A.N. Hello! Well, my exams are done and it's good to be back. Quite frankly, it feels good to be doing anything that not school related at the moment. So this chapter is going to be Haymitch's first therapy session, I don't think I'm going to post them all but I'll do the more pivotal ones. I think the Games are going to start within the next two chapter and then it will be about 15-17 more chapters left. So about 20 in total. Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter and please feel free to let me know what you're thinking via review format.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this story a part Emerald and Dr. Acanthus Pilfer. Everything else is a part of The Hunger Games and belongs to the respective owner.

The first thing that Haymitch noticed about the inside of the shrink's office was the red. The deep red walls that were the colour of well-aged vintage wine; the kind of wine Haymitch had been served after he'd won the Games. The walls were accented with black furniture: a black leather couch, black desk and chair, black plant stand, black table with a glass top, black frickin' planters. The only things in the room that weren't black or red were the deep green plants and the golden picture frames that held what Haymitch guessed were all his psychiatric degrees.

Or what passed for them in the Capitol.

"Mr. Abernathy, welcome."

Haymitch looked to his left to see a man who had to be his doctor standing next to him. He was extraordinarily… unorthodox. The man was built like a tank, 6'3 and easily 230 lps, the man's muscles had muscles. How the pansy-ass purple dress shirt was holding in all that muscle and man Haymitch had no idea. Dark black hair that had a hint of a curl at the ends even though it was barely came down past his ears and a set of dark glasses that framed what Haymitch could only guess were dark eyes.

Grunting in response Haymitch turned and shook the offered hand, the good doctor's grip hinting at the strength he stored in those muscles.

"I'm Doctor Acanthus Pilfer. I'll be your psychiatrist for the duration of your treatment." Pilfer had a deep voice, but it was surprisingly non-threatening given his size, and Haymitch had been right, he had dark brown eyes.

"If you would just take a seat Mr. Abernathy, we'll begin in just a moment."

Haymitch rolled his shoulders as he took a seat on the black leather couch, the thing still held its shape which suggested that Acne-whateverhisnamewas didn't have as many patients as he made himself out to have. After all, how many of those Capitol bimbos needed a therapist? Most of them were born with a silver spoon in their mouths and wanted for nothing until the day they died. The victor watched as the man-beast flipped through some papers which Haymitch assumed were all of his medical files and whatnot, the court's ruling, and everything else that had been put in black and white about that night on the train.

"It says here that you are the victor of the Second Quarter Quell, is that correct?"

Haymitch snorted, "What? Too young to remember way back then? What are you, 22? 25?"

Acanthus looked over at Haymitch will a look of boredom. "27. I was 3 during your Games, I don't remember much before the age of five. But enough about me, we're here to talk about you."

Haymitch rolled his eyes, "Talk about me about what? My drinking problem? The nightmares? The attempted murder a couple weeks back?"

"Attempted murder? It's interesting that you refer to it like that because it says here that Ms. Trinket awoke you front a nightmare resulting in an accidental stabbing. No murderous intent was found."

Haymitch glared at the younger man. Shrinks has always been a thorn in his side and he'd gone through quite a few. A couple of years after he'd been named victor and he'd decided to take up alcoholism as serious, and long-term profession the few people who hadn't given up on him had decided to get him some help. However, his memories of those therapists had been of the less modest Capitol types than the Hulk that was sitting across from him now.

"Why are you so well-built?" Haymitch asked.

"I thought we were talking about you."

Haymitch shrugged, "Reciprocity is based on exchange."

Pilfer put his clipboard on his desk and leaned forward, a flash of irritation settling over his features before he regained his mask of neutrality. "Nothing too special. In my teenage years I hit the mother of all growth spurts. I just figured I might as well do some filling in with my new body."

Haymitch raised an eyebrow at the man sitting across from him. There was definitely something his shrink wasn't telling him…but then again there was a reason the two were in their current situation. And Acanthus Pilfer was not that reason.

Leaning back in his chair, Haymitch spread his palms in the universal sign of I mean no harm and watched as his psychiatrist grabbed the clipboard off the desk and settled back into his businessman demeanor.

"What was your nightmare about the night your stabbed Effie Trinket?"

"Divin' right in there eh?"

"I shoot from the hip Mr. Abernathy."

"Call me Haymitch."

"What was your nightmare about the night you stabbed Effie Trinket, Haymitch."

Haymitch grinned; a shrink with a sense of humour, always a good thing. And for once he wasn't being sarcastic, the whole doom-and-gloom thing was really not his style and he'd been unable to escape it since he'd stopped drinking. All the thoughts he'd wanted to keep out of his head had been flooding back in and sleep had been a rare luxury.

He'd never had a quiet mind.

Thinking back to that night Haymitch tried to remember what the nightmare had been about, and found it rather challenging. It was mostly fuzzy mental pictures and a strong sense of panic and fear which most likely made it a Games related dream.

Making a face, he glanced over at the mammoth sitting in the chair, his face still impassive as he patiently waited for Haymitch to answer.

"It was about the Games. I think. It's kinda fuzzy."

"Perfectly natural. Was it your Games?"

"I don't know."

"Were you scared?"

Yes. "No."

"Are you sure about that Haymitch?"

Haymitch felt his grip on the couch's leather tighten. What was it with this guy? Most of the shrinks just gave him some pills and shoved them out their door.

"I'm sure," he ground out.

Acanthus nodded slowly, taking notice of the tight grip on the couch and changed tactics. "How's detox going?"

Haymitch felt himself relax a little into the couch. "Well it's no picnic if that's what you're thinking."

"I wasn't thinking that at all."

"To be honest, I feel like Hell. I've come out of whippings feeling better than this, and that's saying something."

The shrink grinned and Haymitch couldn't help but notice that the guy had pearly whites that could blind someone if the light reflected off them the right way. The guy was so much different than the rest of the Capitol and yet so similar at the same time.

"Were you whipped a lot as a child?"

"No more than the rest. But compared to some I was a saint." He chuckled.

Acanthus nodded and wrote something down on the paper that suddenly made Haymitch feel very vulnerable. Almost immediately he regretted what he'd said. The man wasn't his friend; he was just another Capitol brat taking advantage of someone from the districts.

Feeling angry and slightly hurt Haymitch stood up abruptly from the couch and made for the door.

"I have a few spots open for next week for you to book your next appointment." Pilfer murmured without even looking up. It made Haymitch wonder how many people walked out on good old Acanthus Pilfer.

"Next week?" Haymitch queried, "What do you mean next week?"

The doctor had the nerve to actually chuckle in response to Haymitch's question. "Therapy is not a one hour fix-it that you can just grab on the go. It takes time and energy to work through the real problems."

Haymitch frowned, "And what might that be?"

Acanthus met Haymitch gaze, "You know Haymitch, and you aren't the first victor to walk into my office. And most of them suffer from survivor's guilt-"

"Let me just cut you off right there. I'm not suffering from survivor's guilt. Everyone from my arena deserved to die."

"Oh?" Acanthus' eyebrow shot up, almost blending in with his hairline. "What about Maysilee Donner? What about the 23 years of children who've gone into the arena and never come out again? Did they deserve to die Haymitch?"

Haymitch stared at Acanthus, too dumbfounded to respond at first. His mouth opening and closing without absolutely nothing coming out of his mouth save the carbon dioxide. He couldn't decide whether to be angry or not, because although he wanted to be his mind was anywhere but in the red and black room he was actually in. Maysilee Donner. He hadn't thought about Maysilee Donner in a long time, and now he remembered why: it hurt. It had hurt when he was drunk and it hurt even more now that he was sober. Sobriety brought along with it a new clearness that he hadn't had for nearly 25 years. And those children.

God, those poor kids.

Despite what people thought he remembered all of their names, and even when he couldn't remember their names he remembered what their faces looked like. How scared they been when the gong had first gone off.

What their faces looked like right before they died.

Pushing his palms into his eyes Haymitch dropped back down onto the couch. He wasn't sure how much of his hour he had left but he knew he wouldn't be able to leave at that moment. Not after what Pilfer had just brought up.

"No," he whispered quietly. "No, they didn't deserve to die. But you wouldn't know anything about that would you? You sit here in your pretty little office and have no idea about what it feels like to actually work for a living. You sit here in your comfy office and make people hurt just so you can earn a paycheck. So no, Maysilee Donner didn't deserve to die and neither did those kids. But they're dead. And there's nothing you or I can do about it."

When he finally stopped to breath, Pilfer seemed to come together. As if Haymitch's outburst had been the thing he'd been waiting for to finally to get to work. Which made sense; everyone knew that there was only so long that a psychiatrist could keep on the surface before they had to drag the patient under the water. And Haymitch also knew that even though Pilfer had touched a nerve within the first hour of the two meeting, things were still going to get a lot worse.

And there was no promise of them ever getting better.

After an ensuing silence in which the psychiatrist jotted down more notes that made Haymitch want to rip his hair out Haymitch spoke up. "So…next week?"

Acanthus nodded, "Yes. Just make an appointment with the receptionist. But before you go could I ask you to do something?"

Haymitch grunted in assent.

"Try with these ones. I mean really try. It'll better their chances yes, but even if they do die you'll feel better."

"I doubt it," Haymitch murmured.

"So you're saying you'd rather go on like you have been? Even without the alcohol?"

Haymitch sighed quietly. He had a point. He was barely able to handle the Games drunk, sober would be impossible. It dawned on him that there were a lot of things that he did drunk that he wouldn't be able to do sober. Which sucked because there wasn't a lot that he could hide behind now.

Haymitch didn't answer Acanthus' question until he had a hand on the doorknob, which was when he finally stopped, staring at the silver-coloured knob.

"I already told them I would try."

Haymitch had the sense that Pilfer had nodded in his chair, "Then this should be easy."

The thought made Haymitch sick to his stomach. Easy? These Games were going to be anything but easy. And his shrink had to know that. For some reason Acanthus Pilfer didn't look like a man who waited in line for hours to bet on which tribute he wanted to win. In fact, Haymitch would have put money on the fact that his doctor studiously ignored the Games, which was a comfort because it meant that he was talking to someone that was slightly less biased than those he usually encountered in The Capitol.

Without another word Haymitch left the office. Stopping to make another appointment with the clown-faced receptionist Haymitch eventually made his way back to where he would be staying for the remainder of the Games.

When he stepped off the elevator he could see that Katniss and the boy (Rye? Peter?) had returned from being groomed and were practically ready for the parade which was set to start within the hour.

"Haymitch!" Effie chirped, appearing out of nowhere. "Don't they just look darling?"

Haymitch raised an eyebrow at the two teenagers dressed from head to toe in black and shrugged. He'd never been one for fashion but he was sure that what the kids were wearing was not going to be in corner shop windows anytime soon.

Effie huffed, "Don't stare Haymitch – it's bad manners."

"It's ridiculous." He countered.

Completely ignoring him Effie continued to go on about how good they both looked before she disappeared to go "powder her nose" before they left. As Katniss and the boy were ushered into the elevator and taken to get ready Haymitch decided to wait for Effie, after all it was the courteous thing to do.

A half an hour later Effie emerged from her room, and Haymitch could have sworn she'd changed her wig but knew better than to ask.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

Beaming at him, Effie looped her arm through his and steered him towards the elevator, her high heels click clacking off the floor the whole time. The tapping of her shoes made Haymitch wonder why Effie could stand to be near him. He had stabbed her and even though it was a couple of weeks ago, no one got over something like that in just a few weeks. He would know.

"You've been awfully quite tonight Haymitch." Effie said softly as they waited for the elevator to make the twelve floor descent.

Haymitch had a noncommittal sound and decided to give words a try when he received a glare from the petite woman next to him.

"Was it the therapy session?" she asked.

Haymitch sighed, "Yes…and no. I don't know sweetheart."

Effie nodded like she seemed to accept his answer and looked back at the lit up number above the door as it counted down.

Surprising both of them, Haymitch spoke again, "I made a promise to him that I would try this year."

Effie smiled at that. "That's wonderful Haymitch!"

He could almost hear her excitement.

Which made him feel even worse because he really wasn't sure how much help he could offer the two kids. Sure, they had spirit, but the careers had real training that unfortunately was more helpful during the Games. There was some hope though, Haymitch knew for a fact that the girl hunted beyond the fence and made a living for her family, which meant she had to have some skill. Which could potentially be transferred into killing other people.

"We'll see," he murmured.

As they arrived at the place where they would be watching the whole parade on the screen, Haymitch couldn't help but feel a small bead of happiness rise in his chest. He couldn't describe it, it just felt good, like he could actually do what he was about to set out to do. Glancing at Effie he grinned a little, he would right that wrong too. Or at least he would try to, maybe with the shrink's help he could repair the rift he'd created. As much as she tried to act as though everything was back to normal she was still a little pale, and there was still a hint of dark circles under her eyes. All things he'd put there.

Turning his attention back to the screen he watched at his tributes lit up the arena the people in the stands went wild with excitement.

Maybe there was hope after all.