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Chapter 3:

A Change of Tactics

"He's definitely not going to come apologise."

That's where Haymitch was mistaken.

After our talk, we each retired to our respective rooms to clean up and prepare for the dinner with Cinna and Portia. Effie was long gone to chat with the stylists and Haymitch went to award himself with a trip to the bar for his fantastic dedication to our cause. I watch him in disapproval with my arms crossed as he unhooks a coat and saunters out the door.

"A man needs to get paid, my boy," he'd said as he wanders into the elevator.

Indeed.

Now it was just Katniss, myself and a couple of avoxes in a giant underground compartment.

Katniss had locked herself in her room, requesting a good sleep and I'd wandered to my own, deciding that a good shower would be appropriate to get out the kinks in my shoulders. I'd stripped off slowly and tentatively stepped into the shower stall. At my first attempt I'd run face first into the glass, moaning before groping my way to find the proper entrance to the stall. After that things continued to go downhill. Nothing worked, everything was a massive array of complicated buttons and there was no end in sight. My 'relaxing' shower had ended up in myself jumping in and out of the glass stall as I was attacked by various machinery and multi-coloured bubbling concoctions that were sickeningly sweet as they attacked my eyes and every other available pore. When I finally stepped out of the bathroom, releasing swirls of steam into the bedroom, I smelt like roses and another hundred other flowers.

There's a sudden loud, calculated knock on the door and I sigh.

At least someone delivered Haymitch back before he passed out, probably dumping him at the door. My best guess are disgruntled Peacekeepers.

I wrap a soft white towel securely around my waist as the knocking continues impatiently. God, are all these people so rude?

"I'm coming!" I say as I wipe the rolling beads of water off my chest.

I push a button that reads 'dry' and a pleasant gust of warm air shimmers through my hair and after a few further blows and my hair was back into a loosely stylish do. I raise my eyebrows. Huh. Not bad. The knocking starts again, this time louder and I sigh, walking out of my room. As I reach the front door, I'm still wet and the towel is starting to slip.

"God, just leave him there," I start as I pull the door open but it's who's there that shocks me.

I almost let my towel fall.

Almost.

Haymitch is there, drunk as expected, but he's leaning off a much more unwelcome guest. Haymitch is half-falling over and it's Cato that's supporting him with one of the drunkard's arm looped around his strong broad shoulders. He's dressed in a fitting grey suit with a black dress shirt and a silver tie that he's loosened. A fresh sheen of sweat coats his forehead and I remind myself that the District Two floor is quite a walk from here. I'm surprised he's put in the effort. He's probably getting ready for his own dinner with the stylists and I can't help but admire his good looks and physique that is only further emphasized by his carefully selected clothes. I mentally smack myself. Focus, Peeta. He looks me once over and there's a dazed look in his eyes as he graces me with a trademark sarcastic smile. I realise how I must look, half-naked and probably as if I've been slapped in the face and I hurriedly school my features.

"Thanks," I voice curtly and haul Haymitch in.

I just about slam the door in his face in embarrassment but as I do so a leather-clad foot whips out and stops it in its path. I haul it back open with a sigh. He's looking very amused now, gold eyes twinkling with mirth in the light.

"Not going to invite me in?"

I cough awkwardly and shake my head.

"You've caught me while indecent," I say uneasily but I'm not quick enough as he kicks the door open with his heel.

"It'll do," he says with a smirk, walking in confidently and dumping the rest of Haymitch's weight on me.

"Well, do come in," I reply sarcastically as I quickly dive down to keep my towel from slipping any further. "Give me a moment, will you? I need to take Haymitch to his room and put on some clothes."

"And who says I have any desire to stay?"

"Well then, by all means, you know where the door is," I say with gritted teeth.

"Relax, princess. As my presence seems to annoy you, I think I'll grace you with it for a little longer." He continues with a chuckle. "What are you, a pansy? You smell like a fucking flower field."

I really can't believe this guy, the nerve he has to do this on my own floor. I mumble something about faulty showers before I turn away but as I begin to drag Haymitch down the hall, Cato catches up with me and grabs Haymitch by the arm again, transferring the weight onto himself.

"Let me," he offers. "Go get changed."

I watch his back as he disappears with a raised brow but nonetheless retire to my room. I make sure to lock it firmly before throwing the towel to the side and slipping on a pair of black silk dress pants Effie has already lain out for our dinner. I pull on the white button up dress shirt and pull on the tie loosely. I don't bother to do it up properly. I hear the sound of impatient knocking on my door this time and I pull it open to see Cato's impeccable suit splattered with drying vomit. I put a hand over my nose and mouth instinctively but I'm too slow to stop the laugh that escapes. He smiles briefly but his eyes harden in remembrance of something and he adjusts his tie nervously. I look up at him as he clears his throat anxiously.

"I came for a reason," he says confidently but by the sudden pitch in his voice it becomes obvious how uncomfortable he is.

"And?"

He covers his eyes with his hand for a second before staring at me evenly.

"I came here in hope that you would accept my…" he pauses as if something is physically paining him. "Apology for my earlier behaviour."

By the relief on his face is seems as if that was equivalent to overcoming his worse fears. He looks at me expectantly like a child and when I finally recover from my initial shock I raise a hand to pat his cheek again. I put on my sweetest smile.

"No."

I turn around and it takes him a while to register my words before he explodes.

"What? No? In fact, you should be the one fucking apologising. God, I can't believe I agreed to this," he shouts.

"Ha!" I shout triumphantly, turning around wildly and brandishing my finger. "I knew it! Clove set you up to this, didn't she?"

He looks at me surprised and then buries his head in his hands.

"Oh god, did that little witch tell you everything?"

I stare at him quizzically.

"What? I've never even spoke to Clove. What the hell are you on about? She just seems like a decent person, is all," I say confusedly.

"And I'm not?" Cato offers with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, I'm sure beneath all that cockiness and vomit there's a good enough guy. At least you had the guts to come apologise and I guess that's admirable. Go to my ensuite, take a shower. You stink," I reason.

He edgily complies but glares at me before closing the bathroom door.

"For the record, this doesn't make us that rubbish called friends," he yells angrily. "And I'm not a softie for princesses like you."

"Just shut up," I say and slam the door shut on him. "You're an arse as soon as you open your mouth!"

I lay on my back on the soft golden sheets, my head resting on my hands as I contemplate the strangeness of my current predicament. Cato, District Two, has just seen me half-naked, brought my drunk mentor back up several floors, been vomited on, has goddamn apologised to me and is now showering in my ensuite. I shake my head at the very absurdity. I hear a shout from the bathroom but I'm not worried.

"Fuck! Fucking glass!"

I smiled maliciously and cross my fingers that he'll gets sprayed with scalding water.

"Fuck! Fucking water! This is ridiculous!"

I let him deal with the Capitol crap himself and when I finally hear the door creak open, I smile and sit up.

"Enjoy that?" I say but my grin drops off my face as soon as I see him.

I just manage to get a look at the top half of him, his pack of eight glistening with water as he steps out of the bathroom naked. I don't allow myself to indulge any further and duck under the sheets, hissing obscenities as I do so.

"Put some clothes on!" I shout, muffled by the blankets.

My face is burning. Unfortunately, due to a badly-timed crush, a lack of time to wank off and my unquestionable attraction to men, seeing Cato stark naked wasn't the best thing for me right now. Luckily though I had the blankets to cover my little problem and he seemed to not notice. My red face was probably evidence enough for him and I hear him chuckle. The sheets are now raised above my head as I wait for him to find pants from my endless wardrobe. He orders a few different sizes, dries his hair. He tears away the blanket from my blushing face.

"Liked what you saw, princess?" he states with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows.

Seeing his face so close snaps me out of my daze and I push his face away angrily and begin to shove him towards the door. He seems to find my embarrassment the funniest thing ever.

"Don't call me that, bastard!" I shout as he saunters down my hallway. "And no, don't flatter yourself!"

"Whatever you say, princess!" he bellows back before closing the door behind him.

I fume as I watch the closed door but double-take when I hear Haymitch's annoying guffaws behind me. There he is, completely sober, watching me thoughtfully like a cat that just got the cream. He leans against the marble kitchen counter casually, pouring himself spirits but apart form that he seems perfectly stable and sane. Everything suddenly clears out.

"You weren't drunk at all," I accuse.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, princess," he says with a cackle. "It worked didn't it?"

"What did?" I say confusedly.

"He apologised, a total step forward and that wasn't even on my account. I actually took him here to get you two to sort out your issues with fists but it seems like they were solved in a different way entirely." He says with a seductive look.

"Get pissed," I spit angrily.

"Now that I think about," he ponders out loud. "I really do deserve it! Now, at dinner, we're going to sit down with your stylists, discuss some new tactics. Now, I'm going to get pissed. So please excuse me, you're highness."

I dearly hope he doesn't bump into Cato again. I've had my share of humiliation for today, I believe. As he bows at me sardonically I ball up my towel and throw it as hard as I can at the back of his head.

I miss by a good metre.

"Peeta!"

I'm stunned as I hear my name called in three different pitched voices, all equally excited and jittery.

I turn and at the door stands Portia, flanked by Fortune and Rose, followed by a quietly amused Cinna who winks at me and Katniss with his eyes which are lined in shimmering silver this time. Fortune and Rose are around me in seconds, jumping up and down like children and I smile at their oblivious antics. Portia opens her arms to Katniss and Cinna stretches his hand out to me with a warm smile.

"Cinna, your partner's stylist. We never officially met."

"Peeta, Peeta Mellark," I say in a raised voice to be heard above Rose's excited talk.

"Decided to bring these two along," he says with a fond glance at the two. "Wouldn't let us leave without them."

"Sounds like them," I say with a laugh.

After an exchange of names, we're seated around a long table and avoxes stream into the room with platters of food. Haymitch seems to have sobered up by now but I smile nastily as I catch him rubbing his temple, no doubt hung-over. He answers my little jab by pouring himself another glass bubbling pink champagne and raising his glass to me. Cinna makes a toast to the District Twelve tributes and our glasses clink above the steam of the food. As we all settle into the main course, Haymitch brings up what he'd mentioned earlier, making eyes contact with especially me. He grabs a butter knife and tinkles his glass hilariously and when this doesn't work, resorts to shouting.

"OY! Over here!," he shouts and all heads turn to him. He stands up and takes a gulp of wine. "Good. Okay, I'd like to request a change in game-plan. As you all know, earlier this evening our darling children made a ruckus and got on the bad side of the tributes from District Two. I'd like to now propose a new way to get our tributes into the Career Bonds, both of them. As a few of you know, the original plan was to befriend each Career and hopefully squeeze ourselves in without much of a fuss or racquet. This seems practical but when it comes down to it, Cato, our leader, will most likely turn on us and stab our backs quicker than we can say 'liquor'!"

There's a murmur of agreement through the table.

"We want our Katniss and Peeta here to make the final few. By eliminating Cato, the Career Bonds will be greatly damaged and most likely severed. After then, you two can hopefully escape and work together to the end."

He stops briefly and leaves a question hanging. What to do if there's just the two of us left?

"So Cato is not one to trust easily and he's fiercely competitive. Being his competition will only get us killed too soon. We have to get him wrapped around our finger and then, when he's least aware, we can get rid of him. Now," he says and gestures at me. "Here is an interesting development. Cato seems to have some strange connection with our boy, Peeta. I saw it when he came to our compartment this afternoon."

Katniss' eyes question me and I remind myself to discuss this later to her. I swallow heavily now. It can't be. Can they really expect me to do that?

"Peeta," Haymitch says, looking at me evenly. "Will you do yourself a favour?"

I struggle to crack a smile.

"And what favour is that, old man?"

"You're going to fake a relationship. At the interviews, you're given several minutes and you'll be asked several questions. Caesar and I are good pals, go way back. I've inserted a question for him to ask you. Once he does, you're going to answer you've got someone special, someone you've got your eyes on, but you won't give it away who. You'll just imply they're here with you and that winning will do you no good. Some will assume its Katniss here, of course but throughout the games, you're going to make it apparent to both the crowd and Cato that it's him. At some point, if you're good enough you can dispose of him and people will deduct that you were simply acting to keep Katniss, your true love, safe and sound. They'll love it, label you cunning, deceptive and yet the romantic at the same time," he says.

Then he sits back down and looks around. Everyone's eyes are trained on me and I can see Katniss watching my actions intently. The weight of the world is on my shoulders. Katniss and my lives depend on my one decision. Whose life is more valuable to me, Katniss' or the District Two boy whose only real contact with me was when he attempted to choke me against a wall? Cato probably is ready to kill us anytime. But was I so cruel, so cunning? Could I even perform such a betrayal? Liam's voice runs through my head.

"Don't change, Peeta."

Has it come down to this?

"Okay," I answer.

Portia gives me a comforting pat on the back and then joins the round of applause that runs across the table. Haymitch raises his glass and watches me.

"To Peeta, Katniss, and against all odds, Victory," he voices loudly over the racquet, toasting with his eyes pinned on me.

It's murmured across our small party and we rise to clink our glasses together and the dinner concludes. As Katniss farewells Cinna and Fortune and Rose are chattering goodbyes with Effie, Portia puts a warm hand on my shoulder then cradles my face in her two hands. She raises my chin to face her and I feel a sudden nostalgia for my mother of all people.

"Peeta, c'mon," she says softly, tilting my face. "Chin up. You can do this, I know you can."

I put one hand of my own over hers.

"Thank you, Portia." I whisper.

Their party departs and Effie waves us goodnight with her usual cheeriness. Katniss gives me a firm look that says 'talk to me later' and walks down the hallway to her room.

When Haymitch hears the clink of her door shutting, he sits down on one of the large beige couches, patting the spot beside him. I silently take a seat at his side. He takes a slender remote from the glass table and clicks a few buttons, pausing as it land on a particular number. The numbers flash across the screen briefly and I wonder the meaning behind it. Fifty, what meaning could it have? We start watching the reaping of a Hunger Game, the Quarter Quell. As usual, the first few districts show strong, healthy tributes, with a few volunteers. The tribute become further bedraggled as the districts go along and when it finally reaches District Twelve and the boy is reaped, my heart goes into my throat. It's a young man, handsome, strong and his blonde hair is shining, almost blinding in the sunlight as he walks onstage. He takes a Capitol woman's hand as he walks up and shakes hands with his fellow tributes. Then he shoots a sarcastic smile to the cameras and my fears are confirmed true.

It's Haymitch Abernathy, young, sixteen and strong.

A young woman, classically beautiful, screams his name from the crowd and breaks down sobbing as he walks past her without a glance. I watch the Haymitch next to me now and see his facial expression actually morph into something other than sarcasm for once. Its sadness and it ages him by almost ten years. Was she his girlfriend? What happened to her?

I know it's difficult for him to watch this.

"Haymitch, please, you don't hav—"

He cuts me off halfway.

"No, this is necessary. You need to understand," He states gruffly. "When you do, you'll see."

We speed watch the 50th Hunger Games but by the time it's ended, I've gotten the basic plot. Haymitch was cunning and with that, he got out alive.

Maysilee Donner, his fellow tribute who he'd shook hands with, had been used by him. For her naivety and innocence she developed an unbreakable bond with him and he used her to protect himself. When it came down to her death, Haymitch still bent at her side, held her as she died with something akin to love and despair in his eyes. But had it really been love in the end? No. His love had been far away with the beautiful girl back home, the only one he could ever really love. I watched him run to the force field, clutching his spilling intestines, watched him smile in relief as the District One girl's head split in half as her axe rebounded. I saw him collapse onto his knees with a pained happiness that he was going back to her. The TV clicks off just as he is being crowned by President Snow.

"What happened to her?" I ask.

"She's dead," he replied blankly, clearing his throat. "My little stunt with the force field cost me her life, along with that of my family. They took her away and I never saw her again, any of them, didn't even bother sending me back ashes. There was nothing to return to eventually except a bottle of liquor and an empty house."

How old was he? Sixteen, wasn't it? I can't imagine such a thing happening to me, to go back to a house that stunk of death and despair.

He clears his throat again.

"But you move on. Drink away another quarter of your life until you find something else to give a shit about," he says sadly, nodding at me. "I know your type. I was once exactly like you, the games changed me. They'll change you too."

"Don't ever change, Peeta,"

"No they won't," I say confidently. "I'm more than just a piece in their games."

"Who'd you make that promise to?" Haymitch asks with a bark of pitiful laughter.

"My brother," I answer determinedly.

"Well," Haymitch says. "Then there's your reason to go home, isn't it?"

"I want Katniss home. There are people who love her back home, those that need her. I told someone important I'd do everything in my power to take her back home. He loves her, like you loved her. Her death…" I stop and swallow heavily. "Her death will break him."

"And you're brother?"

"He'll move on," I reply positively. "Remember me, he will, and then he'll be proud the games never changed me."

Haymitch regards me with beaver eyes then stands up muttering about needing a drink. Somehow he stops himself from going to the spirits and simply pours himself a mixed fruit refreshment. I try to picture the sixteen year old Haymitch, young and healthy. It momentarily closes up my throat as I imagine the last minutes of the girl's life. First to find out of his victory, to experience the relief that he was to come home, only to be followed by her untimely death. What did the Capitol do to her? I don't dare ask. Cut off her tongue, turn her into an Avox? No. They're never so merciful. It's better she's dead, so she's out of her misery. I'm torn.

"A fall from grace is never pretty," Haymitch says absentmindedly.

He's immediately got my attention again.

"I've mentored many great children, kind souls and I've watched every one perish, Game after Game. Innocent before they're in the Games but sooner or later they lose their minds, lose the good will. The Capitol doesn't make the Games to kill off twenty-three children or not just to thin us out. It's to show the strongest of us are driven mad. You haven't seen all the mentors, my boy. They each have their story, each more horrific than the last. We never really leave the Games."

"You're alive, aren't you?" I say. "Surely that must count for something."

"There isn't a day I where I didn't regret surviving. Elizabeth, she'd be alive otherwise."

Elizabeth. That must be her, a pretty name.

"If I change, I change for the better." I reply.

"Boy, you're full of surprises, aren't you?" he says as he pops in a few ice cubes. "I picked you. You and Katniss because I saw myself in both of you, in her stubborn closed-off nature that still exists in me now and the goodness in you that the Games killed. I picked you because I wanted to preserve what you had. It felt like I was saving myself by giving you a chance and so I chose you over her. But one question, Peeta, do you actually love Cato?"

I pause. If our relationship happened anywhere else, maybe yes. But in the short period before the games and during, what's the chance I'd fall for such a brutal guy like him?

"No,"

"Then, you must plan for your own survival, or Katniss'. Whatever you choose in the end, I won't hold it against you. I can't change you and if the Games won't either, then I'll be watching you fighting for Katniss day and night."

His belief in me actually stunts me for a second.

"An idea, Peeta, for you now before the Games. Start writing letters. To your brother, your parents, your home. Explain what's happened, what's happening and it'll drag you through the games. I did it myself, all addressed to Elizabeth. Oh course, they never got to her."

"Then how is there any chance it'll get to them either?" I ask.

"I'll make sure of it,"

There's silence as we weigh up each other before Haymitch growls.

"Go to bed now, you're beginning to annoy me."

"The feeling's mutual, drunkard," I say but we share one more meaningful glance before I begin to head back to find Katniss.

Then, for the first time ever, I'm grateful to have Haymitch Abernathy as my mentor.

TBC…

A/N: I'm sorry that I'm updating this so slowly! These chapters take longer to write than I anticipated. Once again, thank you to my reviewers! Each of your comments are loved! Please review!