Okay, this is the last chapter. Hope you like it!

The following day, Haymitch hesitantly took the road that led to Tanya's house. He had no idea what he was going to say, nor how he was going to say it, but he needed to find some way to apologize to her.

Haymitch wasn't used to apologies. He was sarcastic, stubborn, and hardly ever wrong, but his mother had convinced him otherwise...

The door shut behind him with a crack as Haymitch stormed into the house.

"I take it the bakery was out of your favorite cream puffs?" his mother asked, calmly stirring the stew on the stove. Although a great deal kinder than Haymitch, they shared the same sense of humor.

"I didn't go," Haymitch growled. "Nellie's there to finish your damn shopping list."

Mrs. Abernathy stopped her cooking and sat down beside Haymitch, who was slumped at the kitchen table. "What happened, dear?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." he said sullenly.

His mother shrugged. "Well, that's fine with me."

The two sat in dead silence for a time. The anger that had been accumulating ever since his argument with Tanya grew higher and higher, consuming everything within him. When he finally couldn't stand it anymore, Haymitch told his mother everything, just as she knew he eventually would.

After he had finished, she said nothing at first. Then exhaling slowly, Mrs. Abernathy turned to face her son.

"I'm not going to tell you who's right," she began softly. "That's only for you to decide. But there's something you should know. During the Games, after Maysilee died with you holding her hand, rumors began to spread throughout the whole district."

"Like what?" Haymitch asked.

"That you and Maysilee were interested in each other from the start," his mother explained. "And before you entered the arena, you two went off together and... I don't think it's necessary for me to say it."

Haymitch couldn't agree more.

"Tanya was strong through it all, as she always is," Mrs. Abernathy continued. "But to constantly have those lies buzzing around you, people pointing you out behind your back, it's impossible not to be affected by it."

All of Haymitch's past anger instantly washed away. Those accusations Tanya had spouted out at him, weren't even her own. She had simply been confused, and the crowds had turned that into resentment.

He rested his face in his hands. "What do I do?"

"Whatever your true feelings are," his mother advised. "You need to talk it out with Tanya."

Haymitch lifted his head again to look at her, knowing that she was right. It certainly wasn't going to be easy, but for Tanya's sake he had to try.

When Haymitch had reached the doorstep, it took all the willpower he possessed to to raise his hand and ring the bell.

The door swung open to reveal Tanya's mother behind it. "Hello Haymitch," she greeted kindly. "Would you like to see Tanya?"

Haymitch nodded his assent, and he was admitted into the house.

"She's in her room," the woman said. "She's been in bed a while now- said she wasn't feeling well- but I'm sure she'll want to see you."

"Thank you," Haymitch replied awkwardly. Then he turned and moved down the hall, stopping in front of the last door.

He had never been fond of the idea of an apology, but now that he was on the verge of making it he had never been more reluctant to do so. But then he pictured Tanya, betrayed and hurt, crying in her room with no one there for her.

Haymitch lifted his fist to the door and knocked. "Tanya?"

No one answered.

"Please let me in," he pleaded. "We need to talk."

Nothing.

Fed up with the cold shoulder treatment, Haymitch put all manners behind him and opened the door.

There was Tanya, asleep in her bed. But something was off about her. She was lying unnaturally still, not even the steady rise and fall of her chest could be seen. Haymitch had seen this enough times during the Games to immediately know why.

Tanya was dead.

In a horrifyingly similar way to what he did with Maysilee, Haymitch walked up to the dead girl and went to his knees. The moment he did he was overcome by a scent that would've been rather pleasant if taken in a smaller dose, but was so suffocating it made him nauseous. Tanya's usual smell was of the raspberries she sold on the street corner for extra money, but this new scent was familiar as well. He had gotten a whiff of it only once before, emitting from the man who had crowned him victor of the Hunger Games.

Roses.

Tanya's mother suddenly appeared in the doorway. "What's wrong, Haymitch?" It wasn't until then that he realized he had just screamed.

The woman's eyes fell upon her daughter. "Tanya?" she cried, racing to her bedside. After frantically searching every inch of her body for a pulse, it became clear that she had reached the same conclusion as Haymitch.

Dazed from shock, she sank to the floor so she she was sitting beside Haymitch. "How could that... she was fine just last night, only a little pale... Tanya."

She crumbled into a ball and sobbed as reality settled in. Haymitch couldn't bear telling her that she hadn't been sick, that she was brutally murdered on account of him. So he placed a hand on her back to comfort her, for he knew what it was like to lose one of the family as well.

Family. Mom. Lionel.

Mumbling a few words of condolence, Haymitch leaped up and bolted out of the house, sprinting towards his own.

Of course Snow would have targeted him. Not only did he humiliate the Gamemakers by using their force field to his advantage, but he blatantly vowed to take revenge on the Capitol. And he wasn't going to be killed; no, that would be too merciful. Instead, Snow was planning to take it out on the few he held dear.

He barely made it halfway home when he came across a wagon completely flipped over. Haymitch's heart dropped to his stomach as he pushed through the small crowd that had gathered.

Confirming his fears he found his mother and brother, each surrounded by a pool of blood.

He felt a hand grasp his shoulder. "I'm sorry Haymitch," said Jasper Everdeen, a former classmate of his. "It's too late for them."

Haymitch hardly even acknowledged him. He was focused on the wagon, which Aaron Hawthorne and many others were trying to turn onto its right side. The source of the problem was the front axle, which appeared to have snapped while his family was riding it. But Haymitch saw that the breakage was a perfectly clean cut, not a haphazardly arranged ring of splinters. The wagon had been tampered with.

And there it was again. The scent of roses.

A few people, including the baker's son, began lifting the victims. "My girl and her family run the apothecary shop in town, and they prepare bodies for burial too. We can take them there," he said. Haymitch couldn't quite place the name- Mellark or something. He didn't care anyway.

Jasper's face clouded over at the mention of Mellark's girlfriend, but he agreed to the plan. "Go on and get some rest," he said to Haymitch. "This is a lot to take in."

Haymitch was quick to leave the spot where his family had met their end. He wandered aimlessly around all of District Twelve, as if he could physically escape the pain of losing the three people left who were closest to him in one day, but it followed him wherever he went.

"Get your white liquor here! Half off special!" called out Ripper, waving a bottle in the air with her only arm.

Haymitch became aware that he had stumbled into the Hob, the center of the district's black market.

Maybe it was out of pity, or a lack of comprehension to what he was doing, but Haymitch found himself paying for a bottle.

Haymitch absently watched the clear liquid swish around in its container. For years he had witnessed past victors make fools of themselves on account of alcohol. Back then he had shook his head at them, but now he understood.

Here was his release from all the terrible things the Hunger Games had put upon him. Resting in his hand was a way to forget it all ever happened.

Without a moment's hesitation, Haymitch uncorked the liquor and took a swig.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Haymitch returned the finished bottle to the table with a definitive thud. Then he leaned forward, chin in hand, watching the events of the 74th Annual Hunger Games unfold.

He had promised the kids he was mentoring that he wouldn't drink so much that he would be incapable of helping them. But that didn't mean he wouldn't drink at all.

At the moment, his two tributes were safely tucked away in a cave. Peeta was asleep, arm protectively draped around his partner, but Katniss was wide awake with all her life problems pressing down on her.

There were only five contestants remaining, and the more time that passed, the closer they would get to determining the winner. But Haymitch would bet his bottle that the thing troubling her most was how to keep up the star-crossed lovers act with Peeta.

Haymitch's eyes flitted over to a different television set, where the Final Eight interviews were being played. On the screen was the handsome face of Gale Hawthorne, Katniss' "cousin". He had seen the two hunters together plenty of times before, selling their game at the Hob. It had been common knowledge that they would've ended up married one day.

But that was before Peeta came into the picture. It was clear that Katniss truly cared for the boy, though to what extent Haymitch wasn't sure. And it was completely obvious that Peeta loved her with all he had.

Katniss, Gale, Peeta. Haymitch, Tanya, Maysilee. Two hostile Seam kids, and one kind-hearted person from Town.

He had served the past twenty-three Games as mentor, and he had watched every last one of his charges die before his eyes. But this time, he had a legitimate chance of bringing back not one, but both tributes.

And for what? To lose your freedom, your peace of mind, possibly even your loved ones. More than once Haymitch had thought that the losers get the better end of the deal.

But even worse, if the two District Twelve tributes come home alive, Katniss would eventually be forced to choose. A choice that Haymitch couldn't bring himself to make, even now. A choice in which he had been denied of either option.

He looked at Katniss once again. So like him, so like Tanya.

"You'd better pick fast, sweetheart," he whispered. "Before the Capitol picks for you."