The night was always the worst, and Haymitch never slept then. In the dark, he felt blind and suffocated. He felt teeth on his skin and heard the screams of other tributes as the wildlife hunted. It had seemed so beautiful at first. He should have known, the Capitol always corrupted beauty, turning it into something grotesque.
Sadly, it seemed like the train was empty of liquor. He'd scoured the lounge area in search of a drink, but found nothing. His own meagre supply had run out, and he wasn't sure how he'd sleep without it. At least the shakes weren't so bad, and he wasn't hallucinating.
A slight glimmer caught his eye, of light on glass, and he was rewarded with a bottle of wine, tucked behind a selection of books. He knew Effie had forgone her wine, but the Avox servers hadn't put it in any of the cupboards and it was driving him nuts.
As he took a swig of the red liquid, he caught a snatch of sound. A scream. Haymitch froze, a sudden tension building in him.
No one had reacted to the sound, but it couldn't be from his own head, could it? He only heard those when he was asleep.
The scream came again, and this time he thought it was coming from down the corridor. He followed it, suspicion mounting as he reached Peeta's room at the end. The door was ajar just a crack, but Haymitch didn't need to see to know what they were watching – he'd know Maysilee Donner's scream anywhere.
The hardest part of watching Katniss and Peeta in the Games had been knowing that only one could live. Katniss had seemed like the better bet, and he'd hoped that Peeta would die far from her, to lessen the trauma. When the boy had almost died, Haymitch had backtracked on his decision to help only one of them, and gathered the money to send Katniss some sleeping agent. Watching his former ally die was one of the hardest parts of the Hunger Games, and he couldn't see it happen to Katniss. It was bad enough with the District 11 girl, but someone from your own district, who you might have passed at school, whose parents might know yours – it was different.
Haymitch had thought occasionally that maybe Maysilee had deserved to live instead. If she had been a mentor, could she have kept those tributes alive? Or would it have eaten her up worse than him? She'd been clever and resilient, but she'd never figured out the trick with the boundary. If he'd died, would she have even won? He hated mulling on these stupid questions, but they often came back to him, just like he wondered if he should have used the boundary to kill his final opponent. It had seemed such a good idea, a trap no one could suspect, but he hadn't anticipated how much the gamemakers would hate it.
Watching Katniss pull out those berries was like history repeating itself. Haymitch saw too much of himself in the girl to just watch her die, especially when she might be the key to blowing up this stupid system. And Peeta was a good kid, he deserved the chance to preserve some of his decency instead of being thrown into the arena again. There was only so much bad he could do in the name of protecting Katniss before it started to eat away at him.
Haymitch wanted to turn back down the corridor and leave, but he had to see their faces. He wanted to know their honest reactions to what he'd had to do.
The pair watched as a younger version of Haymitch fling himself onto the ground, bleeding out, waiting for the axe to come shooting back up and kill his adversary. The moment it hit, Katniss gasped.
Peeta spoke first. "That force field at the bottom of the cliff, it was like the one on the roof of the Training Center. The one that throws you back if you try to jump off and commit suicide. Haymitch found a way to turn it into a weapon." He sounded shocked, but not disgusted, simply... surprised. The boy was clearly surprised that the old mentor was capable of such cunning. Or subversive behaviour.
"Not just against the other tributes, but the Capitol, too," Katniss said, approving, and maybe a little awed. "You know they didn't expect that to happen. It wasn't meant to be part of the arena. They never planned on anyone using it as a weapon. It made them look stupid that he figured it out. I bet they had a good time trying to spin that one. Bet that's why I don't remember seeing it on television. It's almost as bad as us and the berries!"
She burst out laughing, a good laugh, from deep inside. Haymitch felt something lighten to hear it. It was a strange thing, having to carrying around that sense of guilt and disgust at yourself, while other people told you that you were magnificent for killing and surviving. The regret for his action with the force field had always been sat in his mind, the way his family had been punished for it. Knowing that there was a person here who understood that feeling, understood it so well that she was laughing her head off like a lunatic... well, it helped.
"Almost, but not quite," he said, causing them both to jump like they'd been caught in the middle of something guilty. Did they realise how Haymitch might feel about them watching it? Didn't stop the nosy kids though. He smirked and took a drink, and the warm feeling growing inside him wasn't entirely due to the alcohol.
...
Haymitch had been allocated Peeta's old prep team, and he wasn't giving them an easy time. The people of the Capitol loved watching him stagger around drunk on their TVs – falling off stages, shouting deliriously and planting sloppy kisses on Effie's heavily made-up face – but for the Games, they wanted to remember the pretty, fresh faced boy he had once been. Before years of dealing in their bloodbath had crushed him completely. Well, Haymitch didn't feel all that obliging. They had made him what he was, so they could damn well enjoy it.
To be honest, they were off to a bad start from the moment they entered the room.
"Haymitch Abernathy!" one of them scretched, a monstrosity with over-large eyes, jewel-encrusted skin and mile-high green hair. "I can't believe I'm going to be working on a legend!"
"Ooh my," cooed another, this one with a skin dyed blue and feathery hair. "You are in a state, aren't you! Look at that hair, the stubble, the fingernails!"
They carried on like this for several minutes, and Haymitch shot down several of their ideas, including their dreams of obliterating his age lines. He also refused to have his hair shorn, so they had to make do with trimming the ends to rid him of the split ends and blowing it back from his face. He allowed his eyebrows to be tweezed and fingernails to be treated, but drew the line at them tampering with his teeth.
"It's time to shave your stubble," the jewelled one said, with the same bracing voice someone might use to announce they were going to jump into a lion pit.
"Get on with it," he groused, taking a quick swig from his flask before the overgrown birds started smothering his face in shaving cream. He might be lazy with it, but shaving his face was the one concession he made to decency. Besides, washing vomit out of a beard was really pretty disgusting.
The one with the jewels edged closer with the razor blade, looking at him with concern. Maybe it was the expression on his face, or his rigid posture, or the fact he couldn't take his eyes off that blade. He really didn't like the idea of people approaching him with sharp objects.
Haymitch took another gulp of alcohol and let them get to work. He'd been trying to cut down since he realised he would have to become a tribute. A shaking and hallucinating old man was the last thing Katniss needed in the arena, and Peeta would be making sure his gifts kept her alive, not supplying Haymitch's habits.
To say it was hard was an understatement. He'd had this addiction longer than he'd had the ability to grow a beard. Maybe it was a miracle it hadn't killed him, but it didn't feel like much of a miracle. More like a huge joke.
The colourful birds were yapping again, reminiscing about his last Quarter Quell. Excellent. That was exactly what he wanted to listen to.
"Neither of you look old enough to remember my Games," he snapped at them. Didn't put them off-stride for long.
"Oh, I bought a copy of course!" said the blue one. "I've got all the best victors in my collection, especially the good looking ones!"
Haymitch gave the stylist a flat look.
"Oh, silly me, don't worry, you'll look just as handsome as you used to by the time we've finished!"
"Oh good, that'll put all my worries to bed," he replied scathingly. The freaks exchanged a glance as though they weren't sure how serious he was. These people. They were the biggest joke around, but they had no sense of humour at all. Irony.
He glared at the blue one so hard that the razor slipped and cut a fine line in his face. Haymitch flinched, and the stylists jumped backwards.
"I'm so sorry!" squealed the blue one. "I didn't mean to, I just... let me get that cleaned up."
"I've had worse, remember?" he spat, furious at himself for overreacting to the cut, to the burning and the feel of blood leaking out of him. "Maybe you should go back home and watch my Quell, relive the glory fifty times over? I know I do every night."
He'd said too much. It was so much easier to act like a callous drunk than admit how badly the Hunger Games had affected him. Not just his own, but years and years of watching children die, unable to do anything. And now this new Quell, it was the final straw.
He couldn't sit there anymore. Haymitch shot to his feet, eliciting a frightened squeak from the jewelled one, and stormed out of the room. He wasn't here to sit in quiet terror and let hideous strangers paw at his body, to prepare for interviews to entertain a thoughtless populace, to worry about his impending death and looking appealing to sponsors. This time he had work to do before he entered the arena.
...
A knock sounded on Haymitch's door. He eyed it warily, wondering which of the kids had reason to talk to him now. It wasn't likely to be Katniss, she'd been avoiding him since the moment he'd agreed to be a tribute. He got the sneaking feeling that she might feel guilty, but what she didn't know was that Haymitch understood. He was an old wreck, and she was in love with the boy – why wouldn't she want Haymitch to be a tribute instead?
That only left one person.
"Come on in, Peeta."
The door slid open, and the boy entered. A determined expression sat on his face, but Haymitch knew the kid too well. He could do short bursts of anger, but he didn't do it well, and he couldn't bull his way through an argument to save his life. Peeta could, however, twist the conversation to make Haymitch feel incredibly ashamed of himself, and that wasn't fun for anyone.
He caught himself reaching for his bottle, and stopped. Later, later was better.
"Something wrong, kid?" Best to air it quickly.
"Wrong?" he asked. "How about the fact you agreed to let me volunteer, and then when I do, you knock me out cold?"
"I never agreed to let you volunteer," Haymitch replied pleasantly. Or as pleasantly as he could. "I just agreed to help Katniss win, and I figure that's best done by keeping you out of the arena. Let's face it boy, that girl doesn't need your dead weight dragging her down."
Peeta coloured, but to his credit replied with, "I don't think you're exactly in any condition to be going in either." He gestured to the bottle of liquor by the chair. "What happens when you're without that in the arena? Or when you need to run from danger and you run out of breath? If Katniss tries to help you, she'll get killed!"
Haymitch clapped his hands, grinning, and the boy looked at him like he was mad. "There we go, now we're getting to the point! Katniss isn't going to stop and help me, is she? She'd throw her life away to stop you doing something dumb, but there's no way she'd extend me that courtesy."
"Katniss likes you," he replied stubbornly. "She wouldn't leave you to die."
"Maybe not if she could help it. But she wouldn't try something futile like she would with you. You're a distraction, Peeta, and she was pretty keen on the idea of keeping you alive at the expense of both of us. You can do a lot more good as a mentor, especially if you pull out some of that smoothing talking." Haymitch gave him a grim smile. "Plus, this time you get to play favourites. Promise I won't hold it against you."
"I'm not going to let you die either," Peeta said. "Not unless there's no choice."
Haymitch reached for his bottle. "Now you kids just wanna make me cry."
"Can you tell me what you know, so I'm ready?"
"Sure thing. Tell you what, let's find somewhere with a lot of fresh air. This room's too stuffy for thinking."
The boy took the hint, and headed up to the roof, where Haymitch knew he and the girl came for their alone time. He felt a little weird being admitted to their sanctuary like this, but he supposed the strange bond between the three of them allowed it.
"What is it?" Peeta asked curiously.
Haymitch eyed the gathering dusk, its fiery glow as the sun sunk. "I'm not planning on Katniss winning the Quell. And before you start complaining at me, I'm not going back on my promise. I plan on getting her out of the Game before it can come to a winner."
"How?"
"I'm not sure yet, not until I can get into the arena myself," Haymitch admitted. "They're bound to have changed the force fields since I was last a tribute, but there'll still be weaknesses. If we can bring the whole thing down from the inside, we stand a chance of escaping. We can get Katniss out in the confusion."
Peeta smiled. "Sounds risky, but I like it. I really don't think she wants to be forced to kill again. I'm glad that I don't have to," he added, sounding slightly guilty.
"Don't think I've given you the cushy job," Haymitch warned. "You'll be our only contact outside the game, and if the gamemakers figure out what we're doing, it's going to get messy. There's someone on the inside here though, a rebel. They'll make contact with you when they need to. Maybe through Darius."
"And the Avox girl," the boy added. Haymitch nodded. He wasn't sure what was going on with her and Katniss, but he trusted Peeta's judgement. The boy was smarter than people gave him credit for.
"Don't mention any of this to Katniss," he warned. "If she thinks we're planning to rescue her, she's likely to go all martyred on us and ruin the whole thing. First thing we need to do though is make alliances. Luckily, all those years spent drinking with other victors has given me a bit of an advantage there."