Out of all the things Prim loved about Katniss, these were the times that she would miss the most. The few opportunities where her older sister would let her be part of her world away from home, where she belonged more to the wilds than to any part of 12, and when they could sit and talk and act as though nothing bad was ever going to happen to either of them. Although neither of them said it, Prim was sure that both she and Katniss knew that this would be the last time an outing like this would happen, that the dark-haired girl probably wasn't going to make it back from the Capitol this time. It wouldn't be for lack of trying, but the odds had been stacked against her by President Snow. Haymitch was right, this wasn't just about Katniss anymore. In a way, Prim felt sorry for her, because she knew her sister had never wanted to be anyone's symbol, she had just been doing the one thing she had always done; surviving.

“I love you, Katniss,” Prim said with a sad smile as she leaned her head on Katniss's shoulder. The fire in front of them was warm, bathing the two girls in a soft, orange light and everything, for once, was just about perfect. Desperately, Prim wished to freeze time, to stop the Games from coming and simply exist in this moment where she had her sister by her side, and the world at her back. The mere thought of that lofty notion caused a lump in her throat, and Prim found herself swallowing hard, not wanting Katniss to be concerned about her. The older girl had enough on her mind as it was.

Somehow, Prim thought that putting on a brave face should have extended to Haymitch as well. Something had obviously happened between Katniss and the other Victor while she and Gale had been gone. If Haymitch was so worried about the older girl's well being, and state of mind, he would have kept his mouth shut and not upset her. Although Prim didn't understand the relationship that the dark-haired girl had with her former mentor, she could tell that Katniss cared for him, and valued his opinion; he was her friend and Prim knew that wasn't easy for her sister. The blonde felt herself incredibly annoyed with Haymitch, thinking it to be rather ironic that he hadn't wanted her to come along when he was the one who ended up ruining the night. 

“We don't have to go,” Prim said, trying to hold the situation together. “You've got your training.” Although, it was obvious that no one was in the mood to stay, so Prim helped pack up. She stomped out the fire and kicked a bit of dirt onto the embers, making sure they wouldn't roar back to life due to a strong wind. After that, she helped to gather up the meat and then set off with the group. Haymitch ended up walking way ahead of them, apparently done trying to be nice because Prim had noticed that he wasn't speaking to Gale either. She knew that the older man didn't like any of them, but Prim thought he could try a little harder.

Before the four of them parted ways, Gale pulled her off to the side, and Prim looked up at him expectantly. She was unsure of what he had to say, but waited patiently before he opened his hand and revealed a small, golden bird. Even in the darkness, Prim's smile lit up and her heart fluttered at the gesture. “That's...” she paused, laughing warmly as she took the finch from his hand. It was imperfect, but still beautiful, and she loved it already. “Thank you, Gale,” Prim smiled. She stood up on her toes, one hand braced against his chest as she pressed her lips innocently to his cheek. “I really love it.” And him, she really loved who he was. 

Up ahead, Haymitch had paused in time to wait with Katniss while Gale and her sister had a moment. It should have been the time for him to apologize to Katniss, to say that he did want to be friends with her, and that he cared about her, but the words never did come out. Just as it was difficult for her to be upfront about her feelings, it was difficult for him as well. He supposed they were the same in a lot of ways, which was probably why they butted heads so much, but Haymitch knew he had been wrong this time. It hadn't been a stubborn tribute who wouldn't listen—Katniss had been seeking something from him, within him, and he had turned her away. The golden-haired man did his best to rationalize, tell himself that it was better this way, but even he wasn't believing it.

“Hell,” he found himself saying when Prim kissed Gale on the cheek. He had not gotten home sooner for this? He shook his head, and started to walk again, not saying anything to Katniss before taking off. At home, there was a bottle tucked away with his name on it. The one that Peeta hadn't managed to find and the liquor inside was tempting after such a long, and fruitless night. His sobriety wasn't something that was directly important to him, but it was imperative to everyone else, and Haymitch felt a strange, secondhand responsibility for his own person. If it were up to him, and if Katniss didn't have to go back into the arena, he would have stayed drunk and simply jumped off the platform before the counter got down to zero. 

The Victor's village was a short walk from the fence, and Haymitch made it back to his house in record time. He flipped on the light and dumped his gear by the door, not caring about it and thinking it was rather useless now that he and Katniss weren't going to be spending any extended time together. He mulled about the living room, running his hands nervously through his hair before getting a glass from the kitchen. He set it down hard on the coffee table, as if to say that, yes, this was happening and no one could stop him. However, Haymitch didn't anticipate his conscience coming into play, to remind him that he had been doing so well lately, that he [i]felt[/i] better and that like or not, Katniss and two new tributes would be depending on him in less than a week.

Haymitch went to bed; sober.

The next morning at the Everdeen house was a mostly silent one. It was strange to have Katniss there, just sitting, when normally she was tugging her boots on and leaving to meet Peeta and Haymitch. It wasn't to say that Prim was upset about having her home, but she knew that Katniss was hurting, and Prim had no way to help her. Instead, she made breakfast for everyone, got Katniss a few cups of tea and played with her braid every so often when she would pass by the couch as she went about cleaning up the house. It wasn't much, but Prim hoped she was doing some good. Later in the day, Prim had just finished making lunch with some of the deer meat from the night before when Gale let himself in. Obviously, he hadn't expected to find Katniss there either.

The two talked quietly in the kitchen while Katniss stayed in the living room. Prim was worried about her. It was rare that the dark-haired girl didn't come and say hi to Gale, or stand there and get into a conversation about deer, or what kind of moss would start to grown on the rocks down by the stream—things Prim would have normally tuned out. Frowning, the blonde leaned against the counter and propped her chin up on her hand. “She didn't say much,” she relayed to Gale with a shrug, “just that he was being himself and said something mean to her, and she did the same to him.” Prim really didn't understand Haymitch, but she had half a mind to march over to his house and demand that he make up with Katniss. 

“They'll make up,” she added, glancing into the living room. “They have to.”

Over the next few days leading up to the Reaping, Haymitch remained firm in his uncanny ability to not do anything that anyone else thought he should. As far as he was concerned, he and Katniss had nothing to say to one another, but he would still follow through with the plan. After all, it wasn't Peeta's fault that his co-champion was stubborn, and lacked any and all people skills. Of course, Haymitch also refused to acknowledge that he lacked those same skills, and somehow thought himself to be more evolved than Katniss in that respect. Peeta, on the other hand, had pointed out that very fact and frustratedly begged he and Katniss to drop their qualms with one another. Haymitch, like Katniss, refused to budge.

On the morning of the Reaping, Haymitch overslept. 

That seemed to be a pattern with him, as he had been late to the Reaping when his name had been drawn from the bowl the first time around. Even back then, he had a mistrust of the Capitol and had taken all the time to get dressed in his best clothes and go down to the town square. He remembered the look that the Peacekeepers gave him, disgusted that he would have the nerve to show up late and push through his age group to get to the front. Haymitch hadn't been afraid back then, but now, he had his reservations. The only difference between then and now, was that Haymitch was no longer afraid to die. He had lived an unremarkable life, winning the Games by chance, and then pissed away his winnings on alcohol. Dying for Peeta was better than waiting for his body to give out from the drink.

After getting dressed, Haymitch began to look around his room for a small box. Out of all the things he owned, and cared about, the small, silver pin housed in that antique box was the most important. Years ago, on a morning just like the present, Haymitch remembered his mother giving him a silver pin in the shape of a bluejay. It was very old, and had been passed down through generations of her family and it was meant to keep him safe from the Reaping, but when that failed, it was to remind him of home. Haymitch had kept the bird pinned in his pocket throughout the entirety of the Quarter Quell and although he wasn't a superstitious man, he believed that it helped him to win. 

He found the box under his bed, tucked away behind some clothes he had forgotten about, along with a few empty bottles of liquor. Haymitch pushed the glass aside and brought the box out in front of him. The pin was resting on a blue, velvet cushion and Haymitch smiled subconsciously as he plucked the bird from its box. It was time to leave then, newest oldest District 12 tribute set off for the town square, token safely tucked away in his pocket.

When he arrived, he was strangely calm and didn't even mind when the Capitol official pricked his finger too hard during the identification process. Effie was already up on stage, her pink wig standing out garishly from the bleakness around her. Haymitch did have to admit that this time, she seemed very sad and wasn't at all good at hiding it as she drew a name from the bowl. Obviously, it was Katniss and Haymitch watched as she came to the stage as calmly as she could. She knew better than to show weakness, and Haymitch liked to think that he taught her that. Somewhere in the Capitol, Caesar Flickerman was commenting on how brave she was. 

Then, it was time for the men and Haymitch continued to watch as Effie drew another name. It was Peeta, and from the crowd, Haymitch raised his hand, “I volunteer.” Those words alone seemed to break Effie, and for once, Haymitch truly felt bad for her. He knew that she came from the Capitol and had always been protected from these terrible games, but she had a heart and she did care about him and the tributes who came to die year after year. He knew that no one understood that about her, that the woman with her brightly colored wigs and painted face was looked at as if she were mindless, but she functioned the best way she knew how.

Moving through the crowd, Haymitch came to join Katniss on the stage. He glanced over at her, and made eye contact, but didn't bother with any kind of expression. His own advice was something that he took very often, and he wasn't going to set himself up to look more vulnerable than he already was when there would be twenty-two other tributes who were just as skilled as he had been years ago, but twice as desperate to survive. Standing there, he waited for Effie to get on with it, and didn't want her to make a big deal out of him volunteering. If Peeta was able, he knew the baker would have done the same for him, even if Katniss didn't like it.

Back in the crowd, Prim kept her eyes on Katniss, even when Haymitch volunteered. The dark-haired girl was only yards from her, but already, she felt thousands of miles away. It was hard for her to lose Katniss a second time, but the blonde did her best to be strong. Katniss needed to know that she was going to be okay on her own, and that she could handle everything. The ceremony continued on, and Prim was surprised to see Haymitch there at all. Like Katniss, she had been worried that the older man wouldn't show up, that he would force Peeta back into the games for one reason or another. At the very least, he wasn't as much of a coward as she thought.

Then, it was finally time for the new tributes to be selected. The bowls at Effie's brightly-colored side were nearly full to the top with names, and Prim found herself holding her breath as the Capitol woman's perfectly manicured fingers dove into the bowl. She fished around for a moment before pulling back with a thin slip of paper and the words that came out of her mouth just may have confused and outraged the entire district. It was surreal, and Prim thought she had to be dreaming. Her eyes were still on Katniss when she saw the look of shock, horror and rage come over his sister's face.

What was happening?

She had heard it, though, her name for a second time, another year in a row. The young blonde was frozen in place, unable to understand what had just happened but she could feel everyone's eyes on her and she heard a familiar voice volunteer, but that didn't stop the Peacekeepers from approaching and taking her by the arm. An outside touch brought Prim back to reality, and she was lifted a few inches off the ground by the men on either side of her. Quickly and with much more force than expected, she wrenched herself away from the guards and walked on her own. “Katniss!” Prim called out, now running to the stage, but the men in their white uniforms stopped her before she could reach the steps. “Katniss, don't fight!” It would just be worse for her. Still, Prim tried to reach her, but was now being held back with the rest of her friends. 

The ceremony was over quickly, so fast that Prim hadn't even realized that she truly was the new tribute until she was being shoved in a car and taken to the train. “We get to say goodbye!” she demanded. “I want to say goodbye!” The thought of her mother without either daughter was enough to make Prim sick. She had spent so much time with her while Katniss had been away, promising that she would never leave, saying that she would always be there, no matter what, and now she had broken that promise. Guilt and regret slammed into the lithe teenager, and her chest was tight with remorse. How could this have happened?

When the Peacekeepers finally unhanded Haymitch, he was running on instinct and immediately gravitated toward Katniss. The Capitol had done something to this Reaping, he was sure of it, and everything had been a way to get at Katniss. Haymitch no longer cared about their stupid fight, she needed someone. Before he had the chance to say anything, the dark-haired girl went off like a firecracker, taking out her on Effie who was fragile to handle any kind of yelling. Haymitch let her go, wanting her to get it all out while they were absolutely alone. There were no cameras in the trains, nothing that the public would see and it was important that Katniss's image remain preserved—she was strong, she was sure, she was unbreakable and Haymitch would make sure she stayed that way.

With Gale taking care of Prim, who still seemed to be in shock, Haymitch figured he should go after the Mockingjay herself. He gave Peeta a reassuring pat on the shoulder and softened his touch for Effie as well before he left the room. The hallway was long and sleek, and the blue runner down the enter of the corridor lead to most of the sleeping areas. Haymitch wasn't exactly sure what he was going to say to Katniss, but someone needed to pull her away from the edge, and for some reason, he felt that he was the exact person to do it. After all, before their fight, he had shared many things with her and whether he liked to admit it or not, they were friends. He cared for her, and alliances were more important now than ever.

The dents in the door to the last compartment on the end were a dead giveaway and Haymitch took a deep breath before entering the room. Katniss was sitting on the bed, looking beaten and worse for wear. She was cradling her hand, her grey eyes stained with tears and this would have made drunk Haymitch angry, but it only made sober Haymitch slightly uncomfortable. This was new for him, openly caring, but at the end of the day, he was still [i]sort of[/i] her mentor and she needed to be talked to in terms of the future. There was nothing that Katniss could do about her sister being Reaped and nothing she could do about Gale volunteering either. It was time to focus on the games.

“You gotta let this go right now,” Haymitch began, launching into a pep talk. “That out there, what you did on stage, that's what they wanted from you. They wanted to hurt you, they wanted you to react and you gave them what they needed. If they can make people see that you're not stable, that you're [i]weak[/i], it's going to be used against you.” He took a seat by her side and reached out, cupping her cheek so that she would look at him. “You're better than them, Katniss. This whole damn country and the people are better than this. Now, you saw what I saw on your tour—the unrest. They don't want to take it anymore, and you're in these games to start something.” Gently, he stroked her cheek, his thumb moving gently over her soft skin. “You got everyone afraid of you. Do something with it and everything else will fall into place.” He looked into her eyes, unable to promise what he knew she wanted to hear. People were going to die from this, and there were people that Katniss would never see again, but Haymitch's goal remained unchanged. Katniss needed to live. 

Out in the living car, Prim had finally pulled herself away from Gale, and she was no more comforted than she had been before. Her non-reaction was strange, but she was finally starting to come around and as Peeta too left the room, Prim felt her eyes fill with tears. She was doing her best not to snap, knowing full well that a breakdown wouldn't help anyone, and she was already so worried about Katniss, but when Gale spoke, Prim snapped.

“I'm not hungry, Gale,” her voice quivered in the same way as her stomach and she walked away from the table. “This isn't right,” she breathed, chest rapidly rising and falling as she looked around the train. It was lavishly decorated, a beautiful scene full with gorgeous wooden and leather furniture, crystal chandeliers that glittered and shimmered in the sun and the deepest blue carpet that Prim had ever seen. None of this was a distraction, though, and she just wanted out. “I did this to her,” she went on, speaking mostly to herself, “I let her volunteer for me, and now she's stuck here. They set her up, they...” She sucked in a deep breath and walked quickly down the hall to the back of the train.

There were windows along one side of the train and Prim smacked her hand against the thick glass. “They wanted me here, Gale. This is what I get,” the blonde was rambling by then, frantically trying to open the window. Her fingers dug into the side and she strained to pull the circle of glass free from the train, but it didn't move. She whimpered, physically unable to express her frustration. “Katniss is going to die. We're all going to die and it's my fault. I should have went last year and none of this would have happened. It's my fault.” She let out a pained sob and sank down to the floor, head in her hands and knees to her chest as she cried. It was hard for her to catch her breath, and everything around her was spinning. Prim thought she was going to be sick all over the expensive carpet.

Still, she didn't understand why this was happening, why one girl from the poorest district was such a threat to an entire nation. “We need to leave,” she cried. “We have to get off this train.”