Trying to update more often. The lines in italics are taken from Suzanne Collins' Catching Fire and The Hunger Games. Hope this isn't against any rules.

Chapter 10: The Drunken Mentoring of Haymitch Abernathy

"It's too bad we can't go somewhere," Katniss said wistfully.

"Who says we can't?" I asked.

The roof. We ordered a bunch of food, grabbed some blankets, and headed up to the roof for a picnic. A daylong picnic in the flower garden that tinkled with wind chimes. We ate. We lay in the sun.

No one bothered us.

I remember it so vividly. It was beautiful, that day, riddled with happy little moments that Katniss probably never thought twice about. It was incredibly ironic, our happiness so close to what we thought would be our deaths.

I spent a great deal of time sketching Katniss. She even sang for me, and I can't remember her ever being so light-hearted and not feeling so guilty about never feeling the affection for me that I felt for her.

My mind wandered to our escort, our sponsors, and our mentor, who obviously pulled through for us, or really more for me, by giving us the day off. I couldn't help but feel that Haymitch did feel the smallest amount of hope and affection for us.

"I bet Haymitch pulled through for us to make this happen," I said to Katniss. She only mumbled in response, perhaps half-asleep.

My mind wandered to the drunken madness that is Haymitch, and the things that made him that way.

OoO

Haymitch skirted along the edge of the cliff as if trying to figure something out. His foot dislodged a pebble and it felloff the cliff and into the abyss below, apparently gone forever. But a minute later, as he sat to rest, the pebble shot back up beside him. Haymitch stared at it, puzzled, and then his face took on a strange intensity. He lobbed a rock the size of his fist over the cliff and waited. When it flew back out and right into his hand, he started laughing.

Katniss and I were watching the recording of the Second Quarter Quell, trying to understand first-hand the story behind the legend. We had very little knowledge on the man's talents, and we knew he had neither the pride nor the desire to tell us a story himself. So, we sat on a couch in our room in the training center and watched the Fiftieth Hunger Games.

Then we heard Maysilee Donner begin to scream. The alliance was over and she broke it off, so no one could blame him for ignoring her. But Haymitch ran for her, anyway. He arrived only in time to watch the last of a flock of candy pink birds, equipped with long, thin beaks, skewer her through the neck. He held her hand while she died, and I could feel Katniss squirm beside me.

Later that day, another tribute was killed in combat and a third got eaten by a pack of those fluffy squirrels, leaving Haymitch and a girl from District 1 to vie for the crown. She was bigger than he was and just as fast, and when the inevitable fight came, it was bloody and awful and both had received what could've well been fatal wounds, when Haymitch was finally disarmed.

I held my breath, thinking for a stupid split of a second that this was the end of Haymitch Abernathy. Of course, this was the very notion that kept the Capitol residents watching every year.

I wondered what he would do with the knowledge of the force-field in the abyss, if he ever had the opportunity.

He staggered through the beautiful woods, holding his intestines in, while she stumbled after him, carrying the ax that should'vedelivered his deathblow. Haymitch made a beeline for his cliff and had just reached the edge when she threw the ax. He collapsed on the ground and it flew into the abyss. Now weaponless as well, the girl just stood there, trying to staunch the flow of blood pouring from her empty eye socket. She was thinking perhaps that she could outlast Haymitch, who was starting to convulse on the ground. But what she didn't know, and what he did, was that the ax would return. And when it flew back over the ledge, it buried itself in her head. The cannon sounded, her body was removed, and the trumpets blew to announce Haymitch's victory.

I clicked off the tape and we sat there in silence for a while.

OoO

We half-led half-carried Haymitch back to his compartment. Since we couldn't exactly set him down on the embroidered bedspread, we hauled him into the bathtub and turned the shower on him. He hardly noticed.

"It's okay," I said to Katniss. "I'll take it from here."

She seemed grateful, offering to send in some Capitol attendants to help me. I denied the offer, mostly because I hated even seeing those Capitol people. After she left, I began the grotesque task of stripping Haymitch to his underwear, which could have used a washing themselves if I were not already on the verge of covering him in my own vomit.

He didn't seem like he planned on waking up anytime soon, so the idea of being choked out in his bathroom once he woke to the sight of a boy washing him left my head. I stood up and looked around the porcelain shelves for something to wash him with. My eyes fell on a clean white loofah, which I wetted and lathered with body wash. I knelt back down again and was startled to see Haymitch wide awake and staring at me.

I stumbled backwards, dropping the loofah that I had intended to scrub his gross hairy chest with onto my khakis. A wet spot formed on my lap, and the water seeped into the rest of the pants, causing them to cling to my thighs. The khakis and the white button-down shirt I was wearing were getting kind of snug on me already, as I was a little thicker than my brothers who handed the clothes down to me. So, the water of course didn't help with leaving much to the imagination at that point. If only it were Katniss in here looking at me…

And speaking of people looking at me, Haymitch still was. He was studying the wet spot, eyeing me with what I at first thought was ridicule. However, when no laughter followed, I realized that his stare was more studying, calculating.

"Damn, boy," he said, impressed. "Those are some real horse-legs you got there. I believe I noticed you before, picking up sacks of flour. You are the baker's kid, aren't you?"

"Yes," I said nervously, not expecting to have to speak to my mentor instead of clean him up and feeling somewhat violated for having been stared at, even though it was purely for his judging whether or not I would make it in the arena.

"Well then you're ten times better than what I usually have to work with," he continued. "Most of those Seam boys have legs that you could fit your whole hand around. Not very good for running from the Careers." Already, the Games lingo began. "Not their fault, of course. You probably get a little bit more to eat, don't you? Your shoulders are broad, too."

The man was definitely drunk, talking so openly about my body and not even caring that my face was probably more red than a tomato.

"Now, I may be drunker than I don't know what," he went on. At least he was self-aware. "But I think we may be able to work with you. What kind of abilities do you possess?"

I couldn't believe he was already asking me questions. I was still holding the loofah.

"You're in no condition to start mentoring right away, Haymitch," I told him. "Just go back to sleep so I can get this over with and throw you in bed."

I inched toward him and he surprisingly pulled a pocket-knife out on me. I wondered how he got it, since I had pulled his pants off of him and tossed them to the other side of the room.

"Back off, boy," he warned me. I swallowed hard and did as he said, dropping the loofah on the floor. "I will not have some Merchant boy stand there and order me around like he knows more than I do. I'm your mentor, and the first thing you need to learn about having a mentor is that I call the shots. Understand?"

I nodded my head numbly. I was very used to being scolded by my mother, but the idea of being yelled at by a man was very different, and I never considered that it would have a different effect on me. Haymitch's voice carried a heaviness to it, a graveness that my mother's words never had.

"Good," he said. "Now explain those talents to me."

I thought for a second. "Well, that's just the thing." I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling utterly useless.

"What is?" Oh, right. He was still drunk.

"I have no talents." I explained. "I've spent my life in a bakery." I would really rather have had this conversation later on and somewhere else, but he was adamant in his stupor.

To my surprise, he just laughed at me. And it once again wasn't out of ridicule, but out of understanding. "Rule number one, boy - don't underestimate yourself. There are gonna be a lot of cocky bastards out there in the arena, but underestimating yourself can be just as dangerous. Those thick thighs and broad shoulders I noticed earlier are certainly worth more than you're letting off."

"Well I lift things," I offered weakly.

He nodded slowly and pulled his pruned hand out of the bathwater to cycle his index finger in the air in encouragement. "Go on."

"Big sacks of flour," I said. "We carry them every day and knead the dough we make. Takes a lot out of us."

"What do you do outside the bakery?"

I thought about it, and actually had something to say. "I'm on the wrestling team. I think I've risen up pretty high in the ranks." It was a little embarrassing to admit, but also true.

"Fantastic!" he said, clapping his hands together and splashing water throughout the room, including into my eyes.

He then began cackling wildly before pointing an assuring finger at me. "Great. Now, we'll arrive at the Capitol sooner or later, then training will begin. Don't worry, I'll show you the ropes then. But for now, eat up and get some rest."

I nodded at him again, not knowing what to say.

"Oh! And one more thing. Don't tell the other one about this conversation. She'll get jealous."

I left the room with a smile on my face, knowing that though he didn't know her, I did know her and I knew that his remark was true.

OoO

"You what?" he almost shouted at me, not really believing what I had to say and also not wanting to wake up the rest of the District 12 team. I had pulled him aside into my room in the District 12 suite, not long after Katniss and my training scores had been given. An eleven and a seven, something he was proud of. Of course, now I was probably extinguishing that excitement in him.

"You heard me," I said disrespectfully, knowing he was already too taken aback to strike me for it. "I've loved Katniss since we were children, and I want to know how I can use that to my advantage."

"Excuse me while I vomit," he told me, turning around to contemplate what I had said.

I waited patiently for his answer. "There has to be something I can do, strategically I mean. We can make these Capitol people think whatever we want-"

"Shh!" he commanded, whipping around and putting a finger over my mouth before dropping his own voice to a whisper. "Don't talk like that. I need to think before I can decide what can and cannot be said."

After about an hour of talking, Haymitch and I agreed that my feelings for Katniss would be beneficial to our survival. I was to reveal them during my interview with Caesar, and it would be the first time that a romance like this would happen in the Games. Katniss, of course, would not be at all happy once she found out, but I would just have to cross that bridge when I got there.

OoO

Training with Haymitch was tough, to say the least.

On the very few occasions that he trained me alone, he focused mainly on one stupid exercise: the man had me throwing boulders around.

Though it was a simple task, it was not an easy one. I was to pick up a boulder of the heaviest weight, take it to the center of the room, and throw it as far as I could. After five throws, fatigue was hitting me like a brick wall and the distances were decreasing with each toss. When I picked up the boulder and carried it back to the center for the sixth time, I dropped it on the ground next to me and groaned in exhaustion.

Haymitch had been watching me from afar, his arms crossed in judgement.

"That's it, Peeta?" he inquired. "I know you've got more in there than that."

"I do, it's just…" I faltered for a moment. "I just don't see the point in any of this. I throw these boulders around, and for what?"

He became cross again. "I told you not to question my methods."

We stood there for a while, him contemplating something and me waiting for him to finish contemplating that something.

"Pick up the rock and follow me," he instructed, not bothering to look at me as he turned and headed for the elevators.

I did as I was told, grabbing the handle of the immense object and following him closely. We stepped inside the elevator and he pressed the button for us to head to the roof, where I often went at night to think. I became slightly annoyed that he was going to invade what felt like my sacred space with what I only assumed could be another insane workout. But I remained silent about my feelings, as he remained silent about his plans.

The elevator felt as if it was going slower than usual, possibly from the added weight or possibly because Haymitch had overridden the system somehow to prolong my agony. My brow began to sweat again as my arm felt as if its muscles would snap any second. I looked up through the glass ceiling of the box, counting the seconds before sunlight reached it.

When we finally got to the top, Haymitch strolled over to the edge of the roof and looked down. I shuffled behind him with my heavy load, prepared to drop it at a moment's notice. I was about to open my mouth to ask for guidance when he finally spoke.

"Your arms are strong, Peeta," he said before turning to implore me with his Seam gray eyes. "I want them stronger."

I looked at him in curiosity, wondering what else we could possibly do. I've been tossing around the heaviest of the boulders all day. Is there really a next level?

"Toss the boulder off the building," he said, interrupting my thoughts.

Surely, he couldn't have been serious. He and I both knew that the boulder would bounce back up and kill me. The force-field tactic worked in his favor at the end of his Games, but there were no tributes to kill up here on the roof.

Haymitch sensed my apprehension. "What's the matter? Don't think there's a point?"

I was going to nod, but decided against it.

"Can't you do it?" he asked, almost mocking me.

"I can, but I don't know if I'll be able to catch it when it returns."

"Too bad!" he spat. "You have to be ready for anything. What if a Career is barreling towards you and Katniss at lightning speed? What will you do then? Step aside and let him or her land on Katniss? Or will you make yourself into a wall and push the joker back?"

He yelled that last part, and stood right behind me to scream, "Begin!"

Tentatively, I walked toward the edge of the training center and peered down below, where masses of Capitol residents were betting on tributes. I wondered for a second if I could break through the force-field below and hit the ground, as that would be much less painful than what Haymitch was expecting me to do.

With one great sigh, I heaved the boulder with all of my might down towards the street. I watched as it flew away from me, then hit the force-field and came rushing back towards me. I braced for impact, one foot forward and both arms out ready to catch the thing.

My first few attempts were met with embarrassment. Each time the boulder knocked me backwards and then rolled away. Though I did not sustain any injuries aside from a few scrapes from falling, my pride was hurt severely by Haymitch's incessant shaking of the head.

We stayed up there all night, until the sunset had turned my favorite shade of orange. Though I never successfully caught the boulder without staggering backward, I did manage to catch the object without falling. Haymitch nodded approvingly at this, before turning around and heading for the elevator without saying a word. As I was exhausted from an afternoon of throwing a rock and catching it, I called out feebly to him but did not pursue him, preferring to lie on the ground for a while.

OoO

"Took you long enough," Haymitch laughed, making fun of the fact that I hadn't wasted one second after hearing the announcement of the third Quarter Quell. I sprinted over to his house as fast as I had sprinted away from the cornucopia in my last Games.

"We need to save her, Haymitch," I pleaded, already on my knees before him, which wasn't weird because he was on the ground, too.

He sighed for a while. "She's going into the arena. You know that."

"I know," I said quickly. "But we need to ensure that she gets out, too. I'm nothing without her, Haymitch. Nothing." It was true. It was painful, but it was true. I began to look forlorn, staring at the floor.

"Now just hold on a minute," he instructed. "Don't give me that hopeless, lover-boy bullshit. This girl may be your whole life, but I'll be damned if I see you hang your head like a dog who lost his bone over the simple prospect that she's gonna be in danger."

He was still surprisingly coherent for a drunk.

"She'll always be in danger. There's nothing you or I can do about it, Peeta. So, if you're ready to fight and give your life for her, pick up that head of yours and stop sulking."

I did as he said, looking at him instead and wiping off the sadness from my face.

"While you're at it, grab me some whiskey."

OoO

I wake up and flip on the flashlight, having rested up just enough. The goosebumps have gone from my bare skin and been replaced by beads of sweat. It is pretty hot twenty feet below the ground.

I shine the flashlight around the coffin once more to survey what I have to work with. Once satisfied, I aim it directly down at my boots, which are tied together with one of Prim's belts. I kick furiously, trying to free the shoes from my feet, until they come off. I toss them aside and am free to use my toes to try and take my prosthetic off.

I used my big toe to press the button several times before my prosthetic actually detaches itself and I am able to reach down and search inside it for what I am looking for. There is a small chamber in the top of the leg, below where my real leg ends, that I use to hide things frequently. Right now, I have hidden in there a small file which I begin to use immediately.

I struggle to slice into the rope around my wrists to no avail, as I am unable to get the flashlight into the right position. I even try putting it in my mouth, but I am faced with horrible flashbacks to when I was at the mercy of Capitol men while in a coma. So, I decide to rest the tool in the crook of my neck while I wear the rope down.

After almost a minute of sawing at it, the final thread breaks loose and I rejoice, shrugging off the rope and tossing it away before putting my prosthetic back on and putting the file in by back pocket for safekeeping.

With my hands free, I rub my wrists and test the wood above me. It's high quality, Leevy must've given an arm and a leg to get it. I know now that I must use the technique that Haymitch showed me. When I caught the boulders, I had to push against them with all of my strength so that they wouldn't push me back. Now, I realize that this wooden wall is just another boulder, just another enemy standing between Katniss and I.

Except this time, Katniss' safety is not my objective.

"Okay, Haymitch," I whisper mostly to myself. "Here I come."

With that, I use both fists and push against the wood. After the first few times, my knuckles are bleeding and the wood is not breaking. But I do not lose hope.

A few more tries and cracks begin to appear in the wood alongside my blood. The nails begin to free themselves and I can feel the coffin start to collapse. My grunting becomes louder as I hit the wood harder.

As dirt starts to flood my wooden prison, I punch with both fists harder and faster, knowing that if I waste one second I will drown in earth.

The moment a large enough hole appears in the coffin's lid, I jump out of it, using my legs to propel myself into the ground above me. I practically swim upwards, climbing over the mounds of dirt that threaten to crush me. I have to keep a swift rhythm as I make my way to the surface so that I don't fall below again.

When I feel my hand finally make contact with open air, I probe the ground urgently and dig my fingers into the loose dirt surround my would-be grave. I hoist my head up too, and take in the deepest breath I've taken since I almost drowned in the Quarter Quell.

I almost sink back under, and am forced to reach further and claw at tree roots in order to save myself from returning to my dirty dungeon. I drag my body out from the black hole in the ground, grunting and heaving all the way.

When my body is finally free from the confines of the earth, I lie on my back and pant loudly for a few minutes, absorbing the sounds of the forest. My matted hair has become dirty blonde due to sweat and obviously dirt, and my entire body is coated in the stuff. Exposure to the dryness, coupled with sweating, has made me very thirsty. So, I limp to a nearby stream.

As I dip a cupped hand into the cool waters, I notice a deer staring at me from across the stream.

"What?" I ask it. "I've had a rough night."