"Welcome back to the land of the living… or what passes as such."

The familiar slurred voice enters my mind at the same time that a just-as-familiar scruff-laden face materializes. "Haymitch?"

Sure enough, my mentor is sitting on a chair next to me as I'm sprawled on what's probably his coach.

"Ever observant, boy," he states with a raise of a bottle.

"So I've been told," I mutter. "So why I am in your house?"

"Thank Limpy here for that." It's then that I see Marcus slouched in another chair and holding a mixture of sheepishness and nausea on his face; considering the state of the room, I don't exactly blame him for said nausea. I also don't miss how his expression morphs into a scowl — it reaches Seam-levels of displeasure — at Haymitch's nickname; he'll probably have to get used to it.

"You began shaking and seizing up on yourself," the former Peacekeeper mumbles, while clearly refraining from making eye contact with me. "I… I didn't know what to do, so I ran to get the same guy who greeted me earlier today, and he carried you in his cart on the way back."

I'll have to thank Thom for that later. "I didn't lash out or was being difficult in the process?" I inquire. It's actually always a bit surreal when someone else describes how I am whenever I'm having an episode.

Marcus shakes his head. "If anything, you just balled up tighter at the presence of our touch, which made it easy to transport you." A huff of air is let off. "Anyways, we didn't know who could take care of you, so Mr. Abernathy was the most reasonable choice."

"Limpy actually had the bright idea of shaking me awake." At my mentor's words, I don't miss that Marcus' cane has what looks to be large jagged slash marks… or that one sleeve is torn and stained dark. Dammit Haymitch…

Before I can express my anger at what had happened, the former Peacekeeper shakes his head. "Should've been more aware." Are you kidding me?

"Damn straight. I expect more from someone who's grown up in Two Victors' Village." Marcus' jaw practically drops at that statement, but Haymitch just responds to it with a sneer. "I may be a useless drunk, but I still got a bit of edge left. I know you're Olympia's kid, and don't think I don't recognize you from the square." Almost forgot about that; Gale told me that he had the families of two victors living under his roof now, and while in the Capitol, he had worked to bring to justice the prick who was responsible for said victors' deaths.

In response, Marcus just murmurs something barely audible, though I think it's, "I'm sorry I tried to kill your Mockingjay, sir."

My mentor hears it clearly and guffaws, "Well, you should've seen all the times these lovebirds have tried to do the same to each other. So I'm not going to judge you on that; only what you did afterwards." I almost let of a laugh of my own at that near-mirroring of my earlier conversation. Haymitch then adds, "Anyways, I'll say this: you got some damn good reflexes."

"Thank you, sir," Marcus acknowledges before looking down at his cane. "Though, respectfully, you're not exactly the hardest person to parry and disarm. Also, I'm not sure if Rory's going to be amazed or pissed off at the addition you made to his handiwork."

And at that, all three of us erupt into laughter. Not something that's born out of sarcasm or unease, but genuine laughter out of good humor. It's probably a strange subject to find funny — actually, it's downright stupid — but then again I've long since dissociated myself from any sense of normalcy. All things considered, there aren't really enough reasons to laugh these days, and so we'll get whatever chance we can.

Of course, after we allow the chuckles to subside — I think it's been almost five minutes — I have to be the one to put a damper on the situation. "So… how long was I out?"

Yep, judging by the uneasy glances Haymitch and Marcus are sending each other, I'm definitely serving my purpose as a wet blanket, and the former Peacekeeper decides to be the one to reply, "It's been a couple hours since we first talked to now."

Damn, so this has been one of the worst ones so far. "Well… at least we know that I'm not going to go all mutt on everybody." And it seems like I've been better at predicting the onset of my episodes and holding them off for a few critical seconds to give me and others time to prepare. Still, it would probably be good to have a bit more solid contingency plan for whenever I feel something particularly bad coming up.

Despite my reassuring words and light tone, Marcus looks even more sheepish and shamefaced than before. "I… I've heard that you had… things done to you but…" An expression of disgust creeps in as he shakes his head. "I can't believe I supported those monsters. I put my trust in them, even after Mother warned me not to. My entire district put their trust in the Capitol…"

For some reason, as he's saying that, a sort of realization seems to begin to dawn on the former Peacekeeper's face, and he quickly gets up and moves — okay, I can see why Haymitch calls him "Limpy" — for the door.

The suddenness of the action takes me back a bit, and I ask, "Leaving already?"

"The train heads back west in a few hours; that only gives me a short amount of time to take care of something important." There's no futher elaboration as he reaches the door. "By the way, it was good meeting you, Peeta."

"Likewise; though I hope we'll see each other again under better circumstances."

Marcus gives a small nod at that. "Get better; both of you." A moment's pause passes before, with a pointed look to Haymitch, he adds, "Just to be clear, I'm not talking about you, sir." And after a dodging a thrown pillow, he's out.

"Passive-aggressive punk…" Haymitch mutters with a shake of his head followed by him giving a glance towards me. "So you're finally back."

"Dr. Aurelius gave me the all-clear," I remark. "So… I hear that you've been staying in here the whole time." While Katniss has suffered. My attempt at keeping my tone conversational is a bit undermined by the slight traces of anger that creeps into my voice.

"Not wasting any time getting to the point, are you, boy."

Okay, nevermind; I'm downright furious. "You… you and I made a promise to keep Katniss safe. I wanted to help but was held back in the Capitol to make sure I would not constitute a threat. You on the other hand… you're supposed to be her legal guardian. What excuse do you have to not fulfill that simple… fucking… job?" No answer greets me, and my vision begins to blur as I rise up off the sofa to stand over my mentor. "What, no smartass retort? Have you crawled so far into that bottle to be incapable of speech? This is a simple question; why haven't you done anything? Why? WHY? ANSWER ME DAMMIT!"

Before I'm even aware of what I'm doing, the bottle closest to me goes from sitting on the table to being hurled across the room; glass shards go everywhere, and the contents run down the wall. It doesn't satisfy me however, and as the table crashes onto its side, I send other things flying; all the while I yell every hateful thing I can think of at this drunken oath-breaking piece of shit. After a while though, my anger ebbs away along with my waning energy, until all I can do is pant while surveying the damage I've just wreaked.

I didn't even know that it was possible for this place be trashed more than it already was, but I guess that I've just achieved the impossible. Yet Haymitch doesn't look the least bit upset at my little rampage; rather he has an uncharacteristic expression of patience on his face.

"Feel better?"

Normally, you'd expect that kind of question to be laden with a sardonic tone jabbing at my infantile outburst. However, there's not even the slightest trace of sarcasm to be had in there; in fact, it sound completely sincere as if he's genuinely asking if I'm feeling better. "I… I don't know." And just like that, the only emotion I feel is that of weariness as I sink back down into the sofa and rest my head in my hands. "Please… just tell me why you haven't done anything to help Katniss. I know it's not because you don't care, no matter what you say."

"If you know us so well," he retorts quietly, "then you'd know how stubborn she is when she puts her mind to something. The few times I've been there, all she's done is just sit in that chair and sleep, and it's hard enough for Sae to get her to eat food. Even if I could offer some sort of help, it's not like she's going to accept it."

"That's still no excuse," I growl. "Even if you feel you have nothing to contribute, you could have just stayed with her, even if it's to be drunk there."

"I'm not the one she wants."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Seriously, what's that supposed to be mean?

For whatever reason, Haymitch just stares at me for an indeterminate amount of time before shaking his head. "If I have to explain it, then I'm going to be wasting both our times."

If there's one thing I recognize, it's a dismissal. I still offer to help clean up, but my efforts are waved off.

"Seriously though, Haymitch," I state on my way out, "I'm sorry how I acted earlier, but I really hope you'll shape up sometime. Find a hobby or something. And please don't shut us out."

"I can't make any promises," he mutters. As I leave, I swear that I hear, "I've broken enough of them as it is."

I offer no rebuke to that as I trudge… I really don't know where. Maybe I can just make a hobby of wandering aimlessly around the Victors' Village.

That's when, as I pass by Katniss' house, I hear the sounds floating out the open window; a haunting cross between a sob and song.

I'm at war with myself upon hearing that. I mean, I want to help; I really do. I want to gather her into my arms to tell her that everything will be alright. However, the incident from this morning showed me how much she wanted my help, and I don't want to impose on her.

Once that keening reaches a new level of heartrending intensity though, I throw all caution to the wind and rush inside. By the time I reach Katniss, I see that she's already worn herself out and is losing consciousness while curling into a ball.

Oh Katniss…

To my surprise, that cat's still around — more than a bit worse for wear but still around — and actually seeming to pace around her as if on guard; it's a bit funny as I think the two hated each other. Still, when I approach, he looks up, flattens his ears, and hisses as me.

"Yeah," I mutter, "you don't like me. Well get in line."

Despite the hisses, he makes no move to stop me as I gather Katniss into my arms — she's so light; too light — and pick her up. It's probably just reflexes on her part, but it feels like she curls into me as I go up the stairs. She also clings to my arm as I lay her out on the already-made bed.

Something like a jolt of electricity flies ip and down my arm at her touch, but I put the feeling down. Still as I take in Katniss' features — despite how thin she is, she actually looks so peaceful right now — I feel myself leaning forward. Catching myself with just a couple inches between us, I simply brush her hair back Before making my exit; the last thing I need to is make things worse with my presence. She doesn't need me looming over her.

"I trust you to look after her. Can you do that?" I ask the cat. As if in direct response to me, he hops right on the window sill as if to keep sentinel. "Good boy."

As I reach the doorway, something prompts me to look back and murmur, "Just know that if ever you need me for anything, I'll always be here for you."

Always…