Redemption

Summary: Five women that Haymitch couldn't save. And one women who saved herself.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.

Maysilee Donner

If it weren't for the Games, Haymitch never would have known Maysilee Donner. She was two years younger than him. The daughter of a Merchant. There was no reason for their paths to cross.

But The Hunger Games had a way of bringing people together from all kinds of walks of life.

Maysilee was his ally, although it had never been his intention to align himself with anyone in the Games. He was smart enough to know that an alliance wouldn't last. And Maysilee was smart enough to know that an alliance, for however long it lasted, was the only way to make it through the arena.

It was why the Careers always made it to the final few. Not because they were stronger or deadlier than the rest of them. But because that there were six of them. The Gamemakers couldn't hurt them while they were grouped together like that.

So long as he and Maysilee were together they were safe. Or as safe as you could be in an arena filled the deadliest, most beautiful creatures and plants he would ever see.

But alliances didn't last. They both knew that. When the numbers dwindled down to the final five they went their separate ways, saved the horror of having to turn on a friend for the sake of their own survival.

He always regretted it.

On particularly bad days he thought about how he would have killed Maysilee Donner.

He would have given her a good death. He would have killed her better than they did. He wouldn't have chased her down and drawn out the event for the sake of a coldblooded audience. He wouldn't have killed her like they did, with sharp, deadly beaks and cool, merciless strikes calculated to inflict immeasurable pain.

It would have been a swift death. One blow. Abrupt and precise. He wouldn't let her see it coming.

But he hadn't been brave enough to kill her himself. He'd let her go. Let the Capitol kill her their way instead of giving her the death that she deserved.

They were a thing of his nightmares. Bright, beautiful birds with their graceful necks and plumes of brilliantly coloured feathers. Swarming around her. Driving her into the jungle. They pecked and prodded and ripped at her skin as she died slowly and painfully, her blood seeping into the sweet smelling flowers surrounding her.

He stayed with her as she died, holding her hand as the life left her. There was nothing he could do.

He was already too late to save her.

Nessie Willamore & Alyss Abernathy (& Cassander Abernathy)

He survived the arena. And for a brief moment in time he thought that meant it was over. He was a Victor now. He'd done his time. Now he could enjoy the spoils of his victory.

If only.

Because now he had to go back to District Twelve where he would be the only Victor. Where he would have to face the families of Maysilee, Deirdre, and Merrick. Where he would have to mentor the children of District Twelve every year and have to choose who he would save, even though he knew the answer was neither. Where he would be forced into solitude, because that was the only way to survive.

There was no Victory – could be no Victory. The Games weren't over just because he'd made it out of the arena.

There was only one way out of the Games and President Snow made it clear to his Victors that death wasn't an option.

The train ride back to District Twelve seemed somehow longer than the ride to the Capitol. Perhaps because he was alone this time – no borrowed mentor or Capitol escort, no fellow tributes. Perhaps it was simply the sense of overwhelming dread that struck him every time he thought about what was waiting for him in District Twelve.

His life would never be the same again.

There was no crowd awaiting his arrival when the train finally arrived in District Twelve. No media presence wanting to document the reunion. Not even Cassander waiting eagerly to point out all the ways he'd been stupid in the arena. The tiny platform was completely empty.

And that's when he saw it. A plume of smoke rising from the Seam.

He dropped everything – discarding the suitcases full of fancy Capitol clothing and gifts for his little brother – and took off running in the direction of the smoke. He knew even before he was within sight of the flames that it was his old home.

The narrow streets of the Seam were filled with people drawn out of their homes by the smell of smoke. As he got closer to his old home it became more difficult to move through the crowd of people. He pushed and fought his way through, not caring what any of them would think of him later.

But he eventually he could go no further. Four Peacekeepers suddenly surrounded him, holding him back and keeping him from getting to them.

"We can't let you go in there, Mr Abernathy," the Head told him, his voice cool and his expression cruel. "We can't have the Quarter Quell Victor risking his life."

He tried to protest. He tried to fight against them. But there were four of them, all expertly trained and in top physical question. He was just a half-starved Seam boy still recovering from having to hold in his own entrails.

No one made a move towards the burning structure.

The Peacekeepers held him in place, making sure he watched as his childhood home burned to the ground.

He didn't need to ask if anyone was inside. They were all there. His mother and Cass. Nessie. No one would survive.

He stopped fighting, let his body go slack. Let the Peacekeepers drag him back to his new home in the Victors Village.

He knew which house was his by the two bouquets of sickly sweet roses sitting on the doorstep with a brief note penned by the hand of Coriolanus Snow:

To Your Victory.

Katniss Everdeen (& Peeta Mellark)

There was blood on his hands.

The blood of those tributes he'd killed by his own hand and those that the Capitol had killed on his behalf.

The blood of those who had paid for his arrogance. His sin. Dead because he had the audacity to make the Capitol look foolish.

The blood of forty-six children who hadn't made it out of the arena. Who he couldn't have saved even if he was trying.

And then there was Katniss.

She had survived the arena, and as a reward for that feat, he doomed her to some worser fate.

They would never stop being the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve. Every year the Capitol would parade the two of them in front of the audiences, reminding everyone of how in love they were. How The Hunger Games had brought them together.

For the rest of her life she would have to play the part of love-sick teen and she would never be allowed a life of her own.

She would never be safe for as long as she lived.

Euphemia Trinket

It was a quarter to midnight. The arena was in chaos. Everyone in the viewing lounge was glued to their television set.

No one would notice him leaving.

No one but Effie Trinket, who was tense in her seat beside him, waiting for Beetee's plan to come to fruition. It wouldn't, of course. At least not the way that he had described it. But hopefully by the time people realized that they'd have gotten the Victors out of the arena and be on their way to District Thirteen.

"Where are you going?" she asked him as he stood up, her voice sounding small.

He shrugged. "Gotta take a leak."

She didn't say anything, but the look on her face spoke volumes. "Now," it said. "You need to go to the bathroom now?"

She was tired, the long hours of the Quell showing on her normally over made-up face. Too tired to properly nag him about skiving off when he ought to be watching out for the kids. The only thing keeping her awake was her worry over Peeta and Katniss and whether the kids would survive the night

It saved him from having to come up with a better excuse. "I'll be back in time, sweetheart," he said. He knew it was a lie.

Effie didn't push it, although her face pinched into an annoyed look.

You'll be in for it tomorrow, the little nagging voice at the edge of his consciousness told him. Only there would be no tomorrow. He'd be gone and Effie would be here.

Alone.

Safe, he corrected, his mental voice firm in its resolve. She'll be safe.

Effie was Capitol. She had no ties to the Rebellion. She'd be safer here in the Capitol, even once they were under siege, than in District Thirteen where Coin was likely to punish her for her role in The Hunger Games.

His next move was rash and probably gave the whole thing a way. But it was the last time he was going to see Effie Trinket and he couldn't just leave without a word. For a cold, heartless drunk he sure was a sentimental fool sometimes.

He quickly ducked down and pressed a kiss against the top of her head. "Stay safe, sweetheart," he whispered, holding his position for about half a breath.

Then he left, not daring to look back. Not allowing himself to second-guess the decision.

He needed her to stay safe. And leaving was the only way he knew how to protect her.