As the boils disappeared from his hands and fingers, the sense of discomfort faded with them. Being in tolerable pain while trekking through the arena was often the start of a slow descent into madness, and Haymitch was lucky that he had found a way to alleviate the stinging sensation under his skin before he started to lash out. Inwardly, he knew that he had to stay healthy for as long as possible so that he could be there for Katniss, and that even a small cut or scrape could have rendered him completely useless. Despite Peeta's alleged plan, Haymitch was still focused on getting Katniss to the end and no matter what, she had to survive. After all, and even if she didn't want to, she had a rebellion to lead. The people trapped in the districts couldn't look to their Mockingjay if she was dead.

Wringing out the last bits of water from the cloth, Haymitch tossed it back into their pack, sure they may need it for something in the future. He had been capping the canteen when Katniss spoke, her voice so much softer as she confessed her inner thoughts. Dropping the canteen back into the bag with the rest of their supplies, the former Victor turned to her, and continued to listen as she changed the subject back to something more practical. For that one moment, Haymitch didn't particularly care where they slept that night, or how they made a fight, or what they ate—he was glad to have Katniss too and if he had to be in the arena with someone, then he was happy to be by her side.

Before a more sensible and rigid part of himself could say otherwise, Haymitch stepped forward and took Katniss's face into his hands. He kissed her deeply, sweetly, soft and tender for all of the sweet words he could never bring himself to say. He was sure that there were cameras on them, that Panem now knew the truth that they had barely come to terms with themselves, but he didn't care. There was a rather large chance that he wasn't going to leave the arena again, and it didn't seem fair to keep himself from Katniss. He loved her, and he didn't want his last moments with her to be anything but authentic.

“Use the signal,” he murmured after pulling away from her lips, enough space between them to speak. Gently, his thumb brushed her cheek, following the angle of her cheekbone as his blue eyes connected with her grey ones. He took the time to look at her, to commit her to memory before placing one last kiss on her forehead and pulling away entirely. “I'll set up camp, get a fire started,” he added, back to business for the moment as he picked up the extra backpack and slung it over his shoulder. 

When it came to the arena, a fire was never a good idea. The smoke could be seen from miles away on a clear day, and at night, the careers were like so many moths to a flame. Unfortunately, fire was unavoidable, and Haymitch hoped that he and Katniss could find something to eat, cook it and then put the fire out before anyone found their position. The last thing he wanted was another run in with a career. 

The relief that came through Gale's voice and his face was enough to make Prim smile. She had been worried about him, and if simple water hadn't worked, the next step was putting berries on the boils and letting the toxins leech out—it was a slow process, and fortunately, something that neither of them would have to suffer through. “You're welcome,” she replied quietly, her smile remaining as the question was turned around on her. The blonde nodded, feeling fine physically, just a little shaken up. “I'm okay. Don't worry about me.” She hoped that Katniss and Haymitch hadn't been in the mist, and the last thing she wanted to think was that those screams had belonged to her sister. Morbidly, Prim supposed she would find out when the sun set.

Now that Gale was healed, there were new issues to deal with, and Prim wasn't pleased with the idea of going back out into the arena just to cook the squirrel they had caught. It would have been one thing if they hadn't run all the way back into town, but being inside made her feel safe and trapped at the same time—leaving seemed like a good way to get killed, especially when a fire was involved. Biting at her lower lip, the blonde contemplated on what to do next. Worst of all, it wouldn't be very long before the first day came to an end and the thought of flailing around in the darkness with no shelter and no food only made her more nervous. Although it was a double-edge sword, the lesser of two evils was getting dinner while they could. “We can't cook in here. They'll see the smoke,” she said with a shake of her head.

“If you cook, I'll search the other buildings for supplies,” she proposed, wondering how Gale would take the idea of splitting up, “that way, neither of us are just sitting here and waiting to be...well,” she trailed off, shrugging. It was the best that they could do in her mind, and Prim wanted to remain productive because it didn't take two people to start a fire and cook a squirrel. “I'm smaller than you,” the blonde added, as if to convince him, “I can hide if someone comes.”