So, yeah. This is just kind of a filler chapter. I wanted to show just how much this was effecting Haymitch and Katniss. I put a little of Peeta in at the end. Hope you like!

By this time, I have "The Book", as Peeta and I call it, almost completely memorized. I can immediately flip to any person's page that I chose. I can even describe all of Peeta's paintings with my eyes closed. Every night, I sit in bed and look at it. It helps me go to sleep. Every morning, I return it back to a little hidden spot in our bookshelf. If the kids happen to catch me reading it, I tell them that it's my journal, and that I write in it every night. I know I should tell them what it is, and maybe even show it to them, but. . . Well, I'm just too afraid.

The shock that displayed itself on their faces when we told them about the cruelty of the Hunger Games proves that this information disturbs them. I'm just glad that they are in no way mentally attached to the people that were killed by the Capitol or it's barbarous Hunger Games. They will have never met Cinna, will have never gotten to see Prim's duck tail, and will have never of got to go fishing with Finnick. This thought saddens me. But, at the same time, I am grateful that they never had to deal with that great of loss.

I look over to the dimly lit clock that hangs on the wall, and I notice that it's not even five-o'clock yet. I should have known that I was awake too early by the sun's place in the sky, or rather the lack of it. I desperately try to lure myself back to sleep, but my attempts are feeble. I decide to get up, heading for the kitchen.

I make my way to the fridge, getting a glass of ice water. I sit down at the dining room table, taking a small sip.

Then an unexpected thing happens.

I hear a deep scream coming from somewhere in Victor's Village. I know the voice. I rush out the door, grabbing a jacket, and head in the direction of the sound.

Haymitch.

I barge into his house with out giving any indication that I'm going to do so. I call out his name, but I don't get a reply. Another scream echoes through the house. I now rush up the stairs two at a time. I quickly open his bedroom door.

There he is, curled up in a ball, shaking. I am hesitant to go near him, the knife in his hand still apparent.

"Haymitch?" I call out, cautiously moving towards the bed. His eyes are squinted shut, and I notice that an open flask in sitting on his nightstand. Haymitch hasn't drunk for years, and I can't think of a reason that he would start now. What happened that caused Haymitch to resort to drinking again?

I tiptoe towards him until I am only a few feet away from the bed. I slowly reach my arms out to grasp him, shaking him a little. He launches at me, swinging the knife in wild arches. Expecting this, I leap out of the way, avoiding lethal injury. His eyes slowly open, but I can tell that he's still out of it. He starts putting less effort in to his swings, and I, very carefully, ease him back onto the bed.

"Haymitch?" I ask him. "What's going on?"

His heavy panting is the only thing that can be heard. His head turns back to face me.

"Katniss," he sighs. "I really don't think that we should tell the kids anymore. Tell them that. . . that. . ." He trails off and his eyes drift close again. "I didn't like the look on their faces when we told them. At all. They're not ready."

I shut my eyes, my eyebrows creasing. "I know," I tell him, "but they'll keep asking questions. Believe me, I don't want to tell them anymore than you do. You know, you don't have to help if you don't want to. . ."

"No. I want to help. But. . . I don't think that they're ready. Blossom's thirteen, and Dan's only ten. . ."

"It's too late. They won't stop prying us. I've tried to waver off it until they forgot, but they didn't. They kept asking questions."

Haymitch opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I now feel awkward, just standing here looking over him. Then a thought enters my mind. Why was he screaming?

As if he could read my mind, he answers, "Nightmare."

"Oh," is my great reply. I know that Haymitch isn't one for sharing is feelings, but I can't help my curiosity. "What was it about?"

"The kids going into the Games. Or rather, going through what you two did. Big, open wounds in Dan's leg, Blossom being mentally scarred and having to hide in closets. . ."

He trails off yet again, and I don't try for more. I know what horrors nightmares can hold. I sit down on his bed, fiddling with my fingers.

"Thanks for waking me up," he says. "It's a good thing my screaming stopped before anyone else could here. That would've been hard to explain."

"No problem." I get up, moving out of the door. As I exit his house into the cold air, I wonder what time it is. Peeta will be getting up soon, and if he finds me gone, he'll definitely be worried. With this thought, I jog my way back to my house. I quietly open the door, trying not to wake anyone up. I enter the living room to see Peeta walking in from the bedroom, yawning.

"There you are," he says. "Where have you been?"

"Haymitch's," I answer. His puzzled expression tells me that I need to go into more detail. "He was screaming earlier. Nightmare."

"What was it about?"

"Dan and Blossom."

I don't need any further explanation than that.

"He wants us to stop telling them, doesn't he." This was more of a statement then a question.

"Yep."

"And you told him. . ."

"That it was too late. That they'd just keep prying until we caved."

Peeta nods his head at this, understanding. I look over at the clock, and notice that it's almost six-thirty. On a Saturday morning.

"Kids won't be up for two hours, at least," Peeta says. "Why don't we take a walk?"

"Sure," I reply, heading towards the door.

The first few minutes are full of silence as Peeta and I concentrate on our feet. Winter is setting in, and the first snow is only days away. Peeta has his arm around me, pulling me close. Leaves crumble under his feet, but avoid mine. The subtle wind give the air more of a chill, and blows my long hair back. My classic braid hasn't been used in the last few days, and I wonder why. It used to be a routine that every morning I would do my hair up, but in the past few days, it hasn't crossed my mind. I make a mental note to put it up when I get home.

"So," Peeta starts, "is Haymitch still coming over for dinner? You did tell him that he doesn't have to do this anymore if he doesn't want to, right?"

"Yeah, I did, but he told me that he still wants to."

"Mm. Guess that means that tonight's still on?"

"Yes," I reply. "It's still on."

You know what would happen if I got to fifty reviews? I would FREAK! But seriously, please review! It truly fills my heart with joy!