I said it myself back at the end of the Victory Tour: If he can't reap my child, he'll reap my sister. If he can't reap my sister, he'll reap the Hawthornes. If he can't reap the Hawthornes, he'll reap the Mellarks.

But somehow I never made the final leap: If he can't reap any of my family? Then he'll just reap me again.

Of course, he's not just reaping me. As Caesar Flickerman just spent an hour announcing to all of Panem, I am pregnant. By Reaping Day I'll be five months along – visibly, obviously pregnant, even without any extra padding in my dress. Snow has orchestrated this reveal to maximize the emotional whiplash: spend an hour with the most famous television host in Panem celebrating my unborn child, then immediately announce my impending death in the Games. Look at what I will do to you, even when you're at your most vulnerable, he's saying. Look at what I can do to you, even when you think you're safe.

Of course, no one is safe in Panem. Not even Victors. Not even pregnant girls. Not even young couples in love. Not even the Girl on Fire.

Especially not the Girl on Fire.

Peeta seems more concerned about my reaction to the news than about his own potential re-entry into the Games, which is just so typically Peeta that it doesn't even strike me as odd anymore. But strangely I feel a sort of detached calm. I wonder if I'm in some kind of shock, and I'll have a breakdown later. But for the moment I plan to take advantage of my clear thinking.

Mom and Prim want to offer their comfort and condolence, but that's not what I need right now. Right now the three of us who are headed to the Capitol in two months need to sit down and figure out what the hell we're going to do. So I wish my mother and my sister good night, and promise them I'll see them tomorrow, and Haymitch comes with Peeta and me back to our house.

With our living room still in disarray we head straight through to the kitchen. While Peeta distracts himself by making tea and warming some rolls from this morning, Haymitch and I stare at each other across the table. We can hold entire conversations while staring at each other silently. Right now I know exactly what he's planning, and I hate it, but I can't come up with a better option. I guess that's why it's what he's planning.

"I can't ask you to do this," I say out loud.

"You're not asking," Haymitch replies. Well, that's settled then. Now all we have to do is convince Peeta. This may prove difficult; I'm not the one with a talent for persuading people. And I guess it would be bad form to knock him out with sleep syrup on Reaping Day.

"Whatever you two are planning, forget it," Peeta says, finally sitting at the table. "I know you two and your plans. Forget about it. Katniss is coming home from these Games. No arguments."

"No one's arguing that," Haymitch says.

"Peeta, listen to me for one minute," I say, turning to him and taking both his hands in mine. "We're all agreed, the three of us, that our number one goal is to protect this baby. Right?"

"Of course," Peeta says, gripping my hands in return. "You and the baby are all I care about."

"Okay then," I say, taking a breath. This is going to take some convincing. "If our goal is that the baby and I will survive the arena, then you can't be in there with me."

"What are you talking about?" Peeta asks, his voice betraying his anger and panic. "Of course I have to be in there with you! I have to protect you!"

"No you don't!" I yell back at him. "If you want me to survive the arena again, then you can't put someone else in there that I care about more than myself! Don't make me choose between your life and mine, because I'll choose yours every time."

"You need someone you can count on in there," Peeta says. "No offense Haymitch, but you're not exactly in fighting shape."

"No, I'm not," Haymitch agrees. "But I know the other victors. I know who we can trust and who we can't. I know who will make good allies and who won't. And they all know me. They'll be a hell of a lot more willing to team up with me than with either of you two, who they don't know and so can't trust."

It occurs to me that while I may not have a way with words, I do know someone who does. "Don't die for me, Peeta," I say. "You won't be doing me any favors."

Peeta gives me a hard stare, clearly communicating his betrayal at my taking his own words and throwing them back at him. But I think it's having the desired effect, he's actually thinking things through now. And he's not happy about that, either.

"I can't let you go in there without me," Peeta says. "I promised to stay with you."

"Exactly," I say. "Keep you promise. Stay with me. Stay with me for the next 40 years here in District 12. Only two of us can come home from the Quell: One mentor and one victor. We already know I'm going to be a tribute, the only way I'm coming home is as the victor. That means you have to be the mentor."

"I can't let you go in there alone," Peeta says, the anguish clear in his voice.

"I won't be alone," I counter. "I'll have Haymitch. And I'll have a group of allies that Haymitch has managed not to puke on over the years." This actually gets a small smile from Peeta. "And I'll have you rounding up sponsors and sending us supplies."

"You'll have a better chance of surviving with me in there with you," Peeta says.

"No, I'll have no chance of surviving if you go in with me," I say, my voice growing harsh. "We already went through this last year. Either one of us could have killed the other and gone home, but instead we chose to stay together."

"I can't take the risk, Katniss!" Peeta says as if the words are being torn from his very soul. "If you die, and I live, there's no life for me at all back here." A few tears escape the corners of his eyes and trail down his beautiful face. "You're my whole life. I would never be happy again."

"And you think it's different for me?" I ask. This had been my greatest fear, that Peeta would think that my feelings were any less than his, just because they were newer. But I thought we had both moved past this months ago. The thought overwhelms me and I can't contain my own tears anymore. "Do you really think it's any different for me?"

"I'm not saying it wouldn't be hard," he says, his voice shaky. "But there are other people who'd make your life worth living. Prim. Your mother. Our baby. Your family needs you, Katniss." He's right about that much. Even before we were living on my Victor's winnings, Mom and Prim would have starved without me to support them. They still would. And my baby, our baby, my little Peeta, would never even get the chance to live.

But when Peeta says, "No one really needs me," it's all I can do not to slug him.

"I do," I yell at him, my outrage momentarily overwhelming all the other emotions I'm drowning in right now. "I need you, you jackass." Peeta takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, but I don't want to hear anything he has to say about how little he means to me and how I'll be just fine without him, so I cut him off before he can speak. "What have we been doing for the last year? Living together, building a life together, having a baby together – doesn't all of that mean anything to you? Are you really willing to throw it all away, just like that? Instead of fighting to hold on to it? You're going to just give it all up, this life we've been building together?" I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to rein in my anger; getting into a shouting match with Peeta isn't going to help anything. "I'm your family, Peeta," I say more firmly. "That's what it meant when we got married. That's what it meant when I became Katniss Mellark. I'm your family, and this baby is your family, and your family needs you every bit as much as Mom and Prim need me."

Peeta shakes his head weakly. "I can't let you risk your life without me," he says. "I love you more than my own life."

"I know," I assure him. "I know that." For other people they would just be words, empty platitudes offered up by someone secure in the knowledge that such an outlandish claim would never truly be tested. But they're not just platitudes for us, not just words. We've lived it. Peeta has willingly offered up his life in exchange for mine – when he fought Cato under the tracker jacker tree, when he threw his knife into the lake. And I've risked my life to save his – when I went to the feast, when I pulled out those nightlock berries. We've both amply demonstrated our willingness to die for one another.

But the last thing I want is for Peeta to die.

"The whole country has seen that you're willing to die for me," I tell him. "But what I'm asking for is that you do absolutely everything you can to live for me. Can you do that? For me? For our baby?"

"Katniss…" Peeta says, and I can hear his heart breaking. I think mine broke a long time ago.

Finally Haymitch interrupts us. I had almost forgotten he was here. "Would you be willing to let her die so you could win the Games for yourself?" he asks. I don't know if Peeta looks more offended or astonished at the question. Haymitch just nods. "Exactly. So it's pretty damned heartless for you to ask her to do that to you, now isn't it?" Peeta frowns. I think Haymitch may actually be getting through to him. "I've seen you two in the Games. I know that the only way either of you is coming out of that thing is if the other isn't in there for you to die for. And Sweetheart's going in whether we like it or not. Start thinking with your head instead of your ego, loverboy. You know it's gotta be this way."

I don't dare break the silence as Peeta ponders Haymitch's words. He's studying Haymitch now, the way he studies flowers before sketching them for the plant book. I don't know what he's looking for, but Haymitch just stares back at him, stone faced. Finally Peeta speaks. "It'd be bad for you in the arena, wouldn't it?" he asks Haymitch. "Knowing all the others?"

"Oh, I think we can count on it being unbearable wherever I am." Haymitch says.

Peeta returns to his study, before breaking the silence once again. "We can't ask you to do this," he says, echoing my thoughts from earlier.

"You're not asking," Haymitch repeats his answer.

Peeta lets out a deep sigh, and I take it as a sign we've won the argument. At least for now. "So that's the plan, then?" he asks, turning back to me. "Haymitch goes in with you and convinces his friends to die for us?"

"Best plan we've got," Haymitch says.

"That's part of the plan," I say, an idea forming in my head. "It's still months until the Quell. We have plenty of time to prepare."

"Prepare what?" Peeta asks.

"We train," I say, my determination growing as the plan forms more clearly. "Like Careers. We're going to build up our strength and endurance. We're going to practice with weapons. Start bulking up so we can handle the lack of food in the arena. My mother's going to give me medicines to help protect the baby."

"We can study up on the other victors," Peeta says, starting to get my train of thought. "Some of the districts have few enough living victors that we'll have a pretty good idea who will be in the Quell. We should watch their Games, learn how to fight them."

"And Haymitch," I say, "you're going to sober up."

"Now wait just a damn minute!" Haymitch says. "That wasn't part of the deal, Sweetheart. I said I'd die, I never said I'd quit drinking."

"There won't be alcohol in the arena," I say. "Better to dry out now than in there."

"There's no way in hell I'm trusting a drunk going through withdrawal to protect Katniss in the arena," Peeta says, his voice hard. "So if you're not quitting now then we can scrap this entire thing and I'll be the one training for the Games."

Haymitch slouches in his chair. "I don't like self-righteous people," he grumbles. I'll take it as acquiescence.

"What's to like?" Peeta replies with a snort.

What else can we do to prepare? Now that I'm really thinking about it, I'm brimming with ideas. "Everyone's going to know about me using a bow," I say. "I should learn a new weapon. Become an expert at knife fighting, or something."

Haymitch gives me an all-too-rare approving nod. "Learning something close-quarters like that would be a good compliment to your shooting."

"I can show you guys some wrestling," Peeta suggests. "Maybe get my brothers to help too. Rye is skinnier than me, he may know some better techniques for you." He smirks a little. "All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance."

I nod along; that sounds like a good idea. "I can show you survival skills, Haymitch. Edible plants, trapping game, that sort of thing."

"What was your skill in the arena, Haymitch?" Peeta asks.

"Staying alive," Haymitch says.

"Can you teach me that?" I ask, surprisingly seriously.

Haymitch gives me a long look. "Seems you've always done a pretty good job of that yourself."

…..

By the time I get up late the next morning, Peeta has already telephoned Effie Trinket to ask her to send us Hunger Games tapes of all the surviving victors. It turns out there are 59 of them. Of us, I guess. Excluding Peeta, Haymitch, and me, that's 56 different Hunger Games to watch and study. I don't know how I can stand to see all of that without going completely insane. But then I rub the slight swell of my belly and steel myself. I'll do whatever has to be done to survive these Games.

After our late breakfast, Peeta and I head over to Haymitch's house, where we find him dead to the world, sleeping off his "one last bender" on the living room sofa. Peeta had intended to collect any liquor Haymitch had left and dump it down the sink, but I convince him to lock it up back at our house instead. I just don't have it in me to throw away perfectly good foodstuffs, even something as vile as Haymitch's liquor. We leave Haymitch some bread to help soak up the excess alcohol in his stomach whenever he wakes up.

Once everything is stored away, Peeta surprises me. "Let's take a walk into town."

We've been avoiding going into town this past week, ever since we saw how skittish it makes people to be around us now. I look at Peeta in question, and his eyes are begging me to just go along with it. I can only assume that the reason Peeta wants to walk to town has nothing to do with actually going to town. The road between the town and the Victor's Village is one of the few places we're confident we can talk without being overheard; there are almost never passers-by and it's far enough from the houses in the Village to be out of range of any bugs. "Okay. A walk would be nice," I say.

Sure enough, once we reach the bend in the road that's furthest from both the town and the Village and out of sight from both, Peeta pulls me to the side of the road and begins speaking in low tones. "Katniss are you sure about this scheme of Haymitch's?"

My heart sinks. I knew it was too much to hope for that Peeta's acquiescence last night would be the end of the argument, but I had hoped for it anyway. "Peeta, please…"

"I know, I know," he says, sounding defeated. He takes both my hands in his and steps even closer, so close our bodies are touching, but it's not enough for me so pull my hands away to wrap my arms around his waist. Peeta returns the gesture and pulls me tightly against him. I turn my face up towards him, resting my chin against his chest, and he obliges my silent request by leaning his head down against mine. I look into his eyes for just a moment, but the depth of emotion there is overwhelming me so I close my eyes and just enjoy his closeness.

"I want to say that your life is more important than mine because you're carrying the baby, but I know that's just an excuse," he says. I can feel his breath against my face as he talks. "I would feel exactly the same even if you weren't pregnant. The truth is that I just couldn't survive life without you."

I open my eyes so I can look into his once again. "Not after the last year of having a life with you," I say.

"Exactly," he says. "Haymitch was right about that, I was asking you to shrug off my death and move on, when I know I could never do the same. When the only reason I'm even alive right now is because you wouldn't do it all the other times I asked you to."

"I really wish you'd stop asking me to do that," I say. Peeta smiles at this, and I can feel the laugh rumble through his chest, but I'm in no mood to laugh about Peeta's death right now. "I knew I couldn't live without you even before I was willing to admit that I was falling in love with you. Don't you know by now that I'd be damaged beyond repair if anything happened to you?"

"Katniss…" he says, but I don't let him continue.

"Don't stand there and try to tell me that you don't matter. I don't take that shit from your mother and I won't take it from you either."

Peeta lets out a sigh, and closes his eyes. "I still think you would have a better chance of surviving if I was in there with you instead of Haymitch."

"But I won't want to survive unless you're outside waiting for me," I say. Peeta just sighs again, conceding the point.

We seem to be argued out for now, and I take the moment to enjoy Peeta's solid presence in my arms. Somehow I still don't feel like we're close enough to each other, so I turn my head to the side so I can lay it against his chest. Truthfully I am afraid of going into the Games without him. We haven't been apart for longer than a hunting trip or a bakery shift since before we were married. But I know there's no other way, we can't bully the Gamemakers into changing the rules twice in a row. Not after the reward Seneca Crane got for giving in to us the last time. In order to spend more years with Peeta, I'll need to spend the Games without him.

Eventually Peeta breaks the silence. "You never answered my original question. What do you really think of Haymitch's plan, beyond just hoping we both survive to come home? Do you really trust him with the baby?"

I'm not entirely sure what Peeta is asking. I lean away from him enough to look up into his face once more. "Well, I'm not saying we should trust him to babysit. But I think we can trust him to put himself and his knife between the baby and danger."

Peeta looks pensive. He's very carefully considering his next words. "Katniss, what's Haymitch's number one piece of advice?"

I don't even have to think about that one. "Stay alive."

Peeta nods. "Right. So doesn't it strike you as strange that he was so willing to volunteer to die?"

Peeta's question brings me up short. I hadn't thought of it in those terms before, but that's exactly what Haymitch has done – volunteered to die in Peeta's place. That's essentially what I did for Prim last year, but do I really think Peeta is as important to Haymitch as Prim is to me? The idea is absurd – the only thing that important to Haymitch is alcohol. But of course he's agreed to give that up too…

But what is the alternative? That this is all an elaborate trick? That if Peeta is called at the reaping, Haymitch will go back on his word and not volunteer? To what end? We never expected him to make that commitment in the first place. Promising it just to renege serves no purpose.

Or is Peeta suggesting that Haymitch plans to turn on me in the arena? Gather allies from his friends among the Victors and use them for his own benefit rather than mine? But that idea is just as stupid; if Haymitch had just sat back and said nothing then he wouldn't be going into the arena at all!

So the true answer must lie elsewhere. Something we don't have enough information about to even guess at. We know Haymitch is keeping secrets from us, we've known that ever since the Victory Tour, and he wasn't exactly forthcoming even in the days before and after the last Hunger Games.

"You think Haymitch has some secret agenda." It's not a question, because I already know the answer.

I go over everything we know for sure: Haymitch is keeping secrets from us, possibly about a rebellion against the Capitol. Haymitch has volunteered to go back into the Hunger Games, when it actually would have been easier for him to let Peeta do it instead. The only plausible reasons for Haymitch's actions are unknown, so most likely related to his secrets. Therefore the question is, what action relevant to a rebellion could possibly depend on Haymitch of all people being in the arena? Or on Peeta not being there?

Or maybe the arena is entirely incidental to how things are being set up.

"Are they just trying to separate us?" The idea chills me. It brings me right back to the first few weeks after the Games, when panic would creep in any time I didn't know exactly where Peeta was.

Peeta echoes my sentiments. "Maybe. But I can't figure out why."

Neither can I. I can't imagine what reason anyone would have for trying to separate Peeta and me, unless they wanted to abduct one of us while leaving the other behind. That idea scares me enough that I almost want to let Peeta enter the Games with me just to keep him close, but I fight the feeling down. No one is going to be whisking us away anywhere while we're in the heart of the Capitol, under the security of all the Peacekeepers who surround Hunger Games tributes.

Maybe they want to trick one of us into going along with something that the other would never agree to? Or do something to one of us that the other would prevent if they could? If that's the case then it can't be anything good. I'm especially vulnerable, with the pregnancy.

And that's the crux of the matter, isn't it? That's the question Peeta originally asked me, but now I understand what he meant when he asked it. Do I trust Haymitch and his secrets with the safety of Peeta and our baby? The answer ultimately has very little to do with Haymitch or his secrets, and more to do with simple pragmatism: What other choice do we have? Either we trust Haymitch to keep us safe, or Peeta enters the Games and at least one of us dies for sure.

I say as much out loud. "We don't exactly have much choice."

Peeta lets out a disappointed sigh, as if he was hoping this would convince me that he should be the one in the arena with me, but he doesn't try to argue. "Okay. In that case I think it's best we forget about it. If we try to make our own secret plans behind Haymitch's back, based on what we think his secrets might be, we'll just wind up tying ourselves up in knots. We plan based on what we know, which is that you and Haymitch are going into the Hunger Games and you are coming back out."

I almost completely agree with Peeta's sentiment. "We can forget about it in 20 minutes. I have something to do first."

…..

We arrive back at Haymitch's house to find he's moved on from the living room, though he left behind a pool of vomit that Hazelle will have to clean up later. We find him in his kitchen, staring blearily at one of the loaves Peeta left for him earlier.

"Come outside, Haymitch. We need to talk," I say curtly.

"We can talk here," he says, not taking his eyes off the bread.

"No, we can't," I say pointedly. Haymitch of all people knows what we can and can't say in these Capitol houses.

"Then we can talk later," he replies, and lays his head down on the table to sleep.

Peeta walks around behind Haymitch. I sometimes forget just how strong Peeta is, he's not one to show off, but I'm reminded of the eight his strength earned him in training when he grabs Haymitch around his ribs and lifts him straight up out of his chair. Peeta has already dragged Haymitch out from behind the table and is bringing him towards the door before Haymitch even realizes what's happening. His eyes go wide for just a moment before his knife is swinging wildly, but he's still so drunk that I'm able to knock it out of his hand before he can do anything with it. Peeta and I give each other quick nods over Haymitch's shoulder, and then I turn and lead the way back outside.

We walk out to the middle of the road, which is good enough for a conversation where we won't be saying anything too incriminating. Peeta sets Haymitch back on his feet, and Haymitch manages to hold himself upright. "All right, what's got your underwear in a knot today, sweetheart?"

"Peeta and I were just talking. About what you told us in District 11." And suddenly Haymitch's gaze is a lot less bleary, focused squarely on me. "We know you're hiding something, Haymitch. But for now, we're choosing to trust you anyway." I pause for a moment and stare at Haymitch, to make sure he understands how serious we are about this. "I'm trusting you with the lives of my husband and my child. Do not make me regret that." Even I can't tell if that's a threat or a plea. Haymitch only nods.

I take a deep breath, and then nod back to him. Now it's time to forget about it. "Okay. We start in the morning. Be ready for a run."

…..

We spend the next eight weeks training. Peeta joins us even though he's agreed to let Haymitch be the male tribute, which only makes me more nervous that he may change his mind. Peeta argues that even if he can't join me in the Games, he can at least join me in this. "What do you want me to do, go inside and bake a cake while you're out here running yourself ragged?" And truthfully I do want him with me. His presence as a coach and cheerleader and training partner is as invaluable as his presence in every other aspect of my life. So I allow it. But I still worry.

Every morning we start by running as far as Haymitch can go before he collapses, then we help him home and Peeta and I go on a much longer run across the district. When we get back we eat way too much for breakfast, at my mother's direction. It's more than I've ever eaten outside of the few days in the Capitol before the last Hunger Games. Then we spend the rest of the morning lifting weights and doing other exercises to build up our strength and flexibility, based on guidance from my mother and Peeta's experience training for wrestling at school. After eating way too much for lunch we spend the afternoons on combat and survival skills – we practice throwing knives, Peeta teaches us wrestling with occasional help from his brothers, I teach Haymitch how to climb trees, we all study my family's plant book to learn what's edible and what's not. I even get Gale to come to the Village on Sundays to teach us snares, since he's always been better with them than I am.

Ironically, the one of us who takes to Gale's lessons the best is Peeta. Maybe it's the artist in him, maybe it's because he's used to doing delicate things with his hands, but Peeta is able to understand the balance and precision in what Gale is teaching much more quickly and easily than Haymitch or me. In fact, after a couple of weeks Gale stops teaching the two of us at all. With the mines reopened and Gale healthy enough to return to work, his free time is extremely limited. It makes more sense for him to teach Peeta, who picks up the lessons quickly and can then spend the rest of the week breaking it down into more easily-learned pieces for Haymitch and me. Gale isn't exactly thrilled with this arrangement, but it seems that for the time being helping me stay alive is more important to him than any lingering animosity he feels towards Peeta.

After our training we eat a fairly normal dinner that seems almost miniscule compared to breakfast and lunch. And at night, when our muscles are tired and the light is gone, we retreat inside and watch old Hunger Games tapes. The loveseat and chair from the interview set are enough seating for the three of us, we only have to drag them in front of the television. Peeta organizes all the tapes into a rough viewing order. We begin our study with the Career districts, because they have so many Victors and each one has less of a chance of becoming one of our opponents. This way, when the Games finally get here, the Victors we're most likely to face will be the freshest in our minds. After the reaping there will only be six Career victors we have to care about; we can always review their tapes then to refresh our memories if we feel the need.

Peeta fills pages and pages of his notebook with information on the skills and fighting styles displayed by each of the Victors. Haymitch volunteers information not included on the tapes, like details he remembers from watching the Games himself or observations of the Victors in the years since they won. He tells us about their personalities as mentors, who is friendly with whom, and who is still in good shape and who isn't. The task ahead of us seems slightly less daunting as we slowly begin to know our competition.

But one of the first Games we watch isn't from any of our competition. One morning only a few days after the tapes arrive, when Peeta and I are both up before sunrise from nightmares and we have to wait for the light before we can start our morning run, Peeta drags me out of bed anyway. "Come on, there's one Hunger Games I think we should watch without Haymitch."

"Really?" I say, confused. "Which one?"

"The 50th."

I'm reluctant to watch for some reason. Even though it was mandatory viewing across Panem when it happened, it somehow feels like a violation to watch it now. Especially watching it without Haymitch's knowledge like this. But Peeta argues that Haymitch wouldn't want to see this again anyway, just like we'll never watch the 74th Hunger Games. "We've been learning everything we can about our enemies, I think we need to know exactly who our ally is."

And so we watch the Second Quarter Quell. We see my mother's friend Maysilee Donner, who it turns out is also Madge's aunt who once owned my mockingjay pin. Maysilee first allies with Haymitch, then separates from Haymitch, then dies while he holds her hand. We see Haymitch, young, cocky, and arrogant – "Didn't have to reach far for that, did he?" – as he makes a beeline for the edge of the arena, and finds it surrounded by a forcefield just like the one on the roof of the Training Center. We watch him use the forcefield to kill the final Career tribute – or maybe trick her into killing herself? Either way, he's declared the victor while he's passed out on the ground, convulsing, with part of his intestines hanging out of an abdominal wound.

Peeta clicks it off without waiting for the final interview. "Well, I had assumed he won by outsmarting the other tributes."

"Not just the other tributes," I say. "You know they weren't supposed to ever find that forcefield. Forcing his way through that hedge, using the barrier of the arena itself as a weapon? He showed up the Gamemakers, almost as much as we did with those berries."

"Almost, but not quite," Haymitch says from behind us.

I start, and whip my head around. I didn't even hear Haymitch come in, I have no idea how long he's been here. He doesn't look angry with us for watching his Games, but he definitely looks like he wants a drink. I'm almost inclined to let him have one, but the life of our child depends on his sobriety.

"The Capitol couldn't have been too happy with you," Peeta says.

"No, they weren't," Haymitch says, but he doesn't elaborate.

I feel like I'm finally starting to understand Haymitch, and it's only partially related to what I saw on that tape. "Whatever the Capitol did to punish you, I'm betting it was worse than making you pretend to love someone."

Haymitch stares at me for a long time, debating with himself whether or not to say anything. Finally he explains, "Two weeks after I got home, my entire family was dead. My mother, my younger brother, my girl, all gone. That's how Snow chose to punish me."

I had been expecting something like that, but it still makes me choke once he confirms it. I can't help but put myself in his place, imagining how I'd feel if I came home from the Games and within two weeks – two weeks! – Mom, Prim, and Peeta were all dead. I might have spent the next 25 years drunk too.

Peeta seems to have come to a different conclusion, though. "And he learned not to make that mistake again, didn't he?"

"Mistake?" I ask, bewildered.

"After he killed everyone I cared about, he had no more leverage over me. He couldn't make me do anything else, cause I had nothing left for him to threaten to take away," Haymitch explains.

And how many times in the last few months have we gotten concessions from President Snow because he didn't want us to have nothing left we could lose? Of course, all of that led to him sending me back into the arena, so all those "concessions" didn't add up to as much as I had hoped at the time.

Haymitch is the one to bring us back on task. "So did you two learn anything useful about Quarter Quells, or were you just dredging up my worst memories for the hell of it?"

I have no answer for him, but Peeta does. "The arena was against you. All the food was poison, all the animals were deadly, that volcano took out a dozen tributes – our arena was just a place where the Games happened, your arena was an enemy."

Now I'm nodding along. "And because of that, the Games went faster. Even with twice as many tributes, it was over in half the time of our Games," I add.

"You've pretty much got it," Haymitch says. "These Games will be fast and brutal, and the arena is liable to be just as dangerous as any Career pack."

I can't tell if this is a good or a bad thing. If we're right and the pattern holds true, then it seems that my baby will have to survive in the arena for less time than I was fearing. But the chances are much higher that I'll be starving and dehydrated during that time, placing the baby at much greater risk. I guess in the end it doesn't matter if it's a good or a bad thing, it just is.

But Peeta was right, focusing exclusively on our enemies was a mistake. And after considering my allies, I don't think I could wish for better ones. Haymitch exploiting that forcefield, Peeta changing the Game with his love confession, my last-minute stunt with those berries – none of us plays by the rules. None of us fights on the Capitol's terms. Not when something important is at stake. And there's nothing more important than ensuring that my baby survives these Games.

Surely three people who have caused the Capitol so much trouble can think of a way to do that?

…..

Training starts off rocky for Haymitch. His withdrawal symptoms make the first week or so a complete loss for him. After that he slowly becomes more stable, and only has to deal with the fact that he's been actively destroying his body for 25 years. On our first few runs he's barely able to make it to town, let alone complete our lap of the district. And for someone who sleeps with a knife every night, he throws one about as well as I could with my left foot.

But we all improve over time. Haymitch's shakes fade away. I'm finally putting on weight like my mother has been saying I should be ever since I got pregnant. Even Peeta's broad frame grows broader, a fact that does not go unappreciated by my pregnancy-fueled libido.

But just as important as the physical changes, the training gives us something to focus on. It gives us something to do, other than sitting around waiting to be reaped. We're not just planning on fighting back, we are fighting back. With every stride of our run, with every weight we lift, with every skill we master, we are fighting back against the Capitol and its plan to destroy us. And even if Snow eventually succeeds, everyone will know that we've gone out fighting.

We'll make sure of it.

…..

Reaping Day is hot and sultry. The entire setup strikes me as ridiculous. There are two tiny roped-off areas right by the stage, one holding only me and the other holding Peeta and Haymitch. The entire population of Twelve other than the three of us stands by silently waiting. The reaping itself takes longer than I thought it would, only because it takes Effie several tries to finally snatch the lone slip of paper in the bottom of the giant girls' reaping ball. I stand waiting on stage as she gives chase to one of the two slips in the boys' reaping ball. I have plenty of time to hope she pulls Peeta's name so that Haymitch can volunteer and Peeta won't be tempted.

Finally Effie grabs a slip, and as usual the odds aren't in my favor. "Haymitch Abernathy!"

Haymitch claps Peeta on the shoulder and climbs up on stage next to me. It's hard to tell if he's stoic, or just bored. Peeta looks conflicted, but thankfully he's not volunteering.

Then Effie interrupts my thoughts when she looks straight at Peeta and asks, "Are there any volunteers?" I almost groan. I know it's part of the procedure, but why does she have to rub it in like that? I look back to Peeta, and he actually looks as if he's having some sort of seizure. His facial expression keeps changing. His right hand keeps twitching, while his left is clamped in a fist. His eyes dart back and forth between Haymitch and me.

Then his face clears and his whole body stills.

"Don't you dare!" I call out into the silent square. I catch Peeta with his mouth hanging open and his hand already raised near his shoulder. He looks at me with so much pain on his face it makes me want to run down and hug him. Instead I just stare back, silently pleading with him to stand his ground. After a tense moment that I'm sure doesn't last as long as it feels, his whole body sags. He looks more miserable than I've ever seen him, but his hand falls back to his side, and stays there.

Effie keeps staring hopefully at Peeta for several more seconds, but finally she gives up and introduces Haymitch and me as the tributes from District 12. I let out a sigh of relief.

…..

Man, after the first ten chapters were all setup and fluffy vignettes, we are just zipping through all this Catching Fire plot.

Next chapter: The tribute train, the arrival at the Capitol, the chariot parade. Katniss meets some of her fellow victor-tributes, and one of them tells her this:

Preview quote from Chapter 21:

"I hope we can be friends, Katniss. It'd be a real shame if you tried to kill me at the end of the week."