A/N: I began writing this chapter well over a year ago, when I lost interest in my story. But upon rewatching the first two films over the past couple of days, I found my interest in the Fighting With Fire series renewed. And so I announce this story's hiatus over.

Before reading this chapter, you may want to refresh yourself on what's happened in the series so far. I recommend rereading No Escape, the first part, and the prologue to this story- it has been over a year and a half, after all.

The title of the story is also subject to change.

Chapter One:

When I open my eyes, I don't recognize where I am immediately. All I know is that it's not District Twelve or the arena. The arena. I freeze, the memories of the third Quarter Quell returning to me.

I remember racing through a burning jungle, carrying Johanna Mason on my back, stumbling, struggling to breath through the smoke, falling from the talons of a hovercraft, getting knocked out by a Peacekeeper. Peacekeeper. And then I instantly know where I am. I'm in the Capitol. That leads me to my next questions. How am I still alive? Why haven't they killed me yet? They're questions I honestly can't answer.

I try to put my mind at ease by examining my surroundings. I'm in a very bright, white room. It's so plain. I look up at the door, the inside pattern looking the same, except for a number scribbled on it. 045. What does that mean? I look up, over the door. Glass. I peer through it. More white and some light blue.

I reach up and run a hand through my disheveled hair. Somehow, that reminds me that I'd been wounded when I was in the arena. Carefully, I touch the knife wound on my face. I only feel a small twinge of pain. I'm also surprised that the bridge of my nose has been repaired. I run my fingers across the length of the cut. The only difference between it and my normal skin is the texture. Obviously, the wound left a scar.

Next, I'm curious about my arm. I remember that I had lost function in it after Johanna had slammed her axe into my shoulder. I wonder what the Capitol surgeons did about it. I use my right arm to pull myself into a sitting position. I rotate my left shoulder. To my surprise, it actually obeys my command- but not without excruciating pain. I bite back a cry and end up collapsing to my back again. I ponder how the surgeons returned the function to my arm- and why they didn't blot out the pain. Stop complaining and be thankful that it's usable.

A bloodcurling scream from my left makes me sit bolt upright, oblivious to any pain. Johanna. I should be glad she's alive, but instead I momentarily fear whatever force she's fighting. I can't hear anything other than her screams through the walls, and even those are muffled. I wonder if it's the pain of any injuries she got in the arena. No. One word comes to my mind and I know without a doubt that I'm right. Torture.

And you thought you were saving her. I get to my feet, pacing the small space of my cell in worry for the young woman. I notice chains on the wall of my cell, which I'd not seen before. Eying the manacles on the ends, I realize that I won't be surprised if they give me the same treatment as Johanna. I'm not looking forward to it.

I wonder what method of torture they're using against her, until it occurs to me that thinking about it certainly won't put my mind at ease. So I stop. I try to enjoy the silence- apart from Johanna's screams- for as long as I can. It probably won't be long before they realize that I'm awake and turn on me.

I sit down against the back wall of the cell. I take the time to examine it more. I can see very faint reddish stains against the floors and walls, and I can see cracks at the bases of the chains. I don't think about what happened in this cell in the past. I don't think about anything. I just look. I glance back to the 045 on the inside of the door. I wonder if I am being addressed by the number or if the room is.

My thoughts are interrupted by a noise coming from the door. I look up sharply as it opens. Two Peacekeepers stand in my sight, a well dressed woman between them.

"President Snow wishes to speak with you." The woman says.

"What, now?" I ask, frowning. "I've just woken up."

"Yes, now." She answers.

"And what if I don't wish to speak with him?" I test the woman.

"I'm sorry, but he's not giving an option." The Capitol official answers.

I sigh, getting to my feet and gesturing at my prison outfit. "At least send me to him in something more appropriate for the occasion."

"Very well." She nods.

We leave the cell, the woman leading. I walk in between the guards. She takes me to what looks like a bedroom door. She opens it and gestures me in. I enter, listening to the door close behind me. I look around the room cautiously. I spot a figure looking at some notes on a desk. I clear my throat. The figure looks up. It's Portia!

Never have I ever been so glad to see someone in my life. Except maybe when Maysilee saved me in the second Quell with her poison darts. But that was so long ago now. So long ago.

"Haymitch!" The stylist looks relieved. "You're alive!"

"Of course I am." I say. "Though I'd rather not be here."

"Yes, well, I suppose it's better than still being in that arena." She points out.

I shrug. "What's the difference between here and there?"

"A lot of things." Portia says. "Now, President Snow wanted to see you, correct?"

I nod.

"Well, let's get you ready to go see him then."

She takes a navy blue suit from the closet behind her. She produces black dress shoes and a black tie to go with it. She lays them on the bed and tells me to change. I take off my shoes first. When I try to take off my shirt, horrible pain tears through my shoulder and I gasp lightly, biting my lip to keep from crying out. Stupid shoulder. I see that the wound's been reduced to a mere scar on the outside- but clearly there's internal damage. I manage to change out of my prison outfit and into the suit without much difficulty after that. I put on the tie and shoes.

"You look presentable enough." Portia nods in approval. "Now, go before Snow gets impatient. And be careful what you say. He doesn't like you."

"I know. And you take care too." I reply.

I reach for the door handle.

"And Haymitch- good luck."

"That's the one thing that's never been on my side."

I open the door and walk out, shutting it behind me. The Peacekeepers and the woman await.

*X*

When I enter Snow's office, he's sitting at his desk. Part of the Quell plays on a small, see through display.

Johanna's ranting, shouting up at the sky. "Hey, how does that sound, Snow? What if we- what if we set your backyard on fire?! You know, you can't put everybody in here!"

I smirk, finding a little humor in the idea.

"Ah, Mr. Abernathy. It's good to see that arm in working order once again." Snow greeted, his words almost chilling. "Come, sit down."

I obey, sitting on a sofa across from him.

"I have a request for you."

"Oh?"

"Panem needs to hear the words of a victor; of a survivor of the Games. And there's no bigger influence than the one who survived two Quarter Quells." The president explains.

"You're asking me to go out there and speak to Panem?" I ask, frowning at the absurdity of it.

"I'm not asking." Snow informs me.

"Why can't you do it yourself?"

"Mr. Abernathy, sometimes in this world, whether we intend it or not, we become symbols. And since I am a symbol of power and formality- like the seal on the door- which means I can't always reach into a living room. That has to come from a friend, from someone people feel like they might know.

"The sooner the uprisings in the Districts are put to rest, the sooner you'll see your home again."

"And if I refuse?"

"The other victors will be punished."

I grimace.

"I think we both agree that there is enough innocent blood on your hands, Mr. Abernathy."

You can't put that on me! I didn't order those executions. I seeth inside, but I know that arguing this point won't get me anywhere. "What do you want me to say to them?"

"I want you to call for a cease fire."

*X*

I sit in a chair adjacent to Caesar Flickerman, my arm in a sling. Cameras face us, Peacekeepers standing out of frame. I can't believe I'm doing this; letting Snow use me as a tool to gain what he wants.

"Hello. Good evening. And a big welcome to all in Panem." Caesar greets the audience. "I'm Caesar Flickerman, and whoever you are, whatever it is you're doing- if you're working, put down your work. If you're having dinner, stop having dinner. Because you are going to want to witness this tonight.

"There has been rampant speculation about what really happened in the Quarter Quell. And here to shed a little light on the subject for us is a very special guest. Please welcome Mr. Haymitch Abernathy."

Even though I can practically feel the cameras on my face, I certainly don't feel very special.

"Haymitch, a lot of people feel as though they are in the dark. Set the stage for us. Talk us through. What really happened on that final and controversial night?" Caesar inquires.

"Well, first off, you have to understand that when you're in the Games, you only get one wish; it's very costly."

"It costs your life."

"It costs more than your life." I try to hide the bite in my voice.

"How do you mean? What's more than your life?"

"To murder innocent people. And that costs everything that you are. To go in once is more than enough, but twice...You hold onto that one wish. That night, my wish was to look out for Katniss, to protect her, to save her. For Peeta. She wanted to leave the others. I should've listened."

"But you didn't." Caesar says.

"No." I shake my head.

"Why? Were you caught up in Beetee's plan?" He asks me.

I nod. "I was caught up in the plan, caught up in having to play allies. Beetee sent Katniss off with Johanna. That was the last I saw of her. I should've volunteered to take her place. My arm was useless- what would I have been against two careers defending Beetee? I was exhausted and hurting, and I wasn't thinking straight. I let her go. Then she blew out the arena and it collapsed on us. I just hope that she survived, that she's with Peeta now, wherever that is."

"But, Haymitch, it seems as though she was part of a rebel plan."

"Yeah? A plan that she probably died in? She didn't blow out the arena to kill herself. I don't know why she did it. But there was no plan, I know that. Not one that she and I were aware of." Well, that's not completely a lie.

"Alright." Caesar backed off. "Could I ask you to speak about the unrest in the Districts, or is that too much?"

Thirteen's gonna hate me for this. "It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

I nod.

"Thank you."

I look to one of the cameras again, letting it focus on my face. I sigh, preparing myself to hear what I'm about to say. I can't believe it's come to this.

"I want everyone who's watching to stop. And to think about what a civil war could mean. We almost went extinct once before, and now, our numbers are even fewer. Is this really what we want to do? Kill ourselves off? Killing is not the answer." I speak out the well-rehearsed words. It's no longer me talking, but Snow. These are Snow's words, coming from my mouth. "Everyone needs to lay down their weapons immediately."

Caesar leans in, completely serious. "Are you calling for a cease fire?"

I don't break eye contact with the camera. I give the slightest shake of my head. I desperately hope that my connections in Thirteen interpret it correctly. "Yeah. I am."

God, I hope they interpret it correctly. Elsewise, I'm in big trouble if I ever get out of here.