The Hunger Games- What If's (Fan Fiction)

Chapter Twenty-Six

   I wake up in my old room in the Training Center. I silently thank Haymitch for at least getting someone else, if not bringing me by himself, up into my bed.

   Of course, I feel like someone just threw me on the bed and walked out based on the position I'm in, but I would have done the same.

   I notice I'm incredibly thirsty and sit up too quickly. I feel dizzy, and I just need to get water. I stumble over my own feet into the bathroom, then hit all the buttons next to the sink until I see water. Of course, I manage to get water all over my shirt in the process, but it doesn't matter, because I'm chugging down water by what seems to be the gallon.

   "Thanks for forcing me to drink something, Haymitch," I mumble into my beautiful, wonderful fountain of water that's cascading down my abdomen and seeping its way into my pants.

   After about one whole minute, I step away from the sink and press all of the buttons that are still on. I heave a great sigh of relief and contentment. That is, until I realize my hunger. I can hear my stomach groaning, yearning for food. I groan loudly and obnoxiously, since nobody is around to hear.

   "Oh goodness, Haymitch said that you looked like a wreck!" Effie's shrill voice meets my ears.

   I guess somebody was around to hear. . . .

   "Come, come. We must get some food into you! It's almost time for your big, big day!" Effie ushers me out of the bathroom, pushing me in front of her. Today her theme color is orange; it's very unbecoming on her.

   "Wait, what?" I'm not really sure what Effie means by "big day," considering that Linsky and I don't go into battle for . . . well, I guess that I was never told when or where we would be fighting. So, I guess the big day could be. . . .

   "Tomorrow! Tomorrow, Katniss! Remember, tomorrow is when you have a special presentation for the final stand-off with Linsky? No? Come on, we told you this!" There is a hint of malice in Effie's voice which I simply can't place.

   I say no more, finding it best not to argue. I think of District 12, and of Prim. I wonder how she's dealing with everything going on, even now. I sigh silently and hope with all my might that she is with Gale, and he is making sure that she's calm.

   I'm marched directly into the dining area, where Cinna is already seated,  and Haymitch staggers in from another room. Cinna smiles at me, and I smile back. I take my place next to the now seated Haymitch, who seems oddly sober. As in, really, really sober. Alert.

   "Is something wrong?" I ask.

   Haymitch gives me a look. "What are you talking about, sweetheart?"

   "Oh, it's just that you're not the slightest bit drunk, haven't you noticed?" I stare intently at Haymitch, who sends me a death glare.

   "Let's not be smart, princess. Now, do you remember being told about the special presentation tomorrow?" Haymitch asks me, but I don't hear him.

   At the exact moment Haymitch started talking, three of the several Avoxs' brought out delicious looking--and smelling--platters of food. I can't really help myself, and dig in instantly. Haymitch rolls his eyes, Cinna stifles a laugh, and Effie mutters, "Manners!" remorsefully.

   "Wait, where's Portia?" I ask, a spoon filled with purple goo in my hand stopping mid-air.

   "She's not really necessary now, Katniss. She thought that she made you uncomfortable, anyway," Cinna suggests softly, but I just can't take it.

   "I know Peeta's dead. You don't have to shield me from it. I was there when he died. I'm fine!" My tone suggests otherwise, and the purple glob, spoon and all, falls onto the glass table.

   "Oh!" Effie shrieks. An Avox comes to clean it immediately.

   "Are you planning on answering my question?" Haymitch asks me as though nothing just happened.

   "I don't know. What was the question?" I fill my mouth with a bite of warm, delicious bread directly after I finish asking "my question."

   "I told you not to get smart, didn't I sweetheart? Now, you listen to me. I've got a theory going that they're going to have you fight each other tomorrow. Don't ask me how, I'm not a Gamemaker, thankfully. Anyway, you have to be ready. I'm actually thinking of having a concealed weapon on you tomorrow for that purpose," Haymitch tells me.

   "There's a special flap in your dress. Don't worry; it's also able to convert into a black and white pair of pants and a baggy shirt. We've thought of everything," Cinna tells me. I nod.

   "Okay, but won't anyone check for that sort of thing?" I ask apprehensively.

   "Well, if they do search you and find anything, what are they going to do? They'll take it. End of story. It's not as if they're going to kill you themselves; that's what Linsky's for." Haymitch's eyes are suddenly cold and icy.

   "Haymitch. . . ." Effie begins, but Haymitch cuts her off.

   "What? She said not to shield her from anything, so I'm not. Listen, it is basically impossible to get out of that arena unless you're dead or the last tribute alive. That's what those trackers were for; they did not only track where you were in the arena, but they also managed your vitals. I don't know why, but I think Linsky was placed in the Games for a reason this year. If not, she's a damn lucky girl, coming back from the dead and all." Haymitch takes a sip of his juice, which I notice he doesn't put any liquor into.

   "Why would they do that?" I ask plainly.

   "I just told you, I don't know why."

   "Has there ever been a Games like that before? Where another tribute might not actually be dead?" I think out loud.

   Effie lets out a high-pitched laughter of some sort. "Of course not! Why on earth would the Gamemakers do that? It's preposterous! Inconceivable! Besides, the Capital wouldn't allow that sort of thing, since they're--"

   "Fair to all districts, I know. You've said all this before," I interrupt her curtly.

   "Well then!" Effie scoffs and turns back to her plate of food. I notice that mine is half empty. When did that happen?

   "Do you have any idea of what the battle between us will be like?" I make an attempt to change subjects, which Cinna picks up on immediately.

   "I can't decide if this 'final round' is going to ring true to the Hunger Games," Cinna states. "How could it, really? Unless they held another reaping this year, and are going to hold another Games."

   At that thought, I gasp. A sudden idea occurs to me; it's an idea that could so obviously be the deciding factor of my life and death, of how I face Linsky.

   "That would mean the 75th Annual Hunger Games," I say, a little upset nobody catches on. "The Quarter Quell."

   Sounds of realization fill the air.

   "If that's the case, then what would the rules be?" Haymitch asks stubbornly.

   "That depends on the Gamemakers," I reply coolly.

   "It is certainly something to consider," Effie joins in, coming back from her fit of silence.

   "That's good, Katniss. That might just be what ends up happening," Cinna nods in my direction.

   "Well," Haymitch begins, rising from the table, "I suppose we had better get to work then. Come on, sweetheart."

   I hesitate only briefly before I follow Haymitch out of the room; there's no need for me to ask any questions.