AN: Updating from a Blackberry. Classy.

"Oh dearest Haymitch, have you come to finally repay your outstanding debt?"

"Which one?" And I spit it because my tongue is thick and the liquor is burning a hole in my gut. Tomorrow they go into the Arena, tomorrow they all go to die. This is my last ditch effort to save them should the Rebellion fall apart.

"Ha, which one. You choose. Your debt to society for letting all of those little Tributes die? How about for skipping out on your appointments that we arranged? No? Perhaps you'd like to pay for that mess that your girl is in-" I feel myself flinch though I try not to move a muscle "Ah, ahh. So apparently that's the one. Come to beg for her safe return?"

I look up at him then, Snow's snakelike eyes meeting mine. I can see the carefully contained fury behind them.

"Only one will survive the Arena, or have you forgotten the rules?" He pauses and I watch his fingers curl in his white beard. "I guess, perhaps you have considering your success last year. No, we will not be having a repeat of that."

I nod. I didn't come here to beg for them both to survive. I came to ask for something worse.

"Don't kill it on purpose." My words are stronger than I expected, more forceful as I gauge his reaction. I watch as his head falls back and a sick laughter spills out.

"Oh Haymitch, you fool. We kill them all on purpose. That's the point." He speaks in between tickled giggles and breaths of air. I feel my nails dig into my palms.

"You know what I mean, Coriolanus." It's deadly serious now, his laughter stalled in his throat as his eyes come level with mine. "Don't kill it to kill it – the people will never love you for that. They'll mourn it and it will be brutal and the press – God can you imagine the press, 'Gamemakers Kill Innocent'. You know I'm right – there will be backlash."

He doesn't speak for a moment and I can feel the tension beyond my numbed body.

"Perhaps you're right."

I try not to look into the words. I know he's thinking up something far more depraved than what he's letting on. That's how we got here – Panem under his thumb. I've been around long enough to see his rule evolve from pure leadership to micro-control. He's sick on it now and he won't stop until he's dead.

"I am right. I usually am." He lets out another bark of laughter and gets to his feet. I'm dismissed without words, Peacekeepers swinging the door open for me behind my back. I stand there for a moment, watching him gaze out the window of his office.

When it doesn't look like he'll be addressing me anything further, I turn and head for the escape with an increased interest – I came here to do what I did, nothing more. This went beyond my duties as a Mentor – it even so much as ventured into my duty as an ethical man.

It's when my foot is over the threshold that he calls out, my chest tightening at his voice.

"Haymitch, do make sure to congratulate her for me – won't you?"

I look back and I see the twinkle in his eye, the sick way his lips curl into a tight smile. It's predatory and vicious and it's only a look but still. President Snow will make sure that everyone I love is dead.

He's done it before; it only makes sense to do it again. This is the Third Quarter Quell afterall, it's practically tradition.

:::::

So far so good. I haven't been to sleep yet – unable to close my eyes for fear of the whole plan collapsing before me. I watch them on the uninterrupted feed, the live viewings from the Capitol's Mentor Chambers that allow you to control which camera you focus in on.

It's almost like you're there, the way this chamber is designed. Just another way for the Capitol to fuck with its Victors.

I look down at the sums of money that seem to tick up with each passing moment. The Sponsors this year are just rolling in – feasting upon the Alliance that we've created.

I only wish Cinna had been here to see this all play out, that sick bastard who planted the seed in my mind with one late night phone call after the announcement of the Quell. I can still remember his voice in my ear, as clear as day.

"I've built the kindling 'Mitch, you have to light the fire. Burn this place to the ground."

And then he'd hung up and I'd set down the receiver quietly. Okay, maybe I'd ripped it out of the wall. But in that time of Capitol silence, I'd made my plans. When my phone was reinstalled not a week later, I'd wasted no time in contacting Finnick to set up a meet.

The plan to join the Rebellion had been born.

I return my attention to the numbers as they scroll higher. With plenty in the coffers, I don't hesitate to send down a package of food for them to eat. They'll feast well in this Arena, if there's anything I have to say about it.

When the parachute lands, I try not to enjoy the smiles on their faces at the offering. I know that it's no time to smile, not even a little, but if this is a simple pleasure they don't have to fight for it's at least better than nothing.

I hear Katniss' appreciation the loudest, her sigh able to describe the hunger they must be feeling. I want to tell her to eat up, to take in the nutrients while she can.

It's different this round, like Peeta and I share a direct connection regarding keeping Katniss alive. He presses the heavy nut-filled bread into her palm, explaining the simple benefits of the hearty loaf. He knows his bread and he knows what she needs in her state.

Together, just like before, we'll keep her alive.

We'll keep them alive, I correct.

:::::

It's a few hours later when I feel my blood freeze in my veins, my brain not computing fully what I'm seeing on the monitor before me. I watch as she grips her stomach, as her bow slips from her fingers and she collapses on the beach.

"Katniss," Her name is like a whisper on my lips as she curls up on the ground. "Get up, get up, don't let them watch." I repeat to myself. I'm alone in the chamber, desperately willing her to get back to her feet.

She doesn't.

I know what's wrong – from this vantage point the cameras are taking in every angle. I see the blood on her legs and the way her body visibly shakes.

There's nothing I can do from here. No medicine I can send, no balms that will soothe this pain.

It seems like hours that I watch her lay there, alone in the sand as her body fights itself. When finally she stands, wobbly on her feet like a lamb, I breathe again. There's no saving it – but she's mobile and that matters.

"Turn around Katniss," I urge as she looks around. Her gaze flies up to the sun that bears no sense of time. She's heading off in the wrong direction and there's nothing I can do.

I watch helplessly as she wanders into the part of the forest that I've mapped out as the Witching Hour. Blood rain. I understand what she's doing now; I would applaud if it weren't so horrific. The clock turns over and the rain lets loose, coating her and hiding her distress. It's brilliant in the rare event that the Capitol didn't see what's transpired.

I don't understand her motives though as she walks into the water, floating as it slowly gets deeper. It feels like forever before the camera pans out to Finnick swimming towards her.

"Finally," I grumble. She shouldn't be alone right now.

In all honesty, I don't know what she'll do. Since discovering this secret she's been nothing but distant from me. Not that we were ever really close before but this is different. Like she doesn't trust me to save her.

I listen carefully, my chest tightening at the gentle way Finnick washes her clean. He knows. I can see it now as he sends Peeta off.

"What did you do?"

Finnick's words burn in my gut and I want to strangle him for laying blame. My heart breaks for her as she tries to escape. We both know she did nothing to cause this.

Time seems to draw out when Peeta returns. Even I can feel the way the air gets tighter in the Arena as the secret is contained. Nobody wants to tell the boy. Nobody wants to see that loss. It will be so clear on his face that nothing will be hidden – all of Panem will feel their pain when he finds out.

I pull my flask from my pocket for the first time since the Quell started. Cradling it in my hands, I lift it to my lips when Katniss cries out. He'll know in a moment.

I'm surprised and distracted when I catch Johanna breaking down further down the beach. It catches me off guard the way her face mangles in pain and she calls out. I've missed something here. This is not the Johanna I know.

Suddenly, I feel everything breaking down. It's overwhelming the way the room seems to close in as Johanna yells and Finnick fights, as Peeta clutches to Katniss for dear life, his tears masked by the water surrounding them. It's suffocating and tragic and it feels like the worst Arena I've ever laid witness to.

And I can do nothing to help any of them. My broken Victor's. My broken friends.

I quietly press the button for more food to be delivered and then turn off the screens. Shifting to my feet I stand and rest my hands on my waist. I feel the pressure release from my chest as I let go of my silence, shouting out and breaking the closest glass object.

It shatters across the floor with a crash, its slivers shining in the light.

I'm startled back out of my daze by a knock at the door. On the other side are two Peacekeepers, one bearing a bowl of floating roses and the other a note. They pass the objects to me and then leave without a word.

I know who these are from. It's obvious. I feel my hands shake as they struggle to open the envelope, sure that something more is about to destroy us.

I don't even finish the note as it's written, my body slumping to the ground. I can't look at it. It can't be real. But when I pick it up again, my eyes scanning the clever type, I feel the bile rise in my throat.

"I do hope she enjoyed the baker's finest. I hear nothing takes care of a bun in the oven like the wrong kind of ingredients."