Hey everyone! Thank you so much for the Favorites/Follows/Reviews! Love you all! Here's Peeta's scene with Haymitch during dinner. Their main course tonight? Strategy with a side of deviation. \^_^/

My hands are sweating really badly.

Gross.

I'm puzzled as to whether or not I should knock on Haymitch's door – God knows what I could see, but he's expecting me now.

So I let myself in.

He's standing over a little table he's set up in the middle of the enormous chamber with steaming food piled high. He doesn't tear his gaze away from the glass of brand-less alcohol he's pouring himself, but he smirks lightly – not a sarcastic one.

"Ever heard of knocking, Princess?"

"You knew I was coming."

He nods toward the seat opposite of him, inviting me in. Shaking the bottle in hand, he looks up at me finally, acknowledging my presence. "Care for a glass?" he chastises.

"I'm not much of drinker," I say. I'd had a few tastes from Madge's hand in my very early teen years. Every once in a while during the winter time, on those especially cold mornings after we'd collected our game, she'd sneak me booze in the woods. "Just to feel alive," she'd say. "You'll feel warmer. I promise." So I'd taste it, grimace at the sting in my throat, and proceed home stumbling, but ultimately, warm.

Staring at the glass in Haymitch's hand, I can't help but wonder if it tastes like the stuff from long ago and if it'd still give me the warm feeling. So I shrug, "But maybe I could use one."

Haymitch chuckles darkly while filling my cup. "I knew you had to be a drinker. With those scowl lines, I'd take it life's been getting rough with you?" He sips knowingly out of my glass before handing it to me.

I frown. "I don't drink," I say defensively. "Or, I haven't for a while."

"Can't imagine mommy dearest liking that idea."

"She doesn't care about anything," I say coolly. "And she didn't know. A friend let me sample."

Haymitch snorts. "Friend," he rolls his eyes. "Yeah, right. Some girl try getting you under the covers?"

"Madge is a big sister to me. She was just trying to let me live a little. December is a little chilly outside at four in the morning." I swallow it whole, and it doesn't taste like the stuff from home. It's much sweeter – perhaps strawberries. I can't tell if I like it or not.

It's his turn to scowl. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want your pity," I spit. "I just want another drink." I hand him my glass back which he fills up willingly. "I feel like tonight isn't going to be as dandy as I prayed it would be."

He eyes me cautiously. "What makes you say that?"

I roll my eyes. "You're trying to soften me up with sweet rum and polite conversation. Last time I checked, you weren't a pansy."

Haymitch cackles pretty loudly, his whole body shaking with laughter. "I'm glad you think so, Princess." He gestures for me to sit down again and I do this time. I nurse my next drink slowly, enjoying the sweetness.

The next moments are followed by mouth-watering food and companionable silence, much like the stops in conversation I have with Katniss. The type of silence where there are no urgent needs to fill the gaps with meaningless words.

But when he finally does crack the silence, his words are soft. "But I do have some things I need to say."

I swallow the bit of soup that I'd scooped up and stare at him. How bad was this going to be?

"You're in love with her."

There's no need for clarification – we both know who he's referring to.

I nod. A heavy lump starts to rise in my throat.

And if it's possible, his next words are even quieter, pained and gentle. "And we both know that she lacks...the skills necessary to defend herself in the Games."

This, also, doesn't really need my confirmation, but I nod anyway.

"But you do," he says forcefully. "You can win. You're a fighter. You're strong, Peeta." He actually saying my name tells me that he's dead serious. "I saw the way you looked at her that first on the train. I know that you're completely ready to throw away everything and slit your own throat if that means getting her home."

This, too, doesn't require confirmation, but I've stopped nodding and started listening fully.

"You, Peeta, could give District 12 a victor this year," he convinces, and I'm ready to protest, even get up and leave – that me leaving Katniss there wasn't an option, he stares me down. "But," he breathes. "I think I know how to save her."

I freeze.

"How?"

"I've got you two playing this whole "possibly in-love couple tragically thrown into Hunger Games" thing up. And the Capitol is loving every second, trying to figure out if you're just friends or if there is something more hidden beneath the surface." His gaze bores in my eyes and I can't look away. "Well," he breaks it, refilling his glass. "I think maybe it's time for 'The Boy on Fire' to profess his love."

I feel my heart beating in my ears. Holy Shit.

But...that's...too soon. I just – I can't... "When?"

"Three nights from now – at the interviews."

Sudden pools of black start to creep their way into my vision. Am I seriously going to pass out? Maybe it's the booze...

"Live. In front of all of Panem?"

He nods. "Yes," he rises from his chair. "You know how absolutely torn the audience will be? Hating that they have to send two star-crossed lovers into a death arena where only one will possibly return?" I can't react. "They'll loathe it.'

"She'll be desired by all – sponsors wanting to keep her alive for you. They'll send her anything he heart desires I'm sure." He pauses. "That's step 1. Step 2 is for when you get in the arena. You've done an okay job with hiding your abilities in training, but from now on, don't touch anything, got it? Even if it's a flirty archery session with your woman." The term makes my face flush, but I'm hanging so heavily onto his every word, I don't care.

"So when you get into that arena, get the careers the hell away from her. That means, the day after tomorrow, when you go into training again, make sure they remember you. If you get a high enough score, they'll just have to add you to their pack. That's good, join them. Be their ally. You want them to trust you.'

"But as it happens every year, there will come a time and place when your career pack will turn on one another. Watch for signs so you can get the hell out of there – or better yet. Kill them. That would be best, but I know I wouldn't have the stomach for it."

Oh yeah, I'd have to kill eventually. Just thinking about makes me sick...

"After you leave the Careers, it's up to you to find Katniss or not. It's your choice. I'm fairly certain that she'll have a strategy figured out. She may not be skilled, but if she's not clever and stubborn then shoot me dead now." He chuckles, breaking the seriousness of the moment. That's all he has to say – I can tell. I don't say anything, I just ghost over to the door silently and wait for the words I want to use to come.

Dying would be hard – but dying for her? Saving her like she's saved me repeatedly? That would be easy.

"Does Katniss know about this?"

"Not a word," Haymitch breathes.

"Then I want to keep it that way," I demand. "She doesn't know anything, okay?"

He nods. "Of course," his eyes look glassy, and I'm not sure what from. "So you'll do it?"

I nod. "I'll do it."

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