Title: From the Ashes

Rating: MA

Genre: Angst/Drama/Romance

Characters: Katniss/Haymitch; Katniss/Peeta

Summary: What could possibly be more dangerous for Katniss Everdeen than The Hunger Games?

Author's Note: Haymitch's P.O.V. Ignore the typos.

I stare at the bottle of wine on the table, hoping for a contact high and glaring at Effie as she pours herself another glass. Insufferable woman. If she's imposing this embargo on me, the least she could do is not drink in my presence…especially since I have more reason than ever to drink right now.

"How is Katniss feeling?" Effie asks as she slips a bite of meat into her mouth, looking curiously at Peeta.

"Tired. A little emotional, I guess."

Peeta's eyes flick to me for a minute. I know it's my fault she passed out on the roof after I left her there, but it's not like I did it intentionally. Well, at least I didn't mean to make her faint…or leave her there unconscious. I didn't even know about it until Peeta went up to check on her and carried her back inside.

I tip my chin up in defiance against his silent accusation. I did what I had to do, I did what was best for Katniss. I'm no good for her. Peeta will recover some day and be able to love and care for her the way she needs. What can I give her? A good time in the sack? That's not enough to sustain a relationship. Besides, I'm more damaged than Peeta is in a lot of ways. She doesn't need that on top of everything else that's happened to her.

"Weddings certainly can be stressful." Effie says, as if that explains everything.

"And you would know, right?" My tone is bitter, but I can't help myself. "How many times have you been married, Effie? Once? Twice? Oh, that's right…none."

Effie tries to conceal her hurt and indignation behind her wine glass. "Simply because I'm not married doesn't mean I can't understand what Katniss is going through. I'm a planner. Stress is in my job description."

"Sweetheart, you wouldn't know stress if it jumped up and bit you on your pretty little ass."

Effie straightens her posture. "There's no reason to speak to me like that, Haymitch. I'm a lady, I won't have you saying such vulgarities at the table."

"So you won't let me drink, you won't let me cuss…can I breathe, or do I need permission for that now, too?"

I realize my voice has risen a notch and borders on the threshold of hostile when Effie sets her glass down and blinks back tears. "I understand you're trying to sober up, Haymitch, but I would appreciate it if you wouldn't take it out on the rest of us."

With that she stands and hurries from the room, muffling her sobs as she goes.

I drop my head back with a longsuffering sigh. I'll have to apologize to her…again…and listen to her lecture on manners and feelings…again. How many times has she and I done this song and dance over the years? Peeta remains sitting there quietly, but he's looking mildly amused.

"This might not be the best time, but I've a favor to ask you. Well…a proposition I guess."

"Go on."

"What would you say if I wanted to broker a deal in which any debt you feel you owe me or Katniss is paid in full?"

So she's pulled him into my plan. I steeple my fingers under my chin and try to look intrigued. "I'm listening."

Peeta feeds me the same lines I fed to Katniss, practically verbatim. He's so convinced by it that I make a note to congratulate Katniss on finally being able to convince someone with her acting skills. I pretend to mull over the plan for a long minute. "So that's it? I do this and I'm off the hook?"

"We'll never ask you for anything else."

"And she agreed to this?"

"It was her idea."

She wishes. I pause for more effect then hold my hand out. "Deal."

Peeta looks relieved but anxious. "I know this is probably too soon, but she really wants to do it as soon as possible, so I was thinking…maybe…before the wedding? That way, when we get back to 12, you don't have to see us again unless you want to."

"Think you can convince Effie to let me have a few drinks?" I'm sure even Peeta would question it if I told him I would do this sober.

"I'll try. I won't tell her why, though."

"Good idea." I take a deep breath. "Let me talk to her first. You know how she gets when someone's hurt her feelings."

Peeta nods. "I should check on Katniss anyways. See if she's hungry or anything."

We part ways and I move to knock on Effie's door. I can hear her through the door, sniffling repeatedly, and knows she's trying to hide any evidence that she's been crying. I roll my eyes and wait for her to call me in when she feels she's ready to be seen.

For a second, I'm completely taken aback by the sight of her. She's changed out of the obnoxious teal colored number she had on at dinner into a simple dressing gown and robe. Her face is devoid of makeup and her straight blonde hair is out from under its wig.

"You should stop wearing all that clown makeup," I tell her. "You might actually be married by now if people could get a good look at you."

"Haymitch…" She tries to sound reproachful, but I can see the soft blush in her cheeks.

"Seriously, sweetheart. I'm sorry I don't always treat you like the lady you are." I'm as sincere as I possibly can be under the circumstances—I don't purposefully try to hurt Effie's feelings, even as much as I tease her about her clothes and hair, but she's right…I shouldn't have taken my bitterness out on her.

"I forgive you." She flicks her wrists away. "Now, off to bed with you. Tomorrow's going to be a big, big, big day!"

"What's tomorrow?"

"The first rehearsal." She makes a scoffing noise and puts her hands on her hips. "Honestly, doesn't anyone listen to anything I say?"

"What?"

"I said, Doesn't anyone—" She cuts off when she realizes I'm smirking. She thrusts her finger at the door, but struggles to hide her own smile. "Out."

The next morning, I make sure I'm the last one to breakfast, timing it so that everyone else will be done and moving off to get dressed or whatever else before we're scheduled to leave for the rehearsal. Katniss is the only one sitting at the table when I get there, pushing her food around her plate with a mopey expression. Her eyes are red and puffy, and I know this will never do.

"You're supposed to be head-over-heels in love and excited about getting married, sweetheart. Instead you look like we've just killed your puppy and are carting you off for your execution."

"Don't talk to me, Haymitch." She snaps back at me.

I pretend her words don't affect me as I smear jam on a piece of toast. "I'm just saying, you might try to smile a little."

We don't speak the rest of the morning, and soon we find ourselves in the holding area where the tributes used to wait before the Tribute Parade. Being here isn't helping my déjà vu or the ominous feeling that's continued to linger. I keep trying to tell myself I'm just being paranoid, but I've been through far too many Games to let my guard down, especially when Plutarch is planning the ceremony.

"Haymitch." The devil himself greets me with a smile and a brotherly hug. "So glad we could talk you into this. It wouldn't be the same without you giving away the bride."

He congratulates Peeta on his remarkable recovery, then turns to Katniss and recoils slightly at the puffiness of her eyes. "Oh, someone's going to need some beauty sleep or a lot of makeup. You'll be glad to know I've retained the services of your prep team, Katniss. They'll have you looking beautiful in no time."

Katniss looks like she's going to rip his face off, but Peeta grips her hand to steady her and I feel a wave of jealousy surge up before I remember that I can't care about her any more. I'm her mentor. That's all I'm allowed to be now.

"So, here's what I envision," Plutarch begins, using his hands to help us visualize the ceremony. "I want white horses and a gleaming carriage—not like the tribute's carriage, but something magnificent. Haymitch and Katniss will ride from here into the City Circle. We'll have VIP chairs set up in the circle with an aisle running between them. Peeta will be waiting on the steps of the President's mansion. Haymitch, you'll walk Katniss down the aisle, then up the stairs, present her to Peeta—maybe a little kiss on the cheek—and stand beside Peeta as they exchange their vows."

"Magnificent, don't you think?" Plutarch looks thoroughly pleased with himself. "The three victors of District 12, standing in unity in the Capital. The country will eat it up!"

"You you're not going to release any mutts, or drop booby trapped parachutes on us, are you?" I can't stop myself from asking.

"Haymitch," Plutarch says with a laugh. "It's a wedding, not the Games."

I look around at where we're standing. "Could have fooled me."

I hear Plutarch calling to me as I walk away from them. My part's easy enough. I don't need to rehearse it. I wander through the familiar corridors of the training center, silent now that its only use is to house us for Katniss' wedding. I can feel the imprint of so many children in the walls, in the floors, in the equipment that lies untouched. So many dead. So many I knew. So many who would probably agree with me about this being some sort of trap. When I find myself on Ceasar Flickerman's stage, dimmed except for emergency lights, I sit in the chair that I once occupied 25 years ago and, just as I did then, plan my strategy. If Plutarch does have something sinister up his sleeve, I want to be ready.

"I know that look." Katniss' voice draws me out of my thoughts and I look towards the sound to see her standing at the edge of the stage. She crosses towards me and sits in Caesar's chair, looking at me stoically. "That's your planning look. Do you really think we're in danger, Haymitch?"

"What does your gut tell you?"

She looks down at her hands in her lap, then quietly says, "That I shouldn't be marrying Peeta. That I should be with you."

"You know that's not possible."

"Why?" She asks tremulously. "Why won't you just admit you love me? Why do you want me to be with Peeta?"

"Because I'm not good enough for you, Katniss!" The words explode from my mouth, silencing her. "We don't get along. We're constantly at each other's throats, trying to rip the other apart. Is that the kind of relationship you want? Come on, sweetheart, even you're not that stupid."

"I'm not saying this is perfect, Haymitch, but whatever we have…at least it's real. I love Peeta, but nothing feels right with him now. Maybe it's the war and how much he's changed, I don't know…but I don't want to marry him on the off chance that he'll be normal again someday."

"But you'd marry me on the off chance that we might not kill each other." I mock.

"I never said I wanted to marry you," she says matter-of-factly. "I simply said that I don't want to marry Peeta."

"Then don't marry him." I tell her impatiently. "You don't need my permission to dump him, Katniss."

"Haymitch." She grinds out my name between clenched teeth, pounds her fists on the arms of the chair, then practically leaps from her chair into my lap, straddling my legs as she grabs my face. "You're so…dense!"

Then she's kissing me so passionately, there's no room to doubt how strongly she feels for me. Love, hate, impatience, desire, hope…I taste all of this and more in her kiss and realize that it's mirrored back at her just as strongly from me.

I reach up and cup her face as the kiss naturally tapers off. "This is such a bad idea, Katniss."

"So you've told me before." She whispers, dropping her forehead against mine.

TBC