Chapter 1: Need a Trainer

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, on this, the 3rd Quarter Quell Games, the male and female tributes are to be Reaped from their existing pool of Victors in each district. Each Victor will present themselves on Reaping Day, regardless of age, state of health, or situation."

That is all Lucy Gray Baird hears President Snow get out before a strangled yell to her immediate left overpowers the most powerful man in Panem.

"ERRRRRRRAHHHHHHHH!" The primal roar of frustration is quickly followed by the shattering of glass as a beer bottle – still half-full – connects with the plasma screen TV, causing the picture to short.

Lucy Gray ignores the rantings and ravings of Haymitch Abernathy, her only successful apprentice in a mentoring career lasting nearly two-thirds of a century. She merely rises with surprising dignity, floating out of her mansion while projecting a serene calm she most certainly does not feel internally.

The old lady steps out onto the front porch of her estate. A cane is all that is holding her upright. She can still hear Haymitch, though he is mercifully muffled and in a moment like this, Lucy Gray is glad for her medical condition. Out here, the Victors' Village, set high on its Hill, is as silent as the snow flurries cascading down around her. The only echo reverberating now is that of her own thoughts. Thoughts of young romance, brief and doomed and full of folly. Promises of devotion and adoration that had only meant something… for a time. For a time before they ceased to mean anything. Lucy Gray rubs at the pinch of a facial tic behind her eyelids, huffing out a breath that catches on the winter's air. It shouldn't be such a struggle to reconcile – no, separate – the President on the television screen from the young, idealistic boy she had once loved. She had not been blind to his ambition, necessarily; she'd just been foolish enough to think that it stopped at the water's edge of the accomplishment of crowning a Victor.

Coryo…. Oh, Coryo… what have you done?

The half-sized streetlamps cast a large, looming shadow – Lucy Gray's shadow – over the whitened landscape that is the Village Green. The aged Victor tries not to think about how it is another's shadow looming over her, her single apprentice, her colleagues, the country…

The country… Victors in the arena for a second time. Battling for the ultimate Crown… The State have mercy, how does Coryo expect Panem to last beyond this?

A hacking cough, surprisingly light, makes Lucy Gray turn her head to watch Haymtich stumble onto her front porch. She hadn't heard his ravings quiet – not that she would have anyway. She flicks a finger up near her lobe.

"… There will be others. Like us," he grunts grimly.

She nods simply. Trust Haymitch to know these things. Have contacts, sesterces. When they go to the Capitol year after year to train tributes, she makes sure he at least gives their boy what he needs up until the moment of launch. Then, he can do whatever he likes. He never tells her what he gets up to while in the city, and she doesn't ask. She's just been at this long enough to know that his activities constitute more than hiding in a beer bottle – though he does plenty of that. And Lucy Gray knows better than most: appearances can be deceiving.

"'Existing pools,' my ass – unless the old fuck was referring to kiddie pools." Haymitch shakes his head. "They'll be scraping the bottom of the barrel just to make sure this Quell has the numbers. Some will come down to a pick-your-poison…" (the man doesn't notice how she flinches at that word) "… coin toss. Others only have one choice."

She's more intrigued by the latter point. "For example?"

"Besides us?" At her nod, Haymitch scratches at a spot above his left eyebrow. "Chaff and Seeder will be all Eleven's got. And District 3 only has one and one."

It is small comfort, to know that there are other districts who will barely manage to cough up one male and one female Victor. Because at least Districts 3 and 11 have had more than two. Lucy Gray remembers how Beetee's mentor won just a few years after she did, and 11's very first Victor won an inaugural Games, predated her. He's long since disappeared, or so she's read. Whereas District 12 has only managed to produce two Victors total, in nearly 75 years. Lucy Gray doesn't have the cynicism Haymitch possesses in spades, but she's realistic enough, almost to the point of bitterness, to doubt that many in the Capitol will even remember who she is.

Who she was. In any case, nearly all of the people she knew as a girl, before the dark times, before the arena… are all dead now.

Lucy Gray chances a surreptitious look at Haymitch. Poor lad. The city will remember him, though. Infamously. For the last time one of these Quells was held, the once-scrappy young buck at her side came out alive and alone. She had tried for a time to convince him that he wasn't alone. Of course, he hadn't listened.

As she observes him, she watches the bottle being raised to his lips. Quick as a wink, the old lady quite abruptly lashes out with her cane, the Capitol steel slicing through the amber glass and cleaving it in half. The bottom of the bottle ruptures at Haymitch's feet, sloshing liquor all over his Capitol-imported saddle shoes.

"Gah! Snow's Roses, Lu! What was that for?!" Haymitch dances away from the glass shards before they cut into his ankles.

She merely glowers at him, no-nonsense. "It doesn't matter. It's in the past."

He tousles his head at her, befuddled. She merely cocks an eyebrow at him. "And the past is what they'll be dredging up when it's us in the chariots, and in the Training Center, and standing before the Cornucopia. For once, we're not going to act like Victors and run away from the past. We are going to confront it. Like Careers. That means we're going to train."

Haymitch gawps at her, dismayed and crestfallen. "We're gonna die anyway, lady. You might as well leave me to it." He starts to stagger off her porch; Lucy Gray stops him with an arm that is remarkably strong, despite the years.

"Sorry, pup. No can do."

Haymitch tries to shrug her off, finds that he can't, and deflates. His face sports a surly scowl and just like that, he's a healthy and strong sixteen years old again, instead of the washed-up drunk barely past 41.

Well, Lucy Gray has lived just about twice that, so she's lived enough to not give in to defeat. Oh, she's under no delusions that she can win – she's too old, and time has moved far beyond her and where she was in her day. Why, in her day, they didn't even have a Cornucopia. The weapon she used to win has been outlawed since practically the day she walked out of the arena, and she'll have not the patience to learn a new one in the Training Center.

But before she goes into that good night, she can at least try and pound some sense and drive into the one person she has to show as a mentor. Because Haymitch won't get back to that place of ambition and grit that made him a Victor by himself. She'll have to drag him there – kicking and screaming, in all likelihood – but by Snow, she'll drag him there.

Haymitch is staring past her now, into the flurries. "Someone's at the gate."

"Peacekeeper?" The new Head – a horrid bottom-feeder named Thread who only likes the sound of his own voice – will no doubt want to ensure this dump's only two Victors don't make a run for it.

"No white duds."

Lucy Gray almost scoffs. How can he tell? Everything around them is covered in white.

Haymitch is now bounding off the porch. It's a struggle with her cane, but Lucy Gray follows. "Who goes there? Show yourself, stranger!"

The lithe, statuesque figure turns, a brown jacket and a single chestnut braid tossed over her shoulders. By the light of the streetlamps and their reflection on the snow, Lucy Gray recognizes her: it's the eldest daughter of the Seam's resident Healer. The really pretty one. The one who goes out beyond the fence and hunts. Lucy Gray and Haymitch have eaten some of her venison; Rooba sometimes brings up leftovers from the Hob black market.

Haymitch leans back on his heels a little. "Oh. It's just you, sweetheart."

The girl – Katniss, Lucy Gray recalls her name – just lets out a huff of disdain and glowers at the two freaks the arena deigned to chew up and spit back out into Twelve. Lucy Gray still smiles at her kindly, for from the flecks of grey in her eyes and the shade of her skin, she knows – this girl is of Covey blood. And Covey take care of their own.

"Good evening, my child. Forgive me for asking, but are you Glen Everdeen's girl?"

The heat in Katniss's glare dims into something wary. "And Belle is my mother." It's a common Seam response, for everyone is related to everyone else on that side of the tracks.

Belle Everdeen… Lucy Gray thinks back to the stunning daughter of the Merchant apothecary who ran off and eloped with a coal miner's son some years ago. It had caused quite a scandal. Two equally beautiful daughters had resulted from the hurried Toasting union: this tall, striking young woman here (probably 17) and a little sister with Merchant eyes and hair the color of corn. The little one has likely thus far only stood for one Reaping, if any.

The pair of Victors look at each other, before Haymitch turns back, admiring the rucksack also slung over the girl's thin frame. "What's in the bag? Got any squirrel?"

Katniss's eyes narrow as though Haymitch is worth less than the dirt on her shoe. "What business is it of yours?"

Haymitch shrugs off her lack of respect for Victors – one that most district folk implicitly understand is due champions of battle, eluders of death, especially around these here parts. "Nothing. Except I know you can hunt. Bet the Head 'Keeper would like to know a bit about that… unless you can make it worth my while."

Katniss's grey eyes widen with revulsion. Haymitch sports the grin of a man who knows he has his prey dead to rights. "Plus, it's never nice to skip out on Mandatory Viewing…"

"I didn't skip out," Katniss blurts across him.

"Yeah? Then here's a pop quiz: what's the Quell Twist?"

"You Victors are going back in."

Haymitch's lips purse and upturn in surprise. "She's a quick one, ain't she, Lu?"

"Quicker than you, old man. Now unless you're actually serious about turning me in, what do you want from me?"

"Free hunting lessons. In exchange for our silence… and coin. Be a really good girl, and you might get some sesterce cash money, too."

The girl's deep grey eyes bulge, sparkling in the moonlight. "You want me to coach you. For the arena."

"Well, you obviously know how to survive. And besides, the arena last year was mostly wood. Not that that buck from 2 who won knew his way around it."

Katniss has the nerve to roll her eyes. "I know. I watched that Mandatory Viewing too," she bites coolly. "But why do you want me to coach you and the old lady?" Lucy Gray hides how offended she is by this.

"Because we don't have a mentor. And after your abysmal attempts to teach your little sister how to scrounge for her supper, you don't have a student." Haymitch shrugs. "I'd say we're a perfect match."

Katniss's mouth drops open in astonishment. She tries to hide it with a scoff, and fails spectacularly. "How do… how do you know I was teaching Prim…?"

"It doesn't matter how I know," Haymitch cuts across her impatiently. "Now are you gonna help us or not, Sweetheart?"

Katniss glances between these two warriors long past their prime. Her teeth set. "Fine," she grinds out. "I have tracking to do in the morning, so we'll start at high noon. Out here, on the green." Her eyes linger on Lucy Gray. "You'd better be up by then."

The two Victors watch the huntress disappear into the flurries.

"Ageist, uptight bitch," Haymitch grumbles as soon as she's gone. "Someone needs to pound her pussy out back of the Slag Heap. Get her to unwind. Seriously, what makes her think you sleep in that late?"

"I don't," Lucy Gray retorts flatly. "But you do."

Her rapier wit is sharp enough that Haymitch's drink-addled mind can't think up a reply.


Just after the sun has risen the next morning, Lucy Gray is armed with her cane and power-shuffling down the Hill and into Town for her early morning constitution. She doesn't stop until the dust roads of the Seam have given way to the cobblestoned streets of Town and she is approaching the front door of the local Bakery, just off the Justice Building and Main Square.

Mr. Mellark, the Baker, sees her coming, and gentlemanly holds the door for her, the old Victor's arrival heralded by the tinkling of the bell.

"Good morning, Dannel! My usual table!"

"Of course, Miss Baird," Dannel Mellark smiles at her, gallant in his customer service. "You're my favorite guest."

Lucy Gray lowers herself regally into the chair he pulls out for her, her smirk sardonic. "I'm your only guest." She's breakfasted here for years and always marveled at how the sleepy little establishment has managed to stay in business under Dannel, and his father, and his father before him.

"Not anymore!" Dannel laughs, jovial. "We just had – and fresh off the train! - a squadron of Peacekeepers come through here!"

"Root beer?"

"THROUGH. HERE!" Dannel raises his voice. Lucy Gray knows he means well, but that really isn't the way to interact with someone who is hard of hearing. The Capitol doctors say she is only about 50% deaf in her right ear, hence the hearing aid, special ordered. But the device's frequency sometimes causes discomfort and she doesn't always remember to turn it on. Haymitch has learned by now that when he has to tell her something, to always shout it into her left.

"I don't want root beer! I'll have some sweet tea and a side of baguettes and a quiche; I love a good quiche!"

Dannel smiles indulgently, jotting down her order. "All right, I'll give you a nice quiche!"

"Hands off, Romeo! Nobody's kissing anybody!" Lucy Gray leans back, just as Dannel's shrewish wife and two of their sons come entering from the rear of the shop. The Victor chortles, her eyes twinkling knowingly. "I know you were quite the passionate one back in your day, Dannel, especially with the apothecary's girl!" She notices how the Baker's wife stiffens at this before sweeping into the next room, likely to review the account books. The two boys, meanwhile, both of them likely at their final Reaping or nearly there, are roughhousing behind the counter. The slightly taller one – an empty head of a boy named Rye, Lucy Gray conjures up the name – is more enthusiastic in the antics than his brother.

Dannel turns back to his sons. "Peeta! Miss Baird would like her quiche! And a side of baguettes!"

"We'll need to do a quick rise in the oven!" Peeta hefts a bag of flour the size of his chest with ease. "Rye, heads up!"

Peeta tosses the sack of flour like it's a rag doll; his brother catches it in the chest, then stumbles so ungainly that he ends up crashing down the open basement stairs.

Lucy Gray studies the youngest lad, Peeta, with intrigue. She knows he and his foolish brother are both wrestlers; she's sometimes dragged Haymitch to matches, scouting for fresh talent and blood, even though Victors never have a say as to whose name comes out of the Reaping Bowl, at least in non-Career districts.

By the time the lad is turning away from serving up her baguettes and quiche, her mind is made up.

"Boy? Come here."


Though utterly perplexed as to why a famous Victor would need his services, Peeta recognizes the opportunity to get out from his mother's thumb for an afternoon and grabs it with both fists. High noon finds him standing on Victors' Hill, in the Village's center green, taking it all in with awe. It's clear he's never been up here before, not even on bread deliveries; his eldest brother, now married and past Reaping age, usually takes care of orders up this way.

However, much of Peeta's attention is on the striking figure that is Katniss Everdeen, lean and lithe in her hunting jacket and trousers. Lucy Gray catches him stealing glances at her – glances that the Healer's eldest daughter doesn't appear to notice. The old Victor curiously files this away for later.

As Haymitch comes striding up from his unkempt house, Lucy Gray makes introductions. "Haymitch, Katniss, this is Peeta Mellark. Peeta, Katniss."

Peeta smiles good-naturedly and holds out his hand to shake. "Hi."

"Hello," Katniss barely slips her palm into his, expression leery. Not entirely unusual – most Seamers have a palpable mistrust of anyone Merchant, or "Townie," as Lucy Gray has sometimes heard them called.

"I know who he is," Haymitch growls. "Where I'm confused is what the hell he's doing here?"

"I took the liberty of finding us a second mentor. Well, more accurately, finding you a mentor."

Haymitch's eyes pop. "Excuse me?"

"Well, after all, Haymitch, you know as well as I do Victors mentor by gender…" Off to the side, Lucy Gray watches as Katniss's lips move slightly. Her hearing aid may not be on, but the Victor of the 10th Hunger Games has gotten good at reading lips. She'll just pretend she didn't hear what was uttered – which, technically, she didn't.

"Lucy Gray: may I speak with you for a moment, please? Alone?"

Lucy Gray nods, flicks a finger up by her lobe and allows Haymitch to take her aside.

"I agreed to hiring us a trainer. Not a mentor."

"What the hell's the difference?"

Haymitch scowls at her. "A hell of a lot! We need someone who can act like those attendants in the Training Center. Not a has-been who will care too much in the end. Besides, these kids ain't been in no arena! They're not mentoring material cause they don't have the experience!"

Lucy Gray just pats him on the arm. "Haymitch, Haymitch, Haymitch… you're splitting too many hairs looking at the semantics. Trainer, mentor – at least we have someone who will teach us. We very well can't teach each other. Besides, if mentors are what you're worried about, we are guaranteed to have one out on loan once we're on the train. And whoever that poor sod is, you can ignore him as much as you like. But right now, we have to build back our strength."

And so they do. Katniss sneaks the Victors and the Baker's youngest son out to the woods to give them lessons in hunting. This involves tracking game and a few rudimentary tutorials in archery. Eventually, she leads the group to a small lake by a ramshackle cabin and teaches them to swim – even Peeta. Lucy Gray watches Katniss shyly keep a hand at the small of Peeta's spine, helping him float on his back.

Haymitch provides lessons in hand-to-hand combat, using Peeta as an assistant. The Baker's boy is very patient and unfailingly kind as he imparts wrestling advice. As for the old drunk, he can't hit the broadside of a barn with a knife but nonetheless demonstrates stabbing and slashing footwork just the same. And the boy is clearly a better Baker than even his father as he insists on cooking Lucy Gray and Haymitch healthy meals.

As for Lucy Gray herself, she leads a mile-long run through the district every morning. It isn't so much for her as it is for Haymitch – jogs like this are punishing at her age. Clearly, they are punishing for Haymitch as well; he's proven to still be remarkably strong, but the shortest run winds him. Eventually, though, his endurance bulks up, and sweat equity allows him to slim off some of his paunch as winter and then spring steams into summer. Honestly, the worst Haymitch is these days is when he's in a withdrawal and crashing about the Village looking for a spare bottle that he won't find since his mentor threw them all out. Or hallucinating that the liquor cabinet actually is full and upending his mansion looking for the key.

Lucy Gray fingers said key in her pocket. She doesn't like having to force withdrawal on him… but if Haymitch is going to become Victor again, he'll have to be sober.


The day of the Reaping dawns hot and sultry. At dawn, a squadron of Peacekeepers is deployed in two groups to the front porches of Lucy Gray Baird and Haymitch Abernathy. Posses surrounding them, guns cocked, the two champions are forced into the shortest of lines, in order of seniority. With her cane, Lucy Gray sets the pace – that of a funeral march, out of the Village, down the hill and into Twelve proper. The very air seems to hold its breath, the heat oppressive and the silence more stifling still. The silence is only broken by a voice – remarkable clear for its age – singing to the mockingjays:

"Are you, are you coming to the tree? They strung up a man, and say he murdered three. Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met at midnight in the Hanging Tree?..."

Lucy Gray and Haymitch are muscled, under heavy guard, up to the stage before the Justice Building, one Victor on each side. An 81-year-old little old lady and a 41-year-old drunk going through withdrawal stare out at their neighbors. Both of them eventually find Katniss – resplendent in a blue Reaping dress – standing sadly with her mother, her sister and also Peeta Mellark, her training colleague. Lucy Gray notes with sadness how closely the Healer's daughter and Baker's son are standing next to each other.

Between the two Victors, Effie Trinket lacks her usual verve. "Welcome… welcome to the 75th Anniversary – the 3rd Quarter Quell – of the Hunger Games. As always…" and here the voice of District 12's escort seems to oddly break. "… ladies first."

Effie crosses to the glass bowl next to Lucy Gray, and unfurls the single slip of paper inside.

"The female tribute from District 12: Lucy Gray Baird, the Victor of the 10th Hunger Games." Lucy Gray looks to Haymitch, who just nods gamely.

"Wonderful! … And now for the man," Effie crosses over to the other bowl, next to Haymitch. "The male tribute from District 12: …. Haymitch Abernathy, the Victor of the 50th Hunger Games, the 2nd Quarter Quell."

Lucy Gray and Haymitch take their places, waiting resignedly as Effie presents them both to their people. "Your tributes for District 12: Lucy Gray Baird…. and Haymitch Abernathy." A slight pause. "Well, all that remains…"

Katniss and Peeta start it. Both young people press three fingers to their lips and hold them aloft. To the Victors' amazement, the whole Square is copying them within moments.

Thread moves in quickly and mercilessly, ignoring Effie's weak stammerings of protestation.

"New procedure. Straight to the train, grandma," he grunts in Lucy Gray's ear, face hard with resentment and malice. Lucy Gray does not fight or talk back, at least not outwardly, as she and Haymitch are dragged into the Justice Building and thrown onto the train like livestock. Pigs for the slaughter. Tributes once again, after decades.

Lucy Gray only hopes that District 12 will still have at least one person to give the kids hope come next year. She doubts it will be her.