I'm so sorry for the long wait, hopefully I can update a bit sooner next time! As always, I just want to say a massive thank you to all of you who continue to read this story and leave comments, it means the world to me. I hope this chapter is up to scratch!

I do not own The Hunger Games nor its characters

Chapter Sixty-Seven

She hits the floor and Plutarch immediately orders a hovercraft to fly in and rescue her and the others but as it descends rapid gunfire breaks out and, to my surprise, the workers form the Nut are attacking the Capitol soldiers.

"How long will it take them to get here?" I ask one of 13's workers. He seems a little taken aback that I'm talking to him by the way his hands suddenly start to shake.

"A few hours," he says. "But they've got medical staff on board."

I tear out my ear piece and leave the room, telling Plutarch that I'll be in my quarters if he needs me. I don't want to hang around here waiting for news on Katniss. Instead, I march through 13 looking for Clara and Prim, I'd rather be the ones to tell them than Plutarch, or worse still, Coin.

When I tell them Clara lets out a deep groan and curses loudly, which seems to shock Prim just as much as me. Clara puts her head in her hands but no tears come; she probably doesn't have any left.

"Will she be okay?" She asks.

"I have every faith in the medics," I say. "Plutarch sent a hovercraft down straight away and they're on their way back now."

Prim places her hands on her mother's shoulders and rests her head on top of hers. "Thanks, Haymitch. We know you're doing your best," she says.

I simply nod in reply and head off to my room, I've had enough of seeing people today. Although I risk facing any number of horrors I still lie on my bed and close my eyes, wishing more than anything that this would all end. The bloodshed, the loss, it was already all too high and now it's reached the realms of absurdity. How could anyone allow this to happen?

I find myself dozing for a few hours and am only interrupted when a nondescript worker informs me that Katniss has returned and is safe in the hospital. I don't go there straight away, in fact its days before I see her because I'm fed up of that blasted place.

However, the excitement surrounding Annie's and Finnick's wedding seems to be infectious. I find it impossible to walk down a corridor without hearing someone talking about it and I don't even get a break from it when I'm with Vieve; she's just as excited as the poor school girls pining over Finnick.

"What was yours like?" I dare to ask her one morning after breakfast.

"Very simple," she says. "I didn't want a fuss. I still feel guilty."

I don't say anything because what is there that I can possibly say? It's not your fault? I'm sure he didn't mind? Everything I think of sounds like a lie and I don't want to patronise Vieve, she's too smart for that. She knows what she did and we've both had to learn to live with it.

After we say goodbye I head for Command where Plutarch is waiting for me, thankfully without Coin.

"Ah, Haymitch!" He shouts, "How are you?"

"I've been better," I groan.

He seemingly ignores my response and starts wittering on about wedding prep, apparently he and Coin are arguing over the size of the wedding and how much money should be spent. Plutarch thinks it's a perfect propo opportunity but Coin just sees it as a waste of money. I've never been one for big celebrations but when it comes to Finnick and Annie they deserve the biggest party we can throw.

"Anyway," he says. "The reason I've called you here is because Peeta has expressed an interest in making the cake for the wedding." Plutarch must see my eyebrows shoot sky high because he quickly begins talking again. "I think he just wants something to do, the only time he's mentioned Finnick is to call him a traitor."

I sigh, "So what do you want me to do?"

"I just want you to watch him, through a two way mirror, of course. You know him better than any of us."

I nod in response because I'm not especially keen on the task that I've just been given but I have to remind myself that Peeta doesn't deserve any of this and so the least I can do is keep an eye on him. I owe him that much.

I'm immediately led towards the observation room where I can look down on Peeta. He's already baked the cake and has a plethora of ingredients laid out before him. There's a clear anger in his eyes but when he decides on a turquoise dye for the icing and begins to knead it I almost feel like a serene spell has been cast over him.

I find it strangely calming to watch him work, every now and then he starts screaming horrid things about Katniss and the Games but we're quick to restrain him and within a few hours he's back to piping and examining his work.

On the last day I even brave entering the room with him. I take a deep breath and wait a moment, debating if I should do this. He's been doing so well and I don't want to make things worse, or cause Finnick's cakes to be punched in to crumbs. Nevertheless, I push open the door and walk in.

He's working on a perfectly smooth sea shell as I walk in and his eyes are glued to the task at hand. I try not to make any noise but his eyes dart upwards to meet mine.

"Hello, Peeta," I say.

He groans and returns to the shell so I sit in a chair in the corner of the room. I know that we're being watched by five scientists right now but I'm not really aware of it and I don't care, I guess all of those years at the Games have desensitised me somewhat. My main concern is right in front of me, piping bag in hand.

"What do you think?" He asks, stepping back from the cake.

"It's amazing, Peeta," I say. "You're very talented."

He clenches his fist and grits his teeth, I'm half expecting him to turn around and punch me. "Don't lie to me!" He yells.

"I'm not lying to you, can't you see how brilliant it is?"

I get up from the chair and walk over to him. I desperately want to place my hand on his shoulder but I'm scared about how he will react. Baby steps, I remind myself.

"It's not finished yet. I'm going to put a sail boat on the top."

I smile, thinking that there's still some of the old Peeta left in there. Even though the cake looks magnificent as it is he can see the tiniest detail it needs to make it even better.

He turns towards me. "I'd like to see Katniss."

"I don't think that's a good idea," I reply.

"I don't care," he says, turning back to the cake. "It's what I want. Can't I ever have anything that I want? All you do is lie to me, Haymitch! You said you thought I was strong but all you do is treat me like I'm weak and stupid!"

He lunges towards me but a medic is in the room before his hands even touch me and he's placed in his chair with restraints. I can't even look at him as I walk out, I should have never spoken to him.

All I can think about as I walk through the corridors is white liquor. That bitter and harmful drink that lets me escape reality for just a moment. A single minute can turn into whole days lost and the thought always brings a smile to my face. What I wouldn't give for just one drop right now.

The day of the wedding is soon upon us and those lucky enough to be able to watch are almost screaming with glee. Decorations that look like autumn leaves hang across the room and, for just a few hours, it's easy to forget that we are in the middle of a terrible and bloody war.

Vieve stands next to me as Annie and Finnick say their vows, squeezing my hand tightly. I can't see Katniss in the crowd so I let it slide, after all, I, too, am thinking about that day in the garden many years ago.

The crowd cheers as they finally kiss, including myself, I may be a miserable old man but these are two people who thoroughly deserve to be happy. The music strikes up and soon everyone is dancing. I can even see Katniss twirling Prim around.

Vieve flashes me a sly smile and pulls me in to the middle of the crowd, trying to get me to move to the rhythm.

"Vieve, Katniss might see us," I plead.

She rolls her eyes and walks away, choosing to grab Melia and Rufus, instead.

Rather than be angry I go off in search of some booze but it seems even at a wedding 13's rules on alcohol are still as stringent as ever.

Finally, four people wheel in Peeta's gift to the bride and groom and my eyes are instantly scanning the crowd for Katniss. I quickly find her and the look of grief across her face is impossible not to notice.

I push through the crowd and within seconds I'm standing right next to her. "Let's you and me have a talk," I say.

We go out in to the hall where it's quiet and her eyes bore in to mine. "What's happening to him?" She asks.

"I don't know. None of us knows. Sometimes he's almost rational, and then, for no reason, he goes off again. Doing the cake was a kind of therapy. He's been working on it for days. Watching him…he seemed almost like before."

"So he's got the run of the place?"

"Oh, no. He frosted under heavy guard. He's still under lock and key. But I've talked to him."

"Face to face? And he didn't go nuts?"

"No. Pretty angry with me, but for all the right reasons. Not telling him about the rebel plot and whatnot." I pause, wondering if I should say anymore. "He says he'd like to see you."

She thinks about it but agrees pretty quickly. However, it's midnight before Plutarch can arrange for the meeting to happen as he's trying to get some decent footage for a propo. I have to stop myself from swearing.

Katniss puts in her earpiece, I sit in the observation booth with Plutarch and before long the door is pushed open and Katniss is faced with Peeta, restrained against his chair.

"Hey," she says, softly.

"Hey," he grumbles.

"So far so good," whispers Plutarch, causing me to shoot him a disgruntled look.

"Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me," says Katniss.

"Look at you for starters," spits Peeta. "You're not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?"

"Well, you've looked better."

"Back off, Katniss," I hiss in to the microphone as Peeta laughs.

"And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I've been through," he says.

"Yeah. We've all been through a lot," says Katniss. "And you're the one who was known for being nice. Not me." She pauses. "Look, I don't feel so well. Maybe I'll drop by tomorrow."

"Katniss, I remember about the bread," says Peeta and she stops dead in her tracks.

"They showed you the tape of me talking about it," she says.

"No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn't the Capitol use it against me?"

"I made it the day you were rescued," her voice is a little softer but I still feel like I'm holding in a breath. "So what do you remember?"

"You. In the rain. Digging in our rubbish bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead."

In that moment part of me wants to lash out at Katniss for being so cruel to him for so long and the other part wants to break through the glass and wrap my arms around Peeta. I wish I was as cold hearted as people believe, then this would be so much easier to watch.

"That's it," says Katniss. "That's what happened. The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn't know how."

"We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then…for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion. I must have loved you a lot."

Loved not love. How could this ever have happened?

"You did," she says.

"And did you love me?"

"Everyone says I did. Everyone says that's why Snow had you tortured. To break me."

The situation soon escalates and the vile, mutt Peeta has returned. Every word he says is filled and fuelled by poison. Katniss can only take so much before she walks out of the room.

I rip out my earpiece and throw it at the two way mirror, cursing out loud. I just want to fix this and I don't know how.

Plutarch walks over and braves putting his hand on my shoulder and, much to my surprise, I don't bat him away.

"I thought I should let you know that we're planning the attack on the Capitol," says Plutarch.

"Excellent," I grumble.

"And Katniss isn't coming." My head snaps around and I'm glaring at him, he knows how much this means to her. To all of us. "I thought you'd want to be the one to tell her."

"Is there any way-"

"No," says Plutarch. "Believe me, she would provide excellent propo opportunities but she isn't fit to fight. Mentally or physically."

I nod in agreement, hating myself for finding the truth in what he's saying. But all I can think of is Coin. Katniss was only ever a mouthpiece to her; another pawn in this game and now that her usefulness is coming to an end I dread to think what the president has planned for her.