Disclaimer: The Hunger Games Trilogy is property of Suzanne Collins. This is a parody fanwork by fans for fans. No money was made off of the creation of this fanwork.

The Ten Unwritten Rules of Being a Hunger Games Victor

By Fanfic Allergy

Rule Six:

Haymitch seemed content to leave us on that rule, getting up and half walking, half lurching back toward the Victor's Village. To be honest, I was okay with calling it quits for the day, week, month. If that was rule number five, I wasn't sure I wanted to know what the rest of the rules were. I found myself looking to the fence and the woods beyond. I wanted nothing more than to get up and run to the forest and the solitude and sanctuary it promised.

"You can go, Katniss," Peeta's voice interrupted my longing. I looked at him and saw the understanding on his face.

Flashing him a quick smile, I stood up. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

I didn't wait any longer. I ran toward the fence, barely pausing to listen for the sound of electricity running through the wires, slipped under the barrier and out into the forest. I didn't stop running until I knew I was out of eyesight from anyone who happened to be walking near the fence. When I did stop, all of the pent up emotion struggled to get out and I leaned against a tree heavily so I wouldn't fall to the ground.

How stupid was I to think, honestly think, that the Hunger Games would be over after I'd won them? Yeah, I knew about the Victory Tour but that was just one tick into a longer lifetime. But I'd forgotten, or if I was more honest with myself, I didn't want to remember that the Victors were always brought in for Games. All of them. Even if they weren't mentoring that year, in those districts that had multiple winners, all of the Victors came to the Capitol each year. They provided color commentary with Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman in those times where the action in the arena was slow and the gamemakers weren't planning any little surprises. I was never going to escape the Hunger Games. It was going to follow me around for the rest of my life, like it did Haymitch.

I let the feelings of despair wash over me for a few moments then ruthlessly tamped them down. I didn't have time to sit here feeling sorry for myself. I still had my family to provide for and Gale's to help out with. They didn't have the extra food that my family got for raising a Victor. And considering the number of times Gale helped me feel my mother and Prim, I owed him.

I threaded my way through the woods until I reached a tree that held one of my bows. I retrieved it, checking for any damage along its length and quickly strung the weapon. Now I went into full hunter mode. I hadn't been particularly quiet when I'd come dashing out into the woods. So most of the more skittish game had likely run off. But that didn't mean that I couldn't find something. Squirrels in particular seemed to think that so long as they were up a tree they were safe. I planned to show them that they were wrong.

A few hours later, I had four squirrels and a pheasant hanging from a brace as well as a pocketful of wild blueberries. I almost didn't pick them because their dark color reminded me of the nightlock berries that had gotten Peeta and I into so much trouble in the arena, but then the more pragmatic part of me won out. These were edible and they tasted good and I wondered if I gave them to Peeta if he could find a way to bake them into some kind of bread or cake. It was starting to get on toward sunset so headed back to Twelve.

I stopped briefly at Hazelle's to give her two of the squirrels. She took them with a small nod and I was grateful that Gale still was at work in the mines. I didn't feel like arguing with him over who was more indebted to whom. Gale and I took care of each other, it was what we did.

I also stopped at Peeta's family's bakery. His mother gave me a disdainful little sniff when she saw that I wasn't there to buy anything, but his father welcomed me with a ready smile. As if the Games had never happened, he and I bargained for the two remaining squirrels and I ended up walking away with two loaves of day old soda bread and a small sack of cookies for Prim. I wondered again why Peeta's family didn't live with their son in the Victor's Village. All of them could have fit within one of the houses. But I supposed that they didn't want to leave their business. Although, thinking about Mrs. Mellark, I wondered if maybe she was the reason that Peeta didn't live with his family.

Walking to the Victor's Village, I stopped at my house first and dropped off the Pheasant and bread, hiding the cookies so that Prim wouldn't find them. My mother took the bird gratefully and nodded absently at the bread. We didn't really need the bread, not with Peeta supplying us nearly every day with his experiments, but I didn't want to become dependent on Peeta or anyone for my food.

"I'll be back in a few," I said to my mother as I walked back to the door. I wanted to give Peeta the berries before I accidentally forgot they were in my pocket and crushed them.

"What about this?" my mother asked holding up the pheasant.

"Have Prim pluck it. Just save the feathers. I can trade them at the milliner's later. "

My mother made a face.

I sighed. "She's got to get over her squeamishness sometime. Cleaning a bird isn't that bad."

She nodded and went to the stove to start heating water to make a stew.

Seeing that she wasn't going to argue with me further, I slipped out the door and walked over to Peeta's cottage and knocked on the door. He didn't answer right away, so I knocked again a few moments later. From inside, I could hear someone moving around so I knew he was home. I was about to raise my hand to knock again when Peeta finally opened the door.

He was wearing the same clothes that he had in the Meadow only now they were splattered with little spots of paint. I raised my eyebrow at him.

"We each have our own coping mechanisms." Peeta smiled slightly and stepped back, wordlessly inviting me into his house.

I nodded.

"You want to see?" he asked.

"Sure," I said with a shrug. "But first let me give you something, you got a bowl?"

He looked at me with a confused expression on his face, but nodded leading me to the kitchen. He pulled out two bowls of varying sizes and I pointed at the smaller of the two. Setting my chosen container on the counter, he put away the other bowl.

I slipped my hand into my pocket carefully removing the blueberries within. They were shinier, the greyish blue covering rubbed away and looked more like nightlock berries than when I'd found them.

Peeta seemed to think so because he asked, "What are those?" in a wary tone of voice.

"Blueberries," I said popping one in my mouth to demonstrate that they were edible. "I thought you might be able to make something with them."

Giving me an inscrutable look, Peeta took a berry between his fingers and studied it before eating it. "Thanks, I think."

"You think?" I asked.

He smiled tentatively. "You could be trying to kill me."

I stiffened. While I heard the teasing tone in his voice and I knew he was joking, it was still a bad joke and it still hurt a little. "If I'd wanted you dead, I wouldn't have wasted my time on you in the arena." I tried to mimic his tone, but knew as soon as the words came out that I'd failed because Peeta flinched.

"I didn't mean..." he started, but I held up a hand.

"I know you didn't. It was just a bad joke."

He nodded.

"It's okay. I'm not mad, I just don't know what I am," I finished lamely.

"I get that. We're not the same people that went into that arena." His voice took on a far away quality. "It's like in a way our old selves died in there just as much as any of the other tributes and we're just some kind of doppelgangers trying to fit in with our old lives. I didn't want the Capitol to change us, Katniss. But it looks like I'm doomed to never get what I want." He looked at me pointedly.

I felt a stab of guilt and following quickly on its heels a rush of anger. "I didn't want this either, Peeta! But I damn well refuse to feel guilty for both of us surviving. Yeah it changed us, but that's life. You either deal with it or you die. And I don't feel like dying." I took a deep breath and changed the subject. "So do you think you can make something with those?" I motioned to the blueberries.

Peeta nodded. "Yeah, I think I have a recipe for scones or something that can use blueberries. I can always try it out."

A little idea formed in my head. "You think you can make it by tonight?" I asked.

His forehead wrinkled in confusion as he looked at me. "Yeah, probably. Why?"

"Well, I got a pheasant earlier and my mother's making it into stew. Do you think that Haymitch might like a hearty meal with a nice sweet dessert to follow?" I leaned on the counter toward him.

"Trying to wheedle another rule out of him?" Peeta asked.

I shrugged. "I figure the more we know the fewer mistakes we'll make."

"Yeah," Peeta agreed. "So did you want to see what I was working on now? Before you head back home?"

I nodded. "Lead the way."

Taking my words at face value, he led me to the smallest bedroom which had been converted into an art studio. On the easel was a half-finished canvas depicting Cato stroking a sleeping Clove's hair next to the fire in their camp at the Cornucopia. It confused me, because the expression on Cato's face was tender almost loving and it totally didn't mesh with the brutal Cato that I remembered.

My confusion must have shown on my face because Peeta spoke up just then, "I don't think that they knew each other from before. They were both volunteers, you know."

I nodded still studying the painting.

"They met on the train and from what I could catch, they hit it off," he continued. "I don't think it was romantic, more like they were brother and sister, but he cared for her and I think she liked him back. I just wanted to remember him this way not the way..." he trailed off.

"Not the way he died," I finished.

"I still see him in my dreams, you know," he whispered. "Hear his screams."

I shuddered. I didn't want to tell him that Cato, Clove, Rue and all of the rest of the tributes haunted my dreams at night. So I didn't say anything.

It turned out that I didn't need to since Peeta continued. "I want to remember him as something other than what haunts my nightmares. I want to remember them all."

"I don't," I said quickly. "I'd rather forget the whole thing ever happened."

Peeta didn't acknowledge my words but I saw a flash of pain cross his features. "You'd better go," he said after a moment. "I've got to get to work baking and you should get home."

He was kicking me out. I guess I wasn't surprised. Things were still strange between the two of us. I know that he was still hurt about my revelation on the train back from the Capitol, but I was hoping that he would get over that. Haymitch was right, no one would understand you as well as another Victor. And here in Twelve the options were limited.

A few hours later, Peeta was at my door holding two baskets of steaming baked goods. He handed one basket to my mother and motioned for me to follow him. I grabbed the covered bowl of stew and bag with a few slices of the soda bread and walked out into the night.

The two of us walked in silence until we reached Haymitch's door. There were lights on inside but we couldn't hear anyone within. Remembering the morning and how polite knocks don't work with Haymitch, I pounded on the door. That seemed to work since a few moments later the door opened.

"I thought I was done with you kids and that I could get some serious drinking taken care of."

"Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint, but you haven't scared me off yet," I snapped back.

Haymitch smirked. "Sure didn't seem like that was the case this morning. I seem to recall a certain victor almost losing her lunch."

"Speaking of food, we brought you some," Peeta stepped in before I could retort. "Katniss has some stew and I've got blueberry pound cake."

"Got anything to wash it down with?"

"I think you've got that covered already," Peeta stated blandly.

We sat down at Haymitch's scarred and grungy table and gave the older man his food. He ate it quickly while asking us about what we did after he left. Peeta told him about painting and I tuned out not wanting to hear all about Cato and Clove again.

"That'll make a good post-Games career," Haymitch grunted. "Something the Capitol would be happy to trot out and show off."

"Unlike you?" I asked acerbically.

"Nope, not that it matters at this point. So what'd you do, Princess?"

"What do you think?" I eyed the bowl he was eating from pointedly.

"Ah, I don't think the Capitol would approve of that for a post-Games career. Poacher isn't high on their list of acceptable job choices."

I shrugged. "I don't really have any Capitol approved skills."

"Ain't that the truth. Might want to talk to Trinket or Cinna and see what they suggest. Can't have one half of the star-crossed lovers of Twelve doing anything more to anger the Capitol, now can we?"

"I'll think about it."

Peeta spoke up then. "So what's the next rule?"

Haymitch smiled and settled back on this chair with a satisfied grin. "That's an easy one. Rule Six: Respect the stylists. They may be flighty bastards but their ability can spell life or death for the kids in the arena."

"You've already told us that one, on the train to the Games, remember?"

"So I did, but it bears repeating. And it's even more important when you're mentors. Because a bad stylist/mentor relationship can be deadly for the tributes."

I narrowed my eyes. "It sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"I am. You kids got lucky with Cinna and Portia last year. The team we had for the previous fifteen years, well, they didn't like me much."

Remembering the slew of Coal Miner along with the naked covered in coal dust costumes from the last few years, I asked, "What happened?"

Haymitch shot me a look and took a drink of the white liquor. "I didn't agree with Nero's vision and I told him that I thought he was an uninspired hack."

"You mean he actually thought that the Coal Miner's outfits were good?" Peeta asked incredulously.

"No, his original vision was to dress the tributes in these bulky costumes so they would look like they were a lump of coal."

"That doesn't sound much better," I stated.

"It sucked mutt balls. But it would have been memorable. And that might have meant that you wouldn't be the only female victor from Twelve."

I didn't know about the games he was referring to. I was only one when they took place so I said, "Tell us about it."

"Her name was Belladee Hatfield. She wasn't strong like you, Princess. But she was smart. Kinda reminds me of that girl from Five last time. She had a strategy: keep away from the other tributes until the end. Almost worked, too. Except the arena was a desert and the only source of water was from the oasis where the cornucopia was and as always the careers staked that place out something fierce. Belladee got lucky and got a backpack with a canteen of water and some food. And she used her mining smarts to find a cave and hunker down out of sight. The arena made it easy for the careers to find tributes in the open and soon it was down to the final eight, Belladee, the careers, and some boy from Seven. She might have made it if she were memorable. But hiding out for the whole Games and her interview and parade costumes meant she was as forgettable as most of the tributes from your year. If she'd had memorable costume, I might have been able to get her a bottle of water or a coconut from a sponsor. But every sponsor I approached couldn't even remember her face so wouldn't part with their money." He stopped and took a drink and stared off into the distance.

"So what happened to her?" Peeta asked.

"She died," Haymitch said bluntly. "Gutted like a pig by some girl from One when she tried to sneak to the oasis and get water. Something she wouldn't have had to do if she'd had sponsors."

"So what happened after that?" I asked.

Haymitch took another drink. "Nothing. One of the careers won and I got to come back here and see two more dead kids' families glare at me for not being able to save their children."

"I think Katniss wanted to know about the Stylist," Peeta said after a few moments.

"What's there to know? He held a grudge against me ever since." Haymitch took a swig from the bottle. "Swore he wouldn't put one bit of effort into doing something that wouldn't be appreciated. Even getting a new partner in every few years or so couldn't get him to try even a little. I was glad when he retired, I'd hate to think what would have happened to you two if you'd been in Nero's hands instead of Cinna and Portia's."

Peeta and I considered that for a few moments. Then Peeta spoke, "I'm glad I got Portia. She really cared about how I appeared. It made it a lot easier to play the role I needed to."

I nodded. "Yeah. I don't know what I would done without Cinna."

"I know what you would have done," Haymitch said with a grunting laugh. "You would've died. Simple as that. You were the Girl on Fire. The Star-Crossed lovers and the costumes Portia and Cinna constructed made that all possible."

"So we owe them a lot," Peeta said. "What should we do about that?"

"You do what the rule says. You respect the hell out of them and you listen to them. They know as much about how the Games work as anyone else. And they are the last people to see your kids off. Make sure that you always remember that."

Peeta looked back and forth between Haymitch and me. "I think we will."

"Good. Now get the hell out of my house. Story time is over."

That was fine with me. I had a phone call to make to Cinna.

AN:

Oh my was that a long chapter. The story kind of got a bit away from me on this one. I hope I didn't bore you with everything but it all just seemed to flow. I totally made up Nero and Belladee all we really know about the District Twelve tributes is that they died early and that the stylist that Katniss remembers tends to dress the kids as coal miners or makes them be naked and covered in coal dust. It just seems to me that Haymitch had to have a reason why he would tell Katniss and Peeta to go along with the Stylists. He's just too ornery to give them this kind of advise without a really good reason.

I hope to hear from you about how you liked this chapter. Reviews are the currency of the fanfic writer, we receive no other reward.

Thank you for reading.