A/N: Flex, in my head, is played by Russian tennis player Karen Khachanov. (To English-reading eyes, that may look feminine, but look him up. He's absolutely a man.)

May I just say, here, that I thought Donald Sutherland was the perfect President Snow? He's a wonderful actor and really invested himself in his character.

And here we go!

Chapter Thirteen: Sudden Resolution

Cough. "Haymitch Abernathy." Cough.

Haymitch nodded as he stared at the man bound with harsh wire to a chair. "President Snow. Been wanting to see you again."

"Yes," the white-haired man drawled as blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. "About twenty years."

"About."

Years, he'd waited for this day. Years. He'd daydreamed and plotted and planned and talked himself through a nearly unending variety of scenarios for the day he took his vengeance on Panem's hateful President for the deaths of his mother, brother, and girlfriend.

Daisy. Her name had been Daisy Morris and though he'd only just turned seventeen when Snow had had her killed, Haymitch carried her memory with him even here, on his last day on earth. She'd had red hair and gray eyes and looked like an angel when he'd come home from the Second Quarter Quell…

The next cough spewed more blood, some of it hitting the carpeted floor, the rest falling to Snow's soiled trousers. "What do you want? The lives of your Tributes?" Snow's rheumy eyes shifted this way and that and it seemed that only then did he notice that the video screens were still working, after a fashion.

The Arena was on fire and Katniss and Peeta were braving walls of flame. Jumping through fire, helping one another climb trees and rocks...sometimes just running through them. Haymitch ground his teeth together in an effort not to act precipitously.

The timing had to be perfect. Lavinia, the pretty Avox in their suite, had proven a masterful organizer. The nonverbal language of the Avox community had been stunning to an outsider like himself. Communication on toilet paper had been highly effective, and he'd not told Hawthorne much of anything other than what pertained to his own mission.

There was a phrase he'd heard or read or something somewhere. Plausible deniability. Sounded almost as good as imminent demise.

Hawthorne was safe from knowing some of it, anyway.

Haymitch shook his head and Snow focused on him again. "What I want is your life, Snow. Nothin' more, nothin' less. I'm a simple guy, really."

The President struggled for half a second against the punishment wire an Avox named Pollux had found for him in a closet. The barbs on the wire dug into the old man's skin and muscle. Haymitch was all right with that.

"So take it, already. Unless you're afraid?"

Haymitch snorted outright at that. "I know you know better than that."

Two Tributes died onscreen. Breath coming fast, Haymitch made himself wait. The longer he could draw this out, the better chance the rest had of getting out.

"Who's the Gamemaker? Seneca Crane, right? He's doing a marvelous job. Really," Haymitch drawled. "But maybe my girl Katniss scared him, yeah?"

Snow coughed a little, winced, spat more blood. "An eleven. He said she deserved it."

"She's a lot like me, you know." He'd shocked them too, when he'd had an eleven. No one remembered that, anymore. "So, yeah. She did. Feisty, my Girl on Fire."

The girl with the red hair was stuck in a tree. Katniss and Peeta paused to hear the percussive sound that announced another death. Haymitch marked more time. "So no one's come looking for you. I wonder why."

"I had wondered," the President said with astonishing sangfroid. He sniffed and made a small movement with his fingers. "You've always been an intelligent man." He looked beyond Haymitch to a place in the ceiling. "I imagine you've covered everything."

"I tried."

The fires on the screen stopped. "Well, your Tributes will certainly require assistance. I imagine your young associate is handling that while you're here…taking care of ending a long story."

"I'm sure he is. He's gotta learn to do it alone. I had to, no thanks to any of you."

"Now, if that had been you, Abernathy, you'd have killed your wounded companion and…how did you do it? Oh yes. The force field."

A chill swept through Haymitch's entire body, but he did his best not to let it show. "Well, Peeta and Katniss have a history, apparently. Who knows," Haymitch tagged on with a smile, watching the screen, "maybe they'll play rock, paper, scissors to see who wins?"

"What?"

"You don't know that game? It's a classic in the Seam. Kids don't have a lot to play with, but they have their hands and feet. Mostly."

The broadcast started to scatter and Haymitch knew it was time. "Wow, looks like a problem with the Almighty Hunger Games there, Mr. President. I better find out what's happening." In moments, he had a knife in his right hand—his throwing hand—and a small handgun in his left.

The President stared at him with cold, pale eyes. "You won't be able to get away with this. Even if you've shut down the surveillance video, someone will hear, will see. And you'll be killed."

"Snow, I've been dead since the Quarter Quell." Drawing a quick breath, he threw the knife into Snow's throat and followed through with three shots to the man's forehead.

The door opened behind him. It was the Avox Pollux, who was actually a cameraman for the Capitol under normal circumstances. Haymitch spared one long look back at Snow before nodding to Pollux. "Thanks, man. On my way."

Behind him, in Snow's private office where he micromanaged the Gamemakers, the video screen displayed the rupture in the force field surrounding the Arena.

Haymitch nodded, turned, and ran—following first one Avox, then another, on his way out of the President's office suite. He had to smile. He'd done it! He'd killed the bastard! For his mother, brother, all the Tributes he'd had to watch die, year after hellish year.

For Daisy.

His body thrummed with wonder, awe, and appreciation for the voiceless ones who ran with him, somehow forming a human shield as they all but flew down the Avox Avenues out of the building. Everyone who worked there was poised in front of one of the viewing screens that were always on for the Games.

"What's wrong with the Arena? The sky? What happened?"

"Wait, who are they and do they know what's wrong?"

"Oh, shit," Haymitch muttered as all the staffers turned to see him and the phalanx of Avoxes that were escaping. "Oh, shit," he said again, louder.

Pollux grabbed him by the arm and shoved him ahead. Fear and a sense of inevitability replaced the wonder and awe as the Avoxes all followed suit. Arm—grab—push—stumble—catch—run. Over and again until they were out in the open air and running…

He hadn't even found out where Hawthorne's meeting place was; he'd never expected to get that far. Still, they ran, and those he ran with seemed to know where they were headed. I trust them. They're amazing and I can't believe I never really interacted with them before and—

"President Snow's been murdered!"

The words exploded through the air on loudspeakers that were built in, apparently, as a feature for all the Capitoline construction.

"President Snow's been murdered!"

Peacekeepers—where had they been, anyway? Maybe the Avoxes had trapped them underground?—erupted from doors, weapons at the ready. Haymitch grimaced as he developed a stitch in his side. I'm getting too old for this, he groused silently.

Not aloud. He had no more breath to complain.

"The Avoxes did it! They're running away! Get them!"

Weapon fire pierced the air they breathed. The bodies that ran as a human shield around him. His clothes. His skin. His muscles. His skull…

Haymitch Abernathy fell, bleeding from innumerable wounds to his body.

He was smiling as he died.

Gale banged on the door to Sal's place. The transportation dealer was waiting, the flame tattoo on his forehead unmoving as he said, "You made it, good." He grimaced as he turned away, beckoning for Gale to follow.

Their steps echoed in the concrete stairwell that led out. "Your friend Flex got the equipment. Two others were waiting for him outside my place. He vouched for them." A pause. "I'm guessing that was all right."

Gale was still trying to wrap his mind around the notion that everything was coming to a head at that precise moment. His mind was spinning, but in the very center of it was Katniss. Burned, running, frightened. Far away. "Yeah. They're good. So, they're here. Good." Then, he shook his head in a physical effort to get clear. "You said two?"

Sal didn't seem at all dismayed—he hadn't wanted to know how many total might be there; the less he knew for sure, the better. "So, you'll have staff for your trip, right?" Turning to walk again, he continued speaking. "There's been some trouble with the Games, they said. A lot of Tributes are already gone but your two are still alive. They're doing great."

"Thanks. I'm really proud of them." How was Katniss? Was she hurting? Did they get away? Where was Haymitch? The questions ran circles in his brain. "Where's the hovercraft?"

"I'll take you. Your pilot needed a test lift before trusting it, he said." Sal snorted as they reached the large hangar, where there was a smaller transport. "I built this myself. Not so big for a trip, but it's easier on fuel. Your staff is already with him, but he'll need—"

"Someone to speak for him, right. He let me know. Still, he's got a good recommendation and I feel good about him." Gale tried hard to sound businesslike as he spoke, but he was wanting to hurry. He hefted the small haversack on his back. "So, let's check it out. Looks like the Games might be over sooner than expected."

With a shake of his head, Sal agreed. "Let's go."

There were only two seats in the small craft, and no cargo room, so Gale held his pack on his lap after strapping himself in. Sal opened the outer hangar door, and they flew carefully through an upward-slanted passage that was indeed big enough for a normal hovercraft. Gale breathed deeply to calm himself. He couldn't go any faster than he was. "There's a beacon on the craft you'll be taking," Sal remarked casually. "So I can find it. Safety precaution."

"Of course," Gale said as smoothly as he was able. Damn. Gotta disconnect that! Lavinia…ask her. "So I heard a huge shout on my way to your place. I had been watching the Games and left Haymitch so I could check in with you and my pilot. What happened?"

"Well, like I said, there was some trouble. The broadcast kept pixelating and—if you can believe it—Caesar Flickerman's mouth was stuck open." He laughed as he reached the open air over the Capitol. They flew low to the buildings on their way east as Sal continued to tell Gale what he'd missed. "Not sure what it was all about, but it looked—" he said with a strange stress on the word as a light started flashing and moving on a small screen—"like the sky was crumbling around the Arena."

"Seriously?" Gale tried for his best shocked voice. "The force field? Wow. I hope everyone found a place to hide," he added as if it didn't matter. "Haymitch had that problem in the last Quarter Quell."

"Ah, there he is. Your pilot. I got him on visual. Prepare for landing. And yeah, I remember. Haymitch Abernathy's full of piss and vinegar."

Gale chuckled, truly amused despite the nerves jangling all throughout his body. "People say that here in the Capitol? I thought it was a Seam thing."

"Well, I say it. I guess that counts. All right. Steady on. The landing'll be bumpy. Not a lot of shock absorption this one."

Gale felt a bit sick as they landed, and it had nothing to do with the rough thud they had felt on impact with the earth. There wasn't a lot of air cover, out in the foothills, but there was a meadow and the larger hovercraft…and only three people.

Haymitch hadn't made it. Gale said nothing, though, because if his fellow Mentor had done what he'd planned to do, Gale wanted to be far away from the Capitol when Sal found out. The man was an outlier, but how far did his loyalties stretch?

He didn't want to test that.

"Thanks so much, Sal. I'll make sure to tell Julia how much help you've been."

Sal frowned and the flame on his forehead seemed to flicker. Was it a holographic tattoo? Gale had been wondering about that off and on since he first met the man. "Want a ride back? With the force field down and your Tributes—" He stopped mid-sentence and just stared. "You're going after them."

Running out of time and clinging to his hope of reaching Katniss before anyone else did, Gale sighed and put a smile on his face. "Well. You're coming with us."

He should have been sitting, but Gale couldn't make himself stay still. Lavinia had caught the most recent news broadcast from the Capitol.

"We are unsure if this is part of a larger conspiracy against Panem. At this time, no security footage is available to us that might show the sequence of events leading up to the murder of our President, Coriolanus Snow. More news as it develops."

And then there was a shift to a romance-based reality show. Not even a mention of the Hunger Games. This was worrisome, indeed, because it was possible that Haymitch's timing to go after Snow was the worst.

Salvatore was strapped to a chair in the rear of the craft, but he called out, "You can untie me, Mentor Hawthorne. It's not like I can go anywhere."

Gale checked with the final escaped Avox of their crew, a girl from Eleven by the name of Sage. She was tall and strong and looked to be in her early twenties, Gale surmised. She could have rivaled anyone in the Games and probably won…if she hadn't been charged and convicted of rebellion. He'd get her story later.

At the moment, she was in charge of their notional captive, Salvatore, and she shook her head, lips compressed. That meant no as far as Gale was concerned.

"Not just yet, Sal. Hang tight. Lavinia," he called next, gesturing for the red-haired girl to come to him.

Her face was clear and inquisitive, the obvious question in her eyes. What?

"I just remembered something. The trackers that go in the Tributes. Can you shut them down?"

Lavinia frowned, thought, and then shrugged, miming that she'd have to see the arms of the Tributes.

"Okay. Good enough. Flex? How much longer?"

There was a chronograph near the pilot's chair and the man tapped it with a callused finger. Then he put up one finger, closed his fist and then put up the finger again, but bending it.

"An hour and a half?"

Flex nodded and Gale tried to calm down. There wasn't anything he could do, at this point. He hoped Katniss and Peeta knew he'd be coming for them. He hoped they hadn't been found, if they had figured out how to escape.

"Screw it, I can't sit here," he muttered, pushing off his chair and moving around.

Sal laughed a little. "There's a galley on board, you know. I had it all fitted out for your, uh, vacation."

"Do I look hungry?" Gale shot back, moving to stand near to the older man. "My...my Tributes are down there and I have no idea what they're doing and they don't know where to go or what to do, right now."

Getting it off his chest felt good. He missed Haymitch Abernathy in a huge way.

A burst of static blared into the cabin. "That's an emergency signal," Salvatore volunteered. "In case you wanted to know."

Flex nodded and rolled his eyes at Gale; the two of them sharing in the feeling of the beleaguered. With a couple of clicks, the pilot had brought a Message from the Capitol into their hovercraft. Gale held his breath, hoping this wouldn't mean another obstacle in his desire to find Katniss.

An implacable, female voice made the announcement. She sounded familiar, but Gale couldn't think of who it was.

All Peacekeepers. All Peacekeepers. Report immediately to the nearest Justice Hall and await orders.

Repeat. All Peacekeepers are to report immediately to the nearest Justice Hall and await orders.

"Leave it on," Gale told Flex, "If you would. Please. Just in case things change."

"C'mon, Hawthorne, I gotta, you know…"

Gale stared at Sal for a long, hard moment. "All right. I don't suppose you'll try to jump or anything. Sage? He doesn't have any electronics or enhancements, does he?" The woman shook her head and bent to free their guest. "Fine," Gale continued. "Just…make sure he doesn't do anything we'll all regret."

Sage's smile flashed white and feral and Gale relaxed just a bit. Enough to smile back at her as she led Sal to the sanitary facilities.

Gah. Even thinking like I'm from the Capitol. That sucks.

Lavinia was pacing, but every now and then, she stopped behind Flex and pressed his shoulders with her palms. Flex would look back at her and smile and Gale had to look away. It hadn't even been a week, but he missed Katniss. It wasn't as if he hadn't always missed her when he was off making nice with the Capitol, but after kissing her…

It was just more.

"I'll be right back," he told the pair, hurrying to the passenger compartment. He checked his supplies, there, and did another look to see what they had on hand. He hadn't had time to stock up for any serious medicines, but he did have some basic first aid. In the Capitol, Peeta could have his eye replaced, but that likely wasn't going to happen now…unless he claimed he was kidnapped and returned to the Capitol on his own.

"Gimme back my clothes!" Sal's shout echoed off all available surfaces and, even in his worry and stress, Gale had to chuckle. Nice, Sage. "You Amazon! I want my pants!"

Sage, feral grin still in place, emerged from the toilet area, holding Sal's clothes over one arm. After tossing them to Gale, she turned to the first aid supplies, organizing them in a way that Gale recognized as neat and organized, before she turned to him and gestured for him to find their guest.

Who was still calling, albeit in a bored sort of sing-song tone. "I want my clothes. I want my pants. I want them all. I'll rant and rant."

"So you're a poet?" Salvatore was standing in a toilet stall, hands in front of his genitals and chanting with his eyes shut until Gale spoke.

Fiery eyes snapped open. "Stuff it, you. Gimme my clothes."

Gale tossed them over. "Come on, then. Let's get ready for guests. I don't know how many we'll find, down there, but I'm thinking we won't have to deal with a lot of other traffic." After Sal got his trousers on, Gale added, "You're not getting near any equipment though. Not 'til I've got my Tributes back."

"From what I saw, Hawthorne, it might be that only your Tributes survived that firestorm."

Grunting, Gale nodded. "Did Foehn from Five die, too, then?"

"You know? I dunno. Maybe." He pulled on his shirt and buttoned it up halfway. "I wasn't thinking to have to outfit this for a mob, there, Hawthorne. Just you and your girl and those you brought with you to help out," he added, jerking his thumb in the direction of the flight cabin. "Speaking of, where's that great, tall girl?"

"Sage? With the medicines. Come on. If we have to figure out new sleeping arrangements for everyone, we can do it in the air."

Another burst of static came from every speaker on the hovercraft. The same female voice spoke once more.

"Attention, Attention. It is now confirmed that President Coriolanus Snow has been assassinated in his private office. This is Ginger Potter speaking now, his speechwriter, and I can verify this to be true. At this time, we have reason to believe this vile act was the responsibility of one man, Victor and Mentor Haymitch Abernathy from District Twelve. We are currently seeking the other Mentor from Twelve to confirm our identification of this man's body. Gale Hawthorne, please report to the Tributes' Tower as soon as possible. Thank you."

Haymitch's body. His body. "They killed him," he whispered, eyes burning with shock and pain. He turned and pressed his face to the nearest wall, the hard, cold surface oddly reassuring.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Sounds like he did the world a service, there, Hawthorne."

Gale dragged in a ragged breath, still not moving his face. "He said he might not make it. But I didn't know it'd be permanent."

"At least he didn't Mentor you all the way to the President's office," Sal commented, moving to lean against the same bit of wall.

Pushing himself from the wall, Gale glared at the other man. "Don't, okay? Don't. I gotta focus on getting my Tributes safe." His cheeks were wet so he turned and wiped them dry on his way to the flight compartment.

All three of the Avoxes were there and they turned as one to look at his face as he entered. Lavinia frowned and touched his arm briefly. Sorry, she said in her silent way.

Sage nodded, no laughter in her slightly up-tilted eyes. Sorry...Her echo was silent, but appreciated.

Flex nodded at him, determination in eyes a lot like Gale's own. Then, his expression changed and he held up one hand with all the fingers flared. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Thirty minutes?" Gale guessed.

Nods all around.

Gale sniffed hard and put Haymitch's death away from him for the moment. "Time for everyone to keep an eye open. We'll go to the Arena first, and then out in a spiral from there. Sal?"

"Yeah?" The answer came from less than three feet away.

"Do we have a, a lift? Like they use to pick up the, ah, Tributes in the Games?"

"Not exactly, but we can improvise."

"Right. Lavinia?" The girl focused on him. "Will you go with Sal and help if you can, to improvise a way to bring the Tributes in if we find them and they can't get to us?"

She nodded and left with Salvatore. Gale pressed his lips shut for a moment, thinking. "Sage? Please keep your eyes open for any other aircraft. Flex? Sun's setting, looks like. Do you have any special night vision options for the ground?"

While they got to work on that, Gale felt his stomach rumble in hunger and he remembered he hadn't eaten properly at all day. Well, he'd been hungry before.

Haymitch was gone. He'd want him to keep on with this. Rescue Katniss and Peeta. Help them. Get their families safe…

With that thought, he darted from the cabin. "Be right back!" he shouted over his shoulder. His families. He'd have to get word to his mom. Katniss's sister, Prim. They'd be worried.

What about Peeta's folks?

A wordless sort of grunting cry came from the flight cabin and Gale abandoned his ideas to jog back. "What?"

Flex pointed to a screen, then to his eye, then to the screen again.

Three warm bodies, hiding in the trees just below them. Relief flooded Gale's limbs and heart. "You found 'em. Flex, I owe you big."

The man shrugged a little, but he was smiling as he pointed to another speaker and made that odd, nonverbal vocalization.

A label under the speaker had the words MIC OFF and MIC ON.

Gale clicked the ON button and cleared his throat. "Tributes, this is Mentor Gale Hawthorne. The Hunger Games are OVER."

E/N: Surprised? See you in a couple of days...