Thank you for your continued support and for the great feedback I've had, I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint as I really enjoyed writing it.

I do not own the Hunger Games nor its characters.

Chapter Twenty

I wake up screaming, slashing my knife at the air. All of the dead tributes were coming to kill me, all of the tributes I failed to keep alive. I can't even remember all of their faces, each year I withdraw a little further away from them and don't allow myself to commit them to memory. But, sometimes, they come back to me in the dead of night and there's nothing I can do to stop them.

I've convinced myself that not helping them is best thing to do, at least they'll die straight away without having to go through the torture that is the Hunger Games. It also means I don't have to get my hopes up only for them to die half way through. This year my male tribute got in to the top eight and, stupidly, I did everything I could to get him home. I got the sponsors with some help from Mags, I sent him gifts when I felt he needed them but that didn't stop the spear from the District 4 male from shooting through his heart.

I go to the bathroom and splash my face with cold water. It was just a dream. No, a nightmare. But it wasn't real, this is real. I am Haymitch Abernathy, I am twenty two and I survived the fiftieth Hunger Games. I lived. Others didn't.

I drag myself downstairs and pick up an envelope that is lying on the mat by the front door. I rarely get post, the Capitol pays for all of my bills and I have no friends to keep in touch with. When the idiots from the Capitol want to get in touch with me they just phone, although, I'm pretty sure I ripped that off the wall a few months ago. I can't remember.

I open the envelope to find a piece of paper and a picture of a baby wrapped in a blue blanket, I turn it over to find the words Chester Arnold written on the back. That was Tilly's surname. That's Drake's surname!

I unfold the piece of paper attached to it to find that it's a letter from Drake. It reads:

Dear Haymitch,

I am writing to tell you that just over a week ago Herma and I welcomed our son, Chester, in to this world. We weren't sure if we even wanted children, knowing what could happen to them, but when we found out that Herma was pregnant neither of us could hide how happy and excited we were.

Having Chester has made me re-evaluate a lot of things in my life, especially you. Although Tilly is never far from my mind I know that none of it was your fault and both Herma and I would love it if you could come and visit Chester. I'm not saying that we have to be close, I know how difficult things are for you, but I thought you might like to meet him. Don't you think he has Tilly's eyes?

I hope to see you soon,

Drake

They have a son! Tilly has a nephew! Of course, the whole feeling is bitter sweet but even I can feel joy for someone who so clearly deserves it. I know what I have to do now so I quickly eat some breakfast, shower and get dressed before I head in to Town.

I feel a sense of purpose that I haven't felt for a long time and it's refreshing as well as welcome. Life is still horrible but taking pleasure in something little is all I have now.

The rebellion is still going nowhere, every time I get the chance to talk to Mags she says we have to wait until our numbers are up and we also need someone, if not a few people, from the Capitol on side, which will be nothing short of a miracle. Even then we need to get the districts on side somehow, they won't just start a rebellion for no reason. We need something drastic to happen and, unfortunately, the best way to reach out to people this way is if it happens by itself. The whole thing is just a waiting game.

I'm not sure what you're meant to buy new born babies but a blanket is the first thing that comes in to my head and, to be honest, I'm not the most creative person. I may be clever but that only helps me so far, I've never had a need to buy a sentimental gift before.

I find the dressmaking shop in Town, I'm sure they'll be able to help me. My mother used to make mine and Layle's clothes but, occasionally, when she had the money she would buy us something from the dressmaker's shop.

I can imagine Layle now, a young man at sixteen, arguing with my mother over what clothes he should be wearing to school. Although, he never argued with anyone. I wonder if that would have changed as he grew older. I shouldn't let myself think about these things, I should be happy about Chester's birth. Excited, even.

I open the door to find a young woman, she must be about my age, sitting behind the counter. She's slim with strawberry blonde hair, which is very rare in 12. I bet she's not short of admirers.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Abernathy," she says. "Are you collecting something?" She looks down at a notepad and flips the pages, searching for my name, no doubt.

"No, no," I say. "I'd like to order something if possible."

"Of course. A new suit?"

"Umm, no. Would it be possible to have a blue blanket with 'Chester Arnold' stitched in to it, please? Or is it just fancy dresses and suits?"

She smiles at this. "Usually it's just fancy dresses and suits but I'm sure we can arrange something, my mother has a lot of different fabrics."

"Excellent. Could I take even more advantage of your good nature and have it ready by the end of the day?"

She hesitates for a moment, looking at her notepad. "Oh, go on then," she says, "seeing as you're a new customer. We want you to come back, after all."

I thank her and head off towards The Hob to buy some white liquor. I can afford to buy it from the merchants in Town but they don't always stock it and the guys at The Hob need the money more than the merchants do. When I'm not a passed out mess in my bed I do try to be an upstanding member of the district, not that I'm fooling anyone. I know they all think I'm a pathetic drunk, just like my father.

As soon as I walk in I can see that the market is in full swing; all of the stalls are open and everyone is trying to trade whatever they have for a little more food or some slightly better clothes, even if they do have holes in them.

I head straight for the tall man who sells illegal white liquor; I don't ask where he gets it and he doesn't say a word about my reliance on it. It makes me laugh that I used to hate the stuff and now I can't seem to live without it.

As I'm handing over my money I can hear a great cheer spread across the room. I turn around to see that Cliff Everdeen has walked in carrying a very large bag, which I can only assume is loaded with dead animals. He works in the mines but it's well known that he slips under the fence that surrounds 12 and ventures in to the woods to hunt for game. He was the boy that used to leave food on our doorstep when mother, Layle and I were in the depths of starvation. I haven't seen him around for a while but when I do I always try to repay the debt I owe him. He never accepts.

"Congratulations!" Someone says to him, "How's married life treating you?"

"Not bad," he says with a grin.

"If you of all people can bag yourself a Town girl then there's hope for the rest of us!"

"Clara's not like that, we are living in the Seam, after all!"

Clara? There's only one Clara that I know from Town and as far as I knew she was going out with the baker's son. It's amazing what you miss when you're in a drunken haze.

I cannot claim to know Clara well, we only say hello to each other in the street now. There's so many things we want to say but they're just too painful to verbalise, even after all of this time. Nevertheless, I'm still a bit shocked that she would leave her nice life in Town for Cliff Everdeen and the Seam. Life is hard in 12, anyway, but it's a lot worse in the Seam. Still, who am I to judge?

I go back home and drop off the liquor before heading back in to Town and to the dressmakers. When I open the door the young woman who was there before looks startled to see me.

"I'm really sorry but I'm not quite finished," she says, holding up the blanket. She's got a needle and thread in her hand and from what I can see the stitching is looking beautiful.

"That's okay, do you mind if I stick around?"

"Of course not, I'll get you a chair." She brings out a chair from the back room and places it on the other side of the counter. "I shouldn't be too long."

I watch her as she pierces the fabric with the needle and then pulls the thread through; the concentration is etched across her face. She has to keep pushing a piece of her red hair behind her ears because it's falling across her eyes. I suddenly realise that I can't take my eyes off of her.

"Am I getting in the way? Should I go?" I ask.

"No, it's fine. As long as you aren't too bored."

"Not at all," I say and I swear that she blushes just a little before turning back to her work.

About fifteen minutes later she's finished and placing the blanket on the counter for me to inspect it. The stitching is in gold and she's written Chester's name in beautiful calligraphy, I just hope the little blighter doesn't slobber over it too much when I give it to him.

"It's perfect," I say, handing over the money. "Thank you."

"No problem, I'm glad you like it."

I want to say something else but I'm not sure what. I should just leave but walking out of the door just seems…wrong. She's looking at me in confusion, probably wondering why I'm standing here in silence and not moving.

"Uhh…what's your name?" I ask.

"Vieve Budson."

"Budson? Like a rose bud?"

She giggles at this and I can feel my cheeks turning red, what a cringey thing to say! I'm acting like a stupid teenager not a young man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Yes, I suppose so," she says.

"Well, I'll see you around."

"Bye," she says and I actually manage to turn around and leave the shop. Although, once I'm out all I want to do is go back inside.

I try to shake all thoughts of Vieve as I walk towards the Seam; I'm going to see my dead girlfriend's nephew, thinking that way about Vieve is just inappropriate. I was going to marry Tilly, maybe we would be married now, it isn't right for me to turn my back on her like that.

I get to Drake's house sooner than I anticipated, I must have almost run here without realising. I take a deep breath and knock on the door. It's going to be fine, he said he wanted to see me. I have to keep telling myself that.

The door opens and Herma is standing before me, looking a little tired. Clearly Chester is playing the part of the new born well.

"Haymitch," she says, surprised. "I…we weren't expecting you."

"Is this a bad time?"

"No! Come in, please."

She leads me through their tiny hallway and into the living and dining area where I find Drake sitting in a chair, cradling Chester. His eyes don't break away from his son until Herma tells him I'm there. He looks up, and to my great surprise, he smiles at me.

"Hey, Haymitch," he says, "Take a seat."

"Thanks, I got your letter and…well, I've brought him a present." I hand over the blanket to Herma who looks like she's going to cry when she sees it.

"Oh, it's beautiful! Thank you so much!" She wraps her arms around me and pulls me close. I never thought that one of the Arnolds would be doing this to me, again.

Drake simply laughs, "Sorry about her, she's a bit emotional at the moment. Do you want to hold him?"

"Really?" Drake nods and hands him over to me without waiting for an answer. I don't know what I'm doing but Drake is instructing me to support his head and relax my arms a little. Thankfully, Chester doesn't burst in tears and start screaming at the sight of me. Instead, his eyes lock on to mine and all I can think is that Drake was right. He does have Tilly's eyes.