**Present Day**
The shaking persists, as does the fever, and his headache seems like it will be a permanent fixture, but the nausea fades, and he can eat again. When the fever finally abates, they let him out.
Willow walks him to his new room.
13 is huge. All underground, she tells him, except a few outbuildings and military training facilities.
Food is strictly controlled, no eating in your own room. No alcohol, no coffee, no sugar. Haymitch's hands clench into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He will drink again. He will figure out a way out of here.
But first, the rebellion.
And, apparently, while he had languished in a beige dungeon, some genius had decided Katniss was the rebellion.
The second Willow leaves his room, someone knocks on his door.
He is lying on his cot, and not about to get up for some gray jumpsuit.
He rolls onto his side to face the wall. It's gray, and looks like it's made of concrete. He hates being underground.
He hears the door open.
"Mr. Abernathy?"
It's a stranger's voice.
"Mr. Abernathy is dead. You all killed him."
The voice lets out a tiny laugh, and stops abruptly.
"That's too bad. I was told Miss Everdeen needed a Mr. Abernathy. I guess I'll continue my search."
Haymitch rolls over.
It's a gray jumpsuit, a tall man with dark skin, and the first smile he's seen above one of those dark gray collars.
"Katniss?"
The jumpsuit nods.
Haymitch closes his eyes. He feels awful. His hands are still shaking, his head hurts. And now, Katniss.
He sits up, swings his legs out of bed.
It's cold. He grabs a gray sweater, pulls a gray, knit cap over his head, and follows the suit.
Haymitch wishes they didn't have to walk down these twisty-turny hallways. He wishes he could never step foot on an elevator again.
It's a lot of both before they reach their destination. Some sort of control room. Then he recognizes it. A set. He grins. Katniss Everdeen, acting? This should be good.
He folds his arms, and leans against the wall.
On the screens in front of Plutarch and someone he doesn't know, but is clearly another Capitol rescue, Katniss is standing in front of a war zone. Attractively wounded and dirtied rebels are holding their arms up in the salute from 12, screaming, but quietly, their computer-created voices allowing Katniss's voice to be the focus.
Plutarch holds out a hand to shake, and Haymitch just shakes his head and watches the show.
Katniss is not standing in front of a war zone, or crowd, but on a small platform surrounded by lights and fake smoke. Faking anything is not really her forte.
She raises her bow above her head. At least the prep team has her all repaired after her trip into the arena. She looks better than ever, though he's not a fan of all the makeup.
Plutarch shouts, "Action!"
"People of Panem!" she shouts, not sounding angry, or desperate, but rather like she's talking to someone who is very hard of hearing. "We fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice!"
Haymitch laughs. The jumpsuits all look at him, scandalized.
Sometimes, he could just kiss her. How perfect. These gray mice thought they had rescued a lioness to fight for them, and now they were finding out the truth – she's just a young girl. Not a myth, not a symbol, a human, with flaws no dungeon room can erase. And he loves her for it.
He can't stop laughing. He's lightheaded with relief that Katniss is alive and safe, and where he can talk to her. The last week has been hell, and he's hysterical. He pushes a button. He doesn't want to make fun of her where she can't hear.
"And that, my friends," he manages, after laughing into the speaker for a few seconds, "Is how a revolution dies."
He watches her walk off the set. He's still laughing. Plutarch gets up, like he's going to follow her.
Haymitch puts a hand on his shoulder.
"Let her go. Let's you and I go for a walk. Or sit down, preferably near some alcohol."
The jumpsuits look scandalized again. Don't they have anything better to do than being shocked every time he opens his mouth?
Plutarch is watching the door swing shut behind Katniss. His shoulders slump.
"There's a room set aside for me and the other propo creatives." Plutarch starts walking off set.
"Sir, our schedule says filming until -"
"Yes, the schedule," he says. "Don't worry. We'll be back on schedule before you know it."
"Whatever you do," he adds in a quiet voice to Haymitch, as they leave the set and the jumpsuits behind, "Adhere to the schedule."
They take rights and lefts down another twisty turny hallway, and Haymitch gets a picture of a rabbit's warren in his mind and tries to get it out.
"I want to apologize for your unexpected dry out."
Haymitch puts his fingernails into his palms.
Plutarch is walking ahead of him, but he briefly turns around to look at him, before looking forward again and making another right.
"I really didn't know they would do that. They classified Finnick as mentally unstable. I see him sometimes, especially in the mess hall. He seems physically okay.
"Here we are."
After another right, and another left, and one more right, they reach a door that looks like every other doorway in the hall.
Plutarch inserts a key into the doorknob, and they step inside.
No windows, but Haymitch has given up on that. His aching, sober head probably isn't up for natural light, anyway.
Plutarch, now dressed in one of the gray jumpsuits, sits behind a gray desk.
The floor in here is tiled, just like his old cell, but it's light gray tile.
Haymitch sits in a gray chair, and crosses his legs.
"I need a drink," he says, rubbing his face.
Plutarch sighs. "Tell me about it. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to be here, over the Capitol, but I didn't anticipate…" he looks around his office.
Haymitch doesn't bother.
"So there's nothing? Not even a black market?"
Plutarch gives a vigorous shake of his head.
"And don't ask anyone about it. They're very…strict here."
Haymitch wonders if someone is listening to them. Probably. A victor and a high-ranking Capitol citizen in a room together.
"Shit. Guess we better storm the Capitol soon, then."
Plutarch laughs, but cuts it short when he sees Haymitch wince.
"And how do you think Katniss can help us do that?"
Haymitch closes his eyes, and thinks. The best way would be to have Peeta around. He can't stand the thought of him in Snow's clutches. Or Effie. Thinking of her makes his heart skip a beat, like walking down the stairs, and missing a step. An unstoppable moment of panic, and a feeling of being out of control.
He opens his eyes.
"Let's let her storm off for today."
Plutarch opens his mouth, but Haymitch continues.
"Tomorrow, let's call a meeting. We'll watch the propo, but more importantly, we'll remind the jumpsuits why Katniss is important to the rebellion. I can guarantee they're wondering right now."'
Plutarch gives a jerk of his head, and smiles.
"How do we remind them?"
Haymitch leans back in his chair.
"Let me worry about that. Can you call a meeting tomorrow?"
"I think I have that authority."
"Good. Where's Finnick? You said he's mentally unstable. Where do they send the mentally unstable around here?"
"Their hospital. They have strict visiting hours, but I think you can make it. Should I walk you down?"
Haymitch waves away the offer.
"It's good to see you, Plutarch," he says, getting to his feet. The head rush causes his brain to hurt, and he closes his eyes.
"Haymitch?"
He opens his eyes.
"I would have warned you if I'd known."
Haymitch nods, thoughtful.
"If you find any black market liquor, I'm their best customer."
Plutarch smiles.
He leaves the office. He asks a couple jumpsuits, but eventually gets close enough that signs are posted.
Do they ever go outside? 15 minutes outdoor recreation? 20 minutes Vitamin D intake?
He looks around.
Everyone dressed the same, and in the same colors. The most colorful place in the compound, as far as he's seen, is the room with the color-coded missiles.
They control the food. He's been shown the schedule tattoos. He's been their prisoner, unfit to be part of the populace until he could properly assimilate.
It was like someone had grabbed the Capitol in their hand, and turned it upside down and inside out.
Did they they think they were better than the Capitol? One big thing they had in common was their iron control over their citizens.
Still, they did seem more than capable of taking down the President and his goons, and the Peacekeepers in the districts. The sooner that was accomplished, the sooner he could drink.
What really worried him was how long it would take to rescue Effie and the victors.
At last, he arrives at the hospital. He had hoped the hospital would be aboveground, but of course, it isn't.
A light gray, medic jumpsuit points him in the right direction.
It's still a warren, but so much like a Capitol hospital otherwise, he feels a little less overwhelmed by his surroundings.
He opens a door.
"Finnick?"
Finnick sits straight up. He's got a bandage around his head, and is dressed in just a white hospital gown.
Haymitch walks quickly to his side, and sits on the edge of his bed.
Finnick throws himself into his arms and starts sobbing.
"Haymitch, they wouldn't tell me where you were. They won't tell me anything! What's going on? Have they rescued Annie yet?"
"No, sweetheart, they haven't. But I'm working on it. Do you trust me?"
Finnick nods, his head tight against Haymitch's chest, like he's trying to burrow inside.
He feels a tear slide down his cheek, cool against his skin.
"Finnick, I know you're worried, and you have every right to be, but I have to say this. I'm so glad you're alive, and here with me."
They hold each other until a medic comes and tells them visiting hours are over.
Haymitch puts his hands on Finnick's face, looks into his eyes.
"Listen to me, District Four. We need you. You can't wallow like this forever."
"Okay. I know. I'll try."
Haymitch kisses him, but cuts it short. The suit is still standing behind him, and he's still sufficiently scared of their dry-out hole that he doesn't want to piss anyone off. Also, he's not sure it's kind or right to kiss Finnick right now. He did it almost as a force of habit, something he'll have to watch in 13. His habits don't seem very welcome here.