Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or Alice in Wonderland.

Thank you to NKubie and Guy for pre-reading and my beta, Vintagejgc. I appreciate the help!

Chapter Eight: The Drunken Tea Party

The forest is no longer familiar. Somewhere along the way it morphed from moss and mahogany to shockingly bright colors. Screaming violet and scarlet leaves hang overhead, and stringy yellow and aqua vines run rampant, winding themselves around every tree so tightly that they look strangled. The treetops are eerily barren, skinny branches stretch up into the sky like a skeletal flag waving as the wind shifts.

I hear muffled voices and music. With a keen eye I survey my surroundings. Moving closer, I spot a door cleverly disguised like the climbing vines. I approach cautiously taking care to be silent.

The door bursts open and out stumbles a tall man in an orange and green patchwork suit with a marvelous top hat perched upon his head adorned with glimmering gems and brightly colored feathers.

My God… It's Haymitch!

"You are late," he hisses as he snatches up my hand and drags me inside. Beyond the door is a huge dining hall with a fully decorated table that seems to go on forever.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he leads me to the table with a smile of wide crooked teeth and breath reeking of alcohol. "Hatter at your service, champion of the tea party." He pulls out a chair and motions for me to sit. "I hope you don't mind but while I was waiting…I ate your lunch."

Hatter? How much has he had to drink today?

He bows to me and on top of his hat is a delicate china cup filled with a floral smelling tea. I take it and place it on the table before me.

He slurps down the contents of his cup and shouts, "Clean cup, move down!"

Then he's ushering me out of my chair and pushing me to the next. My eyes widen as every piece of china on the table sprouts legs and scrambles about, each piece settling down as soon as I sit.

"Would you like another cup of tea?" he asks, already pouring me a second serving.

"But I haven't had a first cup..."

He ignores me and turns his gaze to the other side of the table. "How about our March Hare? The usual?"

Sitting across from us is a woman of middle age, her graying hair hangs in a bob at her shoulders. She is staring at me, her eyes a cool grey. She's scowling and if she weren't wearing a pair of hot pink bunny ears, she might be able to pull off looking scary.

She looks from me to Hatter and hisses, "Thirteeeeeeeeen."

There is a clatter as a bunch of tea pots rise and float through the air. They fly around in lazy circles and then in chorus they whistle. I gasp, the sound is beautiful. Each teapot is holding a different note, drawing it out into a smooth bravado.

The sounds are delicate, yet scattered; they intertwine with a deep hum- the melody eerily familiar.

My eyes start to tear as I recognize their version of Deep in the Meadow. It makes me think of Rue, and of Prim.

Suddenly the song changes rhythm, the sound becoming jagged and high pitched, notes screeching like a bird call. Then there are no flying teapots, just a flock of mockingjays that give one last shrill note before taking flight.

The March Hare is cackling and Hatter is gathering spoons and saucers and sugar bowls. He lines up a row of cups and counts them twice. There are thirteen tea cups which Hatter promptly fills, and then takes his seat only to pull a flask from his pocket and say, "Miss Everdeen, may I introduce the March Hare, otherwise known as Alma Coin?" He motions across the table.

Before I can say anything a rather large titmouse comes running across the table. He's wielding a tablespoon, clanking it loudly against teacups as he runs, and his face...it looks so familiar...

"Introducing the White Rabbit!" The mouse bellows.

"Peeta?" I'm out of my seat, my eyes peeled for him.

I spot him as soon as I rise, his white fur and red waistcoat so vibrant against the bed of green grass that lays like a carpet beneath us. He is limping, his glasses crooked on his face.

"Oh no," he whispers, his bottom lip quivering. "I'm too late." He points to the broken pocket watch that I had forgotten I was holding onto.

I look down at the watch in my hands and frown. "No, Peeta. It's not too late. We can still win this, together."

I take hold of his paw and draw him close. I beg him with my eyes. A single tear runs down his cheek as he looks up at me and says, "The clock breaks...we break."

Haymitch stumbles over and snorts, then sighs dramatically. "I can fix that. I just need some butter."

Quicker than I ever thought he could move, Haymitch takes the watch and lays it on the table, waving a butter knife around like it's some kind of magic wand.

"You can't use butter!" The March Hare cries. "That is ludicrous. Try some mustard."

Haymitch pauses and looks around the table. "That is ludicrous. But mustard? Don't be silly. Now lemon, that's different..."

He takes a piece of lemon and stuffs it in his mouth and sucks on it, his face sour-pussed. He chugs a cup of clear tea? No… white liquor, probably. Then he chugs another. "Lemon drops will do the trick!"

Peeta wrenches his paw away then stabs the table with the discarded butter knife, his nose twitching wildly.

Haymitch sneers and takes a long sip of tea. "Congratulations you just killed your first place mat. Now for goodness sake, have some tea!"

"Stupid drunken mentor!" Peeta seethes, his nose still twitching. "You're supposed to be fixing the clock, not getting drunk."

Hatter tips his hat up and purses his lips. "Okay, accept the probability of my imminent boredom with earl grey and chamomile and know, in your heart, there is nothing you can do to save me from getting drunk. I'm already there my furry friend. You're missing the point entirely. Now is the time to feast, to enjoy your last moments of faux freedom. Perhaps you'll get so drunk that you won't feel a thing!"

"But if that's true, then why are you here?" I ask. "To watch us die?"

"I am here for the refreshments, my dear. White liquor in the tea is a delightful escape, don't you think?" He starts drinking directly from the teapot, long pulls until he falls right out of his chair.

"Peeta, please!" I urge, reaching for him. "Come with me. We don't need the watch."

Haymitch pulls on my pant leg. "Silly little sweetheart, give bread boy a kiss and really convince him. Maybe even go all out and use a little tongue."

Peeta arches an eyebrow and I do not hesitate. I lean down and kiss him, a quick peck on the lips. I take his hand and say, "Please, Peeta, I need you."

Before he can respond the teapots whistle again, but this time there is nothing pleasant about the sound. It's ear-splitting screeches, so harsh and jarring I cover my ears. The tea cups start to shake, the saucers and silverware run around in circles. Dinner plates roll underneath the tables and sugar cubes rain down like hail.

The tea pots rise in a chaotic fashion, crashing into each other in mid-air. There is a loud boom and a spray of red and blue fireworks overhead, and last but certainly not least...it's the titmouse; he's floating through the air, a tiny parachute strapped to his back. His face has changed though...he looks just like...Gale.

Then there is silence, everyone looking at the odd mouse version of my best friend as he starts to sing.

"Flame covered Capital doll,

here we wait for you to fall,

all our eyes raised up so high,

wondering if you will die."

The March Hare stands and stomps her feet. "I have an excellent idea. Let's change the subject!" Then she takes a wild punch, swinging at Gale and I lunge, unable to stop myself from trying to protect him.

I slip and fall forward, blocking the March Hare's blow but knocking a piece of the table over in the process. I find myself sitting on my bottom; everyone around me running amok. Then I see him again... Gale as the titmouse, he's under the table sitting atop an upturned sugar bowl. He's smiling his gentle smile. It's warm and so comforting and I can't help but crawl toward him, wanting one moment for the peace he always brings me.

"Oh, Katnip, don't over think this. They just want a good show, that's all they want. You have the power to give it to them. You and Peeta as the star crossed lovers from District Twelve? People are eating this shit up. It's pure win. Win."

He isn't a mouse anymore...It's him, my Gale, sitting before me, strong hands rubbing my shoulders. He gives one last squeeze and says, "Win, and then come home to me."

Then Gale's kissing me and this is nothing like the kiss I shared with Peeta. This is what a kiss should feel like, toe-curling and so, so warm.

And when I open my eyes, Gale is gone. Vanished like some kind of mirage. I want to cry but Gale's words won't let me.

You and Peeta...

That's all they want.

Win and come home to me.

I take a breath and steel my resolve. I need to get Peeta and leave this place. We need to find the remaining Careers and end this.

I find Peeta trying to rouse Haymitch who is passed out drunk. I run over and hold out my hand like an offering. He looks me up and down, nods then takes my hand. I run, he hops, and we make our way to the door. Once outside, I feel like I can breathe a little easier. The forest is...a comfort of sorts. It's dark now and the colored trees don't seem quite as bright, the full moon casting just enough light to illuminate a path.

I can't help but giggle when Peeta pulls me by the hand and leads us into the woods grumbling, "That was the stupidest tea party I've attended in all my life. What complete and utter nonsense!"