Chapter 11: Return to Hell

No matter how many times I try to convince myself the Victory Tour went well, I keep coming back to the inescapable conclusion that it was an abject failure.

Even with Peeta and I trying our best, the districts were unruly, loud and passionate, seeing us up on the stages in place after place. My attempts to gaslight the people by insisting I was a coward in the Games fall on deaf ears. By the time Peeta, Haymitch and I drag ourselves back into Victors' Village, spring is about to break over District 12.

With the warming of the weather, Haymitch is beginning to turn his attention to the 75th Hunger Games (which Peeta and I will help him mentor)…. and drinking heavily while doing so. It concerns me, and when I ask my Mother why Haymitch isn't bothering to take care of himself any more than he usually does, she explains to me that this coming summer is a Quarter Quell. The last time a Quell happened in Panem, Haymitch and Mother were sixteen, and Haymitch came home the Victor.

And then there is the Reading of the Card, which according to Capitol programming, announces the special twist for this year's Quell, and is only days away.

Watching our mentor sink into what can only be described as a depression with growing concern, Peeta and I decided to flip the script and try to make the evening that the Card is to be read more of a Village gathering. My mother and sister and I host, with the men bringing yeast-based refreshments: Peeta, bread and Haymitch, liquor.

On the television, President Snow recites the iterations of the previous two Quells. On the 25th anniversary, the district citizenry were actually given the power to select their tributes, rather than having a Capitol escort do it. The Reaping was apparently structured like an election.

We pay more attention to the recitation of the twist on the 50th anniversary: twice as many tributes were sent in to die. I find myself looking at Haymitch, along with everyone else in the house. Beer bottle clasped in his hand, he doesn't acknowledge any of us. If I thought I came out of the arena alive against all odds, then the odds Haymitch overcame were longer. I suddenly feel inadequate, sitting next to him.

"And now we honor our Third Quarter Quell." Snow slips an envelope from an ornate wooden box, procuring a card from it. "On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes are to be Reaped from their existing pools of Victors."

My eyes grow huge. I hear my mother make a choking sound. "No!" Katty lets out a scream.

Haymitch's roar of anger is loudest of all, as he hurls his beer bottle – still half-full into our television set. The picture of Snow winks out, and there is a shower of sparks as the whole contraption short-circuits but none of us seem to care.

I can't hear anything. I'm sprinting out of my mansion and though it goes against every instinct I've ever known, turn towards the Village gates with the intent to make a mad dash to the woods. I can hear my sister calling my name, and through the windowpane of our house, I watch as Peeta intercepts her, holding her against him as she thrashes and kicks and screams.

I'm past the gaudy fountain in the Village center, nearly at the gates when I feel rough arms suddenly jerk me back so that I am pinned against a strong body. I struggle desperately, to no avail.

"Let me go!" I choke out desperately.

"Come on, little one. Come with me." The fumes of alcohol coming from Haymitch's breath nearly make me retch, but I stop fighting and sag into him, letting him lead me across the street to his rather untidy (and that description's being charitable) mansion.

The amber light in the rooms is dim when we enter the house. All of the mansions' floor plans seem to be identical, so I have no trouble following Haymitch into his sitting room. Of course, he's reoriented the furniture to his particular tastes (to the extent that he has any taste), and I heavily sink into the armchair across from him. Glumly, I observe the man pop a cork from a bottle of spirits and take a long, healthy swig.

"Can I have some of that?" I whimper quietly.

Haymitch narrows his eyes in surprise, almost squinting, before finally making a decision. He forks the lot over and I take quite the pull myself. The alcohol burns just as much going up as it does attempting to go down, and bubbles geyser up into my nose.

Haymitch cackles at the disgusted look on my face. "It's an acquired taste, little one," he tells me.

"No shit," I mutter. Haymitch blinks again, looking for a moment like I've smacked him, then he bellows with laughter again. I don't think he's ever heard me swear; perhaps he thought I was too much of a goody-goody to ever consider it. Katty can have quite the potty mouth, particularly when she's pissed. She's probably dropping expletives in our mansion right now, not caring that the whole place is bugged.

If she is, I kind of hope that Peeta will work up the nerve to kiss her mouth right off, if for no other reason than to shut her up.

There is a long stretch of silence between us, before Haymitch finally speaks:

"I'm sorry."

I shrug. "Not your fault. You at least have an out."

"Do I?" He cocks his head at me, remarkably perceptive despite his plastered state. I hold his gaze. I understand what he's telling me; that there's no point lying to him.

So I don't.

"Peeta has to survive. We both owe him that – even if you did pick him over me last year."

Haymitch chuckles, shaking his head. "You two are absolutely certifiable, you know that? Last year, Peeta practically begged me to toss him overboard so I could save you. Bring you home to your sister."

His revelation doesn't really surprise me. Peeta is pretty easy to predict. Don't get me wrong, he's a damn fine actor when the cameras are rolling, but behind the scenes, he's pretty obvious. He should probably be thankful that my sister is completely clueless to his feelings for her.

"Yeah, well now, it's his turn to be saved. He deserves to have a chance to be with Katniss."

Haymitch snorts. "If the stubborn bachelorette will have him."

"She will. She's just too blind a fool to admit it."

"Prim…." Haymitch is studying me sadly. "You know Katniss won't be able to get on without you."

"Maybe not at first. But if Peeta is able to come home safe, she'll have somewhere to land when she falls. She deserves to be happy; they deserve to be happy." My smile grows wistful. "I happen to think they suit each other."

"All right, all right, cut the mushy crap." A long pause and then: "I'll do it. If they call his name at the Reaping, I'll volunteer."

My irises prick with tears. "Thank you…."

"But it's all contingent on Peeta's name being called first. If Effie calls my name, and Peeta volunteers, there's literally nothing I can do."

I nod heavily, and decided to imbibe another slug from the liquor bottle.

I don't remember blacking out.

I wake up the next morning with the most terrifically pounding headache I've ever experienced. Groaning, I stumble out of the bed I can't recall ending up in to find that it is mine, in my own mansion. Someone must have carried me back last night.

Staggering down the stairs, I near the bottom landing to find Katniss and Peeta crouched at the foot of the staircase, huddled together and talking in low whispers. Turning, Katniss sees me and drops Peeta's hand as she rises to take me in.

"How are you feeling, Little Duck?"

Noticing how she was holding Peeta's hand, I resist the urge to smirk. "I could ask you the same question."

Katniss's mouth unhinges a little when she can't think of anything to say, her grey eyes pained. She gathers me in a hug. "Oh, baby…. I'm so sorry…."

Our front door suddenly bangs open, followed by shouting. Haymitch prowls in a moment later, looking like a mutt on the warpath. He starts opening cabinets, yanking drawers out so that they nearly go off their rollers. "What did you do? What did you do with it?!"

Mother comes bustling in after me, her cerulean eyes afire with rage. "What else was I supposed to do when Primmy came home looking like a washed-up sailor, you…. you fucking thoughtless…"

Haymitch just snorts. "You have a mouth like a sailor."

Mother gasps in dramatic horror, before she proceeds to chase my mentor around the room, swinging at him with her fists. "I poured all the liquor down the drain, and good riddance to it! Haymitch Abernathy, if I ever catch you supplying booze to my baby again, I'm gonna skin you alive, you hear me?!…."

"She asked for some, woman!"

"Bullshit."

Katniss's mouth is still unhinged, but there's now a slight upturn to it as we watch our mother and our neighbor screaming at each other. Now I allow that smirk to steal across my face. Still hunched at the bottom of the stairs, Peeta has a hand to his mouth to hold in a laugh. Plunking down next to him, we just observe the ridiculous spectacle.

"Good on your mom. I should have thought to toss his stash myself!"

I giggle, even as I can't imagine Peeta ever doing such a thing. He's too good a boy. Continuing to watch Mother and Haymitch row, I suddenly am hit with a thought, and I chitter it to Peeta. "Do you think my mother and Haymitch like each other?"

Peeta nearly chokes, but there's an intrigued glint to his eye. "Panem have mercy on us all…"

Overhearing us, Katniss now has a mix of disgust and horror written all over her face. "Ewwwww! Please no!"

We watch the shouting match go on for a few more minutes, before Peeta finally sighs, gets to his feet and crosses over to them. Muscling in between Haymitch and I my mother, he shoves the former in the chest hard, so that the drunk tumbles back into a waiting armchair.

"Can it. I have to applaud you, Mrs. Everdeen, for chucking the lot – it's not like Haymitch will be needing it, with what we're doing."

Haymitch gawps, and I can tell he's having serious second thoughts about volunteering for this guy, should it come to it.

"He'll just buy more!" I protest, and Katniss nods in agreement.

"No, he won't, girls. I told Ripper I'd rat her out to the stocks the second she sold to him." Mother actually looks quite pleased with herself, almost smug.

A still disbelieving Haymitch points between her and Peeta. "You're in on this too, boy?"

"In a way. You're gonna need to drop the booze anyway, Haymitch, because for the next several months until the Reaping, we're gonna train. We're gonna act like Careers, so that come the end of July, two people will be coming home – one mentor and one Victor. And one of us is going to be Victor again whether you two like it or not!" His blue eyes are practically burning coals as they glower at both Haymitch and for some reason me before the young baker stomps out of the house.

I wince at the door slamming. "What did I do?" I frown.

"Got drunk," Katniss mutters, sashaying past me towards the door. I catch an almost admiring look on her face as she goes by, which causes me to scowl all the more.

"Oh, why don't you run along and suck on Peeta's face?"

I'm satisfied when I get the reaction I want. My sister wheels around, her gaze smoky. "Shut…. Shut up!" she splutters, cheeks staining rouge.

Peeta is as good as his word. For the next several months, he puts himself, Haymitch and I through a serious training regimen. Using our unlimited Victor credit cards, he purchases some workout equipment from the Capitol and orients it into his basement, making sure to keep the red hotline telephone off in one corner. It's not like any of us use our Telephone Rooms anyway, and a gym is a damn nicer purpose than a reminder that the Capitol is watching us.

In initial research on the Internet, Peeta tells me he didn't have much luck in finding an instructive program to follow as a model. Training for the Games is technically illegal, so it's not like the Careers would advertise training tutorials across the web, but it was worth a try. This leaves Peeta no choice but to build our program up from scratch.

Borrowing small bits from his wrestling background, Peeta implements a crossover training method, with cardio and weight-based development every other day. The cardio workouts are mostly runs through the district to give us fresh air, though at my sister's suggestion, we eventually dabble in swimming as well. Mother and Daddy taught Katty and I how to swim in a small lake deep in the woods beyond the meadow when we were little. I'm stunned to find out that neither Haymitch nor Peeta knows how to swim, which naturally lends to some hilarious results in their attempts to learn. My heart grows hopeful one spring morning when Peeta slips while attempting to tread water, toppling into my sister. The pair of them freeze, holding each other in an awkward tableau before Katniss blushes and draws away. Then, to my astonishment, she offers to teach Peeta how to float, cradling his body in her arms as she encourages him to bob along the top of the water and just relax. She's smiling the whole time. I also can't help but notice how, when Mother joins us in her swimsuit one morning to lend an extra hand, Haymitch seems to endure quite the struggle in staring at her.

I don't necessarily know how I feel about that.

Peeta might be our lead taskmaster, but he also is accomplished at delegating. Everyone has a task to do. Aside from swimming lessons, Katniss tutors us in hunting and gathering, and also – her specialty – archery. Once again, I am thoroughly entertained by my flustered sister awkwardly holding her love interest as she attempts to streamline his body so he can line up his shot. Haymitch proves his worth by conducting a seminar in knife throwing. While he himself might not be able to hit the broadside of a barn with one after decades of substance abuse, his pointers to the rest of us are quite handy. Mother and I give joint lectures in Healing, and Mother cooks us all healthy meals. Even Effie Trinket lends a hand by sending us videotapes of old Hunger Games, so we can study the other living Victors. Watch how they fight. See how they move. The tapes are accompanied by newspaper clippings of Capitol polls. District 12's chances of winning the Quell consistently rank at or near the very top.

All too soon, it is our final evening before we have to report to the Square. Climbing the steps to my mansion, I turn back to see Katniss and Peeta on his front stoop across the street. My sister is wringing her hands, and even in the fiery blaze of the setting sun, I can tell she is trying not to cry. Then, so fast, I almost miss it, Peeta leans and ghosts his lips across her cheek. Katty jerks in surprise so much she nearly tumbles off the step, and even in profile and her face bathed in orange light, I can tell she is stunned and also secretly delighted.

I smile sadly, and follow Mother into our house.