Finally, the intercom crackles and Hatmitch's acerbic laugh fills the studio. He contains himself just long enough to say, 'And that, my friends, is how a revolution dies.

He wants as many victors as possible for the cameras to follow in the Capitol. Thinks it makes for better television."

"Are you and Beetee going?" I ask.

"As many young and attractive victors as possible," Haymitch corrects himself. "So, no. We'll be here.

Something flickers across his bloodshot eyes. Pain.

While I was waiting...I ate your lunch.

I think of the snarling, cruel exchange back on the hovercraft. The bitterness that followed. But all I say is "I can't believe you didn't rescue Peeta."
"I know," he replies.
There's a sense of incompleteness. And not because he hasn't apologized. But because we were a team. We had a deal to keep Peeta safe. A drunken, unrealistic deal made in the dark of night, but a deal just the same. And in my heart of hearts, I know we both failed.
"Now you say it," I tell him.
"I can't believe you let him out of your sight that night," says Haymitch.

Yeah, we wouldn't want to lose our little Mockingjay when she's finally begun to sing.