...because Woody Harrelson sneak-attacked me by somehow managing to make his Haymitch much more interesting character than it was supposed to be considering how little screen-time he got - but, of course, that might be because I'm getting too old to appreciate the appeal of the male teenage leading characters ;) their portrayals just seemed pale to me, no offence to the fans.

Just to clear things up in case you're leery of the pairing, this fic is mostly about seeking comfort and understanding, so whether or not you choose to read it as shippy in a romantic sense (I personally don't have a problem with that, but I know some of you might) is entirely up to you.

Timeline: This story takes place in Thirteen, before Peeta is rescued.

Rated T, because I'm paranoid (mostly for the swearing).

P.S. To my True Blood and SVM readers: I'm sorry for neglecting you! I have a half-translated bonus chapter of Forget-me-not sitting on my computer, but my muse had been so jumpy lately I'm trying to catch her and write down whatever she's blabbing about at the moment while it lasts, because there is no telling how long it would!

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Hunger Games universe. I'm just playing with them (...but there are worse games to play... okay, I'll shut up now and just let you read the story).

Steps echoed on the concrete floor as two guards made their way down the long, dimly lit corridor. It was late night hours and according to the schedule all citizens that were not on duty were supposed to be already in their rooms, so all the hallways were empty and the sound could be heard long after they passed.

The two stopped in front of one of the identical sliding doors leading to the living units and pushed it open without knocking. An irritated groan sounded in the room as the man lying on the bed came into the view. His face scrunched awfully when the light landed on him.

"What the hell?" he asked in a raspy voice with more than a hint of hostility.

"We're sorry for intruding, Mr. Abernathy…"

"…you damn should be!"

"…Miss Everdeen is missing from the hospital wing again. Have you seen her in the last few hours?"

"That would require for me to have my eyes open."

He shot the soldiers a glare when they didn't move from the doorway.

"No!" he growled exasperated. "Of course I didn't see her! I was sleeping!"

"Do you mind if we take a look inside…?"

Haymitch lifted his head and impatiently pushed back the hair that was falling into his eyes.

"Are you kidding me?" he asked. "Do you really think I'm hiding her in my closet?"

One of the guards looked uncertainly around the small, bare room until his gaze landed on the open metal closet in the corner – there really weren't many other places to hide in there.

"It's clear," he said to his colleague. "Apologies, Mr. Abernathy. We've already searched the entire level and didn't find her, so we're now checking in the rooms belonging to the people she knows…"

Haymitch let out a bitter chuckle.

"And you thought she'd come to me?"

And uncomfortable silence followed his question. It wasn't exactly a secret that the mentor's and his young victor's relationship was seriously strained at the moment.

"Good luck," Haymitch muttered before effectively ending the conversation by flipping on his side and turning his back to the guards.

"You people should work on figuring out the meaning of the word privacy!" he called out when he heard the door sliding back into place and the room once again filled with darkness.

He waited until their steps faded completely in the distance before saying in a normal volume: "You can come out now."

Katniss jerked in surprise and bit her lip to keep herself from making a sound.

"…unless, of course, you enjoy lying under my bed."

She almost started telling him why she was there – she had had a nightmare – but then remembered that he hadn't earned the right to hear any explanations from her, even when the situation really asked for one, and changed her mind about telling him anything.

"How long did you know I was here?" she asked reluctantly instead.

"Long enough."

Oh, joy, she thought.

"You covered for me. Why?"

"I'm not a rat."

She didn't have much to say to that.

She knew it was stupid – sneaking into his room and hiding under his bed, but she had been wandering near his door and once the idea had popped into her head, seemingly out of nowhere, she couldn't get rid of it. There was something about the element of surprise that spoke to her in a twisted way: after all, as he had pointed out, it was the last place in the world they should have expected her to come.

She didn't want to admit it, but at the time even the thought of him being in the same space hadn't seemed so bad – in fact, knowing that he slept with a knife and would most likely lash out at anybody who would try to come too close made her feel more secure – anyone who wanted to pry her out of her hiding spot would have to get through him first.

Of course, she wasn't counting on him finding out that she was there. She realised that even though he didn't rat her out, he probably wanted her gone and she needed to move. The thought sent her body back into a shivering fit and close to hyperventilating. She couldn't help it. It was involuntary reaction.

She tried not to let the panic seep into her voice: "I'll go, I just… I want to wait until they're further away so they don't catch me. Just…" she squeezed her eyes shut in defeat realizing she was about to use the same phrase she was repeating every time the guardians found her hiding in some dark corner. "…five more minutes."

She curled into an even smaller ball than before when she heard an answering grunt from above her head, dreading the inevitable 'go to hell' from Haymitch. She knew she'd have to go then, whether she was ready or not – she had no intention of begging him to let her stay under his bed.

"Suit yourself, sweetheart," he rumbled instead. "You can sit there as long as you wish, I don't really care."

It took her a moment to comprehend what he said.

She let out a shaky breath. So… he wasn't kicking her out after all. Not that it changed how she felt about him. She hasn't forgiven him.

"I still hate you," she tossed childishly just to remind him.

"I know," was his simple reply.

They fell silent after that and Katniss found the quiet pleasant. She was slowly working on evening her breathing and calming down. Surprisingly enough, the after-nightmare anxiousness that usually didn't leave her for long periods of time was subsiding rather quickly now that she knew that no-one was going to haul her out of her hiding spot and she could stay there in peace. In a matter of minutes, she managed to get herself mostly under control and she was good to go – only she realized that she didn't want to. The thought of coming back held no appeal to her.

I must have finally gone mad, she thought irritated at her irrational desire to stay in this ridiculous, nasty hiding-hole.

It was cramped, dusty and dark, but it felt safe.

"I couldn't find him," Haymitch said suddenly, startling her.

She tensed, wary of what he might say next.

"I know you that think I betrayed you by going behind your back and pulling you out of the arena instead of Peeta, but think about it, Katniss – do you really believe that I would have got Beetee and Finnick out, but not bother to take him with us, if I had any choice in the matter?" he continued without waiting for her reply.

She grit her teeth and said nothing to either acknowledge or contradict his statement. She didn't want to listen – she didn't want him to talk about that – she didn't want to think about that – but dammit, she deserved an explanation, so she wasn't going to shut him down when he was finally willingly taking his spot on the hot seat. She would not do anything to encourage him to leave it even a second sooner than he intended.

"When I made you a promise, I meant it. But I also meant what I promised Peeta. I was hell bent on finding a way to keep my word to both of you – and for a moment, I thought I did find it."

His voice was different – tired, strangely rough and somehow un-Hamitch-like, though not entirely unpleasant. It was lacking something signature and it took her a few seconds to realise what it was. She had never before heard it devoid of sarcasm. It made it sound… raw. Almost vulnerable.

They never talked like this, and it spooked her a little, but then she relaxed again – here, in the darkness, without seeing each other faces, with the wall of the mattress separating them – yes, here, and probably only here, there was no use for masks and shields they had built out of scowls, sharp words and snark.

"Do you want to know what happened? Things got out of control. The careers caught up with you and Johanna. She acted faster than she was supposed to and couldn't explain to you what she was doing when she cut out your tracker. The cord was cut, so Finnick realised you two were in trouble and ran after you. Peeta thought you had been betrayed and knocked out Beetee – why do you think he was only unconscious and not dead? No career would have left him alive! - He then ran into the forest, searching for you. I was afraid the whole plan went to hell and we wouldn't be able to get you out, but luckily, you destroyed the force field instead of Beetee, only by then, Peeta was too far away. We didn't find him in time. I didn't lie to you. Or at least I didn't plan on it. I simply screwed up."

She was staring into the darkness, her eyes wide open, but unseeing. Part of her still didn't want to hear what he was telling her, but part of her needed to hear it. Not to mention, part of her had already known it.

"I know I failed. I always do. But not because I chose to give up on him. Leaving him there was never a part of the plan. The plan was always to get you both out."

She shut her eyes, desperately trying to squash the sting she could feel building behind her lids, still stubbornly not uttering a single word in response.

She knew. Of course she knew. She'd known it from the beginning, it was just easier to hate him, to have some kind of outlet for her helpless anger – but deep down she'd always known. They were, after all, very similar. Their minds worked in the same way. He never showed that, but she had no doubt that he loved Peeta too – he loved them both. So of course he would refuse to choose – just like she had when she had pulled out that handful of berries. It was so glaringly obvious she was surprised she could have missed it and ever believe, even for a moment, that had agreed to make that choice. When she thought of that with a clear head, when she asked herself a question what she thought Haymitch would do when everyone – including herself, Peeta and, most of all, the Capitol – pressured him into choosing… well, of course he would choose to do something that would be one, giant 'fuck-you'… and that would start a rebellion.

They really were much alike.

Was she still mad at him? Yes. But he was also her only true ally in all this mess and the only person capable of really understanding. Alienating herself from him was doing her no favours. She suspected he was doing a good job at beating himself up for what had happened, though he never talked about that. If anything, this mid-night confession was proof enough for that.

Of course, he should have told her what had been going on. He shouldn't have let her go into that arena blindly – but then again, he knew her. He had proved that very recently when he had diagnosed correctly what she needed to do in order to be able to play the Mockingjay's part: that she operated best when her acts were unscripted. It had been then when she had caught a glimpse of understanding for the first time – a glimpse that she had viciously pushed away. Understanding of why he had done what he had back then. That maybe him not telling her had been motivated not by his lack of trust in her, but by too much trust. That maybe he had thought that if she stayed alert, not lulled by the sense of false security of having allies and a plan, and assessed the situation on her own, she would make the best choice in the critical moment.

And there it was.

The truth: that she was just as mad at herself as she was at him.

Neither of them said anything after he stopped talking – nor five minutes later, when she abruptly rolled and quickly crawled out from under the bed, barely slowing to kick off her shoes, before unceremoniously tearing her way through the covers and all but leaping at him; nor when she buried her face in his chest and gripped him with much more strength than necessary; nor when his arms moved to circle her waist and shoulders while she clang to him and when she felt him pressing a kiss to her head.

Her death grip on him loosened only when she fell asleep – which came surprisingly easily to her.

I seriously don't know what I'm going to write next, but in case you're interested in reading more of my works for other fandoms, check my profile. In case you're interested in me writing more for this fandom - let me know. You never know when the inspiration strikes, so no promises, but it helps to stay motivated if I know there are people who would like to read whatever I manage to produce.

Thank you for reading!