a survivor. Hell, I bet you could have thrown him in to the Hunger Games and he still would have come back alive, one way or another. He always does—and I'm not about to let a bit of blood poisoning to mess that up if I can help it." For a moment, he gives Lorelei a pleading look, and she sees past his wasted appearance.

For a moment, she sees the defiant and yet somehow vulnerable sixteen-year-old walking to the stage after his name is called out.

For a moment, she sees the boy who held her best friend's hand when she couldn't as Maysilee lay dying.

Without another word, she takes the syringe and plunges the medicine in to her husband's arm.

The next few hours are agony, waiting for Ronan's body to make a change. Any change. He's still breathing, which is encouraging to both of them, and his fever hasn't gotten any worse, but no better either. Lorelei does frequent check-ups on her daughters' room – where Katniss lay awake and no amount of her mother's singing or stories could get her to fall back to sleep but no amount of begging would get her mother allow her outside – and presses wet towels on her husband's head. Haymitch fidgets, noticing how different and yet so familiar everything is, while wishing he had brought some drink along so he can forget the memories.

Finally, Lorelei touches her husband's forehead and looks up, smiling tiredly. "His fever's gone down."

"Well, we both knew he's a survivor. This is the second time in two days he's proved it," says Haymitch. The lucky bastard.

"He'll probably be up soon. DO you want to talk to him?" she offers. He pauses, considering the idea. He and Everdeen hadn't had a real conversation in years. Lorelei smiles, thinking the answer would be yes, when she catches sight of his face. In one moment, it turned from thoughtful and slightly nervous to downright shockd. She's wondering what had caused this sudden change, and then realizes he's looking right behind her. She turns around and frowns.

"Katniss, I thought I told you to stay in your room until daylight," she says disapprovingly.

Her daughter shrugs. "The sun's out," she says, pointing to the window. Sure enough, it's breaking dawn. Lorelei sighs in defeat. "Is Father okay?" Even she, who'd always acted so strong, couldn't keep the small tremble from her voice. Lorelei's ashamed of herself. Her daughter shouldn't have to act in front of her.

"Come here," she says, her arms outstretched. Katniss hesitates, momentarily thinking she's a little too old for hugs, but she gives in and hugs her mother back. "Yes. Your father's all right, thanks to Haymitch."

"Haymitch?" The man who's staring at her?

"Yes." Lorelei remembers his astonished expression. "Is something wrong?"

"N-no," he manages to stammer out. "It's just that she looks like…well, of course she looks a lot like…never mind. It's stupid." He's walking out the door, mentally berating himself that he's getting so worked up about a little girl. Or, to be more specific, the appearance of a little girl. A little girl who bore a remarkable resemblance to somebody that he used to know. That's to be expected, right? They're related. Still…it's a little unnerving, to see her face pop up after so many years thinking he'd never see it again, and now he's planning on going home and drinking until the image and everything that went with it is forgotten.

"Why was that weird guy in our house?" Katniss asks after he leaves.

"Katniss," Lorelei says disapprovingly. "Be nice. He's the reason your father's still alive." Her daughter's face turns in to a slightly sulky expression. "You too, of course. But he's the one who gave him the medicine for blood poisoning." She's smiling at her daughter, wanting her to be grateful, but Katniss remains unconvinced. To be honest, she can't really blame her. He had been acting odd when he left.

Later that day, Ronan Everdeen wakes up with sunlight streaming down his face and a very sweet six-year-old smiling at him. "Father's up!" Prim calls. Instantly, Katniss and Lorelei appear, bearing two heavy trays filled with food. Good. He's starving. It's only around the sixth or seventh mouthful did he ask where all of it came from.

"Neighbours," Katniss replies. Guilty neighbours, some of them. Greasy Sae had been the first person she'd asked for help from, the first to call her crazy, and the first to show up on their doorstep with a pot of stew and a humbled expression on her face. More would follow. She tries not to glance at the raisin-and-nuts bread the baker had dropped off this morning. She's still wondering if he did it to be nice or if Peeta had told him about the whole affair.

"They said you don't have to go back to work yet. They even let us take a day off school!" Little Prim chirps happily. "So we can spend some time with you." In reality, they're probably wondering what to do with him. Out of all the mine explosions the district had suffered, there has never been a survivor.

"That's great," he says to his younger daughter. But it's the older one he smiles at. "Katniss. I'm proud of you." He squeezes her hand, and she smiles back. "Good thing we were prepared for what happened, right?" She nods, and he thinks of how much he owes that little canary bird. He had known that once, miners used to take canaries with them underground because they were very sensitive to harmful gases that could cause explosions. Thinking of this one day and wondering if that might happen to him, he had taken Katniss aside and told her what to do if she ever heard the sirens ring. If he hadn't, she might have not gone in to the forest until much later. So in a way, the canary had saved him twice.

He embraces his two children. "You were so brave, the both of you. And Lorelei-"

He's about to thank Lorelei for keeping him alive, but she holds up her hand.

"Don't thank me," she says. "I might have been able to fix your other injuries, but definitely not the blood poisoning." He gapes at her, shocked. He had no idea that his condition had been so serious—although he had felt awful, he thought Lorelei was acting too calm for anything really to be the matter. She never shows fear when she's healing, because if the patients think that it'll be all right then that's usually the outcome. Another thing he loves about her. "Not without Haymitch," she adds. "He gave me medicine from the Capitol to cure it."

Again, his mind reels with shock. Haymitch Abernathy had helped him? But why? They hadn't spoken in years. They'd parted ways right after the funeral. He'd even gone so far as to think that Haymitch is digusting with how he carried on with his liquor and money, not giving a cent to those who truly needed it. Why, after all these years, did Haymitch set aside his drink long enough to offer his assistance?

Because we promised to look out for each other.

He shakes his head. That can't be it. That was years and years ago, and he doubts that Haymitch even remembers it. Although, before Lorelei's piece of information, he would've doubted if Haymitch remembers him at all.

Well, whatever the reason he did it for, he's responsible for me being here.

Abernathy's responsible for him being able to lift Prim off the ground on to his lap. He's responsible for Ronan even being alive to kiss his wife again, to ruffle Katniss's hair.

He owes him.

That thought disturbs him a little – he hates owing people – but not as much as he would've expected. They were friends once, after all. There was a time they genuinely liked each other, and when Ronan pays him back, it won't be just for saving his life but for that as well. For their old friendship, even if it's gone now.

Anyway, he'd figure it out later.

Right now he just wants to be with his family.

A/N: My explanation for Haymitch not freaking out about Katniss's appearance in HG is because he was drunk when he first met her, and by the time he was sober enough to process what she looked like he's already used to it.