A/N: Thank you Vicky21388 for the follow!

Things start getting bad in 12. A new Head Peacekeeper who's been instructed to lay down the law without mercy, and the explosion of the Hob. As he stands there, looking at the smoking remains, he remembers his childhood home going up in flames, that one long scream as the men of the Seam held him back to keep him from running inside.

He says nothing of this to Effie. She's still calling once a week, and apparently things are heating up regarding Katniss's wedding. She tells him people are even asking about him, whether Haymitch Abernathy, only living victor of a Quarter Quell, will give an interview.

He gives her an answer that will have to be sanitized before it's acceptable for Capitol ears, and she doesn't even admonish him.

An announcement about Katniss's wedding dress plays in the background while he and Effie talk about the differences in the stories they grew up hearing. He's laughing at her version of Cinderella, which includes a fairy and glass shoes.

"Only in the Capitol," he says, and she laughs.

"Oh, here's the announcement!" she says, and there's Katniss in the wedding dress chosen by vote in the Capitol. She's not bad looking, if you don't have to put up with her attitude while you look at her. "She's going to be such a beautiful bride," sniffs Effie.

Haymitch makes a noncommittal sound.

Then President Snow is on the screen. Effie had told him President Snow was announcing the theme for the Quarter Quell after the wedding dress announcement, or he would never have put himself through that.

"On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of victors."

"Oh, Haymitch!"

Effie's cry barely pierces the fog around his brain. The only tribute to participate in two Quarter Quells. Yes, Snow would like that end for him. Haymitch himself would have preferred a bullet to the head. A lot quicker, and a lot less humiliating.

"Hey, I'll see you around, Effie."

"Haymitch? Haymitch Abernathy, don't you dare hang-"

He puts the phone back in its cradle, walks over to his cupboard, running persistently low after the crackdown, and pulls out a bottle.

The front door crashes open.

"Haymitch," says Peeta.

Haymitch breaks the seal on the bottle and takes a deep, deep drink.

"Yeah, in here, kid."

He turns around and Peeta runs straight into his arms. Haymitch takes another drink before setting down the bottle and wrapping his arms around Peeta. He feels his shoulders shaking, feels how his shirtfront is getting warm and wet from Peeta's tears and snot.

"Hey," he says, patting him on the back. "Come on. You're here now. We're not there yet, we've got some time. And we can prepare this time around."

Peeta nods, but it takes a few more minutes for him to stop crying. When he does, he steps away, stumbles to a kitchen chair and falls into it. "Would you believe I came over here to stop myself from crying? I thought, if I just keep moving, keep planning…" he gives a humorless laugh. "I could keep my wits about me."

Haymitch brings his bottle to the table and sits down next to him.

"That's a struggle we'll all be going through. Keeping our wits about us. Speaking of witless, you seen Katniss?"

"Don't talk about her that way. I know you're angry, but I don't want you take it out on her."

Haymitch raises his eyebrows and drinks again, the liquor burning a path down his throat and warming his belly. "That's me told."

"Yes, it is. And here's another: I go in. Even if they call my name first, you let me go. You know more people in the Capitol, you'll be most helpful as a mentor."

"So, I just have to sit back and watch you and Katniss kill or be killed by the only people I've known and liked in the last 25 years?"

Peeta shakes his head, looking blank and scared. "It's going to be 1,000 times harder to watch. But that's what you're going to do."

"Okay."

"We're getting Katniss out. Say it."

Haymitch sighs. He thinks about telling him about the rebellion, but he wonders what's happening with that now. As people who live in the districts with Capitol acquaintances, the victors are a natural go-between for the rebels in 13. But with most of them going back in the arena, they might be revising their plans and the victors' usefulness.

"Fine. Katniss is the victor. You know she'll be in here asking the same thing? Eventually."

Peeta looks down at his shoes.

"I know. Tell her whatever you need to." He looks up again, into his eyes. "As long as you and I are working together, we can get her out again, right?"

"I think so."

Peeta stands up, walks over to stand next to him and bends down to wrap his arms around Haymitch's shoulders. "I love you, Haymitch."

Haymitch feels his heart skip a beat. He opens his mouth, wondering if he's ready to say words he hasn't said in almost 30 years.

"You don't have to say it," Peeta whispers. "I know how you feel."

Haymitch puts his face in Peeta's shoulder. Then Peeta steps away, releasing Haymitch and wiping his face. He smiles and Haymitch is proud of him all over again. Proud to know him and be loved by him.

"I know it doesn't come naturally, but please be nice to Katniss when she gets here."

Haymitch chuckles. "I will if she will."

Peeta huffs, smiles quickly. "Fair. I'm going to see my family, try to get them ready. If anything happens to Katniss, I want to make sure her mom and sister have a place to go."

This wrenches at him.

"Peeta, you're so good. Let me save you this time."

Peeta throws his head back in frustration, then takes a deep breath.

"You promised. I told you I love you, and you promised."

Haymitch just looks at him for a second. The light is pouring through the front door he's standing in front of, illuminating Peeta almost to silhouette. Haymitch has the highly uncomfortable feeling he's looking at a ghost.

"Yeah, Peeta. I promised."

When he turns his head to look at Haymitch, his face is entirely in shadow, but Haymitch hears the smile in his voice.

"Thanks. I'll see you after I talk to my family."

Then he walks out.

Haymitch sees his gadget light up, and races to hold it in his hands.

No one has called. No one could. He would be making calls as fast as he could, if he thought a single one of them would be stupid enough to answer.

This is different. This is from Beetee.

He grabs a pen and paper, frantically pawing through desk drawers to find them. (Before Hazelle, he could have just picked his shit up off the floor, but he admits at less stressful times, the smell is a lot better.)

Five years ago, when one of them finally made contact with 13, and the rebellion went from wishful thinking to tactical planning. Beetee had delivered comms devices to some of the other victors, Haymitch included. Beetee had called them telegraphs, and Wiress had laughed, like Beetee had something really witty.

Beetee, a shit-eating grin on his face, said, "Well, of course, they're really modified cellular phones, but even texting and certainly calling would be high tech enough to show up on Capitol security systems. But short bursts of nothing will show up as exactly that: nothing."

Wiress had grabbed Beetee's arm, grinning a little madly. "Oh, come on, are you saying we can't send emojis?"

That had cracked them both up. Haymitch had looked at Chaff, and saw the same irritated confusion he felt. Beetee had given them a chart to memorize and then destroy.

The group had had to break up after that, leaving in pairs, staggering departures by fifteen minutes. Even in a friend's house, you could be sure that nine victors together anywhere other than the Viewing Room would cause trouble.

Haymitch left with his gadget. It felt like a little flat box, but if you slid your finger between a mag-clamp, it sprung open to reveal a blank screen. Beetee had apparently modeled them on ancient technology. Haymitch guessed they had been called telegraphs.

If Beetee, or someone else who knew the code, sent empty green squares, the number of the squares per communication corresponded with an alphabet, also coded.

His gadget has been largely silent since he received it. Finnick and Chaff and Seeder had said theirs were too.

He is ashamed of how moved he is to get a message now.

To forget that feeling, he begins deciphering the blank green boxes.

U MTR

Well, yeah, he had figured that out on his own. He is about to throw the telegraph on the floor in frustration when more blank boxes start coming through.

BREAD=TIME DAY

D4=4th Day

2 LVS=0200 HRS

It clicks. He responds: OK and then no more transmissions.

Instead of making him feel more hopeful, he feels more alone than ever. He burns his translation and drinks some more.

He is all alone. Yes, he has people he considers himself friends with. He has people he loves. Not everyone has that, but he does.

The victors in the Viewing Room had become the only people he could rely on. Even the ones he doesn't like can at least be counted on to show up and be annoying every year.

A rescue attempt is being planned, and Thirteen must be in on it. They are the only ones with those kind of resources.

He drinks, and wonders when Katniss will show up. He's starting to feel bored. He almost wishes he were in the Capitol with Chaff. They could go carousing, forget about their troubles.

He pulls his knife out of its sheath at his hip. The victors from District Twelve are in more trouble than ever before. No way they'll let Katniss and Peeta into the arena together. If they kill him, one will have to stay and mentor, and the Capitol will have finally succeeded in separating them.

The door bangs open. Capitol operatives would at least try for stealth. That is one of Katniss's rare virtues: she announces her arrival. She must be different in the forest.

"Ah, there she is. All tuckered out. Finally did the math, did you, sweetheart?" She's standing there scowling at him. "Worked out you won't be going in alone? And now you're here to ask me… what?"

She doesn't answer. He doesn't blame her. He wants to tell her that she and Peeta will be the safest tributes in the arena, if they both make it to the reaping. They're the youngest, and, despite what this arrogant little miss thinks, they're the least broken. Plutarch likes Katniss especially, as the face of the rebellion. Beggars can't be choosers, he supposes.

"I'll admit, it was easier for the boy. He was here before I could snap the seal on a bottle. Begging me for another chance to go in." The chance to die for someone who won't even tell him how much she loves him. "But what can you say? 'Take his place, Haymitch, because all things being equal, I'd rather Peeta had a crack at the rest of his life than you?"

He chokes on his next words. That he'd like that too. The thing he didn't say to Peeta: why can't he have a noble death?

Katniss chews her lip, looking stung. Haymitch swallows his explanations, his hopes, his fears, and another drink of white liquor.

"I came for a drink," she says.

He can't stop the laughter. He gives her a bottle and lets her play out her little scenario. He hopes she'll warm up to Peeta now, give him what scant comfort she can dredge up. She won't though, and that's why he says it, doesn't even regret it, because she knows it's true, and so does he.

"You could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve that boy."

She doesn't even flinch.

Katniss finally gets to the point, asks for an alliance to save Peeta.

Peeta over Seeder, Peeta over Chaff, over Mags, Beetee, and Finnick. Peeta over self. Well, that last one is fine.

"Please, Haymitch. Say you'll help me."

He almost tells her. But Katniss can't act worth a damn, and Peeta will try to save people at his expense if he knows they're planning the opposite.

"All right," he finally says, realizing the silence has lasted a little too long.

She leaves at some point, and he's alone again.