Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Birds.

Impossibly large hummingbirds, wings flapping so fast they create winds like a hurricane.

But they couldn't pass the treetops, and I found a cave.

First kill.

Incredibly bright flamingos whose color blinds the naked eye.

But there are sunglasses in the pack I snatched off the boy from District 3 yesterday - after driving a sharpened stick into his back.

Peacocks with feathers that fan out ten times their size, claws on the tips of each mesmerizing plume. (I called them Scorpion-cocks)

But I had a makeshift shield that I crafted with a piece of metal from the cornucopia that blew up when the girl from District 5 rigged a bomb that morning - she was her own downfall on that one. Happy little accident.

2 kills. Self-defense this time.

I'm ready to go home.

A flock of tiny red-tailed Hawks, each bite a poisonous sting.

But even in my confusion and weakness from the bites, I manage to empty my bag, hold onto one of the handles, flinging it through the air, catching a dozen or more tiny hawks, and run. I knew where the last of the Careers had set up camp.

An explosion of feathers, a chorus of 3 voices screaming, and 2 shots from the cannon.

2 kills.

5 kills total.

Home soon.

2 kills left until a victor.

I will go home.

No pack now. No supplies .

A scream.

Run.

Two more kills, just two more kills.

A waterfall, the District 1 boy, and the District 11 boy. A long, long fall to the pool of rocky water.

I give a loud whistle, the kind where I put my fingers in my mouth, the sound echoing off of the dome ceiling of the arena. Two gasps. Two faces turn to me. Two bodies falling in unison.

Two cannon shots.

Going home.

••

Never spoke much. To anyone. And anyone to me, at that. A girl from the Community Home of District 12, no sponsors, no public adoration before the Games, and not a single bet made on her to win.

But I did.

My lack of words was mimicked by my sponsor, Haymitch Abernathy, from day one - but the stunned and speechless looks on his, and Effie Trinket's, faces as I stepped off of that hovercraft earned a single-worded response from me.

“Surprise.”

••

The boy who came with me, a 12-year-old emaciated with sunken eyes, who earned a 2 from the Game Makers, was taken out during the initial bloodbath. No surprise. We didn't speak. So I didn’t feel bad.

If I was consistent with anything, it was my lack of speaking.

Even Caesar Flickerman only received 2 or 3-word answers during my interview. It was my strategy. A strategy I came up with on the day I turned 12. I wasn't having a possibility of being reaped into the Hunger Games without at least a plan - zero confidence in winning, to be frank - but having a plan made the possibility of being reaped a small amount easier to deal with. I had no intentions of surviving, either - but that was before I got reaped.

Something snaps when your name is read in that high-pitched voice for the whole District - all of Panem - to hear.

I hardly remember the reaping, honestly. I remember Effie calling my name, my feet carrying me to the stage, shaking hands with the boy, and then being shuffled away off of the stage and into a rickety old elevator. No one came to say goodbye. Because I didn't have anybody. Just a little niece, 12 years old, who was in the care of the ladies who ran the Community Home - bitches, all of them, I knew they wouldn't let Karin come see me. So I waited. 10 minutes of silence. A Peacekeeper escorted me to the train station. I remember Effie's voice like a murmur as we entered the train, saying something about the way something shines, I have no clue. I didn't eat dinner. I silently, blank-faced, found the bed car, covered myself with a blanket, and fell asleep.

There was nothing special about my time in the Capitol. I remained emotionless and silent, yet completely compliant with whatever they wanted to do with me.

It was my strategy.

I grew a silent fondness for Effie Trinket, honestly. Simply put - a wonderful lady who was wonderfully brainwashed by the Capitol. Her giddiness was almost innocent. Her heart was so big. No matter how silent I was, her voice was always an advocate.

Haymitch, as I mentioned earlier, mimicked my silence - interrupted only by grunts, occasional burps, and a big “way to go”, definitely influenced by the amount of alcohol he had consumed that night, when I received a score of 9 from the Game Makers. He offered no advice. He avoided us really. Especially the boy. But he got water sent to me once in the arena.

After being received by Effie and Haymitch, I walked past them both and into the crowd of my prep team that had begun forming as I made my way off of the craft. I did as they bid.

It was my strategy.

Stripped down. Washed. Disinfected. Washed again. Lotion. Perfume.

Wait for my stylist.

Dress me. Dote me to Caesar. 3-word answers.

It's my strategy.

Gods I’m ready to go home.

Snow. Time to meet President Snow. Time to receive my crown.

My strategy? Innocence. Pure survival. Just get home. All so I can get close enough to President Snow. All to whisper one phrase into his ear.

Sunken face, skinny frame, and white hair to match the name, President Snow approaches with a gold crown.

“Congratulations.” He whispers, almost intimately, a moment between us two, something special , as he lightly places the crown upon my black hair.

“Go fuck yourself.” I whisper in response. My eyes daring his to leave my stare first.

A pause. Arms in the air, fingers had just let go of the crown. But no expression on his face. Nothing but a small smile as he lowers his arms and turns to continue addressing the audience.

What the fuck is he gonna do about it? I have nothing to lose. The rebellious, starving, now 19-year-old (my birthday was during the games, can't remember which day, honestly), girl was satisfied. That's all I wanted. President Snow to know that I do not give a single fuck about him, these Games, this country - if you can call it that. I just wanted to say my piece. That's all the strategy was about. Nothing big. Nothing actually rebellious. Just a simple phrase to let him know he's a fucking monster. Not that he doesn't already know that.

The ceremony ended. Snow left immediately. Effie escorted me off of the stage and I let the prep team start doing their work as I stepped down. They take the crown, place it in a box, take the cape off of my shoulders, and begin rounding me into a car.

Haymitch comes from seemingly nowhere, slamming his hand on the side of the car to stop his fall, he grabs my chin with the other hand to make me look at him and asks, “What did you say to him?” His eyes, while bloodshot from the booze, looked almost panicked. But, like I just said - booze .

I yank my jaw from his grip, climb into the car, and slam the door shut.

••

Home. Just for a few days.

A new house. A shouting match to get my niece from the Community Home. Warm food. Food from home.

Tour.

••

District by district. Family to family.

More time with Effie.

Watching which liquor Haymitch takes so I know which one to try first.

Waking up with my first - but definitely not last - hangover.

••

Home. For good now.

The year after my Games was a quiet one. Like I said, I had no one but my niece. I was naturally a lone wolf kinda gal. Friendly enough when I went into town, the little that I did. But no one to truly call a friend. The closest friend I had was Hattie. I was beginning to frequent her stand in the Hob as much as Haymitch lately.

The nightmares are bad.

Karin and I celebrated her 13th birthday together, just the two of us.

“Why not ask Mr. Abernathy to come over? I'm sure he could use the company.” Karin said quietly, taking a bite of the chocolate cake - chocolate was something she had come to love since I was able to afford such luxuries now. Especially happy that I could afford the cakes decorated by the young baker boy - the kid was talented.

“No.” I answered quickly. I stabbed my slice of cake with my fork and took a bite. Between bites I finished with, “He's an asshole all the time, anyway.”

“Maybe because he's, I don't know, lonely?” Karin said back, snarky, like me.

The amount of sass this girl gives can give my own a run for its money. The difference between us was that she was still young, the world hadn't fully broken her spirit yet. She was kind, sweet, and relentless in all the best ways. Life would never tear her spirit, because now I care for us both in this too-big house courtesy of the Capitol.

“Not an excuse to be an asshole.” I muttered through my last bite of cake. I washed it down with a swig of white liquor.

“Gonna be just like him if you don't stop drinking that shit.” My oh-so-sweet-hearted niece said to me, making her fork sing against the plate as she finished her own piece of cake.

“Language, you little shit.” I spat back, sticking my tongue out at her.

I gathered our plates, dropping them in the sink. I turned on the water and began to rinse the pile of dishes that had accumulated over the past few days. My eyes wandered to stare out the window as I rinsed, placed the dish to the side, and repeated. Haymitch's house was visible from just outside of my kitchen window. Always dark, one light on in what I guessed was the living room, seemed like just a small lamp. And the television. That was always on, night and day. Movement was scarce, but I did glimpse his clumsy silhouette stumbling around through the windows at least once a day. As my mind trailed off, dangerously close to popping memories of the arena through my consciousness, Karin gave a small cough as she came to stand beside me, starting to scrub the dishes that I rinsed.

“Absolutely not.” I say as I grab the sponge and plate from her. “You're not doing dishes on your damn birthday. Go watch some television or play your guitar.” I flicked some soapy bubbles at her face to get her to scram. She didn't object. I heard her giggle as she skipped away, grabbing her guitar from where it leaned against the fireplace.

Sweet melodies filled the home for the next hour as I scrubbed the dishes. Some soft and slow, others I'd categorize as boot-stompin’ .

Karin and I had a secret. A secret known only to us, and Clerk Carmine. We never played our guitars in public, never sang in public. At first, we'd sneak out under the electric fence, run to the meadow, sing our hearts out until we felt we needed to get back. We didn't have Covey blood, or Covey family - for all we knew, anyway, never knew our dads, and our moms disappeared when I was 8 - but we lived the Covey lifestyle the best we could in secret. Clerk Carmine, while no family member and not even a friend, caught Karin and I out in the meadow one night. We were scared at first, until he sauntered over, sat down, and told us an old Covey story, a tale about a woman who disappeared named Lucy Gray. We both knew the legend of Lucy Gray, but we had never heard the story told, let alone told from a Covey himself. He claimed she's the only other Victor District 12 had from the Hunger Games. No one knows that for certain around here anymore - but I believe it.

“Not sure what it is about you girls…” he took a long pause and then sighed. “I just felt like you needed to know all of that. I don't question what the winds tell me to do.” He reached out, squeezed both of our shoulders, and then left.

Never spoke to him again. Only waves and smiles in passing. I would walk past his house on the edge of town just to listen to him play the fiddle and begin memorizing the words to the songs he sang quietly in the comfort of his home. Began teaching myself to play guitar with the old one I found in a dusty closet of the Comminuty Home. I can't tell you how many times I got smacked for “playing too loudly”.

The Covey, while small, still survived in District 12. But, I was already an outsider - I wasn't gonna tie myself to the Covey too. So I kept it quiet, teaching Karin the songs I listened to Clerk Carmine fiddle. But now that we're in a big house, with a single neighbor whose sobriety is almost non-existent, we play our songs all night long, making new ones, and changing lyrics to old ones.

Happiness.

I dried the last dish while finishing the last note of the song Karin was bringing to an end. I turned around after placing the dish in it's place in one of the cabinets and began applauding Karin's musical talent.

“Brava, brava, bravissimo!” I kissed the tips of my fingers and held them up, “Karin Tallmadge: perfection on strings.” I gave her a wink. “Off to bed now.”

Her face flushed with embarrassment, she says, “Only sound perfect when you're singing along, Tally Heather. Goodnight.” She blows me a kiss and disappears up the stairs.

I turned back to the sink, grab a fresh towel and begin wiping down the countertop around the sink to soak up any stray water. Movement from outside catches my eye and I look up. Haymitch Abernathy, outside, at night. A rare sight. A match lights and he brings it to his face, a cigarette hanging from his lips. As if he could sense my gaze, he turns to the window. After a moment he holds the cigarette in the air and wiggles it a little - is he asking me if I want one?

Fuck yes, I do. Although, I'm hesitant of the somewhat friendly gesture. We haven't spoken a word since coming home from my games.

The 70th games were in a month.

He's still holding up the cigarette. I see him grab a small bottle from his pocket, twist the cap off with his teeth, spit the cap somewhere in his front yard, and take a long swig. I dropped the towel, grabbing my own bottle of white liquor and head out the door.

I'm greeted with a pack of cigarettes being thrown at me as I approached the porch of his house. I caught them, clumsily, smacking the pack in the air twice before finally gripping the box.

“Got a light, too?” I asked as I fingered one of the cigarettes from the pack.

“Nah, c'mere.” Slurred words. Another swig. He grabs the cigarette from my hand, uses his own to ignite the end of mine and hands it back.

I take a long drag, fog from the nicotine clouding my mind for a moment. “Thanks.” I exhale, the cloud lingering between us for a moment before the wind takes it, his own exhale intertwining with mine in the breeze.

He sways a little bit, too close to the edge of the steps that lead up to the porch. He stumbles, but catches himself and grunts.

I opened my bottle, placing the cap in my pocket, and not on the front lawn, and take a gulp. I shudder. It's been a year, but I'm still not used to the burn. Haymitch chuckles. I'm silent, but I glare.

“Still so quiet.” Haymitch says, another mouthful of alcohol having just gone down his throat.

“What is there to talk about?” I ask. “We're both drinking liquor, smoking, and avoiding sleep. We both know what the other is really trying to escape from. No reason to talk about it too.”

“Amen to that, babygirl.” Haymitch says while chuckling, raising his bottle to the sky before downing the rest of it.

I finish what's left of my bottle in return - shuddering, of course - and then turned to walk back home. I finished the cigarette before I got to my door. I extinguished the end on the underside of my boot, pocketed the butt with the empty bottle of liquor and went inside.

Trash thrown away, jacket on the coat rack, boots off, and doors locked, I trudge my way up the steps to my room, listening to Karin’s soft snores on the way.

Chapter Text

I was informed by mail that my presence as a mentor wasn't yet needed in this year's Games. President Snow and the other Game Makers decided they wanted to give me another year or so to adjust. Odd. It was odd. I thought they'd jump on the chance to have someone keep Haymitch in line. Someone other than Effie, anyway - poor woman was overworked with having to babysit Haymitch, as well as two tributes every year.

I grew slightly paranoid. Jumpy. Staying in the house until the day of the Reaping.

••

“Karin Tallmadge.” Effie's voice seemed to echo.

So. That's what he'll do.

Snow. Punishment for my stupid, silly words.

And there’s nothing I can do.

Our goodbye was tearful. She was shaking. Shaking so hard. It made me accept her fate right there in that room.

The Peacekeepers took her from me. She was still crying. I took in my last view of her in District 12 - pink dress, black hair, short, cropped to her shoulders, slender face, green eyes, tan shoes, light freckles all over her face, slender fingers, a golden willow tree necklace, and ears that were just slightly too big. Almost a mirror image of myself, only my hair was long and my ears not as unlucky as hers.

I ran from the room, trying to find Haymitch. He had to be up here, right?

I turned a corner. Peacekeepers.

Back the way I came. The Mayor and his wife were walking into his office.

The elevator dings and begins to open. Two Peacekeepers walk out, and behind them is a swaying Haymitch, hand gripped to the railing inside.

“Hold the elevator!” I call, jogging to catch it before it can close to continue it's journey down. I slipped in just as the doors closed. Of course he didn't attempt to hold them.

“You can beg all you want, babygirl, there's nothing I can do.” He spat out before I could begin thinking of what to say.

“You can try .” I said, more angry than I intended. “You didn't give a flying fuck with me, but you could try giving a fuck with her .”

“She's 13. Be realistic. Just hope for a quick death.” He grumbles. My fists clench and his eyes dart to them. “Gonna hit me like it's gonna change my mind?” He scoffs.

My hands relax.

He's right .

And I did already accept the inevitable.

“It was worth a try.” I whisper, turning away from him and waiting out the rest of the elevator ride until we reached the ground floor.

I went left, he went right.

••

I hoped for a quick death.

At least that came true, for Karin.

Almost instantly. The initial bloodbath. She tried to run. I saw how hard she pushed herself.

But the arrow was quicker. And her body so small, fraile. It was so fast that I didn't have time to gasp before her body was shown thudding into the dirt. Lifeless.

And now. I truly have no one.

My fault.

••

A knock at the door.

I didn't move.

Another knock.

I sighed, shuffling my legs off of the couch and standing myself up.

Knock, knock, knock .

I open the door. Haymitch stands in front of me, hand outstretched with something in it. I open my own and he drops my sister's willow tree necklace in my hand. As I'm staring at it, tears welling, he shoves a bottle of white liquor in my other hand.

“She'll be buried in the morning.” He said, turning and walking zig-zags to his own house.

••

The entire District shows up to the funeral of the fallen tributes every year.

Clerk Carmine sings The Old Therebefore for every one of them. He came to me the morning of asking if I wanted to join him. I declined.

I was already drunk. Still drunk from last night maybe? I don't know. That bottle of white liquor from Haymitch lasted all of an hour before it was dry.

Short and sweet, the funerals were. There was coal to mine and more children to raise for the next Reaping.

But not me.

I had no where to go. No one to go to. So I sat next to her grave all day.

And all night.

And all the next day.

Until Clerk Carmine came and got me. I didn't protest. Just stood when he gave my shoulders a little tug and let him lead me to my house.

Big house.

Empty house.

Quiet house.

“Thanks.” I muttered, shutting the door in his face.

I heard a sigh from the other side. He whispered something to himself, but I didn't hear it.

••

I dipped into a drunken isolation for the next 6 months. Thankfully the food rations from the Capitol given to the Victors was delivered to my doorstep once a month. And my supply of white liquor was abundant.

Or so I thought.

By month 4 I was rationing my last bottle - or trying to, at least. I wasn't very successful.

Two days after running out of liquor in the house, I got the sweats. A headache, more painful than any I've had before, pounded like a bass drum at the base of my skull. Looking out the window at the sunlight was painful to my bloodshot eyes.

But I realize that I don't care. I'm going through withdrawal, that's for sure. Simple fix, really. Go see Hattie. But my body didn't want to move. So it didn't. And I laid on that couch, riding out the sweats, fevers, and headaches for 3 more days, only rising from my spot to use the bathroom and grab a glass of water.

Why am I not just letting this shit take me? Easier than finding a gun and eating the bullet. Although, I don't know if I could kill anyone else in this lifetime - myself included. Withdrawal fevers and dehydration would be the smart way out.

But I drink an entire glass of water and sink back onto the couch, ready for the next wave of sweats that had just begun.

••

Something made me open the front door one Thursday morning, a little over 6 months from when I first shut myself in. I hadn't touched liquor for two months. But the dream - no - nightmare , I had last night had me itching for the burn that white liquor left lingering in my throat and belly.

I bought 6 of Hattie's largest bottles of white liquor, probably half of her stock for the month, shoved the bottles in my leather sack and headed back home. I entered the Victor's Village under the decorative brick archway, another 30 seconds and I'd be back in my house. 

The clinking of the bottles in my bag was like a love song.

“Long time no see!” I hear from my right. But I don't stop. Don't even turn my head. I don't have time, patience, or a humane bone in my body to be able to deal with Haymitch today. I needed a drink.

He didn't pursue conversation. I entered my house. I didn't even take my boots off before reaching into my sack, popping open the bottle of liquor that I grabbed, letting the cork-like cap fall to the ground to mingle with the dust bunnies, and began gulping.

A burn down my throat, satisfaction.

A sting, and now I'm coughing. Sputtering what was still in my mouth before my coughing fit interrupted. The liquor shot out of my nose, too. The sting in my nose was far worse than the one in my throat and the one forming in my chest. That's what I get for just diving in, I suppose. I give one last cough, shaking my head as I stood up straight, and wiped my face with the sleeve of my jacket.

I took another swig.

••

That night I was borderline black-out drunk. But I didn't want to be black-out drunk . I didn't know where my mind would go in a stupor like that - back to the arena? Couldn't risk it.

My mind was pretty free, right now, though. Floating. The world was rocking beneath my feet. I had requested some wine be sent from the Capitol in lieu of my ration of sugar for the month. Three bottles of a sweet red were in my basket at the next delivery, and one of them was now gone, mixing delightfully with the spirit of white liquor.

Swirling a glass of the last bit of wine, I walked past Karin's guitar, still set against the fireplace. It had a thick layer of dust on it now. I grabbed it, placing the wine glass on the mantle of the fireplace. Gingerly, I wiped the layer of dust from the guitar, watching the particles glimmer in a beam of sunlight that peaked in my living room window. The sun was going down.

I strummed.

Healing .

“You can't take my past

you can't take my history”

I sang in a high whisper. Playing the next note, I turned on my heal.

“You could take my pa

but his name's a mystery.”

My feet carried me to the door.

What are you doing!? My self-conscious yelled from the back of my head.

But I kept walking, and I opened the door.

“Nothin’ you can take from me was ever worth keepin’.” I still sang in a whisper, but my volume was growing with each line. I sat on my rocking chair. Karin's still perched next to mine. “Nothin’ you can take…was ever worth…keepin’.”

My hands remembered every note. My feet remembered every beat. I rocked as my fingers continued the tune, closing my eyes for a moment.

“You can't take my charm

You can't take my humor

You can't take my wealth

'Cause it's just a rumor.”

I spotted three Peacekeepers on patrol passing the entrance to the Victors Village. They stopped upon hearing my voice. I had opened my eyes in time to see them turn in unison and start right for me. The song wasn't exactly welcome - the tone being somewhat rebellious - not to mention a Covey special. I'm in for it.

“Nothin' you can take was ever worth keepin'

No, nothin' you can take was ever worth keepin'.”

My voice was soulful. Gruff in all the right places. Belting where necessary.

"Thinkin' you're so fine

Thinkin' you could have mine

Thinkin' you're in control

Thinkin' you'll change me, maybe rearrange me

Think again if that's your goal

Ooh"

My fingers continued playing the melody as the Peacekeepers walked up onto the steps of my porch.

“G'evenin’, fellas. What can I do ya for?” I felt my words beginning to slur a bit, but my singing voice had been crystal clear, so I don't care.

“You're well aware of the laws you’re currently breaking, right ma’am? Especially noise curfew.” The first asked.

I rolled my eyes, noise curfew, my ass. “Sure am.” I said. Still strumming. A hum escaped my throat and I began swaying to my own music.

Whack .

The thud of the baton carried by the second Peacekeeper made contact with my cheek. I dropped Karin's guitar and Peacekeeper number three stomped down on its neck.

Flashback. The arena. A shoe on my neck. A pair of hands holding down my own. 

Though the stars in my eyes were many, my rage guided me as I launched out of my chair and tried to tackle one of the Peacekeepers. The mix of the smack and the amount of alcohol in my system reared me slow, though, and the other two grabbed either one of my arms and forced me to my knees as the third turned around, muttering something into his communication device.

“Yes, sir.” He said loudly. Turning on the spot to face me, the Peacekeeper lifted his helmet to reveal his face to me and snickered. He grabbed his gun from the holster on his left hip and put the barrel of it flush with my forehead, the movement quick and flawless.

“You'd be doing me quite the favor if you decided to pull that trigger, my friend.” I spit a mouthful of blood at his feet, splattering his boots. “Not sure if I can handle killing anyone else in this lifetime - including myself.” I spoke clearly, eyes locked on his. I cleared my throat a little. More blood.

Another flashback. Blood soaking my mouth after shielding myself against a scorpion-cock claw.

The flashes are fast. Racing across my mind, like they were projected onto a big screen for me to watch. Over and over and over. 

“Not tonight.” The Peacekeeper growls. He lowers his weapon. Another smack, this time with the gun, and across my temple. But not hard enough to render me unconscious.

I hear their footsteps retreating, each one chuckling darkly to each other.

I spit another mouthful of blood and continue the song,

“You can't take my sass

You can't take my talkin’

you can KISS MY ASS

AND KEEP ON WALKIN’!”

But I don't finish the rest of the song - I just felt like I needed to get that last verse out before they were too out of earshot. My middle finger shoots in the air as the Peacekeepers withdrawal from the Victor’s Village.

What the fuck came over me?

“What the fuck came over you?” Haymitch's voice came from a distance, but I heard his footsteps growing closer.

A lit cigarette is shoved into my hand.

I don't speak.

“Most I've heard your voice since the Victory Tour. Even then, didn't sound too genuine when you spoke.” His voice is gruff, worn from the alcohol of the day, and he takes a long drag from his own cigarette. “Where'd you hear that song?”

“Everyone knows it.” I mumbled, voice sounding congested through the smoke that trickled out when I spoke. It was true, everyone did know it. Why’s he trying to make small talk? Because he feels bad for me?

He shrugs. “Covey song.”

“Yep.”

We drag our cigarettes in unison.

“Ever gonna tell me what you said to Snow the day you got your crown?” He asks, taking a drink from a large bottle of white liquor.

I snatched the bottle out of his hands and took a deep swallow, “Probably not.” I gruffed.

No shuddering this time.

Haymitch snatches the bottle back with as much sharpness as I had when I initially took it. 

“Ask next time.” He says. “I'll be the first to share my liquor with the likes of you.”

Huh?

I stared at him, one eyebrow raised as a way to ask, why?

“No one else understands like I do, babygirl.” He taps the bottle against my shoulder. He's leaning against one of the support beams of my porch, cigarette already finished and flicked into my front lawn. I should make him go get it . One hand in his pocket, the other holding the bottle of white liquor out to me, I managed the smallest of smiles as I grabbed the bottle for another drink.

I winced as I took a sip. Adrenaline wearing off, and I was beginning to feel the pain in my head and face throb. Perfect remedy right here for that, though . I take a second swig of the bottle.

I hadn't noticed Haymitch walk away until he was already halfway to his own porch.

••

President Snow was pulled from supper by one of the Avox's. Outside the door, Plutarch Heavensbee stood holding a tablet, hologram glowing.

Tally Heather.

“Oh my.” He whispers, finally honing his ears to the melody escaping her lips, eye flitting to the guitar she strums.

A memory.

“Peacekeepers want to know what to do, her being a Victor and all. Usually they'd send her to us. What should I tell them?” Plutarch asks, handing the tablet to Snow.

His eyes narrow and a hint of a smile plays at his lips as he watches the other Peacekeeper hit her with his baton.

“Scare her a little, then leave her be.” He says cooly, returning the tablet as Plutarch mutters orders into his communication device.

“Enjoy your evening, Mr. President.” Plutarch bids Snow, retreating down the hallway and out of the door.

Snow returns to supper.

Chapter Text

Another letter from the Capitol.

No mentoring this year either.

71st Hunger Games.

72nd Hunger Games.

73rd Hunger Games.

4 years since my own victory.

3 years since I lost Karin.

2 years since I got back on my feet.

I still drink. All the time. But I learned the science of alternating between liquor and water - keeps the headaches duller and myself from blacking out. Taught myself to cook. Cleaned my house from top to bottom. Started a flower garden.

As I worked on being a somewhat functioning human being again, I noticed my neighbor having more nights of screaming at his television and throwing his empty liquor bottles around. He was loud. Troubled. It didn't bother me. I understood.

“Gonna be just like him if you don't stop drinking that shit.”

I got myself right for Karin. The kindness she possessed didn't need to die with her. I had to embrace everything about her that I could remember. Kindness was the first thing I decided to embrace. My own brand of kindness, anyway. Old me would've knocked down Haymitch Abernathy's door and yelled, possibly even smacked him, for the amount of noise he's been making lately. But this kinder version just leaves him to his devices and turns an understanding eye.

Besides, rushing in to yell at him would make me a hypocrite. I know there were nights where I acted the same. Nights where I did let myself finally black-out from the liquor. And as I had suspected, I was back in the arena every time. Sometimes Karin was there too, being shot over and over again. I woke up to a different piece of furniture being broken, with a new gash or bruise somewhere on my body, too many times to count.

Since changing the way I torture my body and mind with alcohol, a way where I can still be functioning, I've learned different trades all on my own. Trial and error. I fixed all the furniture I broke. Mended broken pipes under the sink. Fixed the generator that keeps electricity constantly flowing to all of the Victor homes.

The first time I successfully fixed the generator was also the first day I let myself into Haymitch's house. I hadn't seen him in 3 days. Usually, I saw him once a day, bare minimum. I would give a days grace period sometimes, depending on how loud he was the night before. But this was odd, even for him.

I knocked first. Gotta be polite.

No response.

Another knock.

Still nothing.

I pushed on the door and it swung open effortlessly. I surveyed the doorknob as I walked in quietly. A crack ran down the edge of the door, tilting the lock set. So the door never fully closes. I can fix that. I placed the task on my mental to-do list.

The floors were dirty, footprints of different shades of brown everywhere. The dust was thick - but not as if he's never cleaned up before. Maybe a month or so of build up. Around the time he started getting loud again.

“Haymitch?” I called out. I turned into his kitchen - as expected - piled up dirty dishes (mainly cups), an over-flowing trash can of empty bottles, and broken glass glittered the floor and the countertops. Food was no where to be seen.

Gods. When was the last he ate something solid?

A loud snore echoed from behind me. I spun around to see Haymitch, dressed only in his boxers with a thin blanket covering half his body at his stomach, draped on his couch, television on, playing the Capitol News channel.

Hello Caesar .

I approached quietly and whispered, “Haymitch?”

No response. Just another snore. My eyes catch sight of the knife in his hands. We're more alike than I think, aren't we? One of his legs dangled off the edge of the couch, his neck was positioned in a way that would definitely hurt when he woke up, and his hands were clasped together around the knife and laying on his chest, rising and falling with his ragged breathing.

“Maybe because he's, I don't know, lonely?”

Karin's voice echoed in my mind. I found a broom tucked away in the breezeway closet and began tidying up the kitchen floor. I set his trash out with my own. Grabbed a few rags from my own house, along with a bottle of cleaner, and returned to clean the countertops and the sink. The kitchen is the heart of a home, maybe tidying up will help him? I have no clue why I’m doing any of this.

“Haymitch?” I called as I entered his home again.

Just a snore in response.

I cleaned the kitchen, disposed of outdated food, washed the dishes, set out a clean cup and new bottle of white liquor, and went home.

••

I sat on my front porch that night, trying to enjoy what I could see of the night sky. I haven't been to the meadow again since Karin died - that's where the sky was clearest. I rocked in my chair. Karin's still next to mine, now occupied by her broken guitar ever since that night 3 years ago. I began humming after taking a long swallow of red wine - now a regular delivery with my monthly Capitol rations.

I begin mumbling the song, “You're headed for Heaven, a sweet old hereafter, and I've got one foot in the door…” Another gulp.

Footsteps.

I start coughing to hide the fact that I had been singing. I hadn't looked up to see who it was yet, but I didn't feel like getting pistol-whipped by a Peacekeeper again.

Haymitch.

“He's alive!” I call out, raising my glass.

“Unfortunately!” He calls back, raising his flask in return. I chuckle softly. “Here.” He tosses a pack of smokes my way. I catch it without faltering.

But then he turned around and walked back into his own house, closing the wobbly front door.

I'll fix that tomorrow.

••

I pushed on the front door lightly, “Haymitch?”

Last night only consisted of one broken bottle along with screams and shouts. There was a possibility that he was awake - it was 11 in the morning. I placed my small blue tool bag on the ground just inside the front door before continuing inside.

“Haymitch?” I call louder.

A snore.

Perfect.

I turned around and get to work, filling in the crack with wood filler, sweeping the breezeway floor as I waited for it to dry, and then replaced the lock set and doorknob - stole it from the very last house at the end of the street. District 12 will never have that many Victors, it won't be missed. Everything else I had obtained in The Hob. Lastly, I tidied the mismatched boots by the doorway, finding all of the pairs successfully.

I left, tended to my garden, took a stroll to The Hob, and stopped by the bakery. I was still quiet, a loner. I people-watched as I made my way back home. A girl with a braid down her back, I think she had known Karin, and a boy with dark hair jogged past me as I left the bakery. They were holding a bundle of dead squirrels. Clerk Carmine was playing his fiddle. The kids at the Community Home were playing outside. The afternoon shift of miners were walking past the evening shift miners, on their way back home. I approached the village and spied Haymitch outside, cigarette in hand. He was stumbling around the square, pacing at one point.

Six weeks until the 74th games. That's probably what's been bothering him.

He ignored me as I walked past and climbed the steps into my house.

••

At what point do I just go over there? I wondered, watching Haymitch's shadow throw another bottle. I was at the sink, washing the day's dishes, glass of wine just to my right. That was crash number five.

Crash .

Six.

A cannon firing.

I shake my head. No. A glass bottle breaking.

Movement outside the window. I grab a steak knife.

Just Haymitch.

I went outside, grabbing what was left of the bottle of wine on the way out. The cool night air hit me and I realized that I had already dressed myself for bed - meaning I was severely lacking in the clothing department. Underwear and a long robe. But the night wasn't too too cold, and I doubted I'd be out there for too long before he told me to fuck off .

I walked up silently and tapped his shoulder with the bottle.

Apparently, he didn't hear me at all. Haymitch jumped up, yelling, falling backwards into the grass.

I chuckled.

“Fuck you and your silent fucking feet, what the fuck .” He grunts as he gets himself off of the ground. He snatches the bottle from me. “What d'ya want?” He gulps the wine.

“For you to not finish my last bottle of wine.” I snort.

“Shouldn't have offered it, then.” He says between gulps.

But he leaves some in the bottle and hands it back. Eyes lock on my frame for a moment before jumping back up to my face. 

“Smart man.” I finish the bottle myself.

He looks me up and down a few times. Prick . That's when I notice he too is in just a robe and a pair of boxers.

“We match.” I say, noticing his robe is also the one provided by the Capitol - comes complimentary with the house. Only his is obviously more worn than mine. And mine is tied closed at the front.

“You're wearing only boxers under yours too?” His voice was low and rough. He took a few steps towards me.

I didn't move closer, but I didn't back away, either. “Wouldn't you love to find out.” I said, not recognizing my own voice. Sultry, sexual tension spilling from the words.

What the fuck are you doing?

A street light still glowed, just enough light was in our general direction for me to make out a large scar on his abdomen. I hadn't bothered to watch Haymitch's Games before. Never was interested in any reruns of the Games. Let alone interested in watching the current ones live.

“Looks like you almost didn't win.” I say, pointing towards the scar. My voice went back to its normal tone.

“Almost.” He whispers. Haymitch winked at me and gave one last glance up and down my robed curves. “Goodnight.”

“G-goodnight.” I stammer out.

He stops in his front door's entryway and says, “Thanks, by the way.” And gives the door a knock, disappearing inside, the knob lightly clicking as it shuts all the way.

••

Well, that was new . I laid in bed, on my back, nude except for my bottom pair of underwear. My mind was racing through what had just happened about an hour ago outside.

Just glances and a few tension-filled words.

I always did have a thing for older men. I can't tell you how many Peacekeepers I flirted with when I lived in the Community Home. Most gave me sweets in return for my sweet words. One took it further than the rest. I was 18, just before the Reaping, I needed more food for Karin, that was it. Once he caught on that I was using him for the extra rations, he changed duty stations. Still, I enjoyed the exchange as much as he had, honestly. Never any words, just a way to fulfill an urge we both had. Don't think his wife would've appreciated it, though.

I know I had a few drunken exchanges with a Peacekeeper when I wasn't taking care of myself just a few years ago. Couldn't remember his name if you held a gun to my head, though. Could have been the one that had held a gun to my head, though. That’s on brand for me.

There was even a woman once. But she was killed for her involvement with another woman, another Peacekeeper. Not everyone is accepting of the non-traditional - especially in District 12.

What is it with me and Peacekeepers?

I am a bit of a brat, I suppose. My sass gets me in trouble a lot. And using that sass to get me in trouble while I'm dancing horizontally makes the dance more fun. The best people to piss off with that sass are the people in charge.

But, Haymitch? The thought hadn't crossed my mind before tonight. I had already made reservations about the drunkard before I had ever even met him. No one spoke highly of him around town, or even spoke of him at all. I knew nothing other than he won the games during the second Quarter Quell and he drank alcohol as if it were water.

He was a handsome man, in most aspects. Take away the drunkenness and it makes it easier to see. He's been calling me “babygirl” since I got home from my Games, but I brushed off the nickname - he was a drunk old man, easy enough to ignore, and never persistent about anything. Okay, he's not old. Just, older than me. Now thinking about the nickname makes my belly flutter a bit. It's been a while since I've had any kind of sexual relations - most urges are easy enough to take care of on my own.

But not this one .

I roll over on my side, shutting my eyes tight and trying to stop the thoughts from continuing down the filthy street they just entered. Go to sleep.

It was a while before I finally closed my eyes to actually sleep. 

••

A letter from the Capitol.

A meeting with the Mayor and a few representatives from the Capitol was to take place in a week, Tuesday, 9am.

Panic.

I haven't been back since my tour, and I'm sure that this is the meeting where they tell me I'm officially to start mentoring. Why now? Why bring me back now? Am I over-reacting? Is there nothing to be worried about? Is he finally done toying with me? Not that he's done anything since taking Karin from me. Other than making the Peacekeepers check on me more often than they needed to. But that fueled my anxiety to heights I didn't know existed.

The rest of the day I spent shut inside the house. Curtains drawn, doors and windows locked.

••

There were birds out there .

No.

Hovercraft. It was a hovercraft.

I fell asleep on my couch. Unusual for me. I hate the way my back stiffens after a night spent on the couch. Although, back pain was the least of my worries as I shot up, screaming, waving my arms above my head, knocking invisible tiny hawks out of the air. I grabbed a pillow and began waving it.

A pillow. Soft.

I'm not in the arena.

I blink. Still in my night robe, I shiver. Electricity is off. The sun is almost down.

Sigh.

I grab a hat, my little blue tool bag, slide into my slippers, and walk down the alley between my house and Haymitch's house. No lights on at his place. Not even the television. Where is he? Was the hovercraft I heard earlier real or just in my mind-arena? 

Why do I care? I frown to myself and continue down the path until I reach the generator. One of the panels has been chewed and pulled on, exposing a few wires. The culprit laid on the ground, fried, for lack of a better term. It was a giant jack rabbit. Pests. Yummy pests, though.

This was a repair that I should go get the Peacekeepers for. One of them is bound to be a trained Electrician. But, I don't need their help.

It takes about an hour before I get the issue diagnosed, treated, and cured. I grab my tool bag and trek back up the little dirt road to the houses once the job is done and the generator is humming dully.

I heard a door close as I entered the space between our houses, but I kept walking.

My door? Who's in there? Or was it Haymitch entering his house?

“Hey there, babygirl.” Haymitch said, leaning over the railing of his porch. His face was uncomfortably close to mine when I turned my head. “Need to talk to you.” His head jerks towards the two chairs he had on his porch and he pushed himself back to his feet. A small table stood between the chairs - it held two glasses and, you guessed it, a large bottle of white liquor.

He had sat down and poured a generous amount of liquor in both glasses by the time I got to the porch. The chair creaked as I sat in it. I put my tool bag down at my feet and swiped the hat off of my head, only to readjust its positioning. 

Hat back on, liquor in my hand, I say, “Spit it out.”

I take a drink.

“When's your meeting with the Mayor?” He asked.

“Tuesday.” I respond.

We go sip for sip with our drinks.

“They're gonna ask you to mentor.” He told me. Then with his glass at his lips he mutters, “Finally.” Into the cup.

“Figured.” I said softly.

I don't wanna go back.

“I'll still be there too.” Haymitch said, reaching his glass out for me to clink with mine. I don't. “First time back is always the roughest. I will say, though, Effie seems to cheer anyone up, even when she's being absolutely insufferable.”

I smiled as I took another drink. “Effie makes me smile every time I see her.” I told him. “She's wonderful once you get past the brightly colored make-up she cakes on her face.”

We both chuckled.

I held my glass out, he grabbed the bottle and poured more for me.

“I'm not ready.” I whispered at the ground.

“Have to be. Suck it up, babygirl.”

Fluttering in my belly.

I felt my cheeks get hot. I took a large gulp of the liquor.

“District 12's only two living Victors, both drunks - consistency is key, I suppose.” I say, finally relaxing a bit and leaning back in my seat.

“Just don't be as drunk as me and you'll be fine.” Haymitch says.

“Sounds like a challenge.”

“Please do not take it that way. Effie will have both our heads.”

“True.”

Silence. Slightly uncomfortable. I sighed and stood from the chair, grabbing my tool bag on my way up.

“Thanks.” I say, setting the now empty glass down on the small circular table.

Haymitch just gives a silent nod and watches me as I leave his porch to walk up onto my own. I look back at him.

He's still staring.

I flip him the middle finger and enter my house. I hear a faint, humorous, “what the fuck” as I lock my door.

I chuckle.

••

I ran to Haymitch's house in a hurry. He was breaking more than just liquor bottles now. Kicking, punching, pushing anything he could get his hands on. I saw it all through my kitchen window. I left the soapy water in the sink, an array of dishes still soaking.

When I ran in through the front door, chest heaving, out of breath, I caught sight of Haymitch throwing a lamp at his television. The small shaded light smacked into the projector. The television cut out. I recognized that song. It turned back on a moment later. Just the news.

I slowly stepped into the living room. Haymitch's head was bent to the back of the sofa, hands balled into fists, buckled at the knees.

“Haymitch…” I whispered, still slowly entering the living room space.

He spun around to face me. The television turned off, seemingly on its own. He spun around to the television, now black and silent. Back to me again.

“Fuck're you doin’ here!?” He shouted.

“I heard you - heard things breaking -”

“Happens all the time, never bothered you before.” He spat back before I could finish my sentence.

“It was a little more intense this time, Haymitch.”

“Fuck off.”

“No.”

No?

“No?” He parroted the voice in my head. “Do I need to ask nicely? Pretty please, fuck off.”

“That genuinely may be the nicest thing you've ever said to me.”

He strode past me with a huff, hand brushing my thigh in the process. He was going for the door, but I reached out my hand and gripped his arm before he got out of my reach. He stops, doesn't pull away.

“Look.” He starts, finally pulling his arm from my grasp and turning to face me. “I'm fine. Go home.” He takes my shoulders and starts shuffling me to the doorway. “I don't bother you when you're having your fits, you don't bother me and mine.” He pulls the door open. “Goodnight.”

“Why?” I asked, not moving towards the open doorway just yet.

“Why what?”

“Why do we leave each other be? We're all we have here.”

“Because I've lived this way long before you started living in the village too. I'm fine. And you'll learn to be fine too. Now go.” He waved his hand towards the doorway.

“After a drink.” I said, turning on my heel to head into the kitchen.

No protest. Just a loud sigh and the sound of the door closing.

Haymitch plops himself on his couch, grabs a remote from the small table behind his head and turned down the televisions volume. Didn't turn it off, though. I return with two glasses, each one three-fingers filled with white liquor.

“Pfft.” Haymitch groans as he takes the cup I offered him, downs it in two gulps, then hands it back. “Just bring the bottle.”

“Yes, sir.” I grumbled, rolling my eyes and giving a lousy salute.

I came back with the bottle, saw that the rug in front of the couch was free of glass and sat down. My back rested against the bed of the couch, my head leaned all the way back, exposing my neck, my collarbone - I was dressed for bed, after all. The back of my head found itself resting on Haymitch's thigh. I heard the liquid from the bottle swirling as Haymitch took another drink. I drank from my own glass.

Next thing I know, Haymitch is snoring and the last thing I see is a replay of the Top 10 Best Hunger Games Opening Ceremony Outfits of All Time.

••

A rough hand rested on my left shoulder, I felt a breeze across my chest. The sound of obnoxious snoring filled the air.

Fake snoring. I've heard this asshole snore for real.

I lifted my head from off his thigh. The sunlight was just starting to peak through the windows. His hand dropped from my shoulder as I leaned forward.

Oh.

I had been dressed for bed. So I only had underwear and my robe on. My robe had shifted sometime in the night, my right shoulder now bare, and my right breast was partially exposed. 

“Hope you enjoyed the show.” I said, adjusting the robe as I leaned fully forward. I cracked my neck, my knuckles, and my right elbow even gave a pop .

He chuckles, eyes still closed. “Thanks, babygirl.” His eyes open, blinking a few times. “Now, get out of my house.”

“Wow,” I draw out the o for a few seconds. I clap my hands together while rising from the floor, “have a great day.”

“You too, babygirl!” Haymitch calls after me as I walked out the front door.

Prick.

Fluttering in my belly.

Chapter Text

My meeting with the Mayor and the Capitol Representatives was quick. This was the first year I was to accompany the Tributes from District 12 to the Capitol, where I would be their mentor alongside Haymitch. The 74th games. Surprised Snow didn't make my first mentored Games be the 75th, twice as many kids for a Quarter Quell, perfect form of torture for me. They basically just said to stick with Haymitch when it came time. Great advice.

I went back home, finding myself to be unusually tired. Three nights ago, I realized once I left Haymitch's house in the morning, was the first night in a few years where I had a dreamless sleep. Completely dreamless. No nightmares. Beautiful silence. Rest. Now I’m craving that type of sleep again. I collapsed onto my couch and allowed myself a mid-morning nap.

I awoke to someone shaking my shoulder. Startling me, my hand reaches for one of the many hidden knives I have around the house - this one tucked under one of the couch cushions. Whoever it was, was quicker than me, and next I knew, as I swung the knife up, my wrists were caught, brought together, held with one rough hand, knife ripped from my whitened knuckles, and I was pulled forward. The front of my body ended up against the back of the couch, my arms supported in the air by Haymitch's one hand, our faces closer than they've ever been. My knees shook as they supported me, still stiff from my nap.

“Whoa, there.” He says softly. He lowers my hands, letting go once they reach the back of the couch. “My turn to pop in unannounced and unwelcome.”

I get up from the couch and glance over at the clock. 2 o'clock in the afternoon. “What do you want?” I grumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“How'd your meeting go?” He asks.

“Fine, I guess?” The tone of my voice traveling an octave higher for slight dramatic effect. “Why?”

“Babygirl, we're partners now.” His hand pointed from me to him a few times as he spoke. “Like it or not, we're gonna have to learn to work together.” He digs in his pocket and tosses me a pack of cigarettes. “C'mon.”

We both head towards my front door, setting ourselves on the front porch, me in my rocking chair, Haymitch leaning against the end support beam of the structure facing me.

“So does the partnership consist of me babysitting you as you drunkenly sway about the Capitol?” I ask, completely serious. I can't imagine he does anything else.

“Give me a little credit, I do try once you're in the arena. I got you water.” He says defensively.

“Once.” I growled.

“You weren't exactly memorable, babygirl. Which brings me to the next point - I'm all you have in terms of a guide on how to deal with sponsors.”

“Joy.”

“No faith in me whatsoever, huh?” He shakes his head. “I had plenty of sponsors when I was in the arena. As long as we get tributes that wanna try, I’ll try too.”

Who the hell - maybe he's just excited to have a partner this year? 

It hits me then and there that I don't know a single genuine thing about Haymitch Abernathy.

“How'd you win?” I blurted the question. I knew nothing of his time in the arena, either, but he got to watch my every move. Didn't seem fair if we were supposed to be partners.

He avoided answering by taking a gulp of his liquor, then a long drag off of his cigarette.

Silence.

“It's complicated.” He eventually muttered.

“Yes, thank you for stating a fact, it is most definitely complicated to win the Games.” I respond, my tone of voice sharp.

“You didn't watch any reruns? They love to roll old footage from the Quarter Quells on Capitol TV.”

“Not really my forte of entertainment. Just because some of what we watch is mandatory by the Capitol doesn't mean I'm actually paying attention. Usually just drown it out.”

He grunts into the bottle before taking a drink - I think that was his way of saying ditto .

“Find the reruns of the 50th Games and then come find me.” He says, walking off of my porch, flicking his cigarette butt into my front yard.

“Go pick that up.” I demanded. “There's a perfectly good bucket of sand right next to where you were just standing, ya prick.”

A silver bucket filled three quarters of the way up with tan sand did in fact sit on the ground in the general area of where he just stood, my own cigarette butts decorating the surface.

He does as I ask.

Turning to face me before leaving my porch again he says, “Remember, the Capitol loves to tell their own story with the Games.”

• ••

The reruns were easier to find than I thought they'd be. There was a whole section dedicated to them that was easily navigated to via the television remote. I had watched the entirety of the 50th Hunger Games from Reapings to the Victor's - Haymitch's - tour. The Reaping was the first thing I noticed that seemed off. District 12's was much more discombobulated compared to the other 11. Districts 1 - 11 Reapings went as they usually do, a few volunteers from the Careers, silence and tears from most other Districts. District 12s was…choppy? Lots of flitting from one person to the next, less smooth swooping camera motions that made sure everyone was in the shot when necessary.

He had a little brother. He had a girlfriend. Where were they now?

Everything from there on out was pretty normal. There was a lot to show, having twice as many kids that year. It felt a little rushed. But what else could I have expected? The interviews were interesting. Haymitch acted like a cocky son-of-a-bitch. Not surprised. The others from 12, Wyatt, Louella, and Maysilee, all were memorable in their own ways. Louella wore a snake around her neck, Wyatt was a handsome young man, and Maysilee had a sharpness to her voice that made her instantly seem promising. To me anyway .

The Games, however, mimicked the tone from District 12's Reaping Ceremony. Flittering from scene to scene, never staying with one tribute for too long. I noticed subtle inconsistencies - the sun was never right for the supposed timeline of events happening, different alliances seen after showing them with completely different tributes just seconds ago.

Ampert and Wellie.

I understand Haymitch a little more now.

After seeing the origin story of his abdomen scar and an axe sink into the head of the last tribute Haymitch faced, I paused the recording. The words DISTRICT 12 were beginning to roll across the screen.

I need a drink.

After a long pull off the bottle, I finished the rest of the recordings. Standard ceremonies and tour. But my mind was elsewhere as those parts played, thinking of that boy's skeleton, shown for far too long a time on the screen after announcing his obvious death.

Who was that boy? That was an intentional kill by the Capitol, and you can't convince me otherwise.

It was 10:30 at night, but I didn't care, and I don't think Haymitch would either. I march through the front door of his house, kick my boots off at the door, and walk towards the living room.

Clean. It was clean.

I stopped in the entryway to the living room and took a look around. Not perfect, but he dusted, threw out old bottles, anything he broke previously was in a pile just outside off the porch, and he tidied the junk that had piled up on every surface of the place. Nice.

“I'm not completely worthless all of the time.” Haymitch's voice came from my left. My face must've been quite readable. He was in the kitchen, hand towel draped over his shoulder, putting a glass away in one of the high cabinets. “Guessing you watched?”

I nodded.

“Well?” He asks.

“What really happened?” I ask, walking to stand at the other end of the island countertop. “I don't know how to explain it, but, something seemed…off?”

“Good girl.” he said softly, giving me a wink.

Fluttering. A hot sensation in my solar plexus. Cheeks grow hot.

Unsure of my own intentions at first, I round the corner of the island and walk over to him. He's smirking, like he knows I just completely melted on the inside when he muttered the words ‘good girl’. But I keep my composure, reaching out to grab the bottle of liquor off the countertop.

He was quicker.

“You want answers and so do I.” He said, grabbing the bottle, a little splashing out with the sharp movement in which it was snatched. “I still wanna know what you said to Snow at your Crowning Ceremony.”

“ Go fuck yourself .” I said, giving no context in which I was using the phrase at that moment.

That was on purpose.

“Listen babygirl, thats usually something I save for when I'm by my lonesome.” He says, voice low, kind of gruff.

I ignore the pangs of curiosity, eyes trying not to stare at the front of his pants. My lips curl into a smile as I say, “That's what I told Snow. Go fuck yourself .” Still willing my eyes to stay on his.

He howls with laughter. I quickly followed suit, his laugh was funnier than anything else. We both had tears forming in the corners of our eyes. The sexual tension I was feeling broke as we continued laughing.

He swings the bottle of white liquor towards me, “Brilliant.”

Our fingers touched as I took the bottle from his hand. Maybe I only noticed these little things, though. The brush against my thigh, fingers touching, sultry words.

“So what really happened? In the 50th Games?” I ask again.

“How much time do you have?” He questions.

“All the time in the world.” I tell him.

Haymitch pushed away from the island and walked directly at me. His eyes found mine and locked. The corner of his mouth curled as he noticed my knees beginning to shake.

Fuck.

I stepped back as the front of our bodies pressed against each other, one of his hands landing on my hip, pushing lightly so that I’m walking backwards in unison with him.

Fluttering in my belly.

The flutters travel lower with every step we take until my ass is against the lower cabinets. The hold he has on my one hip creates enough space to tease both of us with the possibility of our most intimate areas colliding.

Throw me up on the countertop, please. I feel my feet give a small push from the ground in hopes that he would - but a smile plays on his lips, and he squeezes my hip a little, as if to say, no, not yet.

My body was happily falling in line to do whatever Haymitch lead it to do.

I haven't met his eyes again yet. Our foreheads were leaning against one another, heavy breaths intermingling, a mixture of white liquor and red wine. The grip he has on my hip loosens, his head looks up, he opens one of the higher cabinets, grabs two bottles with one hand and closes it. After I heard the cabinet close, he pushed himself away from me, crossing the kitchen to grab the half empty bottle that sat on the island with his free hand.

“C'mon then.” He says, eyes examining every part of me as I stood frozen to the spot he backed me into just seconds ago. “Gonna be a long night.” He walks back to me, holding out a bottle of red wine for me to take. “You could stand here all night if you wanna, but the couch is a much more comfortable option if you ask me.”

More comfortable for what?

Talking, you idiot. You need to be ready for the Games.

I had stood up straight now, no longer leaning against the cabinets. I grabbed the bottle of wine. He never has wine .

“Get this just for me, did you?” I asked, batting my eyelashes a few times. I quickly gave his cheek a small peck of a kiss. “To the couch we go.”

••

Haymitch sat first, flopping to lay his entire body across the length of the couch. I begin to take my place on the floor as I did the other night - his couch now being the only piece of sitting furniture to survive his rage-filled nights.

“What are you doing? I've got two perfectly good seats right here for you to sit on.” Haymitch discloses. I look up and he hasn't moved. His eyebrows shoot up a few times. Then he pivots himself up to sit on his ass and only take up one of the three couch cushions. “There's these two as well, wherever you're most comfortable, babygirl.” He winks, patting the cushion next to him.

Suffocating that man with my thighs as he adds another liquid food source to his menu sounds exhilarating.

I sit sideways on his lap, my ass sinks in-between the arm of the couch and his thighs, my back rests against the pillow Haymitch's head is usually on, and I drape my legs over his. His free hand, the other holding the half empty bottle from the counter, the unopened one now securely sitting on a side-table, starts rubbing up and down my legs, starting at my knees and traveling up my thighs, back and forth. 

Soothing .

We sat like that until one in the morning. I had slowly shuffled my way down so that my head rested in his lap as the night continued. He told me just about everything. He was definitely still keeping some things hidden. Can't blame him for that. I didn't press. The more I knew, the sadder I felt. I'd been through nothing compared to this man. I wasn't downplaying my own traumas from Snow and the Games, but they definitely only scratched the surface of his own.

Both of our words were beginning to slur by the end of the conversation. Sentences trailing off as sleep creeped in. Two empty bottles of white liquor and one bottle of wine with only a swig left at the bottom, rolled on the floor at Haymitch's feet.

I slept dreamlessly again that night.

••

We must've opened our eyes at the exact same time. I had turned slightly inward in the night, my arm wrapped behind him to keep myself from rolling the other way. I felt his hand stroke my hair, continuing down my side to stop at my hip.

Keep exploring , my inner voice pleaded. It was first thing in the morning. Both of us groggy, fighting the fog of last night's liquor. I was horny in the mornings. Unapologetically horny. Usually just trying to fight off the previous night's nightmares with something pleasing. I sighed, closing my eyes again, and rolled my head down towards the bulge in his pants ever so slightly. I heard a groan vibrate through his body. His hand spreads, fingers grazing my ass and he squeezes one time before running his hand down for just a second and then removing his touch.

I feel the hand that was just caressing my hip move to my face, moving a few strands of my hair to tuck behind my ear.

“G'morning.” Haymitch grumbles. “Get up.” He bounces one of his legs.

I roll fully on my back at the motion. The movement was the perfect opportunity for him to slip his arm behind me and push me up by my back. I caught myself on my hands as I swayed backwards after he stood up. I wasn't mad. I wouldn't have moved if he left it up to me.

I hear clinking in the kitchen as I adjust myself into a regular sitting position on the couch, bringing my legs up. I hear the familiar sound of a coffee grinder beginning to brew. Footsteps move somewhere I can't see. A door opens and shuts twice. More clinking.

With my elbow perched on the arm of the couch, I rested my head in my hand, eyes closing again.

Not ready to be awake.

A warm mug is shoved into my free hand and my eyes shoot open again. I was greeted with Morning News from the Capitol playing on the television.

How does he watch this shit constantly?

I hear the familiar sound of a flask opening as Haymitch sat next to me, moving my legs for a moment before grabbing them again and setting them across his lap. He reaches over with the flask, pouring a small amount of white liquor into the coffee. He caps the flask, setting it on the couch next to him and takes the mug from my hand.

“Thanks.” He says, slurping the coffee. He grunts, grabbing the flask again, he opens it one-handed and adds another healthy glug to the drink.

“You're ridiculous.” I say through a yawn. “Where's mine?”

His free hand had been tracing circles around my knee. After asking where my own cup of coffee was, Haymitch's hand slips up to my inner thigh. I inhale sharply, not expecting him to go any higher than my knees at the moment.

“Wouldn't want you to spill.” His hand trails further up, closer to my center. He squeezes my thigh, lifting himself to set his coffee mug on the side table. I adjusted myself, laying on my back. “Eager?” He whispers, feeling my body wiggle into place.

He sits back, leaning into the back of the couch. His hands grab either side of my hips and pull down, making me slide so that my head laid on what was usually his pillow. My ass sat in his lap - a little uncomfortable for me at first - but I adjusted. His hands were exploring now, fingers trailing up the edge of my shirt, teasing their way towards my hardening nipples and then retreating back down. One hand lightly starts rubbing in-between my legs as the other pushes one of my legs to hang off the edge of the couch.

“You know,” I say breathlessly. “This would feel so much better for both of us if you just took my pants off.” I involuntarily let out a whimper as he pressed harder strokes in-between my legs.

“I know.” He says, eyes on a journey to soak in every part of my body. “Why the rush?” 

One particularly rough stroke, then back to soft caresses.

He was right, I would have dropped my cup of coffee the moment his hands began their journey. One of my hands reached above my head to grip the arm of the couch, the other finding his hand at my center, pressing down and moving with him. My hips bucked, pressing harder into our hands. Another whimper.

His hands stopped their intoxicating movements between my legs and started roaming around my thighs and my ass again. I sat up on my elbows, only to be met with a hand on my chest pushing me back down. The hand slowly snaked around my neck, but he applied no pressure. Tease . He continued up, grabbing my chin, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. I bit down on his thumb, but he didn't pull back. His other hand was just resting on my knee. My body was aching to be touched again. I grabbed the hand at my mouth with both of mine, bringing his pointer and middle fingers together and took them in my mouth, lightly sucking.

He threw his head back for a moment and completely abandoned my legs to rub his cock. Pulling his fingers from my mouth, he trails them down to my waistline, beginning to untie the string that holds up my sweatpants. The tie successfully undone, he inches my pants down to my ankles. I finish the job, kicking them to the ground. I reach down to remove my panties too, but he stops me.

Head shaking, he says, “Stop rushing things. You're the one who said you had all the time in the world.” He moves the fabric of my undergarment aside and a single finger slides down my delicate slit, just once.

“You're infuriating.” I moan. “Can you pl -” I'm cut off by Haymitch removing my remaining leg from his lap. He stands up, adjusting his hard member up into the waistband of his pants. I sit up. “What are you doing?”

“Thought you wanted coffee?” he says over his shoulder. “Stay there.”

Absolutely not.

I stood up from the couch, following Haymitch into the kitchen. My hair was halfway still tied up, so I yanked the band from the mess of hair and began combing through it with my fingers as I walked. He had just grabbed the can of coffee grounds from the cabinet when I entered the kitchen. I crossed the room before he fully turned around, reaching him just in time for him to grab my waist, spin, and hoist me onto the counter.

We knocked over the can of coffee grounds in the process. Thankfully, the lid was still on. I do love coffee. The marble counter was cold against my legs, goosebumps forming almost instantly. His hands traveled under my shirt, wrapped around to my back and he scratched down from my shoulders to my tailbone. Our lips were only millimeters away, both of us teasing the other, backing away every time the other leans slightly in. He gives up, trailing kisses up my jawline and to the sensitive patch of skin just under my ear.

“Thought I told you to stay put.” He whispers, nipping my earlobe. His hands reach under each side of my ass and my legs wrap around his waist in response. He drops me on the couch without saying anything and returns to the kitchen.

Wonder what'll happen if I do it again?

I hoisted myself back up from the couch. I hesitated a moment. Maybe I should wait. But I heard the coffee maker begin brewing and my feet moved towards the sound. No, not waiting.

But he was waiting. He knew I wouldn't listen. Smart man. He was leaning against the sink, arms crossed, staring at the doorway as I came into view. I stopped and leaned against the doorframe. Only the island countertop stood between us, but I easily by-passed that just a few minutes ago.

It was Haymitch who crossed the room this time. Not quickly, but definitely with purpose. His hand goes to the back of my head and he grabs my hair, but he doesn't pull too hard. I wish he would. His other hand travels beneath my panties and begins rubbing small circles, slowly making his way between my folds until his middle finger finds my clit. My whole body jerks the moment he finds the bundle of nerves. He pulls my hair harder, exposing my neck and places a short trail of kisses to my collarbone.

His hand retreats from my aching cunt and I moan. I whine as he also releases my hair. “Please don't stop.” I muttered against his lips.

He chuckles darkly, “Babygirl,” he breathes. “Be a little fuckin' patient.”

“Patience isn't my strong suit.” I murmured, dragging my hands down his chest, his abdomen, lower, feeling the outline of his cock through his pants, and then resting them inside of his pant pockets. I tugged, completely voiding the small amount of space that was still left between us.

I rolled my hips a few times, creating an intoxicating friction. A moan escaped Haymitch's mouth as he leaned down and grabbed my lower lip between his teeth, biting hard before letting go.

Fuck .

“Go sit back down.” he instructs, taking my hands out of his pockets.

I was about to actually comply with the request when a sound caught both of our attention. Knocking on a door. Not Haymitch's door, though. Haymitch walks to the window at the end of the living room and moves the blind a bit.

“Peacekeepers at your place.” He mutters. “Ruin everything, don't they?” He walks back towards me, scooping up my discarded sweatpants and handing them to me. “Go out the back and walk up through the alleyway between our houses, act like you just came back from a walk on the edge of town.”

I raised my eyebrow, taking my pants and putting them back on as I asked, “Why so secretive? Think they haven't speculated about such a situation before now?” I threw my hair back up in a ponytail.

He frowns - almost looks legitimately angry. But then I remember everything he told me last night. Remembered hearing fear in his tone as he recounted the deaths of his ma, little brother, and Lenore Dove.

That fire wasn't an accident that took his family. And it was no appendicitis that took his girl - even though that's what he claimed to me about Lenore Dove. What's he keeping hidden?

“Snow tortures me in his own ways, Haymitch. It'd be no fun for him to lose one of his playthings.” I say with as much reassurance as I could muster. Snow wouldn't hurt us for having a few nights spent together. Would he? My anxiety starts to roll. “Fine. I'll go out the back.”

He leads me out of the living room, through a hallway, past the staircase, and into a small room with a washer and dryer and a door that leads to the back yard. His hand holds the doorknob as he looks out the door's window, left then right. Swinging the door open while keeping hold of the knob, his free hand rests on the small of my back as I slip past him. The door closed quietly behind me before I could turn around to say goodbye, Haymitch's frame a retreating silhouette.

••

The Peacekeepers were doing a “wellness check”, courtesy of President Snow, who claimed to be concerned because he knows what the pressure of mentoring can be like - especially your first year doing so.

This guy has some serious power-trip issues. It isn't enough to murder 23 children every year in order to satisfy his fucked up brain wiring? He's gotta keep fucking with Victors like Haymitch and I? Who else does he torture? All of them?

I had told the Peacekeepers to fuck off after they gave me their spiel from Snow, which was proof enough for them that I was in fact doing just fine. Once they left, though, I was anything but fine. I forgot about Haymitch once I shut the door behind the white-uniformed bastards.

My brain was triggered into a state of panic every time I received anything from the Capitol. My monthly rations, a letter, a visit from a Peacekeeper, a message from Snow - all of it. Panic.

A mockingjay sang just outside of my kitchen window.

Loud squawks echo from all around. My hands shoot to my ears, fully covering them, pressing hard. I feel myself drop to the floor, tucking myself into the corner of the room. The sun shines through the window and I instantly shut my eyes. The flamingos are outside. Lately I've been able to ride out my fits silently. I tuck myself into a corner until one of my senses catches something from the real world and pulls me back. Like that time with the pillow. Sunglasses. I killed someone for a pair of sunglasses. The flamingos will be in here any second. I stood up, head still filled with ghostly squawking, and found the sink. I splashed my face with water. Two bodies falling down a waterfall. Cannon fire. I shut the water off forcefully and stumble out of the kitchen. My foot catches on the door frame and I fall forward, catching myself with my hands before damaging my face against the wooden floor. A slit throat. Hands bloody. My hands. I jump back on my knees vigorously examining my palms. Clean.

Clean.

Wooden floors that smell like oranges.

I'm home.

Big empty home.

My breathing slowly returns to normal as I slide myself backwards until I feel the wall behind me.

Knock, knock, knock.

There's a 50/50 chance I open up the door either to more Peacekeepers, or to Haymitch. Or I just don't open the door. Either party will find a way to enter.

But no one comes in, and no more knocks sound. It's been five minutes. Long enough.

Upon investigating my porch, I notice a cup of coffee perched on the railing.

Chapter Text

I had made myself something to eat, drank some water, poured a hefty glass of red wine, and put myself on the couch for the rest of the day. I put the television on, if only just to drown out the singing of the birds outside. I wondered if Haymitch expected me to be back on his couch after the coffee cup gesture. I wanted to. So why wasn't I?

The teasing was pretty mean. I liked it though, so who am I to really complain?

Maybe I'm wrong about all of this. He was just first-thing-in-the-morning-horny and he took care of the situation himself once I left. Maybe he didn't even remember talking about everything last night.

No. He did. I know he did.

I should return the coffee cup.

I rose from the couch. Instant dizziness. The only other time I got up today was to grab the bottle of wine to replenish my glass - both glass and bottle now sat empty. I decided to take some time to take care of myself first, maybe let a little sobriety creep in. A shower, new clothes, another drink of water.

•••

I let myself in the front door. He never locked it, anyway. But I locked it behind me before continuing on into the house. I heard footsteps coming from the upper floor.

“Brought your mug back!” I called up the staircase. The footsteps grew louder and he appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Wonderful.” He claps his hands together and begins his descent down. “I only have two mugs, and that one is my favorite.” He grabs the mug from my hand and tosses it over his shoulder.

As the mug crashes to the ground, so do our lips, both of us hungry for the pleasure we know we're about to give one another. His hands are hoisting me up by my ass so I can wrap my legs around his middle. My arms follow suit with the rest of my body and wrap around his neck to support the rest of me as he finds the closest wall and pins me to it. My legs slide to the ground, earning a moan from Haymitch as I grind my hips against him on the way down.

I release his tongue from between my teeth, “Thanks for the coffee.” I whisper. My hand finds his hard cock, still trapped beneath his pants, and begins rubbing lightly.

“Anytime if this is the thanks I get.” He plants a quick kiss on my lips. “Now where were we?” Another kiss.

Harder strokes.

He moans.

“You were gonna practice a little patience.” He mutters against my lips.

Another kiss.

“Fuck the patience.” I growled, fumbling with the tie on his pants, desperately trying to feel him with my own hands.

He roughly grabs both of my wrists and pins them to the wall above my head with one hand. “No. You'll be a good girl -” his free hand lazily drags down the front of my body. “ - and listen.” His hand slips into my pants, instantly finding my clit and rubbing small quick circles. “Can you do that for me?”

Anything you want.

My eyes had rolled to the back of my head, eyelids fluttering closed soon after. Fuck this felt good. I was moving my hips in rhythm with his circles, creating more friction for me. I opened my eyes for a moment, meeting his gaze and whispered, “No.”

“Brat.” He chuckles, hand retreating, leaving much more to be wanted.

“Keep touching me. Please.” I whimpered pathetically.

His hand released my wrists. I instantly begin to place my hands where they previously were, but Haymitch shakes his head. He's guiding my right hand down the front of my pants, my left hand up my shirt to my breasts.

He leans in, nips my bottom lip and whispers, “Touch yourself, for me.”

My hands instantly comply with his words. I'm rubbing my cunt, hole to clit, slowly, as my other hand finds one of my nipples and rolls it between two fingers. Haymitch takes a single step back so that he could take in the full view. He was smirking, rubbing himself a few times, especially when I moaned loudly.

He reaches out his hands, tugging my pants down to my ankles, “That's better.” He states, stepping back again. “Look at me, babygirl.”

I find his eyes - so hungry - and I change the rhythm in which I'm pleasuring myself, using two fingers to pump in and out, new wetness forming after he calls me babygirl.

“I'd much rather this be your hand right now.” I say through ragged breathing.

“I'm sure you do.” The smugness in his voice is irritating. I remove my fingers from my body, bringing them to my own mouth. “I didn't tell you to stop.” I suck on my own fingers, still using my other hand to toy with my breasts. “No patience, doesn't listen well -” his hand grabs a large fistful of my hair and pulls hard. “What are we going to do about that?”

I let out my loudest moan yet, needy and pathetic. The pain mixed with the pleasure already radiating through my body was almost as intoxicating as liquor.

I hear Haymitch chuckling, “Tell me what you want, babygirl.”

“You.” I moan.

“And what do you want me to do to you?”

“Anything you want.”

Anything you want.

“Tell me exactly what you want.” His hand gave another tug on my hair. “What exactly will you let me do to this pretty little mouth of yours?” His thumb rubs across my lips. “Am I fucking you on the couch?” he releases my hair, flipping my body around, my chest placed against the wall as he forces me to bend ever so slightly and lifts my ass in the air to grind against him. “Or am I bending you across the table?”

Words are beginning to completely fail me. I just wanted to be fucked. Fucked on the couch, the bed, the stairs, the floor, everywhere, somewhere.

He yanked my head backwards by my hair, taking me by surprise, my back now flush against his chest. “I asked you a question. I need an answer, babygirl.”

I smirked, “Patience, sir.”

Release. Not the kind I wanted, though. His hand dropped from my hair and I felt the warmth of his body leave from behind me. A hand roughly grips one of mine and pulls - leading me up the staircase. Careful to step around the pieces of broken mug on the ground, we climbed the staircase rather quickly. At the top, Haymitch stops for a moment, only to rid me of my shirt and throw it on the stairs, before grabbing my hand again and leading me into one of the rooms. From the quick glance I took, I guessed it was his bedroom. But I didn't have time to examine the room for more than that quick glance because I was swiftly thrown onto the bed.

Haymitch pulls me to sit on the edge of the bed and stands in front of me, cupping my chin. “You're difficult, you know that?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course you do.”

I try to wiggle my face free, but it just makes him grip me harder. Anything to irritate him little by little.

I'm yanked forward from the bed and forced to stand before Haymitch mutters, “On your knees.” I fell almost instantly. “Good girl.” He frees his cock from his pants, pumping it a few times. “It's your mouth that's the problem, princess. Always saying no.” My eyes were locked on the sight before me. Nothing over-the-top, but most certainly above average. “I could've had you moaning my name while I fucked you against the wall down there if you just behaved.” His free hand gripped my chin again, forcing me to look up.

I reached up to grab him in one of my hands, moving his own out of the way in the process. As I began stroking him, I felt both of his hands grab fistfulls of my hair and pull my head forward. My mouth opened just in time, teeth lightly grazing his length as he touched the back of my throat. A guttural moan comes from above me, inciting my own moan vibrating against the head of his cock. My lack of a gag reflex has its perks. He moves my head slowly, allowing for both of us to become familiar with these new sensations between the pair of us. But I don't want slow and steady. My eyes look up, tears forming, I search for his, wanting to somehow convey that he could go faster, harder even. He finally looked down.

He freed himself from my mouth, a light pop sounding once we came apart. I gasped for breath as my head was pulled back, his fingers adjusting themselves in my hair. I blinked the tears from my eyes.

“Why do you keep stopping?” I ask, pleading underlying my tone.

“Because it's fun to watch you squirm.” His hands position me so that my mouth is where he wants it. “This time I don't plan to stop, though.”

I was unable to move my head as he forced his way into my mouth again. To put it simply, he was fucking my throat. I relaxed my neck, allowing my head to lean comfortably into his hands, letting him know that I was more than willing to comply with this.

I heard him chuckle, “You love this, don't you?” His movements grow faster for a few thrusts before he pulls all the way out. “Answer me, babygirl.”

“I thought you said you weren't going to stop this time?”

He rams himself back into my mouth, “Maybe I do like you better when you don't talk.” He continues the quick tempo he just recently stopped.

I found myself massaging one of my breasts, my other arm busy supporting myself against his thrusts. My scalp was starting to ache, his grip refusing to loosen up, but no part of me was complaining. It wasn't much longer until I felt the familiar twitches a cock gives just before reaching its release. I swallowed as I'm sure I was expected to do.

Tell me I'm a good girl.

He takes his time releasing himself fully from my mouth. His hands released my hair and went to my face to lightly wipe away the tears that had been streaming uncontrollably. I fell back on my ass once we had parted completely. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Good girl.” He mutters, reaching his hand down for me to take hold. “Your turn.”

My still shaking knees do their best to support me as I use Haymitch's hand to hoist myself from the ground. Thankfully I don't even get a chance to fully stand - not that I could have - before I'm being pushed to sit on the edge of the bed. It's Haymitch's turn to be on his knees. He threw his shirt off in one swift motion and knelt on the ground. His hands grabbed my legs and dragged me to the very edge of the bed where my legs rested on his shoulders and he began gingerly licking at my clit. My back arched as he hugged my thighs closer against his shoulders and the sides of his head. His tongue graced every inch of me, swirling around my clit, plunging inside of me. I started bucking my hips up into his face to create more friction for myself.

His mouth leaves my cunt and begins kissing and biting my inner thighs. There better be bruises there in the morning.

“Haymitch.” I breathed, pleading for his touch again. My hand found the back of his head and led him back to where I needed him most. “Please don't stop this time.”

The rumble that vibrates against me from the chuckle he gives sends a shock of pleasure up my spine. My moans grow louder. He roughly shoves his face deeper into me, licking, biting, sucking every inch he could find. I suddenly feel the hotness that sparks in my solar plexus just before I come. I start riding his face, my release getting closer with every thrust.

I swear to god if he stop -

He stops, dipping his head from under my legs before I had the chance to trap him there. I shoot up, watching him walk around to the side of the bed and climb in. I waste no time turning around and crawling on top of him, and he wastes no time guiding me farther up than where I initially started to sit. My hands reach for the back of the bed frame as I sit on his face and resume riding.

It doesn't take long for me to bring myself back to the start of my climax. My fingers grip the bed frame harder, nails biting the wood. The wetness that resulted from my climax was noticeable even through Haymitch's handiwork. I threw my head back as I finally reached the summit. I felt the sting of Haymitch slapping my ass once and I was completely unraveled. My hips were beginning to slow down, my body incredibly overstimulated now. I pushed myself up, allowing for Haymitch to move to one side so I could position myself to lay next to him once I finished.

I let out the breath I had no clue I had been holding. My heart was racing, pounding against my chest and my ears. It's been a while. My breathing begins to even out and I roll onto my stomach, supporting myself up on my elbows as I look up to meet Haymitch's eyes.

He's wiping his mouth with his discarded shirt when he says, “I'm not done with you.” He drops the shirt on the ground and climbs on top of me. “But I'm not sure you deserve everything tonight.” He dips down, moving my hair and kissing my neck. I grind my ass back into him, feeling his cock rub at my entrance.

“I think I do.” I say, steadying the rhythm that my hips are moving to.

He growls as I continue pressing against him. “If you're good you can have anything you want, princess.”

“It's no fun being good.”

“I couldn't agree more.” His hand comes down hard on my ass, then trails up my back and to the back of my neck where he pushes down.

I let my chest and face fall into the bed, head turned to one side, his hand still pressing down. His other hand helps my hips lift higher exposing my entire entrance to him. I moan into the mattress and try to rock back so I can feel him rub against me again. His hand has a hard grip on my hips, though, keeping me in place.

“Please.” I whimpered, again trying desperately to rock backwards.

He allows his cock to lean against my wet folds as he leans forward, hands moving to either side of me to support himself as he hovers over me. Our bodies rock in unison for a few moments.

I feel him kiss the back of my head before he whispers, “No.” And retreats off the bed.

He's pulling a clean shirt from a drawer of one of the dressers when I get myself turned around. “Are you fucking serious right now?” I snap. Part of me was being somewhat playful, but the other part was actually angry.

Haymitch's eyebrows raise, “What's the fun in diving right into dessert if there's no dinner to lead up to it?” He puts the shirt on. “Like I said, babygirl, you need to learn some patience.”

I huffed loudly, crossing my arms - pouting. Damn I really am a brat. But he liked it. I could tell. I see him contemplating what to do next, seeing me so eager and willing on his bed. Give in and fuck me til the sun rises, or keep making me squirm and beg? Either option is honestly fine with me. One option just includes me acting more and more like a brat until I get what I want.

I think I know which one he'll end up choosing.

He leaves the room for a few minutes, returning with my clothes.

“No panties?” He asks.

“Like you didn't notice.” I said, grabbing my clothes from his outstretched hand.

He smiles, “I definitely noticed.”

I placed the clothes on the bed next to me with no intention of actually putting them back on.

“I think learning some patience can wait til later, can't it?” I crawl towards him from my place on the bed, reaching up to grab the front of his shirt and pull him to me. “I'll be good for the rest of the night if you just fuck me now.” I reach my own hand down to my clit and start rubbing slowly. “Don't make me do it myself.”

“Why not?” His hand joins mine, moving it the way he'd touch me himself. “Go ahead. I'll watch.” He whispers, kissing me lightly, and taking a few steps back. He lets me touch myself how I wanted to at first, examining all of my movements. “Slower.” He whispers. I go slower. “Now stop.” I stop. “So all I really have to do is get you a little wet and you'll do whatever I tell you, huh?”

I resume my previous position, sitting in the middle of the bed, arms crossed, pouting.

“You really are a brat.” Haymitch says, rolling his eyes. “Put your clothes on and come have a drink with me.” He walks away, adjusting the front of his pants.

I flop backwards on the bed and huff loudly, partially hoping he would come back in the room and finally give in to fucking me due to my insistent whining.

He didn't.

I threw my clothes back on and climbed down the stairs. I heard the television playing lowly, the spin of a flask lid, and the hoots from an owl singing just outside the window. I stopped at the bottom of the steps, out of sight from Haymitch.

Not now. Not here.

I sat on the bottom step and put my head in my hands, eyes shutting tight.

A pair of green eyes, an arrow protruding from one. I shook my head. Loud squawks. I pressed harder against my ears. A severed arm lands in front of me.

I open my eyes to try and rid myself of the vision. Something was in front of me, but it wasn't an arm. It was a pair of knees.

Haymitch.

He was knelt down in front of me, saying something that I couldn't comprehend at the moment. I felt his hands on top of mine lightly tugging to free them from the sides of my head. I begin to relax, my hands drop from my ears and grip onto Haymitch's forearms, his hands holding my face now.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He soothes, voice barely a whisper. “Look at me.” He tilts my face up. “Where are you right now?” His thumbs stroke my cheeks.

I blink a few times, “At some asshole's house at a suspiciously late hour.” I've never had another person there to pull me from my fits - not since Karin. And they've only gotten worse since she's been gone. Something about his touch brought me back to reality almost instantly. “I'm sorry.” I whisper.

He kisses my forehead. “Nothing to be sorry for. You definitely need that drink now, though.”

I stood and followed him into the kitchen. My mind was all types of fucked up right now. Two fits in one day, both happening at stupidly inconvenient times.

Those fits leave me yearning for anything to forget what was just invading my mind. This is usually when I'd grab the bottle. But right now, there was a better option than liquor that would make me forget more than just that previous fit.

Haymitch puts a cup in my hands. “It doesn't stop, does it?” I ask, meaning the fits and the flashbacks and the nightmares.

“No. Just slows down.” He answers. “It's the same for all of us. You'll see.”

Right. I'm mentoring this year. I'll be acquainted with other mentors, previous victors, too. I never gave much thought to it, meeting past victors and other mentors. Most anyone in the Capitol is an enemy, in my mind. But they're not from the Capitol. Sure, some come from career districts, so they're no better than the Capitol - but the other districts had Victors too. Do the Careers get tortured like us outlying district Victors do?

I had only taken one swig of my drink when he initially gave me the cup. I was staring at it now, eyes blank, lost in my menagerie of thoughts about my first experience mentoring. Suddenly the cup was removed from my hands and placed on the countertop next to me. Haymitch closes the space between us, wrapping his arms around my waist.

His forehead rests against mine as he leans in and whispers, “What do you need?”

“To forget”. I automatically reply.

Without hesitation, I'm thrown onto the countertop. Rough hands snake under my shirt as his lips find mine. My own hands found his hair, grabbing tightly. He scratches lightly down my back, making me bite his lower lip, hard, and pull. He pulls away for just a second and locks eyes with me.

“Please Haymitch.” I whisper, hands trailing down to his pants. I tug at the elastic waist, hoping he'll take the hint and take them all the way off. He doesn't. I jump off of the counter and take them off him myself. He does the same with mine. “Make me forget.”

Our bodies clash with an intensity that wasn't even met in our adventures upstairs. It was purely animalistic - both of us desperate to forget unwanted memories, biting and scratching and licking. I felt a little blood trickling from my lip after he bit me, his mouth now busy making bruises on my neck. I grab his cock in my hand and pump it once, hard, before reaching for my own wetness.

Haymitch pulls away for long enough to see where my hand is. He reaches down to stop me, “No time for that.” I'm spun around and bent over the countertop. “Is this what you've wanted, princess?” The head of his cock teases at my entrance. I feel him drag it along my folds, slicking itself in preparation. “Answer me, babygirl.”

“Yes.” I manage to say, breathing heavy in anticipation.

Without hesitation he enters me, my body launching forward into the counter. We both moan in unison as he stays still for a moment, my cunt relaxing around him. He gives one slow thrust before he reaches up and grabs me by my hair, pressing my back against him. He let go of my hair, one hand wrapping around my throat, the other grabbing one of my breasts from under my shirt. His hand squeezed around my throat as he quickened his pace. The pressure on my throat is just enough to still allow me to breathe, but my head starts to go dizzy the longer he holds. And as if he had it down to a science, just before I felt my body start to fall unconscious, he releases my throat and pushes me back down on the counter. I'm gasping for breath as he stays steady with the same pace. The ecstasy I feel as my body comes to, Haymitch's thrusts being the first thing I registered as it entered complete consciousness again, was unlike anything I've felt before.

And without warning, I start to climax. I moan loudly, hands gripping the edge of the marble countertop. My head, no, my whole body, was flooded with intoxication.

His thrusting grows quicker and sloppier, on his way to his own release. I feel myself clench around him as my entire body welcomes my orgasm. My legs are shaking, my moaning is uncontrollable, and every inch of me feels positively good. One more thrust and he was hovering over me, twitching cock still placed inside - but I felt it begin to slip as it relaxed.

We were both breathing heavy, his breath landing on the back of my neck as he leaned his forehead against my head. His hands start caressing my sides, lifting me up as he takes a step back and stands up straight.

“Better?” He whispers in my ear.

I nod. I'm still coming down from the high of my climax. Words were unable to form right now. He spins me around to face him.

“Now, what was it you said upstairs? If I fuck you now you'll be a good girl for the rest of the night?” One of his hands had grabbed my chin and tilted it up. He placed a light kiss on my lips.

“Yes.” I managed to say, hardly audible.

“Good girl.”

Chapter Text

A few nights after our first and so far only pleasurable encounter, was Karin's birthday. A day where I lock myself inside all day. A day where I drink myself stupid. It was 10 in the morning and I was already a whole bottle of wine deep. I was in the process of making myself a cup of coffee, topped off with a shot or so of white liquor, when someone knocked at the door.

I didn't allow myself to really process anything - I didn't question who it was, what they wanted, if it was someone from the Capitol, nothing. That was the beauty of a steady buzz, I was carefree. Or maybe just stupid.

I opened the door, and to my surprise, the baker boy was standing on my front porch.

“Hey kid.” I greeted, slurping my coffee. “What's up?”

I'm blessed with being pretty pleasant when drunk - as long as I haven't overindulged. Unlike Haymitch, who could be quite a bastard when he's had any amount of drink - not all of the time - call it 60/40.

“My mom said it didn't look good enough to sell.” He says, handing me a white box. “Gotta get back.” The boy, Peeta, I finally remembered his name, ran from my porch, “Bye!” He called over his shoulder.

I opened the box, and to my surprise, a small round chocolate cake decorated with a weeping willow tree in white and purple icing was inside. The trunk was disproportionate to the weeping limbs of the tree. But it wasn't ugly.

I was crying. I didn't even realize it until my tears started scattering across the cake. Did he remember it was Karin's birthday? Or did the design of a willow tree just remind him of her? She always wore that necklace.

I went back into my house, placing the cake on the kitchen counter. I finished my coffee, staring at the box. Memories were playing on repeat, only good ones. A first guitar strum. Sneaking into the meadow. My homecoming hug after the Games. Dancing in the living room. I wanted her back so bad.

I need to go back to the meadow.

•••

Sundown was approaching soon. Peacekeepers become more abundant around this time of day. I grabbed my leather shoulder bag, a bottle of wine and the cake inside, along with a fork and knife. It was a little hot today, so I had on a pair of cargo-style pants, boots, and a short-sleeved shirt, my hair tucked up in a cap. I didn't want any interactions with the Peacekeepers. With the bag hoisted on my shoulder I made my way to the edge of the District, finding the hole in the fence Karin and I used - checking the electric current before crawling through.

As I snuck through the woods, I could have sworn I saw someone retreat behind a tree, but I had no interest in investigating what very well could just be a booze vision. I found the meadow, taking a seat under the large tree just on its edge.

I grabbed the box and utensils from my bag, “Well, I don't have to worry about you not leaving me a slice of this cake, Karin.” I whispered, opening the box.

I stayed in the meadow until the sun was kissing the horizon.

•••

My front door was open.

Don't go in there.

But my feet were carrying me up the porch, where a man dressed in all black stepped out of my front door.

“Good evening, Ms. Heather. Please.” He holds his arm out, motioning me to come inside.

“Mm, yeah, thanks for allowing me to enter my own house.” I mutter, walking past him.

I knew what this was.

I hung my leather bag on a hook just inside the door, not bothering to unpack its contents. I slipped my boots off, too. The man dressed in black loomed behind me patiently.

Roses.

I hate that smell.

President Snow was seated at the head of the dining table I never used. His hands were folded together in front of him, face emotionless, almost a picture-perfect vision of patience. Two more men in black were posted behind him.

I grabbed the seat at the opposite end, putting as much distance between the two of us as possible. I sat and mimicked his position.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mister President?” My voice was fooling no one, my words thick with a forced tone of civility.

He grins, “I wanted to drop in and have a conversation about expectations for your first year mentoring.”

Hell of a day to drop in. You can't tell me he doesn't know today is her birthday.

“Expectations?” I ask.

He sighs, unlacing his fingers, grabbing a cloth from his chest pocket. He dabs the cloth at his mouth, blood soaking into it. “In the Capitol, Mentors have a job to do.” He coughs. More blood. “While you may be the boss of your tributes, you need to remember that you also have rules that need to be followed…and authority that is to be respected.”

I didn't react. Just kept staring. Mainly because I was drunk and didn't want to say something I would regret. Which is very obviously something I should avoid, given the topic of this unpleasant surprise meeting.

“I expect you to have a better head on your shoulders than Mr. Abernathy.” He adds.

No promises.

I nod my head.

“Lovely.” He stands from the table and I follow suit. Respecting authority. “I hope you've had an adequate amount of time to reflect before coming back.” He stops to whisper on his way out.

I turned so that we were face to face. “I believe I have, Mister President.” Words still soaked with that same forced civility.

•••

The hum of a hovercraft leaving had sounded a little over ten minutes ago. I had just gotten through convincing my subconscious that there weren't any birds waiting to attack me if I opened the front door. My subconscious had also just thought that we were back in the arena cave I escaped the hummingbirds in. The hum of the hovercraft is what brought me back. The sun was down now and the night air was thick with coal fog, blurring the moon and stars. I had walked outside and plopped on my back in my little patch of front yard. I wanted to see the stars, but I wasn't in the right state of mind to go sneaking under the fence again. This would have to do.

I was pulling out a patch of grass under one of my hands when I heard footsteps approaching. There was a bottle of wine standing next to my head, almost empty. I grabbed it and held it up as a hello to whoever was walking my way. I was keeping my eyes on the sky, willing the coal fog to disappear so I could see the moon.

I felt a body sit on the ground next to me. Finally averting my eyes from the sky I look over to see Haymitch. He laid back, bringing his own partially full bottle of liquor to clink against mine. We both took a drink.

“You had a visitor today.” He says.

“Two, actually.” I told him.

“Two?” I hear him take another drink.

I turned my head. “Which one did you see?”

“Some kid. Saw him running out of the village.”

“Peeta. Baker's boy.” I took a drink. “Gave me a cake.”

I avoided mentioning Karin's birthday. I don't like other people's pity.

“Who was the other?” He asks, reaching out to grab my bottle of wine and replace it with his bottle of white liquor. “Peacekeepers again?”

I take a drink. “Snow.” Another one.

“Why?”

“He wanted to make sure I was aware that there is,” I began making air quotes, “‘authority that is to be respected’ when I return to the Capitol to mentor.”

“How kind of him.” Haymitch says.

“He's a real doll.”

“He's right, though. You can't go saying out-of-pocket shit while we're there.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

We sat in silence for a few more moments. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance. I was too drunk for a fit to set in. Thank goodness. I sat up, ready to climb into bed and sleep the rest of this particular day away. I turned towards Haymitch, reaching a hand out to touch his face for a moment. I silently got up and walked back into my house. I made my way to Karin's old room, where I surprisingly made it through the night without a single nightmare.

•••

For the next three weeks Haymitch and I saw each other almost every night. We alternated between our places, one of us usually charging in the door giving the other no warning before jumping on top of them. A few times he woke me up by eating me out - of which I would return the favor the next time I found him sleeping.

A week before the Reaping Haymitch walked through my front door, but this time he didn't throw me over his shoulder and climb the stairs. He just sat down on my couch. I had been cleaning the kitchen, starting preparations for the house to be empty for a bit. I continued scrubbing at a stain on one of the countertops.

“You okay?” I called out.

“Peachy.” He mumbled, barely audible to me in the next room over.

I put the sponge down and dried my hands on a clean towel. I made for the living room, going to join him on the couch. His head was resting in his hand, elbow perched on the couch's arm. He was falling asleep. I sat in his lap, straddling him. He lifted his head for a moment, only to rest his face into my chest and wrap his arms around me. We sat like that for a while. At one point he definitely dozed off.

“What happens when we go to the Capitol?” I ask him, I start rubbing little circles on his back, touching places I knew tickled just a little.

He jerked up when I successfully found one of those spots. “What do you mean?”

“This.” My hands now rested on his chest and I tap a few times. “Do we just…not…while there?”

“Well I don't know about you, but something like this just might make my time in the Capitol a little more worthwhile.”

I smirked, leaning down as if I was going to kiss him. I divert my lips to trail a few kisses up his rough, unshaven jawline, and whisper in his ear, “I promise I'll be a good girl while we're there.” My hips start grinding, earning a soft moan from him.

“Not tonight, princess.” He says, hands squeezing my sides, stopping me. “I just want to sleep.”

I kissed him lightly before we both situated ourselves to lie on the couch together. Him on the inside on his back, me on the outside on my side, legs intertwined with his, my hand resting on his chest, and my head tucked into his arm. Neither of us ever said it outloud, but we slept better when we ended up falling asleep for the night together. He had already fallen asleep, snoring softly at the moment. I wasn't tired yet, truthfully. But I didn't want to move and disturb him. He smelled like outside. Not District 12-outside, not coal and sand. Like trees, grass, a meadow. He'd gone and visited Lenore Dove. I expect that was something he made sure to do before every Reaping Day. I don't ask about her, it's not my place. He'll talk about her if he needs to. But I am curious. He told me she died of appendicitis. I didn't buy it, though. It was all too convenient, for lack of a better term, the timing of it. And who better than me to understand the level of petty that President Snow would go to. But I won't press the subject. There were more things than just that, that I knew he wasn't telling the full story on when we had that conversation a month ago. I got my answer on who Ampert was, though, and what his death really symbolized. I would probably meet Beetee in the Capitol later this week. Another tortured soul for Snow to play with. He had told me of the plan with Beetee and the potato bomb, the skewed ending to the Games, filled in the gaps about the skewed timeline I picked up on in the reruns, and told me about his mentors Mags and Wiress. He told me about Louella, turned LouLou for the sake of the Games. His gesture to Snow on the steps of his mansion. I never would've guessed Haymitch to have done any of that. But it offered an explanation as to why he turned into the person he did. Maybe one day he'd tell me the rest. But for now, I'll take what I can get.

It had been an hour, he was fully asleep by now, so it was easier for me to slip out from my place beside him and continue cleaning the kitchen. I finished my tasks, checked in on the sleeping asshole on my couch, and then went outside to sit on my porch for my nightly smoke. I rocked in my chair, humming softly to myself between drags. It was a warm night. A few Peacekeepers passed the village, but none decided to pester me. The humidity was nowhere near the thickness that accumulated in the air from the tenseness of the upcoming Reaping Day. I was doing better than I thought, so far. I figured I'd be having endless fits and drinking endless booze to keep them at bay. But nothing more than my usual terrorized my mind. So far, anyway. Reaping Day itself would be different, I'm sure.

The front door opened and Haymitch stepped outside. He yawned, reaching over to take my cigarette out of my mouth.

He takes a drag, exhales, and says, “Thanks.” He finishes it, extinguishing it in the sand bucket. “Come back inside.” His hands pull me up from my chair and he leads me back inside, locking the door behind us.

We both slept dreamlessly that night.

•••

It was Reaping Day.

Ceremony is at 2pm.

It's only 9 a.m.

“It's only 9 a.m!” I yell, finding Haymitch finishing a bottle of liquor on his front porch that morning.

“Looks like you're behind!” He calls back. But there's no humor in his tone. He's angry today.

I contemplated whether I wanted to go over there or not, but I had already started walking towards him when I first stepped out of the house. I had woken up from a nightmare. I half hoped I'd catch Haymitch in a good mood, or more likely sleeping, this morning - but obviously, I didn't. The thought of one last rush of pleasure before boarding the hovertrain for the Capitol completely dissolved.

I walked up the porch and snatched the bottle out of his hands. “Of all days y-”

He cuts me off, “Exactly. Of all days.” He grabs the bottle back. “Now fuck off.”

I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head, “Fuck you too, asshole.”

He hums into the bottle before taking the last drink. “That's an idea.”

“I'm not in the mood for your shit.” He could be unbearable to be around when he got angry from the liquor.

He stood up quickly, and surprisingly without stumbling. I suppose I low-ball his tolerance sometimes. He's in front of me before I know it, grabbing my face, but not bringing it to his yet.

“Out here? On the porch? Don't tempt me with a good time, darlin’.” I say.

“I thought you didn't wanna deal with my shit?” He asks, leaning in a bit closer.

“I don't.” I reach up and smack his hand away from my face. “I like teasing you, though. Usually improves your mood.” He rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“I know exactly what will help me do that.” He whispers before he looks up for a moment, checking our surroundings, and carries me through the front door of his house.

Chapter Text

I let out a little squeak as he dropped me to the ground. The front door closes just behind me. Haymitch snakes his hands around me from behind, burying his face into my neck, placing light kisses anywhere he could. His hands undo the tie at the front of my robe, knowing what they'll find underneath.

I leaned into him, letting out a breathy sigh. “Maybe I do wanna deal with your shit.” I say softly.

His exhale tickles my neck and I reach up to place my hand on the side of his face. He runs his fingers up my arm, grabbing the hand at his face, bringing it down, grabbing the sleeve of my robe and pulling it from my shoulder on his descent. His other hand grabs the other shoulder of the robe and slides it all fully to the floor. His fingers locate the edge of my panties and pull them down, kneeling with the movement to take them all of the way off. He places a few kisses along my ass, to my thigh, spinning me to face him, kisses continuing to trail til he reaches in-between my legs.

“Don't stop there.” I whined, reaching down to grab a handful of his hair and pull him forward.

He gave no protest as I removed my hand from his hair, reaching for anything to hold on to. One hand finds the doorknob, the other a windowsill. His hands were gripping tightly to my ass cheeks as he ate his fill. His tongue swirled around my clit, the way he's learned I like most.

“Fuck.” I moan, my hand on the doorknob flew to the back of his head, grabbing as much of his hair as I could. He moved his tongue to toy with my entrance, the bridge of his nose now pressing hard against my clit, giving it small quick movements with the rocking of his face. My legs start shaking as I start to come. He must've felt my legs vibrating because next I know he's hoisting me up, my feet lifting from the ground as he supported me best he could on his shoulders as he finished me off. My knuckles on the windowsill were white and my fingertips hurt. I hadn't let go of his hair, not ready to part just yet.

As I grew silent, orgasm now fully ridden out, he sets my feet on the ground and stands. I grab the front of his shirt and try pulling him in for a kiss, but he pulls back, a smirk playing on the edge of his mouth. He prys my fingers off of his shirt and walks away, heading for the living room.

“Let's go, babygirl.” He calls over his shoulder.

I quickly catch up to him, my turn to snake my hands around him from behind, automatically finding the button of his pants. I successfully undo the button and am working on bringing down the zipper when he places his hands on top of mine to stop me.

I stand on my tiptoes to reach his ear, biting lightly, and whisper, “Don't make me put my clothes back on.” I try maneuvering the zipper down again, but I fail. He moves my hands out of the way, keeping hold of one, leading us around the couch and into the new armchair he recently purchased.

“You'll do no such thing.” He says, pulling me to straddle his lap in the new piece of furniture.

Our lips collided with a fierceness neither of us had tapped into before. It's like whatever we could get of each other just wasn't enough. I pulled his shirt off and threw it to the side, hearing something like glass breaking once it left my hand. I looked over to see what damage was done - just a broken cup, a small amount of liquor leaking through the newly formed cracks. As my head was turned, Haymitch leaned forward and grabbed one of my nipples between his teeth, working at the sensitive skin until he had his entire mouth around it, sucking. I reached my hand up to my other breast, but he smacked it away, and roughly palmed at the breast, earning a moan from me. My hands were tangled in his hair, pulling him in closer where I could. My hips were rocking back and forth against his hard member, both of us unable to control our moans of pleasure.

He released his mouth from me and brought his other hand up to flick at the nipple he just parted from. He trailed kisses up my chest, to the base of my neck. My head was craned back, soaking in every moment of pleasure before the day turned to shit.

Haymitch scoots forward to stand. I move in unison with him, stumbling a little. I wrapped my arms around his neck to keep my balance as he took his pants, along with his boxers, all the way off and kicked them to the side. He fell back into the armchair, me falling with him, and we resumed our position in the chair. This time, though, I reached my hand down to grab his cock, squeezing, guiding him to my entrance. I hovered over him, teasing, barely allowing his tip to enter.

He bit my lip, muttering against my mouth, “Be a good girl and sit down.”

“No.” I bit back. Literally and figuratively.

“I'm definitely not in the mood for your shit, you brat.” He says, gripping hard onto my hips.

“Then do something about it.” I say softly, my lips grazing his.

He pulls my hips down forcefully, making me sit all the way down on his cock, both of us inhaling sharply from the sudden rush of pleasure. His hands are still on my hips moving them in circular motions, hardly letting me do any of the work. Finally he lets me move to my own rhythm, a little quicker than what he was doing moments ago.

His hand wraps around my throat and he says, “Slow down, babygirl.” I comply with his request, only a little too well. My hips are now dragging slow circles on top of him, the sluggish movement a burden to both of us in the moment. “Not that fuckin’ slow.” His hand squeezes around my throat a little harder. I instantly pick up the pace a little. “Good girl.”

Goosebumps form on the skin of my neck as he releases his hold. I grabbed his hand and started sucking on his finger and his hips bucked up into mine in sync with my own motions. The thumb on his free hand found my clit and began rubbing roughly. That's when I started to feel my second orgasm beginning. My all-too-telling moans give away the height of my pleasure and Haymitch stops rubbing, holding me down so that he's buried deep inside me, withholding my ability to roll my hips.

“What the fuck?” I say breathlessly, as I try to rock back and forth again.

“What's the matter, princess?” He asks, an irritating smile playing on his lips.

I frown, “You know exactly what's the matter, you prick.” I put my hands on his and pull at them, but he's a lot stronger than me, so it's basically pointless.

“No I don't.” He teases. He places a kiss on my neck. “Tell me.” Another kiss. “What do you want, princess?” He started sucking at the base of my neck, the skin beneath his lips prickling and stinging.

I hummed with pleasure at the sensation, “I want -”

His hand returns to my clit, rubbing circles again, cutting off my sentence.

“This?” He asks in a whisper. I moan in response, words failing. My hips, now free from his grip, began circling again. “Ah, ah, ah.” He tisks, leaving my clit to hold me still again.

“Fuck, Haymitch, I wanna come.” I plead, grabbing his face with the words.

“That's all you had to say, babygirl.” He says with a light chuckle.

My hips began grinding as his own bucked up into me, neither of us in sync with the other. I had grabbed his lower lip between my teeth when we started moving again. His hands were scratching down the length of my back. We matched the same fierceness we had earlier, grabbing each other where we could to be as close as we could be, pulling each other's hair, tongues wrestling. Our sloppy movements slowed down to match each other's pace for a few moments.

I grabbed his face again, making him look up at me, before bringing one of those hands down to my clit and rubbing. He had stopped bucking into me and let my hips do the work as we locked eyes, my hand bringing me back to that orgasm he stole from me.

“Are you gonna come, babygirl?” He asks, one of his hands reaching up to pinch my nipple hard.

I gasp at the sudden jolt of quick pain, “Yes.”

He replaces my hand with his own, rubbing my clit better than I could, making my orgasm unravel.

“Good girl.” He whispers, watching me unfold at his touch. “Don't stop, princess. I'll tell you when to stop.”

I will myself to keep pace in his lap as my body is overcome with satisfaction. My orgasm was fading but my body wasn't relaxing, completely overstimulated. But I got just as much satisfaction at giving him what he wanted as he did. It wasn't much longer until he reached his own orgasm. But he hasn't told me to stop yet. I'm moving slowly now, though, both of us trying to catch our breath.

His hands begin rubbing up and down my sides, lightly tickling me. “You can stop now, brat.” I instantly cease moving, thighs and core burning from the workout.

I stood up, separating us, and sat back down sideways in his lap. Both of us were sweating. I grabbed the elastic band off of my wrist and tied my hair up. Haymitch began rubbing my legs, settling back in the armchair, still breathing heavily.

“One more time?” I ask, looking over at him as I lead his hand between my legs. “Please?”

“Only because you said please.” He says, picking me up and carrying me to his bedroom.

•••

Haymitch was late.

Great.

Awesome.

I get to sit up here with the Mayor and Capitol bimbos all by myself.

At least the crowd of children in front of me was blurred from the bottle of wine I made sure to finish before leaving. I'm coherent, though, and was able to walk onto the stage without fumbling.

Fashionably late, Haymitch did not achieve the not stumbling part of his entrance. He showed up mid-speech from the Mayor, completely unknowing of anything that was going on, awkwardly hugged Effie, and took a seat next to me. I avoided looking at him. Right now he was a completely different person than he was a few hours ago. I'm sure after I left to get ready and drink my own self silly, he did the same. A whole bottle deep by 9am, how much catching up did he have to do after I took up some of his time? I was lost in thought, not paying attention whatsoever, until I heard the girl volunteer.

My head shoots up, observing the crowd. A little blonde girl was crying and the girl with the long braid who always had squirrels was shooing her away shakily. A volunteer? Here? In 12? I look over to Haymitch as Effie had the girl, Katniss, introduce herself. He was swaying in his seat, starting to giggle a little. Before I could grab his arm, he shot up out of his seat, proceeding to give a drunken display of embarrassment that ended with him falling head first off the stage.

Snow did tell me he expected me to be better behaved than Haymitch. I'm already doing a great job at that and I haven't even tried.

I'm distracted by the Peacekeepers carrying off Haymitch when I hear Effie say the name ‘Peeta Mellark’. My attention is pulled back to the stage as Peeta is making his way up the steps and I feel the tears welling in my eyes. I can't cry. Not now. I blink quickly, willing the tears to just hold off for a little longer. It's a struggle, but I keep the tears at bay. Lucky me was sitting directly next to the speaker on the stage and the headache that ensued after the anthem finished was blinding. I need a drink. I follow suit with the movement of everyone else on stage as they retreat.

A high squeal of delight comes from my left as I enter the Justice Building, making the pain in my head pulse. “There she is!” Effie trots over to me, grabbing my shoulders and air-kissing my cheeks. She's directing me off to the right towards a side door. “Come with me, darling.”

I haven't replied yet, I just rubbed my temples and gave her a small smile as my feet took me along with her. We entered a hallway, doors all around leading to different offices, all of which were empty and dark.

She started adjusting her wig as she said, “It's your first year, I'm so excited, truly, but-”

“You want me to take on keeping Haymitch in line?” I interrupted, chuckling a little.

“Merely share the load, dear.” She assures, reaching out to adjust my blouse collar. “I see, though, you may need some assisting yourself.”

“With my sense of fashion, or my inebriation?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Both, darling.” She whispers, patting my shoulder. “Both.”

I grab her hand and squeeze lightly, “I promise I'll behave, no need to babysit me. No promises on my fashion choices, though. I loath anything the Capitol loves.”

“Rude.” She says, squinting her eyes at me. “You'll feel differently once you get there, I promise.”

“Doubt it.”

“Hmph.” Her hand shoots to her pocket and she checks a silver rectangular device, which I guessed offered some sort of communication between the Capitol employees. “I need you to go straight to the train. Our friend still hasn't woken up - I trust the two of you are at least acquainted at this point?” I nod. Well acquainted, not that she needed to know that. “Good. I'll bring the Tributes on in fifteen minutes, no more no less, got it?”

“Yes ma'am.” I say, giving her a small salute.

She shows me the way to the hovertrain and disappears to finish her own tasks.

The last time I had been anywhere near this thing was my own Victory Tour. It looked the same on the outside. Way too shiny. I hardly remember the inside of these things, every time I entered one I was checked-out, only focused on getting home. I didn’t care about all of the fancy high-end things the Capitol had. Good for them. We starve and they thrive. I can’t act like that this time, though. I have to play their Games…again.

I slowly stepped onto the train, hesitant, unknowing of what would trigger my PTSD. So far my only issue was that my heart was beating way too fast. I no longer felt drunk, as if the sight of the train sucked out my spirits. Literally and figuratively. I entered the first car, luxurious and covered in gems that shined from every angle due to the way-too-bright lighting. My hand ran over the backs of all of the wooden furnishings as I walked through the car, making sure at least one of my senses stayed in the real world. I spotted a liquor cart and headed straight for it, pouring a glass of a brown liquid I knew Haymitch favored on the Capitol trips. I downed a full shot and then poured myself more, swirling it as I continued through the car. The Capitol stuff never burned, which was extremely dangerous for me. I won’t realize how much I’ve had if everything is that smooth.

I continued into the connecting car, filled with windows through a small hallway that lead to the next car. Walking through the next, I realized I was in the Control Car, peaking into the doorways and seeing systemboards and high-tech screens everywhere. Next car was a set of bedrooms, both empty, probably for our Tributes. The car after that was another social area, fixed with a small bar. Still no Haymitch. I continued, three more cars down, finding four more bedrooms, only one had the door closed. Found him. I opened the door, Haymitch had fallen to the ground from the bed on the side of the car, still sleeping - or knocked out - not sure.

I sighed softly, placing my drink down on the small desk, and knelt down to try and wake him. I shook his shoulder a few times, but all he did was snore. At least he’s still breathing.

“Wake up, shit-head.” I say, loudly, shaking his shoulder again. He groaned a little. I sat down all the way and lifted his head into my lap. He had a large lump on the side of his head from the fall. “Did you at least ice this?” Another groan. “Didn’t think so.” I grabbed the pillow from the bed and placed it under his head as I went to the bar car and grabbed a handful of ice and a hand towel. When I returned he was sitting upright, head in his hands. I sat on the bed and handed him the ice. “Can we avoid killing ourselves on this trip?”

He laughs a little, wincing as he places the ice against the lump. “Very funny.” He grumbles. “Why are you in here?”

“Effie told me to check on you before she brings the Tributes on.”

“You checked on me, now go.”

I let the shitty behavior pass, knowing today wasn’t a great day for anyone. I got up and opened the door, grabbing my drink on my way out. I ventured back up to the first car, knowing that’s where Effie would bring our Tributes. Sure enough, as I entered one end of the car, Effie, Peeta, and Katniss entered the other. I let the door close behind me, standing just in the entryway, watching the teenagers take in sights they never thought they would see in their lives. Effie gives them a welcome spiel and then crosses the room to me.

“Probably in the bar car by now.” I said with a shrug. “He’s no more compliant for me as he is for you, Eff.” I took a drink from my glass.

She frowns as I take my drink and passes me, searching for Haymitch.

Peeta was attempting conversation with Katniss. I hadn’t moved from where I stood yet. I probably should. I’m their mentor. One of their mentors. The least experienced one. But also the more sober one. I looked over at the teens - focusing on Peeta for a moment. I didn’t know this boy, I only knew his kindness. The girl, Katniss, I knew nothing of. Other than the squirrels. And that she did what I couldn’t. And I envied this girl that I hardly knew for it. I couldn’t volunteer when Karin’s name was called - but she could for her sister, and she did. With that thought, I found my feet taking me to sit in the seat across from Katniss.

The pair of them stared at me, completely lost. They were in a strange place, with people they didn’t know. They only knew one thing - to get home, they had to become killers. I had no words for that. I could tell they wanted me to say something.

That’s when Haymitch entered the car. Their attention turned to him. His behavior mirrored his behavior during my own Games. Drunk. Grumpy. Uninterested. He only cared about finding ice for his drink. He settled for a neat drink when no ice was located in the car. Peeta seemed to show more interest, and wasting no time, on getting started. Katniss didn't speak, but I saw the wheels turning. She was listening to everything and would stay listening to everything. Haymitch was being his normal, well normal to me, ignorant self, telling these kids to just embrace their demise and that he can't help them. And I stayed silent, watching Peeta and Haymitch talk as intently as Katniss was.

I raised my eyebrows at Peeta as he attempted to take Haymitch's drink. Boy has balls, that's for sure. But Haymitch was having none of that, leaving the room stumbling.

Peeta ran after him, Katniss trying to convince him it was pointless. Peeta was determined, though, and followed Haymitch from the car. My mind wandered to that one time Haymitch told me he would try if we had Tributes that would try. I let Peeta go, after considering stopping him, knowing it would be good for Haymitch.

Katniss turned to face me. “And what about you?” Her eyes flit to the glass in my hand. “You just as bad?”

I took a sip, “We'll just have to find out.”

“Well I'm not taking care of you like Peeta wants to do with Haymitch.”

“Wouldn't expect it.” We both gave each other a short nod. “Get some rest, Katniss.”

I left the car. I needed the rest too. I hadn't drank this drink as quickly as all my others today, and the wave of sobriety brought on by the sight of the train was really starting to set in. I drank the rest of what was in my glass, left the empty cup on the counter of the bar a few cars down, and found an unoccupied bed. If I passed Peeta and Haymitch on my way here, I didn't see them. My mind was starting to wander, starting to spiral.

I don't want to go to the Capitol.

I was sitting on the bed, spacing out. My hands were shaking, my vision was tunneling. Then the door slid open and Effie stood in the entryway.

“We'll be served dinner in an hour or so. Then we can all watch the Reaping Ceremonies together too.” She says giddily, clapping her hands together.

Silently thankful for her interference with my thoughts, I smile, “Thanks, Eff.”

I hear her sigh, a little sadly. Her heels click loudly against the hard floor as she sits next to me on the bed.

“I'm out of practice for this. I've had one mentor with me for the past 23 years. Are you okay?” She asks.

I'm taken by surprise just a little, not expecting her to ask something like that. I shake my head, though, taking a deep breath.

“Absolutely not, Effie, my dear.” I look up to force a smile at her. “But what choice do I have? I'll be fine. I just need the night to adjust.” I grab both of her hands in mine. “I'll see you at dinner.”

She nods, completely convinced of my supposed okay state of mind, and leaves the car.

I can't sit here. I need to keep moving. I can't get stuck in my head. Not yet. Save it for bedtime.

I leave, walking the length of the train three times, killing the hour until dinner. Dinner is a blur, as I had been drinking on my back and forth walks. Anything to dull my senses. I don't remember seeing Haymitch or Peeta again at any point. I finally came completely back to my senses when I was able to retire to my bed for the night.

Stripped down from the far-too-fancy-for-me outfit, I dug through the provided clothes in the drawer, finding a pair of light purple silk pajamas. I had snagged a bottle of some sort of blue liquor from the cart on my way to bed. I popped off the cap and started drinking, not bothering with the glass I also grabbed. I heard a boom in the next room over. Haymitch. But there was another voice too, sounding strained, like they were trying to lift something. And I'm sure that something is Haymitch.

I knocked on the door of Haymitch's bed car before sliding it open slowly. I saw Peeta successfully place Haymitch fully on the bed - Haymitch passed out and snoring.

“I was going to ask if you needed any help - I see that really isn't necessary, though.” I say, toasting the bottle of blue liquor in the air.

He gives a small smile and shrugs. “Somebody's gotta take care of him.”

“Usually that somebody would be me. I tend to just leave him where he is, though.” I hear my words beginning to slur and see Peeta's face turn sad as I continue talking. “I'm not as strong as you are, Pita Bread.”

He shakes his head and snorts, “A nickname I've never heard before.” The sarcasm is strong. “Good one.”

“Go get some rest. I'll keep an eye on him.” I nod my head towards the doorway. He stands from the ground, taking my hand to help hoist himself up. I keep hold of his hand for a moment. “I'm sorry.” I whispered.

He gives me a nod, tears forming in his eyes, and leaves the car in a hurry.

Chapter Text

I didn't stay in Haymitch's bedcar overnight. I rolled him onto his side, put a blanket over him, and found extra pillows to line the floor next to the bed, in case he fell out again. I lay awake in my bed for quite some time. I had finally let myself cry - silently congratulating myself for keeping the tears off camera, at least.

If I didn't sleep, then morning wouldn't come, and then I wouldn't ever show up at the Capitol. That's logical, right? No. Not at all. My mind is desperately grasping at straws - how do I get out of this? I can't. That's how.

I grabbed the pillow from under my head, shoved it over my face, and screamed. I feel somewhat better after that.

I rolled onto my side, shutting my eyes tight. Suck it up. My inner voice keeps repeating the phrase until I fall into a deep sleep. The nightmares were relentless. Constant replays of the moments I let myself kill. Made myself kill. Karin died at least a dozen times in the mix of the nightmares.

I must have been screaming. I woke in a panic, someone was calling my name - but in my dream, it was a giant hummingbird that called me, trying to lure me from my cave. When I came to, I had tucked myself in the corner of the bed against the wall, knees pulled to my chest. Haymitch had climbed into the bed and was beckoning me out of the corner, hands outstretched.

He was shushing me, not rudely, but as a way to comfort me. I had allowed myself to move out of the corner and crawl into his lap. He lay back, making me lie on top of him. I heard his heart beating in his chest as I lay my head down. It made me retreat fully from my dreaming state of mind. A heartbeat, a living person.

“I've already got a headache, you don't need to make it worse with all that screaming.” He says softly with a small hint of humor.

“You could've avoided the headache by not making a fool of yourself earlier.” I muttered into his chest.

“What's the fun in that?” He asks. He starts rubbing my back. “I'm a fool every year. It would be a shame to end the streak now.”

I rolled my eyes. “Found Peeta taking care of you earlier.”

He hums. “Get back to sleep, princess.”

I don't argue. I'm exhausted. The sleep I did have so far wasn't restful. But the little I did get before Haymitch left the room to go back to his own when the sun came up was peaceful, and enough to have me feeling refreshed enough for the day ahead.

I quickly got myself prepared for the day. My hair was up in a high, neat ponytail. I found a change of clothes, skinny black pants, and a flowy shirt with red designs on it to match, just something comfortable to wear to breakfast. I gave Effie the satisfaction of helping me choose the outfit I wear to arrive at the Capitol. I slipped into my shoes and left my car. Haymitch walked out of his own at the same time.

“Good morning, sunshine.” He says, a slight chipperness underlying his tone. I frown. He looks past me. “Good morning to you, too, my dear.”

I turn around and see Effie approaching, already dolled up for the day. I wonder what time she has to wake up to get everything done.

“Yes, yes, lovely morning. Big day today, you two.” She says, and then looks to Haymitch. “Best. Behavior. Please.” She enunciates each word like a staccato.

His only response is to pull his flask out of his robe pocket and take a drink.

I put my hand on his arm and pushed, motioning him to start walking. We all made our way to breakfast. Haymitch and I sat at one table, and Effie sat by herself with just a cup of coffee. Peeta entered the car not long after and took a seat with Haymitch and me. Yet again, Peeta egged on about making a plan, wanting advice, etcetera. Haymitch, most of the liquor slept off, was more pleasant with him this morning, actually answering his questions. I had been adding liquor to my coffee throughout the conversation and was starting to feel a little buzzed. I was two cups deep and pouring coffee into my mug for the third time when Katniss came in.

It was her turn to be pushy, apparently. She came in mid-conversation, the last thing said was from Haymitch telling Peeta that lighting a fire at night is a good way to get killed. I was nodding in agreement as she sat down and asked what was a good way to get killed. I suppose her lack of willingness, something that Peeta was showing a strength in, was noticed by Haymitch, who didn't give her the satisfaction of an answer. I reached my coffee mug out to him as I saw him pour liquor from his flask into his own mug. He added a shot to mine without looking, still speaking with Katniss.

Peeta and I looked at each other for a moment, and he was about to say something when we heard a thud. Katniss had plunged a knife into the table dangerously close to Haymitch's hand.

Impressive. I like her.

Haymitch and I stared at each other for a moment and smiled. The knife was released from the table in an instant by Katniss and thrown at the wall. I heard the whoosh of the knife traveling as it flew perfectly between me and Haymitch's heads. I turned to see it sink deep into the wall. I stared at Katniss, still smiling. That's when Peeta shot up and ran to the window, watching the Capitol begin to enter the view.

I stayed in my chair, which I learned could swivel. I brought my legs up and used my knee to swing myself slowly back and forth in front of the table. I looked down into my mug, watching the bubbles from the added spirits pop one by one. I don't want to look outside. I haven't seen it since my Victory Tour party. That final party held just as many bad memories as the arena.

Peeta was waving out of the window as the cheers of the Capitol citizens grew louder and louder. He was smiling, awestruck. Maybe that was going to be his strategy. Just be likeable. Get as many sponsors as possible. Survive through the support. But it was me and Haymitch that had to solidify that support. I'm not likeable, not a social butterfly. What if I can't help him?

Haymitch finished saying something to Katniss, maybe I should've been paying attention, but everyone's voices blended into the cheering of the crowd. The noise was getting unbearable.

I took a large gulp of my coffee and set the mug down. “Should go get ready.” I muttered.

I left and quickly made it back to my bed car, avoiding looking out of any windows on my way through. My chest heaved as I dropped to the floor, sliding down the door. My vision was starting to tunnel when a knock came from behind me. I scurried up, flattening out any wrinkles in my clothes.

“Y-yes?” I asked. “Come in.”

It was Effie. She was here to fulfill her duties of choosing my outfit before we departed from the train. I begged her to keep it simple, and to my surprise, she did. Nothing frilly or over-the-top. A pantsuit, maroon, sleeves rolled up so they were three-quarters length, the inside of the suit was a heather gray, showing at the ends of the neatly rolled sleeves and the inside of my collar. She placed my sister's willow tree necklace on top of the skinny tie that brought the outfit together. She blessed me by choosing flat-bottomed black shoes to finish the outfit. I looked professional. Which I suppose is how a Mentor should look. I told her I would join them in just a moment, and she left the car, trailing off my instructions as she retreated down the hallway.

I was standing in the doorway, looking towards the window. A few steps and I would glimpse a part of the Capitol surrounded by hundreds of “adoring fans”. Although I doubt anyone was a fan of me or Haymitch. Which just might be a saving grace.

I made my way to the window and looked. Buildings made of glass, silver, and bronze, and people whose hair and make-up matched. The body modifications just got weirder and weirder around here, I think, as my eyes land on a woman who has diamonds encrusted into her forehead. The sea of people seems endless. Just a giant crowd of absolute idiots. The brainwashing of Capitol citizens was next level.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Haymitch, who cleaned up quite nicely in a suit. His hand runs down my arm to grab mine and squeeze it.

“You're going to be fine.” He says. “Let's not waste Effie's precious time.” He places his hand on the small of my back and leads us out of the train. Just before we exit behind our Victors and Effie, he leans forward from behind me and whispers, “Smile, babygirl.”

“You never do.” I muttered back.

“Not my first rodeo. It is yours, though.” He urges me forward with a small push between my shoulder blades.

What ensued after I stepped off the train was absolute chaos. Cheers, screams, shouts, “we love you”, and “you're so brave”, all directed mainly to Katniss. What are the odds that my first year mentoring ends with a Victor for District 12? I'm thinking the odds may actually be in our favor with her. But that means we lose Peeta. More likely we lose both of them, in all reality.

Not the time to spiral.

I force myself to smile and scan the crowd as we're led out of the train station and to the Training Center, traveling by car most of the way there. I channeled the mindset I put myself in during my Games. Silent, yet pleasant. My smile stayed plastered to my face, my head nodding at faces I didn't take time to truly examine whenever we waded through a crowd. The world was just blotches of bright colors.

The noise of the crowd dimmed as we entered the familiar building. We were rounded into a corner and given instructions by Effie. Tributes were to go to their stylists, and Mentors were to stay together on the ground floor until time for the Opening Ceremony. Katniss and Peeta were hurried away by Effie before I could even wave at the pair.

I watched people flit about the busy room. Avox's serving drinks in fancy glasses, other Tributes being rounded up by their stylists, Peacekeepers posted at every door and window. An Avox passes me with a plate of drinks, and I grab one quickly before she's out of reach. I drink it all and place it on the tray carried by the next Avox who passes me.

Haymitch had done the same, only he drank two of the glasses before grabbing a third to sip on. He taps his glass with my own newly acquired drink.

“Shall we?” He asks, eyebrows raised.

“Can I say no?” I say, not really asking.

I hear him chuckle softly as he begins walking. I follow, close behind, completely ignorant of what I'm expected to do between now and the Chariot Ride.

Haymitch leads me to a young blond man whose back was turned to us at the moment.

He clapped his hand on the blond man's shoulder and said, “Finnick.”

Finnick Odair turns around. The Capitol's Favorite. One of them, anyway. He was a smug bastard every time he got a chance to be in front of the cameras. Not a strong first pick for introductions, but I'm in no place to complain.

Finnick smiles at Haymitch for a mere second before recognizing my face behind him. “Miss Tally Heather, I heard we'd be seeing you soon.” He says, grinning with his perfect teeth.

I give him a small smile, “You heard correctly.” I say.

He looks at Haymitch for a moment, shakes his hand, and walks to stand directly in front of me. His confidence was almost uncomfortable for me. The space between us could've been larger, so I take a step back.

“We're all friends here.” He says, noticing the space I created. “Well, not all.” His voice changed to a whisper, and his head dipped down. “I think you're smart enough to pick and choose wisely, right?”

I frown for a moment before my inner voice tells me to stop wearing my emotions on my face, and I resume smiling. “‘Friends’ is a pretty serious word, Finnick Odair. Let's work on just acquainting ourselves first.” I cheers the glass in his hand with my own and walk back to Haymitch.

He had taken up conversation with two people whom I recognized as Mentors for District 11. As I made my way to join him, I heard my name being called. I didn't recognize the voice completely, but something about it sounded familiar. Probably another Mentor, one I've seen on television before for the Games. But the volume in which the voice called my name made the attention of half the room turn towards me. I froze.

A woman with long, dark hair appeared in front of me. Johanna Mason. I saw Haymitch divert his attention to me, his companions following suit. Johanna won Karin's Games. She was ruthless - but with an axe, not a bow and arrow - so I knew she wasn't to blame. Still. Something like rage panged in the pit of my stomach as she smiled at me.

“I'm Johanna. Johanna Mason, District 7.” She holds out her hand.

I didn't grab her hand right away. “I know.” My eyes find Haymitch, who is gesturing for me to shake Johanna's hand. I reach up and shake her hand a little too roughly.

Her smile fades as she feels my grip. The people watching us were beginning to whisper. I'm sure this is the type of drama the Capitol citizens have been hoping for. Mentor from District 12 meets the Victor of the Games who took her only family. The suspense must be killing them, Mentors and select Capitol citizens in the room alike.

She wiggles her hand free from me. She looks as if I just crushed her spirits. I'm really not off to a great start here. First some cocky bastard, now her. My inner voice told me I had no reason to be angry with Johanna, and it was right, I didn't. But my heart feels otherwise.

“I'm not your enemy.” She whispers, barely audible. My eyes find hers. They're like mine. Like Haymitch's. Broken. Had Finnick's been that way, too? “Good luck.” She says louder, before walking away.

The surrounding onlookers dispersed, sounding disappointed for such a mediocre interaction. I weaved in and out of the crowd to join Haymitch and the District 11 Mentors. Haymitch is shaking his head lightly at me as I approach. I definitely could have handled that whole interaction better. But I'm not drunk enough, yet. Another switch of an empty glass for a full one, and I've made it to Haymitch.

He introduces the pair to me, who prove to be incredibly friendly, and also drunk. We've been told not to discuss our Tributes, so the conversations are leaning towards small talk and embarrassing stories from years past as Mentors. The three of them pointed out the rest of the Mentors to me, naming their districts and their personal judgments of them. Surprisingly, all three sang praises about Finnick Odair, all claiming his cockiness is just an act he plays for the Capitol. Which is probably a truth that my blinding hatred for the Capitol and its sympathizers overlooked.

A woman's voice sounded over the speakers, telling us to proceed to the hover-shuttles and prepare for the Opening Ceremony to begin. Haymitch was taking his time leaving the building, eyeing a cart of liquor. With most of the crowd in front of us, he diverts to the cart, refilling his flask before jogging back to catch up with me.

“One for you.” He says, slipping a round flask into my jacket pocket. “And one for me.” He pulls another from his inner chest pocket.

I grabbed the flask from my pocket and took a long drink as we began our stupidly short journey from the Training Center to the amphitheater that surrounded the Presidential Mansion, marking the end of the Chariot route. There were no assigned seats, but it was encouraged for the Mentors to intermingle with the Capitol citizens and start to scope out sponsors as our Tributes entered on their chariots.

I wore the blessed coal miner outfit for my own Chariot Ride. So did Haymitch. Neither of us was exactly expecting anything fabulous. Although the one stylist for 12 was new this year. Maybe he'll bring new ideas to the table too.

Haymitch was finishing a conversation with the woman next to him - she was adorned with a teal wig scattered in tight curls and a dress to match. The man next to me, dressed to the nines in zebra print, flashed me a smile that glowed with a single tiny emerald on each tooth. I gave him my best smile and turned away.

I grabbed Haymitch's arm. He reached over and patted my hand with his own. “Not much longer.” He whispered.

Right on cue, the Tributes began rolling out into the street, televised on a big screen for all of us at the end to see. All of the Tributes were in the same basic outfits they were in every year, only the color changed, or the base jewel changed. Everyone, as usual, looked absolutely “fabulous” according to Caesar. But it was our District that stole the entire night.

When Katniss and Peeta rode out on their chariot, outfits engulfed in flame, the crowd roared impossibly loud. The zebra print man was jumping on his feet as he cheered for the flames that passed by on the screen. Haymitch had not been paying attention until this moment. I had started smacking at his arm, my own eyes entranced by the fiery vision on the screen. He grabbed my hand to stop me and leaned forward, focusing on the screen.

“I'll be damned.” He says softly.

Chapter Text

We all pile into the lobby of the Training Center again, collecting our Tributes. Effie, along with the Stylists and their teams, found Katniss and Peeta before Haymitch and I did. We sing our praises to the pair, and Katniss seemed to be finally relaxing as she made a joke towards Haymitch and the live flames their outfits produced. I notice the brute from District 2 eyeing our Tributes like pieces of meat. I elbow Haymitch in the back and nod towards the boy. We took it as a sign to retreat to our level of the building and turn in for the day.

Riding the elevator with just Haymitch, Peeta, Katniss, and Effie made me feel like I could breathe again. I leaned my head back on the cool glass elevator panel and closed my eyes for a moment, taking a silent deep breath. I've done my best to keep my emotions hidden, not wanting to add any stress to Katniss and Peeta. Or Effie. I feel a hand reach back and brush my arm. I open my eyes to see Haymitch's arm outstretched behind his back, secretly trying to offer me some sort of comfort. I stand up straight again and nod in his direction, seeing his head turned slightly to look at me in his peripheral vision.

We allowed Effie to give her grand tour of the twelfth-floor penthouse to our Tributes. It was the same floor I stayed on. There was new furniture, but nothing I hadn't seen before. I grab one of the chairs from the dining table and sit, letting out a long sigh. Haymitch grabs the chair next to me and sits down. We faced each other, knees touching.

“There will be one more outing for us tonight.” He says, placing his hand on one of my knees.

“Where? What for?” I ask. There was nothing else scheduled for Tributes on the first day.

But I'm not a Tribute this year.

He grabs his flask from his pocket, shaking it to check its contents.

“We need as much time to get to know the sponsors before the Games begin.” He informs me, then finishes the contents of his flask, “Snow holds somewhat of a party to give us that chance. And no, it's not an option. Especially for you.” He reaches forward and locates the flask he gave me earlier in my pocket. Empty too.

Haymitch refills our flasks with brown liquor and sits back down. I take the drink, emptying about half of it into my belly.

“I'm doing horribly so far, aren't I?” I asked, knowing the answer, but needing to hear it out loud.

“Absolutely,” Haymitch says with one of those irritating grins. I grab a napkin that's been set at one of the places at the table and throw it at him. “But you're not hopeless.” He adds, throwing the napkin back at me. “Get a good amount of liquor in you and you turn into quite a friendly person.” He winks at me before taking a drink.

“Alright, you two!” We hear echo from the next room over. Effie steps into view. “Our Tributes are taking some well-deserved rest, so that means all of us should too.”

We quickly adjust ourselves so that no part of us is touching the other as Effie continues walking our way.

She exhales dramatically. “My, my, what a day!” Her hands clap together a few times. “Weren't they just lovely?” She squeals a little as she walks past us, not giving either of us a chance to respond, and heads directly for her own room.

“Suppose we should get some rest,” I say, looking back towards the way Effie retreated. “Back that way?”

Haymitch nods, rising from the chair. He led me to a hallway where three doors were lined in a row. One door already had a ‘Do Not Disturb' placard placed on the knob - Effie's claimed room. Haymitch goes for the door furthest from Effie's, so I go for the one in the middle.

A hand grabs mine and pulls, “Where do you think you're going?” Haymitch asks. He opens the door to his chosen room and pulls me in with him.

The noise from what ensued once the door locked behind us was protected only by the grace of high-tech Capitol soundproofing walls.

•••

Somehow, I found myself desperately missing Effie as I walked up the steps to the Presidential Mansion. I wish I could have traded places with Effie, me staying with the Tributes and her attending this social gathering instead. But as Haymitch told me, it wasn't an option for me to stay behind. All the same people from earlier today were here now, too. Select Capitol citizens, those who would be sponsors, were also in attendance. Every Mentor was in the same outfit as before, which wasn’t surprising. It was the Capitol sponsors that took on a whole new form in the nightlife. Fluorescent designs were scattered all around the room, some were patterns on clothes, others were tattoos and/or body paint, and some were even people's make-up. Orange seemed to be popular - perhaps in response to Katniss and Peeta's flaming spectacle earlier today.

Haymitch gave me a spiel about putting on a brave face and trying to be social and likable tonight during our ride here. I made no promises, but I said I'd try. He fed me drinks as we made our way deeper into the crowd. I was more friendly and pleasant when buzzed, he was right in that aspect. Although I have no plans to be as friendly as he likes me to be towards him, towards anyone in this room tonight. We ended up with our District 11 friends again, avoiding conversation with anyone else on the way so far.

Mid-conversation with the female Mentor from 11, her partner places his hand on my shoulder and turns me towards him.

“How is your first time back going so far?” He asks. His eyes mirrored mine, Haymitch's, and Johanna's. Broken.

I struggled to give even a small smile as I said, “I suppose it could always be worse.”

In truth, it hadn't been bad. Yet. We had been moving too much. Always doing something, or someone, or planning for something. It hadn't even been 24 hours yet.

“I'll drink to that,” Haymitch says, raising his glass.

“What won't you drink to?” I ask, tapping his drink with mine.

His eyes fixate on something behind me. He raises his glass higher and mutters under his breath, “Him.”

I turned to face my new friend from District 11, commenting on her beautiful hair, when I peered out of the corner of my eye and saw Snow lurking in the corner of the room. Someone was speaking to him, but he was returning the silent cheers to Haymitch.

Haymitch walked in the opposite direction, patting his pal from 11 on the shoulder. I continued my conversation for as long as I could before I found myself needing another drink. I suppose this was my chance to…make a friend?

Navigating my way through the crowd, no one went out of their way to stop me. Which didn't bother me just yet. I need a drink in my hand before I muster up the courage to have a conversation with anyone.

I took my pick from a variety of colored drinks in various-shaped glasses. I chose something pink in an hourglass-shaped champagne glass. I made eye contact with the Avox who was serving the drinks and mouthed ‘thank you’ before walking away. I know the etiquette with Avox's is supposed to be to basically ignore them, but that never sat right with me. I always found a way to convey my thanks to them.

As I began to turn from the table of drinks, Johanna Mason walked up beside me. I hadn't taken the time to examine her outfit and make-up earlier, other than her sharply winged black eyeliner. Her cheeks glimmered in the blue-ish lighting of the room, and the pink lipstick she had on glowed like the fluorescent theme of the night. I admired her outfit for a moment, forest green, a pair of long, wavy pants that gave the illusion of a skirt when she stood still, matched with a white blouse with green accents that dipped pretty low. She examined my outfit in return and smiled when we met each other's eyes.

“I'm sorry for earlier,” I say. That had originally just been a thought, but the liquor had started to loosen me up. “You caught me off guard.”

Johanna grabs the same pink drink I did and begins walking away from the bar. “I realized that after the fact.” She says as I join her. “I'm sorry, too.”

We find an unoccupied high-top round table and set our drinks on it. I cough awkwardly and take a sip of my drink.

“What's it been like? For you?” Johanna asks, also sipping her drink. “Life, I mean. After the Games.”

“Quiet,” I answered. “Too quiet.”

“Must be. Especially over in 12. It's just the two of you-you and Abernathy.”

“The first year was good. But then…” I trailed off.

“Yeah.” She says quietly.

We both empty our glasses with a single gulp. As our glasses touch the table in unison, we look up at each other and smile. Perhaps I've made my first friend. I suppose drinking is probably something every single one of us Mentors shares as a hobby.

Johanna and I talk through the course of two more drinks. She mentioned how her idea of acting the innocent girl, to only flip the script, was inspired partly by me. She applauded my particular savageness from when I fought off a District 4 Tribute in the arena. No wonder the atmosphere between us was so awkward before, despite the rage I felt upon seeing her face for the first time. How do you approach such a situation? I was somewhat of an influence on her, but she was the Victor of the Games that took my only family. And all of Panem knew it. But Karin wouldn't blame her for any of it. So I shouldn't either.

She's still talking when I hear a familiar melody start to play from the band. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Something was different about the familiar tune. Just a little bit. What was it?

“Tally? Hello?” Johanna's hand appeared in my line of sight, waving. “Anyone home?”

I shook my head lightly, “Yeah, yeah, sorry. I just…” I stopped talking again, tuning into the music.

She noticed my attention was fixed on the band a small distance behind us. “We can go closer to the music if you'd like.” She suggested, stepping away from the table, both of our drinks in hand.

I had already started walking, abandoning my drink if it hadn't been for Johanna. There were a few clusters of people surrounding the musicians. Two violins, a cello, and a piano were being played by four people who all looked identical. Johanna and I stood just behind a crowd of Capitol citizens who were also admiring the song being played. Actually, everyone had stopped to pay attention to the sound. It was almost haunting. The low vibrations of the cello sent chills down my spine. I was humming along to the tune quietly, willing my brain to find the name of the song.

Johanna leaned into me from behind, bringing her arm around to hand me my drink. I grab the glass, keeping my eyes on the performance.

I feel her chin rest on my shoulder, and she whispers, “What's wrong?”

I shake my head, “Nothing. The song sounds familiar, and I can't quite put my finger on it.” I continue humming along.

It's a slower song, but the violins still trill in assigned places, and the piano is currently riding into a crescendo. The repeated chorus begins playing, and I find words flowing from my mouth softly so that only Johanna could hear.

“You're as pure as the driven snow.”

My heart skipped a beat. No. It's not that. It couldn't be that song. That's a Covey song. A more unpopular one, at that. Not that it wasn't good - Clerk Carmine just never sang it at events, only on his own. How in the world could a professional string band in the Capitol get their hands on this particular song? They can't. There's no way.

In an attempt to prove my conclusion wrong, I kept singing softly, waiting for the band to change just one thing about the song so that I could say I was overreacting. It never happened. It was a beautifully orchestrated string and piano rendition of the song. Usually it was played with guitars and a ukulele, and occasionally someone on a cello. I heard Clerk mention once that it was Lucy Gray who wrote the song - she wrote a lot of the ones I favor.

“Your voice is beautiful,” Johanna says, turning her face towards my own as she still leans on my shoulder. I'm not usually one for such displays of any type of affection, but she's not bothering me. I'm too distracted. “Do you sing a lot?”

I stop and turn slightly to her, “Never.” I say softly.

“Shame. It's a wasted talent if you're not gonna show it off.”

“It's complicated.” I turned back to the band. My eyes scanned the room for a moment, searching for Haymitch. Where was he? Could he hear what I heard?

I found a pair of blue eyes staring at me from across the room, but it wasn't the pair I was looking for. President Snow was perched halfway up a curved staircase, watching me intently. His face was stone cold, completely void of emotion - and for some reason, that frightened me to my core.

“Would you want to show it off?” Johanna's voice interrupts the eye contact I'm keeping with Snow.

I break the stare and turn to Johanna, her head sliding from my shoulder with the movement. “What?” I ask.

“Your voice. Would you want people to hear it?” She asks again.

“I-I-uh -” I stammer, vigorously searching the room for any sign of Haymitch. “I have to go.”

I walked around her and started for the exit, drink still in hand. There were a handful of people outside enjoying curved pipes stuffed with tobacco. I passed all of them, scurrying down the large steps until I was halfway descended. I pulled a cigarette from the box in my inner pocket, lit it, and held the first pull for a few seconds before exhaling.

A couple, two sponsors from the Capitol, passed me, arm in arm. The two of them greeted me and bid me goodnight in the same sentence as they left the party.

“She's so mysterious, don't you think?” I heard the woman say to her partner.

I rolled my eyes. At least my disdain for these people just comes off as “mysterious” to them.

“Missed opportunity.” Haymitch says from behind me.

I turned to face him. “Did you hear it?” I asked, completely ignoring what he just said.

“Hear what?” He asks. He leans against the railing of the stairs, taking my cigarette in passing.

“The song that just ended a few minutes ago?” I snatched my cigarette back.

“It was…pretty?” He says, obviously confused.

“You didn't recognize it.” I say softly.

“Should I have?”

He was pretty drunk at the moment. Which could be the explanation.

I take a step closer. “It was a Covey song, Haymitch.”

He exaggerates a look of confusion, furrowing his brow, “I highly doubt that.”

“I'm serious.”

“And why would Snow go out of his way to -” he stops, slowly realizing the reality of what he was about to finish saying.

“You really are drunk,” I say, shaking my head. “He saw me. He saw me recognize the music.”

“And?”

“I ran out here.”

“Shouldn't have done that.” He says as he offers me the rest of his drink. “Maybe you should go back to the Training Center.”

“Right, because that's not suspicious of me.” I respond sharply.

“It's been over an hour. I've seen three others leave already. Not everyone stays the whole time.”

“Tally!” Johanna's voice comes from above. She's quickly descending the stairs towards us.

I toss the butt of my cigarette into the designated decorative stone bowl. Johanna's eyes flit back and forth from Haymitch to me a few times as she stops to join us.

“I see you two have learned to be friendly.” Haymitch says.

“I see you've learned to last more than an hour before passing out on the front lawn.” Johanna shoots back instantly.

Haymitch brings a hand to his chest and gives an exaggerated gasp, “Ouch.”

“I haven't heard that one yet,” I say to Johanna. I finished the drink Haymitch gave me.

“Well,” she grabs the empty glass from my hand and gives it to Haymitch. “I'll tell you if you walk back to the Training Center with me.” Her arm links with mine, and she leads us down the steps. “There's a particularly thorny rosebush right over here that I'd avoid later tonight!” She calls to Haymitch from over her shoulder, pointing to the right with her free hand.

As we exit the grounds of the mansion, Johanna pulls me to the left - the opposite way of the Training Center.

“Whoa, wait,” I say, planting my feet on the sidewalk. “Where are we going?”

She tugs on my arm, “Keep moving.” I listen and start walking again. She leans in close and whispers, “To the real party.”

This was not what I had in mind when I spent my nights making scenarios about what my time in the Capitol would be like. Sneaking off to gods know where with Johanna Mason. I can't say I'm complaining, though.

We quickly walked side-by-side on the sidewalk. She had unlocked our arms for only a moment to undo the jacket she had tied around her waist. I hadn't noticed it before. It blended perfectly with the pant-skirt. She put the jacket on, threw the hood up, and started digging in her pocket. Her hand retreated holding a chunky, yet small, black cloth.

“Here.” She said, handing it to me. “Put it on.”

“Put it on?” I ask, examining the square. I was becoming out of breath trying to keep up with her now. “What the fuck is going on?”

She takes the cloth from me, unfolding it quickly and shaking it once, “Put it on.”

A black hooded cape-like jacket was placed into my hands. I threw it over my shoulders and put the hood up. Johanna resumed our position of locked arms and slowed our pace a little.

“Johanna,” I said, but she shushed me. We took a sharp turn into an alleyway and kept walking. “Johanna, seriously.” My voice was now a whisper. “I don't think we should be doing this.”

“Of course we shouldn't." She whispers back. “What would be the fun in always doing what we're told?”

Touché, my inner voice says.

I fell silent, letting her lead us to wherever she was taking us. Hopefully, by “real party” she doesn't mean more weirdly fashioned Capitol people just in a different setting. I know there are nightclubs here, and I'm 99.99% sure they're not my scene. But we were still navigating alleyways and small streets. I'm sure even these areas are scattered with cameras, so surely we'll be caught. But I don't know my way back, so I'll roll with it.

Finally slowing to a leisurely walk, Johanna unlinks our arms and holds my hand.

“It’s just here.” She says, leading us down a dead-end alleyway. There was a door to our left. The building it led to looked dark. Johanna taps rhythmically five times on the door.

I peered my head around her, watching the door open about an inch after someone inside unlatched it. A man appeared dressed in all black, but not the way President Snow's security service dresses in black. He had a beanie on his head, black cargo pants, black cargo boots, and a wrinkled black button-up shirt. He smiled at Johanna, then looked at me and frowned.

“It's okay. Don't you recognize her?” Johanna asks him. I stepped into the light of the doorway and pulled my hood back a little. The man smiled upon seeing my full face. “Thanks, Will.” Johanna kisses his cheek and pulls me all the way inside.

Will, the speechless man, closed and locked the door behind us. I was met with the top of a spiral wooden staircase. Johanna had already started going down, calling up to me to hurry up. I caught up to her, almost to the bottom now. I heard music growing louder. String music. Fiddles, banjos, and bass. A harmonica. People are clapping and stomping their feet. Singing. So much singing. What was this?

“C'mon.” Johanna beckons as she opens the door at the bottom of the stairs. She reaches her hand out to mine, and I grab it.

Chapter Text

As I step into the room, I can hardly believe I'm still in the Capitol. At the back, there's a wooden stage, one that was definitely put together by someone's own two hands and well-earned talent. Five people were on the stage, two women and three men. None of them were dressed in animal print or fluorescent colors or anything at all - just normal people with natural hair and natural faces in normal clothes. The crowd was the same. It was so refreshing that it brought tears to my eyes. The open floor was scattered with high-top tables, and the edges of the room were fixed with larger square tables with chairs for sitting. Lights criss-crossed along the ceiling, some twinkling, most working. A bar was set up in the corner of the room, serving all the same types of alcohol that were being served at the mansion party. In the opposite corner, there were three screens that had a live feed of the doorway outside as well as another feed that showed what I guessed was the entryway to here from the inside of the connected building. The third was a live feed of the Presidential Mansion.

What in the world is going on here?

Johanna stopped at an empty high-top table and turned to me. She was grinning from ear to ear. A woman with a pixie cut hairstyle and glittery blue eyeliner walked up to the table with two drinks. She winked at Johanna as she set them on the table and moved on.

I took one of the drinks and said, “What is this place?”

“This,” she waved her hand in front of her. “Is where the normal people of the Capitol get together.”

“‘Normal people of the Capitol’?” I ask, raising one eyebrow.

“You know. The people who realize that the Hunger Games are actually a barbaric form of torture, not a glorified television show.” She says without skipping a beat. I choke on my drink a little. “Oh. It's fine. We're safe here.” She assures me.

I raised both of my eyebrows, unconvinced.

Johanna huffs and rolls her eyes as she walks away from the table and approaches the stage. One of the men leans down so she can whisper something in his ear. He nods, I see his lips say ‘absolutely, no problem’, and Johanna is on her way back to me.

“What was that about?” I asked, squinting my eyes at her from over my glass as I took a drink.

“You'll see.” She replies in a sing-song voice.

“Alright, folks!” The voice booms throughout the room, originating from the stage. I looked up to see the man Johanna had spoken to at the mic. He's dressed in a khaki colored button down shirt, navy blue dress pants, dark brown suspenders, and tan loafers on his feet. His hair was light brown and in tight curls that seemed to be completely natural. “It's a special night tonight, as you all know, the first day of the Hunger Games celebrations has come to an end.” The crowd boos loudly. “Yes, yes, settle down.” His hands go up in the air and slowly come down. “It's not special because of the Bullshit Games, though! It's special because we've finally reached a full year without a raid!” The crowd cheers. I look at Johanna and frown, but she just whoops along with the crowd. “Anyway, thanks for coming out tonight, guys. And thanks to the special guests that made it out, too.” He winks at Johanna. “Speaking of special guests, I've been asked by one to play a song from District 12 tonight, and I think I've got a favorite for everyone.” He strums the guitar note-by-note. “This one's for you, Tally.” His finger points directly at me, and he smiles. The girl behind him begins the song “Nothin’ You Can Take From Me”.

I'm completely shocked. Floored. Flabbergasted. The people surrounding me were clapping to the beat of the song, some were dancing, and others were singing along.

Johanna was watching me observe the room as she too clapped along. “Watch this.” She leans in and says. She stands up straight, cups her hands around her mouth, and yells, “She can sing too!!” Towards the stage and then points at me.

My eyes widen and my head starts shaking vigorously, “Nope, no, I can't.” The man on the stage is holding his arm out to me as the band lengthens an instrumental bridge in the song. “She's lying!” I called back.

“Bullshit!” Johanna said louder. She grabbed both of my hands and squeezed them tightly. “Go on.” She whispered. “Show yourself off.”

Something in her tone ignited the confidence I'd been so far lacking. I returned the squeeze between our hands and let go.

“Fine, fine,” I called out. I walked to the stage, taking the man's hand as support as I hopped up.

When I grabbed the mic and looked up, I saw that it was almost impossible to see the crowd of people through the spotlights set on the stage. That made it a little easier. I've never, not once in my life, actually performed. Unless you count that time with the Peacekeepers. I don't, though. My head danced with the spirit of bright pink liquor, and the butterflies I felt in my belly on the way up seemed to disappear as I grabbed the mic and allowed myself to sing.

“You can't take my sass
You can't take my talkin’
You kiss my ass,” The crowd roared in a collective cheer.
“And keep on walkin’
Nothin’ you can take was ever worth keepin’
Oh nothing you can take was ever worth keepin’
Nothin' you can take from me is worth dirt
Take it 'causе I'd give it free, it won't hurt
Nothin' you can take was ever worth keepin'
No, nothin' you can take was ever worth keepin’.”

The band behind me, playing the drop to the ending tunes, started stomping their feet and dancing together. I turned to watch them, and the curly-haired man grabbed my hand, moving his guitar to his back and allowing it to swing by its strap. He spun me in a circle as we all began to harmonize our vocals together. The crowd was roaring and clapping, and shouts of “more” and “again” started chanting as the last beat of the song rang out.

“Good lord, give it up for Ms. Tally Heather, everyone!” The man shouts into a microphone and starts clapping. He pulls me up to the mic with him. “You're full of surprises, aren't you?”

I chuckle lightly, “I guess so.”

“Well, I'd say by the sound of this awesome crowd, they want you to sing another song. What d'you say, Tally?”

“Do it!” I hear Johanna's voice above everyone else's.

I stared in the direction I knew she was standing in. I could see her hair sweeping as she jumped up and down. Someone was standing with her now, but I couldn't make out who it was.

“What am I singing?” I ask, smiling up at the man with the curls.

The crowd roars with approval, and he smiles at me for a moment too long. “Anything you want to, darlin’.” He retreats to the back of the stage for a moment and returns with a spiral-bound book, everything inside handwritten. “Most of my good friends here know this, but I'm the Director of Panem's History for the Capitol.” My jaw drops. He winks. “I've got just about every song you can think of from across all 12 Districts. Take a look.”

And he surely did. Songs I didn't recognize, along with ones I did, were scattered throughout Districts 1-11's sections. I made my way to District 12 and saw that it was actually the largest one. The Covey people were forced into 12 at one point, which makes for an explanation why we have so many more songs than the others. Two songs caught my eye - The Ballad of Lucy Gray and Pure as the Driven Snow. Seeing the latter song title made me feel better about hearing it earlier tonight. Maybe Snow didn't know the song, maybe he just asked for something different to be played. My inner voice laughed at me, though.

I fingered my way to The Ballad of Lucy Gray. As I began reading the lyrics, I realized that there were two versions of the song. I skipped the first one, seeing as it was one I knew by heart and one that made me cry every time I sang it, and found the intro to the next. Ohh, I see. Makes sense. District 12's own Lucy Gray wrote her own Ballad - I guess she never gave it a title, so where else but to stick it with the original.

I pointed to the second version of the song, “That one.”

The curly-haired man squinted for a moment, “That’s one I don't sing too often, truthfully.” He closes the book. “Perfect.” He places the book down on a stool and removes the guitar from his back. “Do you play too?” He holds it out to me. I nod as I grab the guitar from him. “I'll be damned, Tally Heather, you're a woman after my own heart, aren't you?”

I smirked, meeting his eyes as I brought the guitar up into position. “You must be an easy man to please if all it takes is a pretty voice and talented hands.”

The crowd hoots and whistles.

He points a finger at me, chuckling, and gives me another wink, “My name's Bennett, darlin’, and the stage is yours.” He sits on the stage's edge, a few feet from where I stood.

The rest of the band took a seat either on a stool or on the edge with Bennett. The crowd grew quiet.

I started strumming the opening of the song. I kept it playing as I brought my mouth to the mic and said, “Believe it or not, y'all, tonight's the first time I've ever performed like this. Be easy on me, alright?” I laugh a little, the rest of the crowd dismissing my comment. “I'm serious. I guess it just takes the confidence of a new friend to push me in the right direction.” I wink at Johanna. My eyes have adjusted to the lighting, and I can make out more people in the room. It looks busier than when we first arrived. I still couldn't make out who was with Johanna, though.

I felt awkward being the only one standing, so I sat with the rest of the band. The guitar lay comfortably in my lap, and I started up the song again.

When I sang, the room was silent, holding the space for just my voice. While this was my first time allowing a crowd of people, a crowd of strangers, to hear me, I found the entire atmosphere to be comforting. My eyes closed for a moment as I was heading into the second verse. I heard Karin singing with me when I closed my eyes. And to hear her sing with me for a crowd of people who have already shown how much they love my talent, mended something inside of me that I thought was broken forever.

•••

Haymitch returned to the party after watching Johanna take Tally away for the night. He wasn't going to argue with either of them. He wasn't in the right mindset to go doing that, anyway. The night was definitely already starting to blur. He wished he could've passed out on the front lawn by now, but he couldn't. As much as Tally joked about babysitting him, he was more so babysitter to her.

Everywhere he went, he found Snow somewhere close by, lurking in a corner or inserting himself into conversations. More people spoke with Haymitch this year, all of them just dazzled by Katniss and Peeta's spectacle earlier that day. He wasn't bad at the social aspect of the mentoring business; he just never really had anyone interested. Once the Games started, the script could flip if he had a Tribute who started to show a little promise, but those moments were few and far between.

Amid a conversation that included a certain skulking President, Haymitch felt a big wave of dizziness set in.

Time to go back.

It had been just about an hour since Tally and Johanna left. He figured that gave the latter an adequate amount of time to tell Tally embarrassing stories. He walks away without a word and slowly maneuvers out of the crowd and into the open air. The stairs were a little tough to navigate, but he successfully made it to the bottom without a full-blown fall.

He walked onto the sidewalk and started turning right, but stopped. It was fuzzy, but he just remembered seeing Johanna pull Tally to the left when they exited under the stone archway. He didn't think anything of it at the time. But now…he knew exactly where they went.

•••

Haymitch spotted Johanna as he entered the secret underground room. He had already heard the voice that was singing and knew who it was. He wasn't sure how he felt about this yet. He had wanted Tally to lie low and just not be as quiet as she's been in the past while they were here. He hadn't even expected her to make friends with anyone while here, let alone on the first day.

He slipped next to Johanna quietly. She hadn't noticed him yet, too enthralled with the performance.

He leans over and says, loud enough to divert her attention, “On her first night back, really?”

Johanna jumps in place and turns on Haymitch, frowning, “Why not?” She asks, realizing who he was.

Haymitch gives a wave to the girl with the pixie cut, "It's been five years since she's been back. You don't think this could be…too much?” The girl places a drink in front of him, and he takes a sip.

“Obviously not,” Johanna says, nodding her head at the stage. She cups her hands around her mouth and yells, “Do it!” In response to the man at the mic.

Haymitch watched the scene on stage. Tally grabbed the guitar from Bennett.

“I'll be damned, Tally Heather, you're a woman after my own heart, aren't you?” Bennett said to Tally.

She smirks and says, “You must be an easy man to please if all it takes is a pretty voice and talented hands.”

The crowd hoots and whistles.

“Hmph.” Haymitch grunts into his glass before taking a large gulp.

Johanna's head snapped around to face him. “What was that, Haymitch Abernathy?”

He avoids eye contact with her, taking another drink, “Hmm?”

She leans against the table, resting her chin in one of her hands and trying to catch his stare with her own, “How cozy have you two gotten since becoming neighbors? Must be lonely in that Victor's Village. Just the two of you.” Two of her fingers trail up his arm.

He shakes her off, “Wouldn't you like you know?” He's still avoiding eye contact, watching Tally speak into the mic on stage.

“Believe it or not, y'all, tonight's the first time I've ever performed like this. Be easy on me, alright?” She says with a light chuckle.

Johanna, still leaning in quite close to Haymitch, asks, “Did you know she could sing?”

He nods.

Tally finishes, “I'm serious. I guess it just takes the confidence of a new friend to push me in the right direction.” She winked at Johanna, who gave one in return.

“I stand corrected.” Haymitch says to Johanna, tapping his glass with hers.

•••

I jumped off the stage after finishing the song. Bennett jumped down in sync with me. His hands grabbed the guitar over top of my own as I handed it back to him.

“I'd love to pick your brain for a while.” He says, now taking the guitar and throwing it over his shoulder again.

“I’d love to pick yours too,” I admit. “Maybe a little later, though.”

“I'll be here all night.” He says, looking me up and down once before turning to join the band again.

Confident guy. Very handsome. Obviously interested. I'm not sure I am. But I do want to pick his brain.

I was walking back to the table where I knew Johanna was, shaking hands with strangers and saying hello, blushing with each compliment thrown my way. She was stood by herself now, swirling her drink with her straw and giving me somewhat of a cheeky smile. She walked around the table and intercepted me, leading me towards the corner of the room with the three screens.

“There's someone else you need to meet.” She says as she links our arms together and pulls us close while we walk.

We approach the screens, all of them clear pictures, no glitching, decorated with shiny silver metal. Two swivel chairs sat in front of them, but only one was occupied. The occupant spun around, sensing someone walking up behind him - or, more likely, saw our reflections in a darker part of the screens he was observing. He had skin the color of coffee with a little bit of cream, dark hair buzzed short, and glasses. He smiled upon seeing Johanna and rose from his chair, arms outstretched.

“I figured I would've seen you here much earlier.” The man says with a chuckle as he and Johanna hug.

Johanna breaks away first, “Had some friends to make first.” She turns her head to me. “Tally, this is Beetee Latier.”

My eyes met Beetee's for a moment. Images of his son's skeletal remains flashed in my head. I wonder if he ever stops seeing that image in his head. Probably not. Karin's death played pretty regularly in my own mind.

“Good to meet you, Tally,” Beetee says, shaking my hand. “Haymitch just went to grab me a refreshment.” He points towards the bar.

“Finally on the drink, Bee?” Johanna asks, flopping down into the open swivel chair, letting it spin in a full circle slowly.

“No, no.” He protests, taking his own seat again.

Haymitch appears at my side and hands a silver mug to Beetee, the contents of which are steaming.

“But caffeine, I am still hopelessly addicted to.” Beetee continues. He blows across the top of the mug and takes a sip.

I turned to Haymitch, who was handing me my own drink, this one being some peach colored bubbly liquid in a glass. “When did you get here?” I ask.

“Just before your little one woman show.” He says with a wink. Beetee passes Haymitch his drink that he had left sitting on the small table between the chairs. “Sounded good up there, darlin’.” He emphasizes the word darlin’ the same way Bennett had earlier on stage.

I rolled my eyes. “Jealous?” I whispered.

Haymitch takes a step towards me to close the gap between us and leans down to whisper in my ear, “Your talented hands will be busy with me tonight, anyway.”

“What makes you say that?” I whispered back, teasing him.

“What happened to being a good girl while we're here, hmm?”

To anyone looking on at us, we just seemed like two people sharing a private conversation in a loud, overcrowded room. Neither of us faced the other, just looked forward as we whispered back and forth. His breath tickled my neck, smelling of liquor, but so did my own. The sexual tension that he started between us was almost too much for my intoxicated state to ignore. I lifted my drink to my lips and turned away from him suddenly. I saw him smirking out of the corner of my eye. He knows exactly the effect that the exchange just had on me.

Johanna and Beetee stopped their conversation when I turned to them.

“Is this all you?” I ask Beetee, pointing to the screens.

“Sure is.” He replies.

“And what happens if someone shows up on your screens that we don't want to see?” I question.

“Let's hope you don’t have to find that out,” Beetee says before taking another sip of his coffee. “Between Bennett and me, we’ve been fairly secure this past year.”

“What is this place, really?” I ask, looking between the three of them.

“A sort of Sympathizer Group, I suppose, is the best way to put it,” Johanna answers.

“One of many.” Beetee adds.

“These little underground rooms are scattered all throughout the city.” Haymitch tells me.

“We rotate locations to keep the Peacekeepers off our trail.” Beetee says.

I never thought about the idea that there could actually be people in the Capitol who still had a grasp on the real meaning of humanity and empathy. But here they are. A small group compared to the population volume of the Capitol, but here nonetheless. And led by a Capitol employee. A spark of hope flickered deep in my gut - maybe one day the people of Panem really could stop the Hunger Games. If resistance movements and sympathizers exist within the gut of the beast, then they're everywhere. And there's strength in numbers.

•••

With the press of a button, Beetee had collapsed the bar, the stage, and his security set-up. All three ended up in cubes that stacked neatly on top of one another on a handcart. I watched Beetee stack the last cube and lean against the tower he just made. The feed of the Presidential Mansion showed Snow turning in for the night, which meant the rest of his guests would be piling out soon. There were only six of us left - me, Haymitch, Beetee, Johanna, Bennett, and a man still sitting on the other side of the room with his hood up.

“This way.” Bennett nods his head towards a door behind us. He turns around and calls out, “Stop being Mr. Mysterious, Finnick Odair, we're leaving for the night!”

I turned around and saw the man with his hood up standing from the table and throwing back the headpiece dramatically. Finnick Odair, hair messy from the hood, shoots back what's left of his drink and jogs to catch up with everyone as we pile in through the door and up a set of stairs.

“I didn’t realize you were a Covey girl, Tally.” Finnick says, walking next to me on the wide staircase.

“I'm not.” I tell him.

“Could've fooled me.” Bennett's voice comes from below.

“Sorry to disappoint,” I call down to him. I turned my attention to Finnick. “What are you doing in a place like this?”

He looks at me and frowns, almost looking offended, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Mr. Capitol Darling, associating himself with rebellious kind. Scandalous.” I say, flat-toned yet sarcastic.

“I'm full of surprises.” He said. “And I see you are too.”

I locked eyes with him for just a moment and sure enough found them to also be soaked in that same brokenness the rest of us shared. What trauma does that smug attitude hide?

We came to the bottom of a ladder. Bennett squeezed past us all and went up first, unlocking a hatch and swinging the door up and open. One by one, we exited through the hatch doo,r which opened to the floor of a maintenance closet. Bennett was at the top, reaching his hand out to help me the rest of the way out. As I got flat on my feet, he brought my hand up to his mouth and kissed it lightly.

“I'll be seeing you soon.” He says. He winks as he begins descending the ladder and closes the hatch behind him.

“He'll be seeing all of you soon. Snow's allowed him to be in attendance at the Mentor's Center during the Games.” Beetee informs us. “Just through there. Goodnight, guys.” He points towards the exit of the closet.

Haymitch, Finnick, Johanna, and I exit the small room and find ourselves in the back corner of the lobby of the Training Center.

“What the hell?” I whisper.

Finnish shushes me softly.

We maneuver our way around the edge of the lobby, out of sight of the two Peacekeepers on duty, and towards a side door that leads outside. No Peacekeeper stationed out there. Finnick opens the door wide, hoping to give the illusion that we all just walked in that way, and then begins strutting towards the middle of the lobby.

“It was good to catch up with you three.” He says loudly, spinning to walk backwards and winking at all of us. “The President never seems to disappoint, am I right?”

We all give our separate goodnight's and see you tomorrow's before he makes his way to the stairwell. I couldn't think of climbing any more steps right now. The three of us enter the elevator, nodding to the Peacekeeper on our way by.

Johanna kisses my cheek just as the elevator opens to her floor, winks at Haymitch, and walks off. The car resumes ascending upwards. Haymitch and I are leaning against opposite ends of the elevator. The ride is quiet, neither of us daring to talk for fear of the cameras we knew were there.

When the door slid open, Effie was sitting in front of the television, head resting on her hand, fast asleep. I wanted to wake her up, but I was pulled in the opposite direction by Haymitch. He leads us to his room, fumbling at the doorknob for a second as I distract him with a trail of kisses on his neck.

“Johanna never got around to telling me any embarrassing stories,” I whispered in his ear.

“You don't need the stories, you see it all firsthand.” He says, pulling us both into the room and closing the door. “I pass out on your lawn more than my own, anymore.” He locks the door.

I chuckle softly, starting to loosen his tie, “True enough.” I pull the tie off over his head. “I have quite a few questions about tonight.”

“Save them for later.” He says, unbuttoning my jacket. “We have more important things to do.”

I start unbuttoning his shirt in response, “Like what?”

Chapter Text

My jacket slips off my shoulders and onto the floor.

I pull his shirt off of him and begin untucking the plain white t-shirt that was under it.

I walk forward, leading us to the bed, Haymitch walking backwards. The back of his legs collided with the bed frame, and he sat down. I sat in his lap, straddling him. He moans against my mouth as I kiss him and begin rocking my hips back and forth. He was almost done unbuttoning my shirt as I loosened the skinny tie around my collar. With my shirt fully unbuttoned, he moves his hands to my back and fumbles with the clasp of my bra. I reached back to relieve myself of the lacey fabric after his few failed attempts. My shirt slipped off, and I pulled the bra away from me, throwing it to the floor. I pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it to join mine. Haymitch's hands were unbuttoning my pants, stopping my hips for a few moments. Our lips had hardly parted as we undressed each other, a mix of intoxication, adrenaline, and jealousy that was directing our movements and actions.

Haymitch's hand grabs my throat, beginning to squeeze. My skinny tie is still loosely swinging around my neck, though, and I feel him grab and tighten it flush against my throat. I hummed pleasantly, feeling him smile against my lips.

He breaks away for a moment, “Gonna have to keep you on a leash around here, aren't I?” He whispers.

“That's cutting it a little too close to Capitol fashion trends, no, thank you.” I say, starting to undo the button of his pants.

He begins kissing my neck around the fabric of the tie, pulling it to bring me as close to him as possible. One of his hands finds its way down the front of my pants and begins rubbing softly.

And then a knock comes at the door.

“Shit.” He mumbles. He doesn't stop rubbing me, though. “Go away.” He calls out louder. His movements grow quicker, allowing a moan to start escaping from my lips before his hand goes over them. “Shh.”

“Well, Tally didn't answer her door, and I didn't know if you had returned or not.” Effie's muffled voice comes from outside.

Haymitch slips two fingers inside me, hand still over my mouth to stifle my moaning. The rush from the possibility of getting caught made my adrenaline skyrocket, and Haymitch continuing to pleasure me throughout the situation felt good enough to start to bring me to a climax. My moaning is growing louder, making it harder for Haymitch to muffle it out with this hand.

“Probably sleeping.” He responds. He nips at my earlobe, and my hips buck into his hand, making both of us groan. He covers it up with a cough and then hushes me softly again. “Now let me sleep, too.”

“Rude.” I hear Effie say distantly.

He didn't remove his hand from my mouth just yet, making sure the coast was clear. I was mid-orgasm at this point, a vibration hummed against his hand as my moans were constant now. I gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as I came. I don't think he had realized until just then what was happening.

He had a look of absolute delight on his face as he said, “Damn princess,” His fingers curled inside of me, touching just the right spot. His hand swiftly moves from my mouth and grabs my tie again, pulling roughly. “Are you coming for me already?” My moans were cut off by the tie. Unable to speak, I nodded vigorously. He loosens his hold, and his fingers inside of me start to slow down. “I wanna hear you say it.”

I gasp for breath and rock my hips to keep riding my climax.

“I'm coming,” I say between breaths and whimpers, “Haymitch.” I say his name with a breathy sigh, craning my head back as his fingers pick up the pace again.

“Good girl.” He whispers. “Fuck, say my name again, princess.”

My orgasm had started fading, my body overcome with pleasure. I slowed my hips down as his fingers did the same. I met his gaze, grabbing his face when I did. His fingers curled inside of me again, sending a jolt of satisfaction through my overly sensitive core. I gasped at the feeling and moaned his name against his lips. He hungrily reached forward and kissed me, tongues dancing as he removed his hand from my pants and stood us up off the bed. He knelt and took my pants off, panties and all, placing a kiss where I was most sensitive at the moment on his way back up to me. I muttered his name again at the sensation.

He wriggled his pants and boxers off quickly before lifting me and, quite literally, throwing me on the bed. I crawled backwards until my head could rest on the pillow. Haymitch adjusted himself overtop of me, roughly moving my legs open to settle himself between them.

“My name's the only one I wanna hear coming out of your mouth, babygirl.” He said, teasing his cock at my entrance.

“Hmm, someone did feel a little jealous tonight, then?” I responded. I wrapped my legs around his hips, allowing his tip to enter me.

He moans deeply, moving forward just a little to enter me more, “Something wrong with that?”

“No,” I whispered. “I like it.”

He rams himself into me roughly, and a loud moan escapes my lips. His hand shoots over my mouth again.

He shushes me, now moving in and out slowly. Adrenaline from keeping our current activities a secret, watching him crumble every time I say his name, and his slow movements in and out were driving me absolutely insane. His hand leaves my mouth to support himself as he kisses and bites at my neck. My hands tangle in his hair as I moan his name again, earning a particularly hard thrust into me. I inhale sharply and then find myself chuckling a little. I don't know why, but this jealous side of Haymitch gave me so much pleasure.

He leans up on one hand, the other grabbing my neck and squeezing. His movements grow faster, and my own keep pace with him. He's not squeezing my throat enough to make me almost pass out like the first time he fucked me in his kitchen, but I wanted him to.

I loosen the hand at my throat for a moment and ask, “Who was it that got you feeling so jealous, Haymitch?” Our eyes meet. My lips come together, moments from saying the name Bennett, but he knows exactly what I'm about to do and squeezes hard around my neck.

He gives one hard thrust into me and stops. I'm desperately riding his cock beneath him, my legs still wrapped around him. I needed the satisfaction of both of our movements, though. I try to whimper, but I've reached the point where my vision is tunneling and I feel myself starting to pass out.

Haymitch releases at that moment, bringing himself down to my ear to whisper, “The next thing out of your mouth better be my name, babygirl.” One of his hands snakes behind my head and tugs hard on my hair as he starts fucking me again.

I gasp for breath and moan simultaneously as my head is pulled back roughly. I came almost instantly every time he did this to me. I was still surprised when I started to orgasm again, though, seeing as I just came down from one only minutes ago. I moan his name and he joins my orgasm, tightening his grip in my hair for a moment before gradually letting go.

We lay down next to each other on the bed, panting. I sat myself up against the headrest of the bed frame and ran my hands through my hair, detangling the knots. Haymitch's hand reaches over to rest on my thigh, tracing little circles.

“Was it Bennett you were jealous of?” I say, breaking the silence. I stood from the bed as I said it, scooping down to grab my shirt off the floor.

He sits up and reaches out, missing my arm by a few inches.

“You're such a brat.” He says, lifting himself off the bed and making his way to me. He grabs my pants and hands them to me. “At least you're putting your clothes on when you say his name.”

We both dress ourselves, knowing it's too risky to stay the night in either of the other's rooms. I finished adjusting my tie and pulled my hair up into a bun. Haymitch sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in a set of pajamas, watching my every move.

I walked over to him, stood between his legs, and said, “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Try to get some sleep.” He says, leaning up to kiss me.

As I reached the door, I turned and said, “It's Johanna you'll have to worry about, anyway.” And slipped into the empty hallway.

••

“I have no chance of winning. None. All right?” Peeta said at breakfast the next morning. His voice was louder than I had ever heard, full of pain and underlying fear.

The tension in the room was thick now. I sat across from Katniss, picking at my food as I watched the conversation in front of me unfold. Our most valuable piece of information was finally obtained this morning: Peeta was strong, and Katniss favored a bow and could hunt. Strength is always an advantage, and hunting requires stealth. We're off to a good start.

Most of my own strategizing happened in my head. I liked to soak in the information and then take it somewhere else to process. Haymitch was the talker. Surprisingly. Part of me was pissed off at him for trying so hard with Katniss and Peeta when he did next to nothing for me. I had to keep telling myself that it's not as if I gave Haymitch the chance to help me, either.

I tuned in to Haymitch telling Peeta not to reveal his strength during training today. I frowned and snapped my head over to look at him.

“Why not?” I asked. Katniss and Peeta both looked at me, probably surprised to hear me speak for the first time so far this morning. “12 is already underestimated.”

“Yeah, keep them underestimating, take them by surprise.” He says, with a slight sarcasm in his tone.

“The boy from 2 was already sizing them up just by the Chariot Ride.” I turned my attention to Katniss and Peeta. “Scare him off. Show him what you can do.”

“Is that what you did during your training days?” Haymitch asks, no hint of humor or sarcasm to his tone.

“You don’t know?” Katniss asks, spitting the question towards Haymitch.

I thought back for a moment before saying, “Well, no. I also didn't have a skill to practice. I spent a lot of it watching everyone else.”

“How the hell did you end up with a 9?” Haymitch questions before digging his flask out of his jackets inside pocket.

“You don’t know that either!?” Katniss spits again.

I could see, behind the obvious anger in her eyes, that Katniss was utterly scared. Haymitch's questions are making her, in turn, question him, his abilities, and his experience. Which isn’t something a Tribute wants to be feeling.

Trust me. I know.

“Right,” I whisper to myself. I reach out and take Haymitch's flask before he can take a sip and pour a generous amount of the liquor into my orange juice. I hand the container back to him and continue talking, “I'll be honest, I don’t know how I won. I just…did. I stayed alive.”

Haymitch sighs and takes a seat at the head of the table, “She never asked for advice,” I snapped my head to look at him and glared, “but I also never gave any.” He looks back at me and winks as he sips his mug, then back to Katniss and Peeta. “Save all your skills for when the Game Makers give you your score. Lay low, impress who matters, scare the enemy.”

I couldn't argue with that. It’s smarter than my idea of just going in guns blazing. Pun intended.

“And you,” Haymitch turns his body in the chair to face me, placing his mug down and pointing a finger in my direction. “Obviously, I watched you in the arena.” He lowers his hand, resuming to hold his drink and take a sip. “And I've never seen a tribute as diverse as you were.”

I was somewhat taken aback by his words. We hadn't discussed my Games at all, really. Just his. I didn't want to talk about mine. I have to now, though, don't I? I turned to face Katniss and Peeta, and more to my surprise, I saw them nodding in agreement with Haymitch.

“It's true,” Peeta said. “Caesar could never guess your next move.”

“I couldn't guess your next move.” Katniss chimed in.

I faintly remembered my post-victory interview with Caesar, where he said exactly that. He was “oh so frazzled,” not knowing what I was going to do next. Would I rig up a trap? Would I stab them in the back? Would I steal someone's food, or surprise the nation and show that I was a half-decent hunter? Would I hide from the muts, or would I fight the muts? And honestly, not even I knew what I was going to do next in the arena. Days of observation led to a decent wielding of every weapon I could grab when I was in front of the Game Makers, along with a perfect score of identifying plants that would kill me. I ended with camouflaging myself against one of the fake trees in the room as their backs were turned. Only one saw what I did, and she allowed the rest of the Game Makers to believe I had walked out without a word. They began turning in for the day when I stepped away from the tree, used the small water fountain in the corner to half ass scrub the paint from my face, and walked out to the sound of their applause.

I looked over to Haymitch, now wondering how in the world he scored a 1 from the Game Makers. I didn't think that was a question to ask in front of our Tributes, though.

“Why don't we get through day one of training first? Listen to Haymitch and observe everyone else today. We'll talk more afterwards.” I say, sitting up straight in my chair.

Peeta, Katniss, and Haymitch all agreed. Our Tributes disappeared into their rooms to prepare for the day. Haymitch called after them to meet Effie at the elevator at 10. Effie appeared moments later, dolled up in hot pink, and grabbed her usual cup of coffee for breakfast. She spouted on about her own itinerary for the day as she sipped her drink. Haymitch and I watched her as she spoke, counting the seconds until 10 o'clock.

He slid his flask to me, and I took a long pull before returning it. 

••

Haymitch and I had the floor to ourselves for most of the day. Effie was out and about making appointments, discussing outfits with Cinna, and escorting Katniss and Peeta to and from the underground training room. We sat in the sitting room, television quietly playing coverage of the day's Hunger Games celebrations. Neither of us had had a drink since breakfast. I sipped on water, and he had plain black coffee.

“We need a strategy,” he says. I had my legs up on the couch, resting across his lap. “We've gotta be on the same page or we can't help them.”

“Well, other than keeping their skills a secret for now, what else do we have to work with?” I ask him. “We don't know much about them or the other Tributes yet.”

“We know Peeta doesn't think he can win.” He says, scoffing.

“And don't you dare use that as an excuse to ignore him like you used my silence to ignore me.” The words fell out of my mouth sharply. I realized what I had said and looked away from him.

He was silent for a moment, actually thinking over what I had just said. Crazy how the mind works when it's not fogged with liquor.

“I won't.” He says softly, breaking the silence. He moves my legs from his lap, walks over to the bar cart, and grabs a bottle of red wine. “But how do you suggest we get him to think otherwise?” He sauntered back over, now pacing the room.

I shrugged, completely unsure. Peeta was likable right away, he just had a kind aura about him. He had to see that, right? He's a gorgeous kid; his messy blond hair is probably a hit with all the girls at school. The wrestling skill Katniss mentioned him having gave him bonus points. So why did it seem he was lacking self-esteem in all areas?

“Better question,” I started. “How do we make Katniss likable?”

Haymitch pops the top of the wine off with his thumb and chuckles, “Our hostile sweetheart.” He takes a long drink. “The Chariot Ride did her some favors. People are definitely interested.”

“A good start, but we need to keep that energy rolling.”

Haymitch paced the room for the next hour as we discussed strategies. While the past 23 years as a Mentor have been spent in a consistent drunken stupor, Haymitch was still quite learned in the way of charisma. I suppose he's seen it all by now. Tributes playing the innocent card, the feral card, the sexy card, the nice guy card, the whole damn deck. We flipped through it all in our minds like a verbal Rolodex. I made a mental list of strategies to try with Peeta, ones for Katniss, and ones to completely steer clear of. The sexy card was being steered clear of - overdone and honestly pretty weird.

Effie had popped in around 1 p.m., grabbed a quick bite to eat while rambling on about Cinna's ideas for Katniss's interview dress, and left again. Haymitch and I had finished the bottle of wine he grabbed, both of us a little hazy from drinking it quickly.

“When do Katniss and Peeta get back?” I asked Haymitch, rising from the couch.

He looks me up and down as I stand up and says, “Around 4.” He took a step towards me, and I took one back. “Why are you asking?”

I slowly started walking backwards out of the sitting room. He followed me, just as slowly, keeping the space between us consistent.

“No reason,” I said softly. I reached up for the first button of my blouse and popped it open.

Haymitch picks up the pace, “I might know why.” His eyes are scanning my body, thinking about what he wants to do, to what part of me first.

I pop the next two buttons open, “Oh?” I've reached the dining table now, running my hand across one of the backs of the chairs.

“We have the whole place to ourselves, you know.” He says as he caught up to me and pulled me to him. “I could fuck you right here on the table.” His hands reach down the back of my pants and grab my ass, making us press closer together. “Is that what you want, princess?”

“Yes,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck for support.

His hands ran up and down my body a few times as he kissed me hungrily. He pulled at my bottom lip and let go before telling me to bend over the table. I did as he told, feeling his hands a few moments later pulling my pajamas from my hips, no panties to be found.

I hear him snicker upon finding my lack of underwear before he whispers, “Good girl.”

I let out a soft moan at the term of endearment, moving my head to the side so I could look back at him. He had pulled the waistband of his pajamas down just a little and freed his cock, grabbing it as he placed a hand on my lower back and lined himself up with my entrance. I rocked backwards, no longer wanting to wait. He must have felt the same way because he grabs my hips and brings me all the way back, taking all of him in.

I started moaning as I stretched to fit him comfortably, but Haymitch pulled my hair to bring my body up against his and whispered in my ear, “Be quiet, princess.”

I closed my mouth tightly, willing myself to be quieter. I let out another loud moan, and his hand shot to my mouth as he shushed me, thrusts gradually getting quicker. Two of his fingers slip into my mouth and I instantly begin sucking on them. One of my hands joins his other that's rubbing circles on my clit. My other arm wrapped up and around his head to keep our bodies as close together as possible.

I heard the roar of the elevator moving, it was going up. We both looked over and saw the number 11 light up and then go dark, the elevator still moving. We parted, him adjusting himself in the waistband of his pants and pulling his shirt down, which was thankfully a little too long. I had grabbed my pants and hoisted them up quickly, now working at the buttons of my blouse. Haymitch still stood in place, so I started walking in the direction of our rooms. I finished with the buttons and took my hair down to adjust the bun as I started down the hallway.

That's when the elevator dinged and I heard the door slide open. I stopped, turned, and acted as if I was walking out of the hallway and into the dining area. I turned to greet whoever it was at the elevator entryway.

Two men dressed in all black.

••

They just wanted me. Haymitch tried to object, saying we had some prior engagements for mentoring I needed to go to - but this was Presidential business, so mentoring would have to wait. I got dressed quickly, washed my face, cleaned my teeth, and tidily put my hair in a bun. When I stepped outside of my room, Haymitch was waiting in the hallway. Neither of us said anything. He just reached his hand out to cup my face for a moment and then kissed my forehead.

I followed the two men down the elevator, through the lobby, and out to a car that was waiting just outside the building. One of them held the door of the car open for me, and I climbed in. It was spacious with two benches of seats facing one another and a small elevated bump between them with four cup holders in it. One cup holder was occupied by a champagne glass, its owner in the back corner of the seats. I sat so I was in the complete opposite corner from Snow, crossing my legs and folding my hands to rest on my knees. The door closed lightly, and the car began moving, the hum of the motor barely audible.

“Good to see you, Miss Heather.” He says, voice raspy as if he's just gotten over being sick.

I can’t say the same.

I nod, “Mister President.” I tried my hardest to steady my breathing, but I was shaking.

What did he want? Did he know where I went with Johanna? Is he driving me off somewhere to have me executed?

“I trust you enjoyed your time last night?”

“I did. The music selection reminded me of home.” The words flowed as a result of the afternoon's choice of drink. Liquor definitely makes me stupid sometimes.

I met his stare, too stubborn and hard-headed to break eye contact first, even through my fear and intoxication.

The corner of his mouth curls into a smile. “Good.” He says softly. “It was something I had specifically arranged for last night.”

“It seemed to make quite the impression.”

“I believe it did.”

Silence.

I see the Training Center pass by the window for the second time. We're driving in circles.

“Why?” I asked suddenly. My voice broke a little, I knew I shouldn't have let it. But it's not like he doesn't know what he's done to me and who I've become because of it.

The question, while only a single word, held a lot of weight. Why play the song last night? Why torture me like this? Why are you the way you are? Why are you doing any of this? We held each other's stare for a moment.

His eyes squint just a little before he says, “Give me a reason not to, Miss Heather.”

“I've got three and twenty,” I said through gritted teeth, my tone was cold.

Snow inhales sharply, looking away from me. Something about what I just said pushed a nerve. I purposefully made sure to use that phrase, it was part of the lyrics to the song he had orchestrated for last night. But the reaction I expected to see would've just been a shit-eating grin or a chuckle. Not to act as if he's been…wounded?

I frowned for a moment, lost in thought, still looking his way. Why does it bother him? How does he know that song? I just want to fucking know how. I hear him cough, bringing me out of the depths of my thoughts and shutting my inner voice up. I blink a few times and focus on the creature in front of me.

“What's the point of this little leisurely stroll around the block?” I ask, more so demanding. I wanted to go back.

“Think of it as a wellness check, after your first 24 hours back in the Capitol.” He says as the car slows to a stop. The driver exits, walks around to my door, and opens it. Snow nods at the open door. “Also, Miss Heather, give my best to Mr. Abernathy - I'm sure he enjoyed the music selection last night, too. If he can remember it.”

I paused on my way out of the open car door and turned to Snow, glaring. His comment about Haymitch made my blood boil. Snow is the heart of the reason Haymitch has turned into the man he is today.

I saw him smirk just before the door was closed behind me.

Chapter Text

My body stood in front of the Training center, but my mind was elsewhere, still questioning the interaction that was just had. Utter confusion danced all around my brain. None of this made sense. Sometimes I truly think our President is a psychopath. There's no merit behind his choice to toy with me - and no goal behind it all, that I could see, anyway. Haymitch tried to destroy Snow's precious arena, so the choice to torture Haymitch at least made sense. Me, though? A moment of disrespect is chalked up to being just as bad as an act of literal rebellion? I'm not buying that.

“Hey, sweetie.” I hear a voice say from in front of me.

I look up to see Johanna strutting out of the front door of the Training Center. She was dressed in a pantsuit, dark green and gold, with a plethora of gold and bronze bracelets that staggered up to her elbows. Her black heels clicked loudly against the hard sidewalk. I smiled seeing her walk towards me, grateful for the distraction immediately following my talk with Snow.

“Hey there,” I responded, reaching an arm out to bring her in for a quick hug. She smelled like flowers - like lavender.

Stepping back from our embrace, she asks, “What are you doing out here?” And leads us to a bench to sit on. “Whose car was that that you got out of?”

I scoff lightly as I dig in my pocket for my cigarettes and say, “Snow's.”

I saw her body tense a little. “What did he want?” I looked over to her as I lit one of the smokes. “Was it about…last night?”

I took a quick drag, “Yes, but not the part of the night you're thinking of.” I exhale. “Claimed it was a wellness check after my first 24 hours back.”

“Horseshit.” She says, rolling her eyes. “It's what he does, y'know.” I frown in question. “Fucks with us. All of us. Just scares us now and then for no reason at all. A private meeting, dropping by your house, sends a Peacekeeper to check in at the most inconvenient times.” Her hands are talking with her, pointing in the air and waving here and there. “But he'll never give you a real reason why.”

Johanna and I hadn't gotten too deep with our conversations last night. Most of it was just small talk, getting to know one another, and a little shameless flirting. It's almost nice to hear the confirmation that Haymitch and I aren't the only ones who deal with this treatment. Yet, it continues to support my theory that Snow is truly a psychopath.

Johanna was a girl who could definitely be overly affectionate - well, maybe that's not the word. Eccentric? Maybe just confident. Or comfortable. Either way, she made her judgments of people known. Her judgment of me must've been a positive one, considering the amount of hand-holding, cheek kisses, and moments like where she rested her head on my shoulder during the mentor party, we had. All of these things were perfectly normal for two females to share in a platonic friendship, but I was attracted to girls as much as I was to boys, and I couldn't help but start developing a small crush. The feelings could perhaps be returned - I thought they were, but I also didn't hold expectations. Same-sex relationships were an incredibly touchy subject all throughout Panem. Most people throughout the Districts didn't care - truthfully, it was the government that had the problem with it. Just another reason to add to the list of why we need a rebellion, and soon.

Haymitch and I, well, we never talked about…us. Except when I asked how we were to conduct ourselves while we were here, just over a week ago. That was the closest we came to the conversation. Oh, and last night could've fallen in the category of that topic. I hated labels, though. Nothing in this life was worth a label. A world where nothing was our own, and if something was somehow our own, the government took it away one way or another. This truth held especially heavy for us Victors, it seemed. I guess, simply put, we were partners.

He hadn't brought up my comment before leaving his room last night. Maybe he thinks Johanna isn't a threat. Maybe he knows Johanna isn't a threat. Maybe he thought I was just making a little joke. I wasn't.

“What are you doing out here?” I ask her, offering her the cigarette. 

She holds her hand up to decline, “Needed to step outside for a second. The other mentors and I don't get along.”

“How many mentors are there for 7?” I ask.

“Three. They're men, and I'm just a girl . Need I say more?” She looks over to me, eyebrows raised. We chuckle in unison. “Haymitch been stepping on your toes, too?”

I shook my head, “No, admittedly, I have a lot to learn.”

“You're very humble, Tally Heather.”

I liked it when she said my full name.

I felt my cheeks blush at the compliment. She held her hand out to me, palm up, and I took it. We sat there for a few silent moments, my thumb rubbing the top of her hand.

“I should get back up there,” I said, finishing the cigarette and disposing of it in the designated bowl to my left.

Johanna squeezes my hand once and lets go. “See you around,” she says.

I walked towards the doors of the training center, looking over my shoulder to see Johanna watching me leave.

••

I returned to the twelfth floor to find Haymitch and Effie bickering. It was 3:30 in the afternoon, only half an hour until she needed to retrieve our Tributes.

Her shrill voice echoed as she snapped her head to look at me once the elevator opened, “Where have you been?”

I stopped just outside the doors, a little taken aback by the sudden hostility.

“Impromptu meeting,” I said, staring at Haymitch, who stood behind Effie, rolling his eyes.

“With?” She asks with the same energy.

“President Snow,” I answered coolly. Her face changed to a reserved look instantly. “Just a little welcome for my first year back, nothing to worry about.” I walked into the room to join them, standing around the table.

“Well,” she huffs dramatically and straightens out her dress. “I'm about to go retrieve Katniss and Peeta, and I didn't know where you were.” She points a finger at me and then points it to the ground. “Stay here.”

I cross my arms and nod, “You got it, boss.”

I smile at her as she scowls, squinting her eyes. She clicks away in her too-tall heels, waits a few seconds for the elevator, and departs with a look of disdain on her face.

“Always so high strung,” I whisper, shaking my head.

I looked at Haymitch, who was busy opening a bottle of wine. I grabbed a glass off of the table and joined him. He filled both of our cups halfway and placed the bottle down.

“Just a little welcome for your first year back?” He asks.

We're facing each other, a little too closely - but no one is here right now. I ran my hand down his arm, returning it to rest on his shoulder.

“So he claims,” I said softly, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek.

I walked to the sitting room and occupied one of the large white spinning chairs. Haymitch followed, sitting in the black chair that mirrored the one I claimed.

“And what about that song you said you heard?” He asks. I nodded my head. “Which one was it?”

“Pure as the Driven Snow,” I told him, beginning to swing the chair in a slow-moving circle. “He acted like…” I trailed off.

“Acted like…?” Haymitch repeats.

“I don't know,” I said. Another spin. “At one point, he was smug about it, then he acted as if my knowing the song, hurt, or something? I don't know how to explain it.”

A pause.

“He thinks you're Covey,” Haymitch whispers. He's staring down into his drink, swirling the liquid.

“Why do you say that?” I say, frowning.

He stares into his glass for a few moments longer before sitting up in the chair and sighing.

“She was Covey.” He says, I'm assuming he means Lenore Dove by the way he softly says ‘she’.

“You told me.”

“It wasn't-” He stops suddenly, taking a deep breath. “I know you're not fooled by the reason I gave you...how she died…” I nodded. “It was my-”

“Don't you go blaming yourself, Haymitch Abernathy.” I interrupted him.

“No!” He shouted. A little of his wine spilled, falling onto his pants. He didn't pay it any mind, though. I had flinched a little at his tone. “Sorry.” He says, softer. “Obviously, I haven't told you everything.”

In the twenty-five minutes we had until Effie returned with Katniss and Peeta, Haymitch told me the story about the gumdrops. It took three glasses of wine to get through it, but I could tell it was something he's needed to talk about for a long time now. Thankfully, the amount of alcohol we've both consumed could account for the red, puffy faces left behind by tears. He was in the middle of telling me about the meeting Snow called him to at the Heavensbee house. He mentioned the meeting to me before, but only said that it was Snow's way of giving him a slap on the wrist for the Chariot Ride stunt he pulled. This time, he told me about Snow's odd obsession with Lenore Dove and the fact that she was a Covey girl. The elevator dinged as the wheels in my head were turning, processing this new information. Haymitch shot up from his seat at the sound of the arriving elevator car and walked to the bar cart. He shifted the bottles around, searching for whatever his next poison would be.

I was watching Haymitch from my seat, wondering how he's managed to push through life after all that befell him. It wasn't pity I felt, no. Curiosity may be the word for it. There was so much more behind the drunken facade he showed the world.

Katniss, Peeta, Effie, Haymitch, and I all gathered in the sitting room and discussed the day's training. They had stuck to Haymitch's plan and just observed the others. Both of them had gathered tons of valuable information, too. Strategies flew from all of our mouths, bouncing ideas off one another. Haymitch was the quietest, at first, still somewhat distracted over our previous conversation. He gradually got louder, and his words began blending. I saw Effie give me the look from across the room as Haymitch started rambling on at one point, stumbling a bit and knocking into one of the small tables in the sitting room.

“When's dinner?” I asked Effie, rising from my seat, to grab Haymitch. “C'mere,” I grabbed his arm and led him to sit on one of the couches.

Haymitch flops down heavily and groans. I take a seat next to him, ready to pull him back down to sit if he tries to get up again. He reached out to grab my glass, which I had recently replenished. I snap my arm away from him, making him miss. His inebriation has made him lazy, though, and he doesn't persist, just gives a quick snort in my direction.

“Soon,” Effie says. She rolls her eyes at Haymitch, who has started nodding out next to me. “He was doing so well.” She comments towards him.

“Give him a break,” I said softly. I heard Katniss scoff a bit. I turned my head to her. “Listen, sweetheart ,” I exaggerated the term of endearment Haymitch has adorned her with. “Win this thing and you'll understand why we are the way we are.”

She had no response.

I smelled dinner as a staff of Avox's walked into the dining room and began setting the table. Cinna, Portia, and the design teams joined soon after the food had arrived. Haymitch had fallen asleep, head nodding freely as he sat up on the couch. I tried my best to wake him, but eventually settled for laying him down and covering him with a blanket as we all sat at the table and ate dinner together. Afterwards, Katniss and Peeta retired to their rooms, and Cinna helped me rouse Haymitch awake enough to lead him to his.

We got Haymitch to sit on the bed, but he lay back as soon as we let him go, and snored. Cinna and I looked at each other for a moment, gave a small shrug, and started for the door.

His hand reaches for the knob in front of me, “You have a beautiful singing voice.” He says quietly before opening the door and holding his hand out to allow me to exit first.

I looked at him, not daring to respond out loud. I smiled. Cinna too? This place is starting to give me a dangerous amount of hope.

••

The roof was just as I remembered it. High enough to make you almost forget about the horrors that'll be persisting on the ground in a few more days. I swirled a glass of wine in one hand and flicked the burnt ends of a cigarette with the other. Effie had gone to bed, Cinna and the others had retired to their own homes for the night, and Haymitch was still passed out in his room, last I checked. I jumped when I heard the door open behind me, dropping my cigarette on the ground as I turned.

Just Peeta.

I picked up the bad habit and took a pull.

“Can't sleep?” I asked him.

He jumped at the sound of my voice. He hadn't seen me when he entered the open night air.

“No.” He responds, walking over to me. “Cinna brought me up here earlier.” He leans against the edge, elbows resting on the concrete half wall.

I sat on the wall a few feet from him, facing away from the busy nightlife of the Capitol.

“Now that you've had a little more time to process,” I start, taking a sip of my wine to break the sentence. “How are you feeling?”

“Horrible,” Peeta answers softly. “I don't want to do this.”

“No one does,” I say. “Except maybe the Careers.”

He was silent for a few moments, twiddling his thumbs and chewing his lower lip. Nerves were setting in already.

“Katniss at least has a chance.” He says, looking down and scratching at the concrete.

“Don't start again. You can't go into these Games with that mindset, Peeta.”

“But it's the truth.”

“Then make it a truth for you, too.”

“How am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to tell myself it's okay to kill…to kill anyone. To kill… her ?”

I look down at Peeta, who's still picking at the rocky structure, “Peeta?” I say his name as a question.

“Forget it.” He mumbles.

“No,” I stated. “It's my job to listen. And it's in my good nature to care.” He looks up, giving me a half-hearted smile. “Tell me what you mean by that.”

He shakes his head, “It's stupid.”

I held up a finger in his face, “Stop. Anything can be used as an advantage in these Games, Peeta.”

“I don't want to use her.” He says softly.

I tilt my head, furrowing my brow and snuffing out the cigarette, before saying, “You have a crush on her, don't you?”

He doesn't reply verbally, but his head turns away from me. I heard him take a deep breath.

“Not like it's worth bringing up.” He says, still facing away from me.

“Why not?”

“We can't both go home.”

“Exactly. Life is short. Possibly too short.”

“That what you and Haymitch tell yourselves when you drink yourselves stupid?” He asks, now turning to face me again.

I lowered the glass of wine that was traveling to my mouth, “Yes. And no.” I resumed drinking and touched Karin's willow tree necklace that I wore.

Peeta's eyes flicked to the necklace, “Unjustly short for some.” He mutters.

We smile at each other for a moment, tears welling in my eyes. I ruffled his hair a little and stood up.

“Get some sleep, Pita Bread.” I said just before draining my glass.

I felt myself stumbling a little as I walked through the door and into the sitting room. I wasn't worried about leaving him out there on his own. The alone time was probably needed. And there was a forcefield if he decided to try something drastic.

I wasn't hazy enough to not take some responsibility and check in on Haymitch again. But I was craving the comfort of being engulfed by the disgustingly comfortable silk sheets on my bed. I cracked the door to his room open and stepped in. He wasn't on the bed or the surrounding floor. I closed the door and began looking around for a slumped frame on the ground when I heard the sound of liquid pouring. He was sitting in one of a pair of chairs in the corner of the room, pouring himself a glass of white liquor.

“Want me to leave?” I asked quietly, unsure of how our previous conversation had him feeling at the moment.

He shook his head and took a drink.

I walked over to him, sitting on the ground in front of him, positioning myself between his legs, my back leaning against the chair. I rested my head on one of his thighs as his hand came down and stroked my hair. I told him about my conversation with Peeta, mentioning Peeta's crush on Katniss, too. He's surprised me so far, maybe he can make that work somehow.

I had eventually moved to sit in the chair opposite him, the floor getting more and more uncomfortable. We mostly sat in silence. It was I who would speak, until we found ourselves back at the end of our previous conversation.

“I don't know what Snow has against the Covey,” he says quietly. “But it's the only thing that makes sense.”

“I'm not a Covey girl, though.”

“You look enough the part, act enough the part.”

“So, what? Tell him I'm not and hope he leaves me alone?”

“Try it.”

“Why would he believe me?”

“He probably won't."

I sighed, slouching back in the chair. I grabbed the bottle of white liquor on the table between us and drained the last of its contents. With that, I stood up and held a hand out to Haymitch. He took it, standing with me, and let me lead him to his bed. I kissed his cheek, bid him goodnight, and left the room.

••

Two more days of training for Katniss and Peeta meant two more days of planning, socializing, and strategizing for Haymitch and me. We agreed to limit ourselves on the drinking…during the day. Nighttime was the exception. As long as we got through dinner to make sure we spoke with Katniss and Peeta with semi-clear minds about their day. Haymitch already had the pair acting as if they were a team, making sure their stylists dressed them alike, making sure they were always seen side by side in public. So when I had told him about Peeta's little crush, he started talking about using the “star-crossed lovers” trope for the audience. I had my reservations, which I made known. I wanted Katniss to be informed on the idea, but Haymitch insisted she not. So far, we hadn't even told Peeta our idea yet. We wanted to save it for the interview training. I made him promise to allow Peeta to be the one to make the decision on whether we tell Katniss beforehand or not, though.

It was the evening before Katniss and Peeta's private session with the Game Makers. Our Tributes were in bed for the night, and Effie had just retired to her own room. Portia and the design teams left after a glass of wine, leaving me, Haymitch, and Cinna in the sitting room together. I had been itching for someone to take me to the speakeasy again, but I hadn't asked. I felt it best to follow everyone else's lead with these matters for now.

Cinna was the one to introduce the idea for the night.

“Did you know I can play guitar?” He says, looking at me from over his glass of champagne. He winks.

“You haven't mentioned it,” I reply, meeting his gaze.

“You both should come join me and a few friends, just down the street.” He tells us, standing and placing his empty glass on the coffee table in the center of the room. “C'mon.”

I turned to look at Haymitch. We shrugged simultaneously, drained our glasses, and followed Cinna.

Tonight's location was in the underground of one of Cinna's family's hotel chains. The same stage, security set-up, and bar occupied the room. This area was smaller than the one before, but still spacious enough for the number of people gathered. Bennett was on the stage singing when we entered the room, and Beetee was stationed by his screens, tapping a mug of coffee to the beat of the song. I placed my hand on his shoulder in greeting as we passed him, making for an empty high table.

I felt an arm loop into mine and a kiss placed on my cheek. Johanna. She veers me away from my companions to stand at a table she already occupied and hands me a drink. I saw a third drink untouched so far at the table, as well.

“Whose is that?” I ask, using my glass to point to the lone drink.

She grins and says, “Bennett's.”

As she said his name, the band ended their song, and I heard his familiar voice boom around the room.

“Alright, folks, time for me to take a break.” The crowd groans, some boo. “Oh, c'mon now, gotta grease the pipes. I'll be back.” He jumps down from the stage after securing the mic into its stand. One of the girls from the back who played a ukulele stepped up and took over the performance.

Bennett walked over to Johanna and me, stopping to speak with someone on the way. His curly hair bounced as he walked, and tattoos peeked out at his chest where the white button-up shirt was only fastened three-quarters of the way up. He really was handsome with his chiseled jawline, chocolate brown eyes, and olive skin. I'd be lying if I said he didn't make me blush that first night I met him.

“Miss Tally Heather.” He greets, standing across the table from me. Our drinks come together for a small cheers. “Will you do me the pleasure of joining me in a song later?”

“We'll have to see how the night goes,” I responded. I held his gaze for a moment too long.

He winks at me before sipping his drink.

“Where's Haymitch and Cinna?” He asks, looking between Johanna and me.

I gave a slight look of surprise, “How did you know they were here too?”

He points back towards Beetee.

“Should've guessed,” I say.

Right on cue, Haymitch and Cinna joined us, each with their own drink in hand. Haymitch stood closer to me than he normally would, our shoulders touched as we leaned on the table. The other three had dived into conversation already. I was starting to tune in on the discussion when I felt Haymitch lean into me a little and dip his head down.

“Remember whose bed you'll be in later tonight.” He mutters softly in my ear, breath tickling my neck.

I felt my cheeks grow hot. I shifted on my feet a little. The fluttering in my belly traveled lower.

“You'll have to remind me,” I said, turning my head towards him ever so slightly. The others were still engulfed in their own conversation.

I hear him chuckle before he resumes standing up straight and tries to hone in on the existing conversation. I, on the other hand, am distracted by dirty thoughts he's roused up. I'm letting the thoughts play out, gaining ideas for later, when I hear Bennett say my name.

“Tally?” He says again, a little louder this time.

I looked up from where my eyes had fixated on my drink, “Sorry. What was that?”

Haymitch chuckled knowingly before retreating to grab another drink.

“I asked how you came to learn guitar,” Bennett says, shifting around Johanna to stand next to me.

I placed both of my hands around my drink and faced him. “Self-taught.”

“No kidding?” He says, impressed.

“I had no one to teach me,” I told him, also mentioning that I grew up in the Community Home of District 12.

“Clerk would've taught you if you asked him.” Haymitch's voice came from behind me. He placed a drink next to me on the table. I hadn't realized how low the one I was currently sipping on had gotten.

“Clerk Carmine?” Bennett asks, looking back at Haymitch. I'm guessing he nodded confirmation. “Lovely gentleman. Gave me a few of those District 12 songs I have in the book.”

“You've been to 12?” I asked.

“What kind of Historian would I be if I didn't travel a little?” He says.

“Well, I've never been to 12.” Johanna butts in, craning her head around Bennett to look towards Haymitch and I.

“I guess you'll just have to come visit me sometime, then,” I told her.

Our eyes locked for a moment. Her mouth slowly curved into a smile. My own followed suit. She looked me up and down. The tension was definitely there.

“Guess I will.” She says. Her tone had a hint of seduction to it when she spoke, still keeping eye contact with me.

I switched my empty glass for the new drink Haymitch had brought me. I winked at Johanna as I took a sip and saw her cheeks redden almost instantly. She turned back to Cinna and started on their own conversation. I caught her looking over at me now and then, though.

“And, you're not a Covey girl?” Bennett asks me, shaking me away from exchanging glances with Johanna.

I look up at him, “No.”

“I figured with a name like yours, you had to be.”

“What song is there about a Tally?”

He thinks for a moment, “A historian’s work is never done, I suppose.”

Perhaps that's part of Snow's supporting argument, as well. My name. Heather, like heather gray.

Lucy Gray.

I froze for a moment, confused at the sudden thought. Lucy Gray. Covey. She wrote that song from the party. Pure as the Driven Snow.

Snow.

“You alright there, Tally?” Bennett's voice interrupted.

I felt Haymitch step around to stand at my side and place a hand on my shoulder. I reached up and patted his hand a few times in reassurance.

“Yeah,” I say, shaking my head lightly to bring me back to reality, and look up to look at Bennett. “Bennett, I know what song I want to sing tonight.”

Chapter Text

“Which one?” Bennett asks, draining his drink and clapping his hands together.

“Pure as the Driven Snow.”

“Funny. I just arranged a rendition of that song for a quartet that played at the Mentor's party.”

“I know.”

“Must've made quite an impression on you.”

“You could say that.”

“Shall we?” He motions towards the stage with his hand and then extends it to me to take.

I took his hand and let him start to lead me away from the table. Haymitch grabbed my other hand as we passed him, making me drop Bennett’s. He paused for a moment and looked back at me.

“I'll be right there,” I told him. He continues to the stage. I rounded on Haymitch, “What?”

He leans in close to me, head dipping down to my ear, and whispers, “Say his name one more time, babygirl, and I'll fuck that pretty little mouth until you can't speak anymore.”

My heart skipped a beat as I gave a sharp inhale. Part of me was starting to not care about the fact that we were surrounded by people. If he keeps whispering things like this throughout the night, we're not gonna be here much longer. Which I'm sure is his goal, anyway.

I cleared my throat, leaned up into his own ear, and whispered back, “Is that a promise, Haymitch?”

I gave Haymitch no chance to respond as I brushed past him to join Bennett on the stage. He was announcing my name as I jumped up, the crowd responding with applause and whoops. I distinctly heard Johanna above everyone else and smiled. The crowd quieted as Bennett tapped on the mic a few times.

“Told y'all I'd be back.” He says into the mic. His chuckle echoes throughout the room. “Tally here wants to sing a song, that alright with y’all?” The crowd roars with approval. “Take it away, darlin’.”

“Thanks, Bennett,” I say, scanning the crowd for Haymitch. I found him shaking his head lightly as he sipped his drink, which prompted a smile from me.

Bennett began the song, trilling his guitar. The others joined in on their cues, leading into my entrance. The song was soft and slow, yet intense with emotion. I'd usually let myself get lost in the music, closing my eyes to hear Karin's ghostly harmonies. This time I couldn't help but go through the plethora of thoughts from before - Heather, heather gray, Lucy Gray, driven snow, President Snow. There's a connection there, I know it. But how?

My attention was diverted by a hand reaching up to me from below the stage. We had reached an instrumental riff of the song, pausing my singing. Johanna was the one reaching out to me. I grabbed her hand without hesitation and used it as support to sit on the edge of the stage. I picked the song back up as she settled herself to lean back between my legs.

“This world, it's cruel

With troubles aplenty

You asked for a reason

I've got three and twenty…”

The energy of the room shifted after I sang that line. I finished the song to a silent and still crowd. Johanna had reached up and grabbed my hand at one point, our intertwined fingers now resting on her shoulder. Slow applause broke the moment of silence after the song ended. I jumped down once Johanna took a step away.

Bennett walked off the stage and made his way to the bar, muttering something to the man behind the counter.

People were cheering for another song, which I humbly refused. I was torn between going to Haymitch and dragging him back to our rooms, or asking Bennett a few burning questions the song just mustered up. He was Panem's Historian; he'd be the one to ask about my growing theory.

And in the end, curiosity got the better of me. I walked to Bennett, asking Johanna to give me a minute. As he noticed me walking his way, he fussed over the wrinkles in his shirt and flattened out his collar. The bartender placed two drinks on the counter behind him. He grabbed both glasses, extending one to me.

“I planned on taking this to you, but would you imagine my surprise seeing you come to me ?” He says, making sure to graze my hand as he passed off the drink.

I felt myself blushing. “I have a few questions for you,” I told him. “Can we sit?”

Bennett looks to the stage, signaling the band to continue without him. “You can have a million questions, darlin’, and I'd still have time.”

We sat at one of the tables against the wall of the room. He adjusted his chair so that the back of it leaned against the wall.

“Truth be told, I have a question for you, too, Tally Heather,” Bennett says, flashing me a smile. “Who goes first?”

“Me,” I say, swirling my drink with the straw. “What do you know about Lucy Gray?”

“Probably about as much as you.”

“Did she win the Games?”

“Sounds like it, by that song you just sang.”

“But isn’t there footage? The Capitol records everything .”

“They do.” He pauses to take a drink. “There's a bit of a gap at the beginning of the Hunger Games files. Not everything made it into the archives.”

“What do you mean by a bit of a gap ?”

“There's a single recording of the 10th Hunger Games. Even so, I've only seen it once. It's what prompted my visit to 12. I went back to my computer the morning after I found it, and the file had been corrupted. If there's a good copy somewhere, it's not available to me anymore.”

“Why?”

“The only explanation I've been given is that the 10th Hunger Games were considered a ‘failure’. Then it was strongly recommended I never ask about it again.”

“By who?”

“President Snow.”

“What was the recording of?”

“Lucy Gray singing for the Capitol. Her ballad, you sang the first night, that's what she was singing.” 

“Hmm.” I stared down into my glass, mind racing. What if… “What year did mentoring start?”

“That’s up for debate.”

“Meaning?”

“I found some evidence of a trial run of mentors used during the 10th Games. No names, or pictures, or even a date written on my source, though. Purely speculation by me.”

I drummed my fingers on the table in thought, “Was…was President Snow ever a mentor?”

“If my theory about the 10th Games mentors is correct, it's a possibility. It would've been just before he took station in District 12 as a Peacekeeper.”

Bingo.

It was a wild theory. I half thought myself insane for even thinking about it. But, Pure as the Driven Snow was written for someone. Could that someone have been a young Coriolanus Snow? Half of my brain said no, the other half screamed yes.

“Your wheels are turning mighty fast, Tally. I can basically see the smoke coming out of your ears.” Bennett's voice interrupts my thoughts. He reaches a hand out to lift my chin to look at him. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. It's nothing. You said you have a question for me?”

I sat back in my chair, crossing my legs and holding my drink with both hands. I could tell Bennett wanted to press his previous question, but he didn’t.

“I know your time here is limited,” he started saying. I saw him tap a single finger against his drink as he spoke. Nerves. “But maybe before you leave, I could-”

“Bennett Crowley, get back up here!” A voice interrupted, originating from the stage. One of the guys on cello had grabbed the mic. “No more excuses, man, how are we gonna sing this next one without you!?” The music reared up, the beat was fast and lively, and the tune made you want to dance. I didn't recognize it, though.

“Duty calls.” He says. We both finish our drinks in unison and chuckle as the empty glasses hit the table at the same time. “As I was saying - maybe I could buy you a proper drink while you’re here?” He stands and tucks the chair into the table. “Or just show you around the Capitol Library, a private tour of sorts?” He began walking to the stage, turning to walk backwards as he passed me. His eyebrows were raised, waiting for my response.

I turned to watch him, smirking at the questioning look he was giving me. “We'll see,” I told him.

He grins before pivoting to walk forward again, taking his place back on the stage.

I scanned the room, finding Haymitch and Johanna standing at a high table together. I joined them as Bennett started singing again. I chose to stand next to Johanna, making sure to frustrate Haymitch just a little bit more.

She leaned into me a little and asked, “And what were you two talking about?”

I look over and see her wiggle her eyebrows, “I had some questions about how he got the District 12 music.” I told her.

“What? Lover boy didn't shoot his shot?” Haymitch asks, eyes watching my every move, every emotion on my face.

I met his stare, “He did, actually.”

He frowned, more questioningly than angered. “And?” He pauses. “What did you say, darlin’ ?”

I can feel the essence of curiosity radiating from Johanna. Her head is perched in her hands, eyelashes batting. She stared at me, eagerly wanting to know the answer to Haymitch's question. Her head turns to look at Haymitch for a few moments, though. Then back to me.

She knew, didn't she?

I looked down at her for a second, then back at Haymitch. It's as if our stares all telepathically communicated the same question and answer.

“Of course she knows. She hasn't pestered you about it, too?” Haymitch asks out loud, completely out of context, but we all understood.

Of course, Johanna knows about Haymitch and I.

I rolled my eyes, completely unsurprised by this new tidbit of information.

“I said ‘we'll see’,” I told them, referring back to Bennett.

“ We'll see ?” Asked Haymitch.

“He offered to show me the library,” I said defensively. I shrugged. “I kinda wanna see it.”

He huffs and then shoots back the rest of his drink.

Johanna was giggling as she watched the exchange. Suddenly, she sat up straight from the table, looked at each of us once, and said, “Look, you both need a drink. I'll go get those.” She winked at me as she left the table.

I walked over to Haymitch, who was doing his best to avoid looking at me at the moment. I knew Johanna was on her way back with drinks, but I wanted to drag him by his tie to the door and go back to the Training Center. I reached up and settled for smoothing out a wrinkle on his tie instead. I let my hand linger on his chest for a moment before dropping it to the table.

“I do need to talk to you about what I spoke to him about,” I said softly.

“That's a conversation for tomorrow, babygirl.” He says. “I don't think you'll be doing much talking tonight.” His hand reaches up to cup my face for a moment, thumb stroking my cheek, before he walks away, intercepting Johanna for his drink, and joins Beetee over in the corner.

Johanna sauntered back over to me. We enjoyed another hour or so of music, just the two of us. Cinna joined us again at one point, but only to bid us goodnight. Half of the crowd had cleared out by the time Cinna had left. I personally didn't feel like being the last ones to leave again. Johanna and I agreed it was about time to turn in for the night. She claimed to have one more order of business to attend to, kissed my cheek, and disappeared into the group of people that surrounded the bar. I caught Bennett's eye from the stage for a moment. He smiled through the words he was singing as I gave him a small wave goodbye. I walked up to Beetee and Haymitch, placing my hand on Haymitch's shoulder.

“Ready to go?” I asked him.

“Took you long enough.” He says, spinning the chair to face me. He stood up, placing a hand on my waist to have me take a step back as he did. He let go and extended his hand to Beetee. “See you around.”

Beetee shakes his hand and says, “Till then.” And then turns to me, grabbing my hand and squeezing it.

We made our way back to the Training Center rather quickly, both of us taking turns whispering dirty thoughts to the other as we walked. Haymitch held the door to the Training Center open for me, grazing his hand across my lower back as I passed him. The elevator ride was painfully slow, despite being the only two on it with no other stops than ours to make. We stood next to each other, leaning against the back of the car. His hand reached out and grazed my thigh. I grabbed it and started leading him between my legs. He adjusted himself to stand in front of me, his hand still complying with where I wanted it. He rubbed softly a few times before retreating to place both hands on my waist. I whined softly, reaching up to grab his tie and pull him closer, but he resisted. I trailed my hands down until I reached the bulge in his pants. He grabbed my hands and placed them at my sides.

“Be patient.” He whispers before grabbing my face with one hand and bringing it to his, stopping just short of kissing me.

I leaned in a little, but he pulled back, grinning, before turning to face the opening of the elevator. I was starting to wrap my arms around him from behind when the elevator stopped, arriving at the twelfth floor. I took a step back, waiting to see if anyone was occupying the open space in front of us. Effie sat at the dining table reading a book, hair wrapped in a silk cloth, minimal make-up, and wearing a set of fuzzy light pink pajamas with a matching robe - this is the most normal I've ever seen her look. We both stared at the sight before us for a moment as we stepped out of the elevator.

“Where have you been?” She asks shrilly, slamming her book on the table.

I shushed her, “Don't wake them up.” I motioned towards Katniss and Peeta's rooms with my hand.

“Well?” She asks, now standing.

“I didn't know you could read,” Haymitch says, pointing to the book.

She huffs dramatically and grabs the book from the table.

“You're an ass,” I say towards Haymitch. I turned to Effie, “Socializing, just like you told me I need to do.”

“Well,” She starts, fussing at her robe. “Good.” She nods once. “Goodnight, then.”

She shuffles past us in her fuzzy pink slippers. Haymitch and I watch her retreat down the hallway and around the corner.

“I've never seen her look so-” I started saying.

“Normal?” Haymitch cuts me off.

“Yeah.”

“Anyway,” he says, pulling me to him. “We have other things to attend to.” His hand suddenly slides down the front of my pants and starts rubbing rough circles on my clit.

I gasped at his sudden touch, gripping his arms. I bit my lip, stifling my moans of pleasure. His other hand guides me to the table, helping me sit on its surface. Two of his fingers slipped inside of me as I sat, his thumb resting against that overly sensitive bundle of nerves. He changed pace, now moving in and out of me slowly, savoring each touch. He abruptly stops everything he's doing and removes his hand, placing one last kiss on my lips. He begins to walk down the hallway towards our rooms. I sat glued to the table for a moment as I watched him walk away. My legs were still spread open, my arms supporting me on the table. I caught my breath and jumped up, legs wobbling a little as I tried catching up to him. He had already reached his room and was walking inside when I turned the corner. He left it open for me, and I slipped inside, shutting it softly behind me. I leaned against the closed door, watching him place a few items from his pockets down on the table next to his bed. He crossed the room to me and began kissing me softly, deepening each kiss. Our hands were touching every part of each other. His touches drove me crazy even while still fully clothed. I grabbed his belt, slowly unbuckling it, stopping now and then to stroke his growing member. I dropped his belt to the floor and started working on the fly of his pants. Before I can successfully bring down his zipper, his hand grabs my neck and pulls us apart.

“Be a good girl and get on the bed.” He orders, dragging his hand down from my neck to start grazing along my breasts.

I didn't move right away, I didn't want to comply, I wanted to tease him like he teased me all night.

I leaned into the door again, reaching out to finish my job at the front of his pants. “I don't want to,” I whisper, edging his pants down from his waist.

He helps me take them off, kicking them to the side. He pulled mine off in a single yank, and I kicked them away to join his.

“Gonna keep being difficult, babygirl?” He mutters against my mouth.

I reach forward to bite his lip and say, “Me? Difficult? Never.” I reached into his boxers and grabbed his cock. He gave a sharp, pleasurable inhale. “Besides, you've been the one teasing me all night.”

“Maybe a little.” He says, reaching his hand back up to my neck. “Nothing you didn't deserve.”

I moan softly, still able to speak through the pressure on my throat, “And what was it that I did to deserve that?” I squeeze his cock and start pumping him roughly.

He gives a guttural moan before squeezing harder around my throat, “You're such a fuckin' brat.”

I bite my lip as I meet his stare, unable to respond at the moment. My hand leaves his pants and grabs the tie around his neck, pulling him in to kiss me. His hand releases my neck at the motion, now starting to pull my shirt off over my head. 

Once we parted to take my shirt off, he grabbed my face with one hand and leaned in, “Go get on the bed.”

“Why?” I whispered, not breaking eye contact. I smirked a little.

“So I can keep that promise to you, babygirl.” His thumb travels across my lips, parting my mouth.

I bite his thumb and lick the tip of it before he removes his hand from my face. I slowly brushed past him, making sure my hand lingered on his cock before making my way to the bed. I sat on the edge, waiting for him to join me. He loosened his tie as he approached, throwing it off over his head and onto the floor. I reached up and started undoing the buttons of his shirt as he settled himself to stand between my legs. His hands started stroking my hair, fingers running through it. Once I had fully unbuttoned his shirt, he grabbed a fistful of my hair with one hand and leaned my head back to look up at him. I pulled his boxers off and started working him with my hands, slowly at first. The eye contact he refused to break with me was almost enough to undo me, and I wasn't even being touched yet.

“On your knees.” He growls, releasing my hair and taking a small step back. I slowly drop down, running my hands down his thighs.

He lets me do the work at first, grabbing the post of the bed frame to support himself. I took a moment to just tease the head of his cock, licking the sensitive underside of it slowly.

“Fuck.” He moans softly. Both of his hands move to grab my hair and pull me forward, taking all of him in.

He kept to his promise, relentlessly thrusting in and out of my mouth. My neck was starting to ache, and my hair was tangled in impossible knots at this point. Tears streamed down my face to mix with the drool pouring from the corners of my mouth. He stopped to allow me to catch my breath and clean my face with his now discarded shirt. He hoisted me up from the ground and pushed me back onto the bed. I was still trying to catch my breath when he climbed on top of me. I wrapped my legs around him and rolled, making him lie beneath me as I sat up, straddling him. I started grinding against his cock, only my panties to offer a barrier between us. I unclipped my bra as his hands came up to caress my sides and my legs. They moved further up to my breasts, pinching and rolling my nipples. I moaned, leaning one hand back to rest on his leg and support myself, stretching backwards. His hand came just short of grabbing my throat. I took his hand in one of mine and placed it on my hip, his free hand grabbing the other.

“I think it's time we take these off, huh?” He says, fingering the fabric on my hips.

I shook my head, “Not yet.” I put more force behind my next thrust against him and leaned forward again, using his chest for support.

He groans in frustration and squeezes my hips. I kept rolling my hips, dragging myself slowly down his length, earning deep moans from him. I leaned down to kiss him, biting his tongue as it tried to enter my mouth. He gave a frustrated moan. His hand came down to the opening of my cunt and stretched the fabric of my panties to the side, his other hand maneuvering his cock to slide along my wet folds.

“Enough teasing, you fuckin' brat.” He whispers in my ear before thrusting into me. I felt the fabric of my panties rip from the movement. He tore them the rest of the way off and proceeded to grab my hips and push down.

I sat up, riding his cock for a few seconds before stopping. He groaned again before sitting up and grabbing the back of my neck, bringing our lips together in a battle for dominance over one another. I felt him start to try and roll us over, so I started riding him with fast thrusts, distracting him from his intentions. I leaned him back down onto the bed, still riding, both of us moaning into each other's mouths. I feel him chuckle against my lips and swiftly roll us over, grabbing my wrists in one hand and pinning them above my head. I kept my legs wrapped around him, not daring to separate us just yet. The frustration I had forced him to pent up was released once he had me under him. My legs fell off of him through his rapid, rough movements. He released my wrists and grabbed one of my legs, placing it up on his shoulder. My other leg wrapped around his middle again. He slowed down, but each thrust grew rougher, earning moans from me that grew along in intensity. Moments later, we came simultaneously, the ecstasy of the moment engulfing every part of my body.

Haymitch placed a row of kisses along the thigh next to his head, biting lightly before placing it back down on the bed beside him. I gave one last movement of my hips before settling down into the mattress. Haymitch pulled out of me and lay his head down on my chest, enjoying the comfort provided by my breasts. He was breathing heavily, body now relaxed on top of mine. I brushed a few strands of hair from his face before I began rubbing his back, raking my nails lightly now and then. His body all of a sudden felt heavier, and I heard his breathing slow a little more. He fell asleep.

What's the risk of one night spent in his room?

Chapter Text

I was woken up by Haymitch's wandering hands the next morning. Soft touches that tickled my sides, slow, dragging touches up my thighs. I sighed, rolling over to lie on my stomach. Haymitch was perched up on one elbow next to me, still touching wherever he could.

I looked over at him and smiled, “How much longer until Effie starts banging on the door?” I asked.

He chuckles softly, running his hand down the length of my back, further. He grabs one of my ass cheeks, fingers digging into my skin as he squeezes.

“Don't know, don't care.” He mutters, more so to himself.

His hand slipped to my inner thigh and started inching closer and closer to my wet folds. I lifted my ass in the air, welcoming his touch.

“Such a good girl this morning.” He says, slipping a single finger into my wetness and sliding up and down.

I settled myself into the mattress and gave a soft moan of delight. Haymitch spent the next few minutes pleasuring me, alternating between rubbing my clit and filling me with two or three fingers. I rocked myself back into his hand and heard him moan.

He holds his fingers inside of me for a moment, “Good girl.” He whispers. I rocked backwards again. “Grab my cock, princess.”

I slide my arm out from under me and find his shaft, squeezing as I stroke down. His fingers moved faster, adding a third as I matched pace with his cock. I lost pace as I felt my orgasm begin, letting go of him and gripping his thigh.

He moved my hand back to his hard member, “Don't stop now, babygirl. Fuck.”

I pumped his cock to the same pace as his hand, earning multiple murmurs of good girl from Haymitch. The constant praise gave me the stamina to keep pleasuring him, even through my own climax. My thighs had clenched around his hands when I came, and slowly released him as my body came down from its high. With me finished, Haymitch lies on his back, still enjoying my strokes. I stopped for a moment, only to adjust myself to sit up on my knees before continuing. His head was craned back on the pillow, one hand gripping the sheets, the other gripping my thigh.

“Are you gonna come, Haymitch?” I asked in a whisper, squeezing his cock harder. He groaned, moving the hand on my thigh up to grip one of my breasts.

His cock got a little harder, I felt the pressure of it against my squeezing hand. His eyes were closed, head still leaning back. I let go and swung my leg over him, placing the tip of his cock at my entrance.

His head shot up, “What the f-”

But I swiftly sat down and started riding him, feeling his cock instantly start twitching inside of me.

“Fuck.” He finished his sentence, hands shooting to my hips to support their movements. He stopped me seconds later. “Good fucking morning to you, too.” He says between heavy breaths.

I giggled softly, slowly separating us and falling back on my ass.

“Good morning.” I said, “Big day today. Should start off on a good note.”

••

The hallway was clear when I left his room. I slipped into mine - it's been basically untouched for the past 24 hours - oops. After a long shower and two indecisive outfit changes, I made my way to breakfast. I was the last to arrive.

“Good morning, Sleepy Sally,” Effie says. She was pouring herself a cup of coffee, already dressed and with makeup caked on for the day. “Cinna and Portia will be here any moment.”

“What time is it?” I asked, patting both Katniss and Peeta on their shoulders as I passed them.

“10 o'clock. One hour til we take Katniss and Peeta downstairs.” Effie told me, making sure to enunciate the words one hour as she stared a hole into my head.

I walked up next to her and took the coffee pot from her, “Sorry I slept in.” I said. “Won't happen again.”

She handed me an empty coffee mug, which I took as her way of accepting my apology.

After being joined by Cinna and Portia, we all got to chatting. A little morning banter, asking about the weather, expectations for the day, etcetera. Katniss and Peeta were dressed in matching training uniforms, still sticking to the we're in this together bit. It felt wrong, to me, to portray them this way. They're days away from being thrown into a ravenous arena. What will friendship do for them? What will romance do for them? I know I told Peeta that anything can be used as leverage for the Games, but I truthfully had a hard time seeing it with this. Haymitch seemed weirdly optimistic about it, though. So I'll follow his lead.

The lobby of the Training Center was bustling with energy. Mentors escorting their Tributes, the building staff attending to everyone and anyone's needs, Peacekeepers slowly patrolling back and forth. I spotted Johanna at one point and we exchanged smiles. We eventually made our way to the entrance of the underground and fell in line with everyone else. Our Tributes went to one room, a waiting room with all of the others, anticipating hearing their names for evaluation. Mentors couldn't watch, but some would stick around to escort their Tributes back once the evaluation was done. Being from 12, we knew our two would be last. Haymitch suggested not sticking around, unless we wanted to be bored out of our minds. I had seen Johanna retreat towards the lobby after seeing her Tributes off. We agreed to join her. We found Finnick with her and waited out the time there. Conversation with everyone was dreadfully boring when we were in these settings. No one wanted to say anything to tip off a Peacekeeper or a Loyalist in the building, so we kept to talking about Finnick and his…well, everything about him. He was such a peacock . I shook my head lightly at the thought. Scorpion-cocks . Finnick was the first to leave us, followed by Johanna about half an hour later. By the time Peeta emerged from the doorway, the lobby was mostly empty, with Haymitch and I left at the bar in the corner. Effie trotted out from wherever she had been off socializing and intercepted Peeta, veering him to the elevator. Katniss would be out any minute now, so we may as well wait out the rest of our time with another drink.

However, our drinks sat unfinished, completely abandoned by us as two Peacekeepers and Seneca Crane approached, beckoning us to follow them.

We gave each other a look of concern before following the three men.

••

“ Excuse me?” I said. Shock didn't even begin to describe how I felt right now. “She did what?” I asked.

Seneca had led us to a room just down the hallway of the underground entrance. A large, silver, elongated table was placed in the center, surrounded by 10 silver chairs. Seneca Crane took a seat at one end, and I took a seat at the other, Haymitch standing to my right, hand leaning on the back of my chair.

“An arrow. At the Game Makers.” Seneca repeated, folding his hands atop the table. “I'm not sure what you two are doing, but the girl has guts.”

The statement could've been perceived as positive if his tone hadn't been stone cold. I was confused. Was he impressed? Was he mad?

Did Snow already know? Will Haymitch and I be punished for this?  

“I did tell them to make sure they made an impression,” Haymitch said. “We didn't get into specifics, though.”

“So, what does this mean? Is she in…trouble?” I asked the question with an obvious inflection of confusion.

“I merely wanted to give you two, as her Mentors, a heads-up on the situation. We'll be deliberating scores now, and I have no inclination on how the others have perceived her little… show .” Seneca informs us. He keeps a good poker face. It makes me uneasy.

I see Haymitch nod out of the corner of my eye, “Thank you.” He says, tapping on the back of my chair. “Let's go.”

Seneca stood from his chair, and I followed suit, bidding him goodbye and making our way to the elevator. Two others were in the car with us, Stylists for other Districts. They disembarked on floors 3 and 8. Once Haymitch and I were alone, I heard him start laughing softly. I looked away from him, trying to keep my own composure. His stifled laughter grew louder, though, and instantly triggered my own. We kept the laughter as quiet as we could, tears forming in my eyes from the restraint. I took a deep breath as I felt the elevator stop, Haymitch also retreating to a calm composure. We heard Effie having a complete meltdown in the sitting room - Katniss definitely told her. We entered everyone's view and were rounded on by Effie.

“Well, finally!” She screeches. “We have a situation here.”

We both walked past her, ignoring the drama. Haymitch shoots Katniss a thumbs-up.

“Nice shooting, sweetheart.” He says before flopping down into one of the chairs.

Effie gasps, completely beside herself.

“Go on, tell us the whole story.” I urged Katniss as I leaned on the back of the chair that Haymitch sat in.

Katniss recounted her entire session with the Game Makers, again, for Haymitch and me to hear. I saw Cinna, Peeta, and even Portia, chuckling softly to themselves as they listened. Effie even seemed to calm down after hearing it again, expressing her deep disappointment that the Game Makers wouldn't pay attention to Katniss. As Haymitch praised her guts and bravery for what she did, I saw her smile, one of the first genuine smiles I've seen from her since we got here. I also noticed Peeta noticing that smile, his eyes almost twinkled when he looked at her.

Later that night, we all gathered in the sitting room to watch Caesar announce the scores for each Tribute. Haymitch and I had started drinking at dinner. I was now a little extra giggly, still absolutely delighted over Katniss's earlier performance. The scores were pretty good this year, with the Careers taking the highest, so far. District 11's girl scored a 7. I hope she wins if ours don't . Peeta came out with an 8, not amazing, but definitely promising.

The moment of truth for Katniss's score had the entire room hushed. I sat on the floor leaning against the couch between Haymitch and Katniss, sipping my drink as my eyes glued themselves to the television. Damn Caesar and his thrill for the dramatics.

11 .

I had reached my hand up and back for Katniss to high-five. The rest of the room cheered and raised their glasses. We all stood together as Cinna toasted to the girl on fire .

They really must've liked her guts.

I heard Haymitch repeat the words my inner voice just spoke, to Katniss. She beamed at the pride that was being bestowed upon her - she had been practically shaking with nerves since returning from evaluation.

Tomorrow, the real work would come - prepping them for their interviews with Caesar. Effie would take over tips on posture and other do's and don'ts of conducting oneself. Haymitch and I would review interview strategies - and bring up our star-crossed lovers scheme. Peeta pulled me aside for a moment and asked if he could speak with Haymitch and me alone once everyone left. I told him we would chat soo,n and we returned to our companions. Effie seemed to indulge in a little too much drink in celebration of Katniss receiving the top score of the night. She retired to bed early, the first of us to fall. Cinna, Portia, and the design teams followed a short while after Effie. Katniss retreated to take a shower, leaving me, Haymitch, and Peeta in the sitting room. Peeta shuffled his feet a little, staring down at the floor. 

“Would it be okay if we - Katniss and I - if we do our sessions, separately, tomorrow?” Peeta asks, stumbling over his words.

I frowned at the question, “How come?”

Haymitch was silent.

“It's not like we'll be doing the interview together,” Peeta says, now looking between the two of us. “Besides, we're only a day away from the arena, and who knows what'll happen once we're in there.”

“9 o'clock,” Haymitch said. “Sharp.” He directs the last word at me.

I frowned at him.

“That’s a yes?” Peeta asks him.

Haymitch nods, “Now scram. The adults have things to discuss.”

Peeta leaves the room without a word. Even his footsteps seemed to be mute. I remember the feeling. The closer the day came, the worse everything felt. Everything. It even felt wrong to enjoy meals. Felt wrong to think about your family. Felt wrong to exist. Cause pain to your loved ones back home by dying, or cause pain to all of the other Tributes’ families by killing them. Even if you win…you never win .

I was staring off in the direction Peeta had retreated into, lost in thought, when Haymitch's voice snapped me back to the present moment.

“I don’t think it's a bad idea.” He says, slouching a little farther down into the couch.

“Coaching them separately?” I ask, spinning my chair to face him.

“Yeah. He's right. It's almost time. Only one winner.” He says, shrugging. He took a noisy slurp of his drink.

I emptied my glass and walked to the sink. I rinsed the cup before refilling it with water and rejoined Haymitch in the sitting room. I sat next to him and exchanged the glasses in our hands.

“You're cruel.” He groans, placing the glass of water down on the coffee table in front of us and grabbing his original drink from my hand.

“Worth a shot,” I muttered, grabbing the water for myself. I leaned back into the couch and slouched down to his level. “We still need to talk about last night,” I said in a whisper.

“Not out here.” He mutters back and shoots back the rest of his drink. “Come on.”

We both clumsily stand from the couch and walk towards our rooms arm in arm, more for support than anything else. We made our way into his room, as usual, and sat in the two chairs at the end of the space by the window that overlooks the city. I told him what I had asked Bennett, not mentioning my theory just yet. I paused after telling him about the single video clip of footage from the 10th Hunger Games.

He was nodding lightly, lips pressed together in thought, before he said, “I've seen it, too.”

“What?” I asked, sitting up in the chair. “When?”

He recounted what he could remember of his recovery just following the 50th Games. The rabbit, the video, and voices all around him discussing the injury he sustained, but most of it was a blur. 

“Why are you so interested in Lucy Gray, all of a sudden?” He asks me.

“Hear me out,” I start. I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. “I think President Snow and Lucy Gray knew each other, maybe even loved each other at one point.”

“What in the ever-loving fuck are you talking about?”

“After you told me your thoughts on Snow's unreasonable hatred of the Covey, I knew there had to be a real good reason. Then I heard that song at the party.” I was speaking fast, rambling. Haymitch stared at me with raised eyebrows. “Lucy wrote it. You heard me last night, you heard the lyrics, everything about that song is so personal . The play-on-words in the title of the song is just icing on the cake. So I picked Bennett's brain, see what he knew, see if Clerk spilled any secrets to him. He didn't. But the tape he found, the song, the mysterious non-existence of the 10th Games recordings, Snow being stationed in 12 as a Peacekeeper, Lucy disappearing, 12 all but forgetting her name - it follows the narrative of a love story gone wrong pretty well. Why else would he have been so insistent about Lenore Dove to you? Show you that tape? Do…do what he did ? And if he thinks I'm Covey too, well, that just adds fuel to the fire.”

Haymitch scoffs, sounding disgusted with the whole notion.

But he surprises me and says, “Why the hell that actually seems to make sense is beyond me.” He sighs loudly. “So, he's just irrationally petty over a broken heart?” He pauses a moment. “I was never positive that that tape Snow showed me was of Lucy Gray, but I think I knew it deep down. I recognized the dress. The song.”

He had told me before about Lenore Dove's dress and the pieces of Lucy Gray's rainbow dress that she had sewn into it. He told me how she sang, how she didn't give a rat's ass about the Capitol. I knew that's where his mind was now. I kept the space open and silent for Haymitch whenever Lenore Dove came up in conversation. Despite the intimate connection Haymitch and I shared, I never wanted to cross a line. Humorous, I know, given our situation. But I knew I wasn't a replacement for her, and I knew feelings would never develop to that intensity…for either of us. He spent 20-plus years locked away, secluded by his own doing, until I came along. Nothing but our shared status of Hunger Games Victors would've brought us together otherwise, and he would've continued living in isolation had I not cleaned his kitchen for him that one night. I was happy to offer companionship however I could to him. We started on the wrong foot, but ended up needing each other to walk through this fucked up life.

I brought my knees up to my chest and hugged my legs, resting my chin on my knees. We sat in silence for a while longer. I felt my eyes grow heavier as time continued. I tried to hide a yawn, turning my head away from Haymitch. He stood up from his chair and helped me to stand from mine. As much as both of us craved the comfort, we didn't want to risk another night spent in the same room. I lay with him until he started drifting off to sleep and then slipped into my own room just as I heard the door to Effie's begin to open.

••

Katniss responded better than I thought she would to the news that we would be coaching them separately. Confused, almost looked hurt, for a moment, but I had expected anger. Girl on Fire was extremely accurate - she was feisty. I secretly have really high hopes for her. I gave her a sad smile as she was dragged away to her room by Effie, knowing exactly the routine she was about to be put through. Haymitch and I took Peeta into a meeting room that was connected to the floor. Conversation fell easily for Peeta, even through the plethora of emotions he was hiding.

“A little birdie told me something,” Haymitch says, pointing over at me. “Something about a crush on Ms. Everdeen?”

Peeta shot me a look, to which I raised my hands in defense.

“Listen, I told you, anything can be used as leverage…and Haymitch seems to think he's onto something," I told Peeta.

“ Star-crossed lovers ,” Haymitch says dramatically, hands moving through the air as if the words would appear.

Peeta chuckles and looks between the two of us, completely amused. “You're serious?"

We nod in sync.

“Absolutely,” Haymitch says.

“Wouldn't that work if we both liked each other?” Peeta asks us.

“Have you asked her how she feels about you?” I asked him.

“Well, no.” He says quietly. “Anyway, how does it help?”

I looked at Haymitch, waiting for the explanation.

“Simple. It'll get you sponsors.” Haymitch tells him. “I keep telling you both, gifts from the sponsors will be your lifelines.” He grabs the bottle of wine he brought with him. “Anything to make them ooh and ahh and make their tiny little hearts just gush with emotion.” He got the bottle open and poured himself a small amount into a glass. “Get them to like you and we'll do the rest.”

Peeta stared at the tabletop as Haymitch spoke, mulling over the idea. I see his head faintly nod.

“Okay.” He mutters. He looks up. “And what about Katniss?”

“That’s up to you,” I told him. “We can review the same strategy with her when we're done here, or we can put her on her own path.”

He thought for a moment, frowning every now and then.

“Honestly,” Haymitch speaks up. “I don't think she'll agree to it.”

I shrugged, not agreeing or disagreeing.

Peeta sighed, “Don't tell her. Besides, it'll put a positive spotlight on her, too, no matter if she's prepared or not.”

“And she needs all the help she can get,” Haymitch mutters as he adjusts himself in his seat.

I rolled my eyes and said, “Alright then, let's get to work.”

••

Our session with Peeta was much more progressive than our session with Katniss. She was difficult to work with and in no way a born actress to try and sell any kind of personality. Halfway through our time with her, Haymitch started getting sloppy and a little mean from the wine. I was starting to get lazy due to my intoxication and was ready to just give up and hope for the best.

After we were finished with Katniss for the day, Haymitch and I each were given time with a member of the design team. Interviews with Caesar were a big night for everyone, no matter if you had scheduled screentime or not. Red seems to be a color favored by the stylists for me. I'm garbed in a dark red, ankle-length skirt and an ivory collared shirt that is tucked in. A golden belt is placed around my waist to tie together the top and bottom attire. Shoes, minimal jewelry, and a splash of make-up later, and I was ready to face the hustle and bustle of the evening. I appreciated how simplistic they stayed with the style they had adorned me with.

Katniss spent her pre-interview time with Cinna, finishing final touches and giving her the pep talk it seemed she had needed. Peeta was being attended to by Portia and Effie in an adjoining room. I heard Portia fussing over Peeta's hair far too much.

Haymitch and I found ourselves alone in a hallway, everyone else on our team busy with our Tributes. I leaned against the wall and caught Haymitch's eye. He brought the flask down from his mouth and took a step towards me.

“Have I mentioned how much I love when you're all dressed up?” I asked him as my eyes slowly trailed down, admiring the suit and tie he was garbed in.

He slips the flask back into his pocket. “No, I don't think you have.” He says, taking a few more steps towards me until the space between us is almost closed. “I love when you take it all off of me, though.”

I had made sure to place my hands behind my back before leaning against the wall, and for good reason. I would've gripped him by the collar of his shirt and jumped on top of him the moment he got close enough, if I hadn't. I leaned my head up to bring our faces dangerously close. His eyes flickered down to my lips for a moment.

“What else do I do that you like, Haymitch?” I whispered, making sure to make eye contact with him, his name trailing slowly off my lips.

He chuckles softly, “I don't think we have time for that list, babygirl .” I bit my lip and let out a small moan, almost a whimper, at the term of endearment. “Besides, I'd rather tell you later when we can do more than just talk about it. How's that sound, princess?”

He teased me by pretending to give in to the tension and kiss me, but he pulled back just before I could react. He now stood about a foot away from me, hands sinking into his pockets.

“Asshole,” I muttered, pushing away from the wall.

“Brat.” He countered, smirking at me.

Just then, Cinna emerged with Katniss. After sending her off to her queue, Haymitch, Cinna, and I took our seats in the front row of the audience.

“She looks stunning, Cinna.” I leaned over and whispered after we sat.

“Just you wait.” He responds, flashing me a quick smile before standing to join the crowd in applauding Katniss’ entrance.

The interview was pleasant, Katniss showed no signs of hostility, and Caesar seemed to be just infatuated with her. The highlight was toward the end when she twirled. I saw Cinna move his finger in a circular motion before she showed her flames for all of Panem. Whatever connection the two of them have seemed to form has been a game-changer for her. Still, while the flames tonight were a hit just as they were during the Chariot Ride, her personality fell flat and unimpressive. She looked great - but who was she? Hopefully, the mysterious thing can work for her, or the bomb that Peeta is moments away from dropping.

The bomb was apparently nuclear. Katniss unleashed the pent-up anger she had once we entered the twelfth floor, shoving Peeta against the wall and pinning him there. All of us were shocked for a moment, watching Katniss get millimeters from Peeta's face as she reprimanded him for the lover-boy stunt. Haymitch peeled Katniss away from Peeta. I scooped Peeta off the ground after he fell into and broke a vase, and put him into the arms of Effie and Portia. His hands were cut. I fussed over the blood, grabbing a napkin from the table and wrapping it tightly around his fingers.

“He made you look desirable , which in your case, can't hurt, sweetheart .” Haymitch was saying to Katniss.

“He’s right,” I called over my shoulder.

“He is right, Katniss,” Cinna said softly, allowing some sort of calmness to enter the atmosphere.

“Of course I am,” Haymitch says. He turns to look over at Peeta for a moment, then back to Katniss. “I can sell the star-crossed lovers from District 12 -”

“We are not star-crossed lovers,” Katniss growls, interrupting Haymitch.

“It's a television show!” He says, voice growing a little louder.

This was the exact situation I predicted. I knew Katniss wouldn't like it. She saw emotions as weak . So did I. And I agreed with her when she stated that Peeta made her look that way, but I didn't express that out loud. She and I were looking at the Games from the same point of view - just survive. The fashion and the doting and the personality - what does it matter when they're about to be killing each other tomorrow? Haymitch was insistent on his idea, though. And I couldn't help but swallow my pride and follow his lead.

I let Peeta's design team take care of bandaging him up. Katniss retreated to her room, huffing loudly. I crossed the room to Haymitch, who looked a little frazzled after the dramatics. I placed my hand on his arm.

“We know she won't have a problem killing him if it comes down to it.” He mutters to me.

I squeezed his arm lightly and brought my hand down. “Drink?”

I didn't wait for a reply; the question was silly. I poured us each a drink and sat at the table, waiting for him to join me. He sat, one of his legs relaxing to lean against mine. I brushed my fingers along the knee that pressed against my thigh before placing both hands on my drink. We discussed only the pros of the interviews, agreeing to stay away from the cons so as not to add any more negative energy to the room. There was no doubt that all eyes would be our Tributes during the Games - as long as they survived the initial bloodbath, which we both have constantly told them to avoid. We needed Katniss to fall into the star-crossed lovers act, too, though, if we wanted to keep them both alive in the arena via Sponsor gifts.

Dinner was only slightly awkward. Katniss apologized to Peeta, who humbly accepted the apology. Peeta was a better person than I could ever be. Last-minute advice rang from all positions at the table. Haymitch and I saved our own tips for after dinner once we got a short amount of alone time with the pair. We all went to bed around the same time that night, all of us consumed with nerves of some sort. Haymitch and I lingered in the hallway for a moment, waiting to hear Effie's door lock after she bid us goodnight. We kept our time together quick tonight, opting for my room for once. After he left, it was almost midnight. I settled down into my bed and drifted off to sleep to thoughts of birds, poison gumdrops, and arrow-pierced eyes.

Chapter Text

The rooms in the Training Center were all constructed with sound-deafening technology - all except the doors. It was easy enough to hear someone knocking and calling for you to wake up from the other end of the door.

Screams were apparently not protected by the walls.

I woke in a puddle of sweat and was embraced by two soft, skinny arms. My vision hadn't fully returned yet, and flashes of tiny hawks still fluttered in the corners. I gasped loudly and gripped the arms that embraced me.

“Shhhhhh.” I heard a soft voice hush me. The arms I gripped pulled from my fingers and wrapped deeper around my middle, holding me close to whoever they were. “Tally, dear, wake up.”

Effie's voice, when not yelling at everyone, was incredibly comforting. I started relaxing my body as my ears registered who was holding me. I returned the embrace, burrowing my face into the shoulder of her fuzzy robe. I began crying.

I had been back in the arena in the dream I had just had. Katniss and Peeta were there too, and Karin, and Haymitch. Tributes from my Games, these current Games, and even faces I recognized from the reruns of the 50th Games popped up. The birds were there too, in the cornucopia. As the bell rang, none of us ran, but the birds did. We were stuck to our platforms, a single bird charging for each Tribute. A neon green flamingo approached me and spread its wings wide, bringing its beak back in preparation to strike me. I had looked at Katniss - beheaded by a scorpion-cock. I looked at Peeta - just stabbed by a giant hummingbird. I found Karin - a scorpion-cock had stabbed her through the eye with one of its plumes. I was woken up just before I looked at Haymitch in the dream, not seeing what fate my nightmare had for him.

I heard footsteps enter my room. I didn't turn to see who it was, still crying into Effie's shoulder. I heard her start talking, but I couldn't register any of the words. I was awake now, but I wasn't fully back into reality. My vision still tunneled when I opened my eyes, and my ears were ringing. The pass-off from Effie to whoever else entered the room was quick. Effie stood up gingerly and was replaced by Haymitch.

“Go back to bed, Effie. Nothing I haven't dealt with before.” Haymitch's voice says in a whisper. His arm wrapped around my shoulders and brought me in to lay my head on his chest. Effie must've frowned or made some sort of questionable face. “Think she hasn't had to deal with worse from me back home? I got her.”

I heard Effie sigh, “Is this normal?” Her voice was barely audible. I felt Haymitch nod. “I'll - uh - I'll get her some water.”

I heard shuffling as she left the room. I think the whole scenario may have frightened her a little, but I could tell by her tone that she wanted to help somehow.

Haymitch's hand started rubbing my arm, “You haven't had one of these since the train.” He whispers.

I reached out for one of his hands and interlaced our fingers. I didn't speak, still caught up in the adrenaline of waking up in a fight-or-flight mode. His legs were hanging off the bed, his upper body awkwardly leaning against the headboard as he held me. He released my hand and helped me to sit up. I ran my fingers through my damp hair and groaned a little, disgusted by the oily feeling left behind from the sweat. The ringing in my ears was dying down, and my vision no longer tunneled. I adjusted myself to sit cross-legged on the bed as Effie entered the room again. Haymitch took the glass from Effie and handed it to me. I took a sip.

“Sorry I woke you, Eff,” I said, my voice hoarse from screaming. I took another sip of water.

She placed a hand on my knee, having taken a seat next to Haymitch on my bed, “No, dear, no apologies.” She says sweetly. “Try to get some more sleep.”

She bid Haymitch and me goodnight and left the room, leaving the door ajar. I placed the glass of water on the nightstand and started raiding Haymitch's pajama pockets for his flask. He reached into the pocket on the chest of his shirt and held out the item in question. I took a long pull and returned it to him.

Haymitch stood from the bed, grabbing my hand and pulling me up with him as he did. He held my face delicately with both hands and looked me in the eye.

“The next couple of days, week or so, however long they're in there, are going to be the hardest.” He says. His tone was gentle, a tad cautious. “You'll be fine, though.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “You will.”

I nodded, blinking away a new wave of tears. He released my face and embraced me, holding me tight. I gripped the fabric of his shirt as I clung to him. I was willing the moment to last forever, for time to never move on to morning. I didn't want to say goodbye to Katniss and Peeta. I didn't want to watch them die, watch them kill. How can he possibly do this year after year?

He kissed the top of my head and let me go, to which I reluctantly let go, too.

“Get some sleep.” He says. “Try to, anyway.”

“Stay,” I whispered, grabbing his hand. “Please?”

I didn't want to be alone. I probably would've asked Effie to stay if Haymitch hadn't come in to check on me, too.

He nodded, releasing my hand to go shut the door. I didn't care if Effie had questions in the morning, if she even noticed that we spent the night together. Effie can be pretty air-headed. Haymitch made sure to leave the room early that morning to avoid any kind of situation arising. I didn't fall back asleep once he left. I took the time to try and get myself in the right headspace for the day. I kept reminding myself that I was there for Katniss and Peeta, not for me this time. This time, I can give the help, instead of internally pleading and begging for it while navigating the arena. This wasn't the arena. But it was an arena of sorts…

••

I gripped Katniss's shoulder, perhaps a little too hard, as we said our goodbyes. Peeta and Haymitch were shaking hands just behind us.

“Any last advice?” Katniss asks me.

I released her shoulder and said, “Stupid people are dangerous.”

I see her attempt a smile as she nods, gives me a one-armed hug, and turns to Haymitch.

Peeta approached me. I grabbed both of his hands, which were visibly shaking, and held them tight. “Remember, stupid people are dangerous. Take care of yourself before anything, or anyone else, got it?” 

“Better than Haymitch's advice. Stay alive .” He says, rolling his eyes.

“He’s not wrong,” I say. “Do what you have to do to stay alive .”

Peeta looks down and frowns for a moment, “What if I'd rather she stay alive?” He asks in a whisper.

“Then make it happen, Pita Bread,” I said, tilting his chin up to look me in the eye. “But you can't help her if you're dead.”

••

The Mentors Tower was attached to the Gamemakers Headquarters, a rounded bump off the side of the building with a silver domed top. The car ride there was quick, maybe ten minutes. I watched the short line of hovercrafts ascend into the sky and disappear above the clouds as we left the Tribute Center. We arrived before the sponsors piled in; the only other people in the building were the Game Makers and President Snow. As we were corralled into the tower, I saw President Snow perched up against the railing of a hallway on the floor above, watching us all like a hawk. I made eye contact with him and looked away almost instantly. I felt his gaze follow Haymitch and I until we reached the doorway. Not that he couldn't glare at us from the outside, the walls that connected to the rest of the building were all glass. The rounded wall of the tower was split, the lower half covered by rows of screens and the upper by windows to allow natural light. There was a multitude of furnishings placed around the open room, lounge chairs, couches, benches, tables with connecting chairs, high-top tables, and two bars at either end of the room. I had stood frozen when I entered the space, taking in my surroundings. What kind of arena am I in? Haymitch placed his hand on my back and urged me to move again, freeing the doorway for others to enter. I have to think of this like the arena, adapt to my surroundings, just survive. I walked absentmindedly with Haymitch, eyes running across the row of large screens.

Those moments where a Tribute becomes the Victor were playing along the bottom row. The top row had a live feed of the hovercrafts running. I saw Johanna's victory finish and the picture dissipated into darkness before showing me , camera angled from the ground. My hair was tied up in the same ponytail I entered the arena in, parts of it caked in dried blood. The camera quality was exquisite. The T-shirt I wore was torn at the bottom from where I ripped a piece off to wrap a wound. The said piece of shirt fabric was seen wrapped around my bicep, tied lazily, and exposing the infected puncture wound. I rubbed the scar on my bicep where the scorpion-cock plume had punctured me. I was frozen again, watching the memory play out from a different point of view. The camera panned to my competition at the top of the waterfall. My whistle rang throughout the room, calling the attention of everyone else in the space. Half of the eyes were on the screens, the other half on me, watching to see how the first-year Mentor would react. I didn't. Just like I never did in the arena. I watched the two boys hit the rocks. I had closed my eyes in the arena. This was new. One boy's head landed directly on the tip of a particularly pointy rock, smashing the side of his skull, leaving him with only half a head. My stomach flipped. The other boy landed on a pile of smaller, sharp rocks, back-first. The point of each rock pierced into him, and he twitched for a few seconds before his body slumped and further descended onto the points. I did that . I felt tears welling in my eyes, but I couldn't move, not even to blink. My face from my victory was now center screen. I hardly recognized myself. I had turned away from the boys and began walking back to the clearing where the cornucopia had been. My face was void of any emotion, not even relief. I remember those moments, the voice in my head was sobbing, begging to be let out. But I wouldn't show them how I felt. Ever.

“Don't cry.” I heard from behind me. I recognized Johanna's voice.

I saw Haymitch jerk his head back, surprised by Johanna's sudden appearance. He must've been just as emerged in the scene as I was. I blinked my eyes quickly, deterring my tears. I can't cry, she's right. Not here.

Capitol sponsors piled into the room a short while after my victory dissolved and started playing Cashmere's. Overplayed and boring at this point . The socializing began instantly. Haymitch and I were surrounded by a plethora of people - men, women, people who were neither, or even both, all dressed in a menagerie of fashions. Most had questions about Katniss, prying for any more information about the mysterious volunteer girl from 12. Lots of people pegged me for being the one to make Katniss so mysterious. I insisted that I didn't, and that she was just as much a mystery to us. When I first said that, I thought maybe I just killed any interest they would have in Katniss, but I was wrong. The conspiracies about the girl on fire started fluttering about the room.

“Way to get them talking,” Haymitch says, giving me a genuine smile. He placed his hand on the side of my face and patted my cheek lightly.

I noticed the top screens now showed the arena. It was empty, save the cornucopia and the 24 circular platforms. Caesar and Claudius were discussing the terrain as the camera swept around to show the surrounding forest. More of the arena was shown gradually. A stream, lots of trees, plenty of different animals - no muts were shown yet. I'm sure they'd be there, though.

“Welcome.” A voice booms from the balcony.

The balcony above us was a walkway that led directly to the Game Maker's control room, as well as a separate space where President Snow would spend most of his time.

“In three minutes, you will watch your Tributes ascend into the arena.” President Snow announced, grabbing the attention of the room. “May the odds be ever in your favor.”

He retreated into his private space, the rest of us waiting to return to our conversations until he shut the door. I heard Caesar say there were two more minutes. I turned to Haymitch and gripped his arm, suddenly overcome with anxiety. His free hand came over to release my hand from his arm. He grabbed my elbow and led us to sit on one of the cushioned benches in the center of the room.

I saw the automatic doors open and someone run into the room, out of breath. I recognized him. Who is that? I frowned in the man's direction. Tightly curled hair, but it was neon yellow, olive colored skin, but it was covered in black swirling tattoos except on his face. He had a sharply chiseled jawline, and his face was covered in a light layer of make-up that matched his skin tone with eyeliner that matched his hair. The make-up reminded me of Cinna's style.

The man returned my stare and smiled a familiar grin. It's Bennett . I wiped the frown from my face as I realized who it was. Haymitch was also staring questionably. The smile towards me gave it away, though.

I heard Haymitch chuckle lightly and dip down towards my ear, “Still thinking about that date?” He asks.

I started to laugh, but stopped myself. “Absolutely not.”

Capitol fashion was probably the best way to render me completely uninterested in someone, in any sense of the word interested . I'm sure the choice of fashion was part of his cover as a rebel working in the belly of the Capitol. I'd never be able to look at him the same now, though. Not everyone dresses so…oddly…why did he have to choose to be part of those who do?

Our Tributes appeared on their platforms.

60 seconds .

Haymitch and I turned our attention to the screens, watching the longest 60 seconds of my life count down. Bennett sat on the bench behind us, where apparently Johanna also sat.

5…4…3…2…

“One…” I whispered in sync with Caesar.

Everyone in the room was silent as we watched the Tributes charge. Some ran away, most ran towards the supplies, like Katniss. Katniss ran towards the supplies. What is she doing?  

“Look at that…need a drink already,” Haymitch mutters, leaning his elbows on his knees and focusing on Katniss for a moment before standing.

“What is she doing?” I asked, looking up at him and then back to the screen.

He hushed me.

I saw Peeta retreat into the woods. Good, one of them listens . Katniss had a backpack in her hands now, but the girl from 2, Clove, had chosen Katniss for target practice. Well, not practice anymore . She shielded herself with the pack, successfully obtaining one of Clove’s knives before turning and high-tailing it out of there.

With both of our Tributes away from the cornucopia, I looked to the bloodbath unraveling before our eyes.

“ Fuck .” I heard Johanna groan from behind me. Both of her Tributes had fallen.

6 and 9 also lost both Tributes in the bloodbath. No one left just yet, though. The killing spree was still active. Cato, the boy from 2, ended it all by picking off the last of the Tributes that weren't Careers. Roars of approval boomed around the room. The people loved it. I scanned the crowd, a look of obvious disgust plastered on my face as I observed their cheers.

“Almost got your girl, Twelve.” I heard the voice come from my left.

Haymitch and I craned our heads to look in the direction of the voice. He was still standing, having been glued to the screen. We saw a group of people consisting of the group of Mentors from Two staring at us and snickering amongst themselves.

“Keep it nice, Two.” A Peacekeeper barked at them.

Haymitch gave the group a cheeky grin and walked away, going up to the bar. I ignored the Mentors from 2, rolling my eyes as I averted my gaze. I looked at Johanna. Her jaw was clenched, legs crossed at the knee, arms crossed over her chest. I gave her a sad smile.

“You must be 12's good luck charm, Tally. Both of yours are still alive.” She says, returning my smile.

Haymitch returned with drinks for both of us and one for Johanna. Bennett retrieved a flask from his pocket. The four of us brought our drinks together and took a sip simultaneously with one another. Turns out most Mentors stay in the tower for the length of the Games, even when their Tributes fall. I was glad for that. I didn't want my time spent with Johanna to end yet.

Katniss relentlessly made her way through the forest terrain of the arena, distancing herself as far from the cornucopia as possible. Smart, for now. It was Peeta, however, that took both of us by surprise. More so Haymitch than myself. The boy was smart, and he was taking my last-minute advice to heart.

“What the hell is he doing?” Haymitch asks in a low voice.

It was my turn to hush him as I watched the events unfold on screen.

Peeta had managed to weasel his way into an alliance with the Career pack. Well, almost. He was working on it right now. Cato seemed to have an itch he needed to scratch by killing Katniss, and Peeta knew that. He used it to his advantage as he talked the sword away from his throat. He was double-crossing them, convincing them the love card was fake, but that he could use it to help them find her.

Over in the corner, the group of District 2 Mentors was joined by the Mentors from District 1. I suppose they didn't even bother to hide their stares and whispers in our direction because they already thought everyone was scared of them somehow. They thought it made them intimidating. They hadn’t met me, yet, though, and were definitely using the opportunity to start sizing me up. Like I said, this is just another arena. They watched the scene just as intently as I did, growing suspicious. Their eyes darted to us every few seconds. I only saw this from my peripheral vision, not daring to give them the time of day.

“He can't be serious, right? Tell me this is some secret strategy you and he came up with.” Haymitch whispered to me.

I kept my head forward, still watching as I spoke, “Not necessarily. But I did tell him to do whatever it takes to keep Katniss alive, if that’s what he really wanted.” I had leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees and hands falling in front of me, picking at my nails.

“Sneaky kid.” He muttered against his glass before taking a drink.

I felt the gaze of the Career Mentors on us again. I sat up straight on the bench, still looking at the screens. Johanna's head appears next to mine and blocks my peripheral.

“I can't tell you how long the bitch from 2 has been staring at you.” She tells me. “Keep ignoring them, though.”

“Planned on it,” I said back. “Mind getting me another drink?”

She grabbed the empty glass I held up and went to the bar.

As the clicking of Johanna's heels dissipated, the clicking of another pair grew louder. From the corner of my eye, I saw a woman, blonde, dressed in navy blue, approaching me on my right. District 2's female Mentor. She took a seat next to me, uncomfortably close. But I didn't look over at her.

“What's your game, Tally Heather?” She whispers to me. “Once Cato brings down Katniss, your boy's next, you must know that.”

Her long, wavy hair brushed against my arms as she sat up, retreating from my ear. I could see the smirk from the corner of my eye. I smiled to myself, crossing my arms to hide my clenched fists.

I hear her scoff, “I’m talking to you.”

“Tally,” Haymitch said, placing his hand on my arm.

“I know,” I said, still staring forward. Haymitch removed his hand. Johanna appeared behind me, holding out my drink. “Thank you, darling.” I reached up between me and the unnamed Mentor from 2 and grabbed the drink. I took a long sip before turning to finally face her. “We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?”

She giggled. Irritating . But I kept a neutral, pleasant look on my face.

“You can drop the mysterious card.” She spits the words, just as irritated with me as I was with her. But boy was she bad at hiding it.

“Why?” I asked, cocking my head to the side a little. “It seems to work for me, kind of like the tough girl card seems to work for you.”

I didn't know this woman at all. But I knew the Careers were a prideful lot. Hit them where they're most sensitive, what they're most proud of. It's always going after their image, strength, or fierceness of whatever sort that really gets them going. And insinuating that the rough and tough display she portrayed was an act was definitely the thing to say to piss her off. There was a vein popping in the middle of her forehead, and her face grew red as she held back her anger.

I reached my glass out to clink against the one that rested in her hands that were in her lap, “Cheers.” I winked and flashed her a grin before returning my attention to the screens.

Johanna sputtered out a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand and walking away. Haymitch had stifled his own laugh by taking a drink. I drummed my fingers against my glass, waiting for her to leave. She wouldn't move, like staring at me would invoke some sort of challenge as if we were animals in competition for some sort of dominance. I had no time for that, though. I wasn't an animal. That was her - a Capitol dog .

“Say,” I hear Bennett's voice pipe in. “You're Abigail, right?” He stood from the bench and held out his hand to her. “Bennett Crowley, Panem's Historian and Archivist. How about you do me the honor of answering a few pretty important questions I've got specifically for you.”

I was silently relieved to hear Bennett butt himself into the conversation and break the tension. He made sure to up his charm and flash an extra wide smile for her as she indulged him and took his hand. I heard the compliments start pouring from him as he led her away from us. I exhaled slowly and relaxed my body to sink back into the bench.

I looked over at Haymitch. He was staring at me, completely ignoring the screens, a small smile plastered to his face as he met my eyes.

“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shook his head, “Just wonderin’ what you've been so worried about this whole time.”

“What do you mean?”

“You've been shaking since breakfast this morning. Hell, since we got on the train here.”

I frowned at him, annoyed with him calling out my weak-like behaviors.

“What I mean is, you've been worried you wouldn't be able to survive this trip…but you're not giving yourself enough credit.” He says, looking back towards Bennett and Abigail.

“It's just another arena, Haymitch.” I shrugged lightly. “I can adapt to this one just as easily as I did that one, right?” I pointed to the screens as I spoke.

“Now you're gettin’ it.” He says, reaching out his glass for a quick cheers.

••

The first day was, minus the cornucopia bloodbath, uneventful. The betting board changed twice - once after the bloodbath and once after it seemed a majority of the Tributes had made camp for the night. Odds on Peeta increased due to the alliance he made, and the balance we racked up for gifts was a pretty penny. Katniss wavered somewhere in the middle of the survivors. Both of them were well off for now, supplies readily available for instant use if they needed them. No gifts yet. Too early.

Effie and Cinna's presence lightened the mood, offering more people for me to bounce between in order to avoid any more confrontation with the Career Mentors. I had kept to my own advice and allowed myself to mold to whoever I was speaking to at the time - match the energies of the room. Just like the arena . I hadn't even noticed that I slowed down on the drinking - my current drink had been in my hand for over 2 hours now. Haymitch more than made up for it, though. Cinna was roped into Haymitch-duty for the rest of the afternoon, making sure he didn't wander off on his own. Once evening rolled around, Johanna, the other District 7 Mentors, and quite a few Sponsors left the building. Effie, Cinna, Portia, Haymitch, and I gathered around one of the high-top tables, watching Katniss strap herself in a tree for the night. Peeta was still up, taking the first watch for his new friends .

“How does this work at nighttime?” I ask them. “We just go to bed and hope they don't die while we're absent?”

Effie looks over at Haymitch, “Did you prepare her for anything ?”

I frowned at Effie. I didn't think I had done too bad a job, so far. I didn't ask too many questions. Although I have mainly just followed everyone around like a lost puppy since we got here.

“Consistency, I suppose.” He mumbles.

I grabbed the drink from in front of him, almost empty, but not quite.

“Hey!” He says a little too loudly, reaching for the drink again.

I slid the glass across the smooth wooden table over to Cinna, who caught it flawlessly.

“Don't hey me,” I said back, sternly. “Whatever the case is, you're at least going back to get some sleep.”

Cinna had placed the unfinished drink on a tray from a passing Avox. Haymitch groaned as he watched it retreat from us.

“Yes, sometimes Mentors share the load, others take the chance, and all retire for the night. It's up to you, dear, but I'll work on getting this one back now.” Effie says, rounding the table to grab Haymitch. “Usually it's me who opts to stay. Not this year. Not this year. ” She repeated the phrase while tapping me on my shoulder daintily. “Goodnight, dear.”

Effie struggled to help Haymitch stumble from the building, asking a Peacekeeper to assist them to their car. The cars ran 24/7, a constant shuttle to and from the Training Center. I could go back at three in the morning if I wanted to. I had a feeling I wouldn't sleep knowing the situation Peeta placed himself in, though. It's gonna be a long night.

“Will you be okay here on your own?” Cinna asked me. He had started buttoning up the jacket he wore. Portia had walked away to the coat rack in the corner of the room.

I scanned my surroundings, trying to find a familiar face, of which only Bennett and Finnick remained. Good enough .

I nodded, “I'll be fine.” He raised his eyebrows to question the assurance. “Really, I'm okay.”

He left after giving me a hug, joining Portia to retire for the night.

Peeta was nodding in and out of sleep as he sat against a tree. The first day was exhausting. The adrenaline sucks out any energy you thought you had. Your head pounded from all the blood your heart overworked to pump in those hours of fight or flight. Cato switched with Peeta about an hour later. I thought my anxiety would lessen, finally able to see him sleeping. But now I couldn't peel my eyes away from Cato, afraid he'd kill Peeta in his sleep.

An Avox brought a tray of coffees to me, adding cream and sugar as I asked, to the mug I chose. I silently thanked him and returned to my business. Bennett joined me shortly after, with his own cup of coffee.

“How are you holding up?” He asked, nudging me lightly with his elbow.

“Better than I thought,” I said, looking away from the picture. Cato was nodding out. Not a threat right now.

“Pretty impressive for your first year.” He says, pointing to the screens that showed Peeta and Katniss. “What's your secret?”

“It's all them,” I said, head nodding to the same screens he had just pointed to. “They've both got something to protect, both have a reason to survive.”

Katniss had Prim, her sister, back home. And Peeta had Katniss. Both reasons drive anyone to victory in one way or another. Peeta seems to think his own victory would be Katniss's victory over the Games. If it keeps him going, I'll take it.

“I don't know about that. You've had quite an effect on your whole team, it seems. Well, at least your partner.” Bennett says.

“Haymitch and I feed each other's addictions,” I tell him, rolling my eyes a little. “If he seems different, you can thank them too.”

“He hasn't been as drunk.” He admits. “Which is honestly a big improvement.”

I smiled sadly and turned away, checking on Katniss and Peeta. Maybe I should go back. They're sleeping, so I could get at least three solid hours of rest. Maybe. Or I could just lie there, awake, worrying, separated from the lifeline we had to keep open for our Tributes.

“What's got you pulling an all-nighter?” I asked him, pulling my attention back.

“I wanted the first full 24-hour experience, I guess.” He says, shrugging. “Maybe I'm just trying to spend time with you.”

I lightly shook my head, “Bennett, I -”

He cuts me off, “It's the hair, isn't it?”

I laugh softly, “Partially.”

“I’m pretty forward, I know. I find it useless to beat around the bush, so to speak.”

“Life isn't promised, you should take your chances.” I paused. “Though, I hope your forwardness also comes with the acceptance of rejection?”

We stared at each other for a moment. Part of me was sad to reject his offer - he certainly was an attractive man (when not in Capitol garb), he was kind, he wasn't one of them . But, truly, I had no real interest, and I didn't want to leave him feeling like there was a chance.

“Then take my flirtations as flattery, Tally Heather.” He says. He grabs one of my hands in both of his. “And be sure to pass along my envy to the one whose flirtations you do accept.” He kissed the top of my hand.

“And how do you know anyone like that exists right now?” I ask, cheeks blushing with… embarrassment ?

“Oh, c'mon now, why else would you have said no?” He says humorously, definitely using the comedy to cover up a little bit of sadness from the rejection.

I reclaimed my hand, warming it against my mug of coffee. I was nodding as I took a sip.

“I won't deny, you have a point.”

His face lit up, “So there's still a small chance.”

“I didn't say that.” I gave him a stern look. Almost like the one your mom makes just before you're about to do the exact opposite of what she's asked.

He wipes the smile from his face, “Alright, alright.” He shifted back a little on the bench, creating more distance between us. “I will still show you the library, if you want. Shamelessly, I just want to talk about things I like and know a lot about. Indulge me in that, at least?”

“Sure.” I agreed.

I'll drag Johanna along as a precaution.

••

The clock struck 2 in the morning as Bennett and I continued talking into the night. All of the Tributes were asleep. Me, Bennett, Finnick, and three other Mentors, were still in the tower. Finnick fell asleep at one of the tables, face down on a placemat.

Bennett had enthralled me with stories of a time he called Pre-Panem . Where we live now, this land, it was called the United States of America. There were 50 states total, one of which was an island called Hawaii. And there was another connected to the land above us, Canada, which was called Alaska. He bantered about how these two states, Alaska and Hawaii, were so different from one another in terms of geography and climate. Then he dove into a summary of what he knew of their Native People and how, while distinctly different, the physical lands were, the people had a strange likeness to each other. The mainland that we lived on seemed to have a more complex history that Bennett hadn't perfectly sorted out yet. There were Natives to this land too, but there were also people who invaded it and claimed the title of “native people”. Unfortunately, the largest part of the history of the United States of America seems to be a time of disturbing acts of slavery, particularly towards people whose skin was any color but “white”. What a strange and disgusting concept, to enslave people based on their skin. To enslave people in general. The Capitol enslaved people in the form of Avox's - their crimes were real, though, usually involving rebellion. Panem's history would most definitely be highlighted by the Hunger Games. The horrors always persist throughout history.

Bennett had promised to show me the collection of old maps he had in the library of America. I mentioned my idea of Johanna joining us, which he gleefully accepted. I covered my mouth to give a particularly long yawn.

“Oh,” Bennett starts, making me jump a little. “Happy birthday, Tally.”

“Is it bad that I was hoping no one would remember?” I asked, giving him a sleepy smile. “Thank you.”

Somehow, I had willed myself to stay awake until the sun started to rise. I took a quick glance at Katniss and Peeta, still sleeping, and stood from the bench. Bennett had fallen asleep sitting up, arms crossed, neck leaning all the way back, and softly snoring. I stretched my arms above my head, cracking my knuckles with the movement. My back popped gradually from the base of my tailbone up to my neck. I walked out onto the terrace and took a deep breath of the early morning air. Once the door shut behind me completely, I lit up a cigarette and leaned against the edge of the railing.

The door opened.

“Get any sleep?” Finnick asked, leaning next to me.

“No,” I replied with an exhale of smoke.

“You should once Haymitch gets back.” He says, reaching out to grab my cigarette. “You're no good to anyone if you're exhausted.”

I watched him take a pull from the cigarette.

“I will,” I told him. He handed back the bad habit.

We enjoyed the rising sun together in silence, passing the cigarette back and forth until it was done. Finnick was a quiet person when he wasn't being forced into his phony personality. Don't get me wrong, he still exerts a copious amount of self-absorption when he's able to be himself. It's just not as constant.

We heard the chatter of a large wave of people entering the tower. Both of us looked through the windowed walls to observe the early birds. I noticed Haymitch and Cinna slowly walking around the room, probably looking for me.

“Well, that's my cue. Time for bed.” Finnick says. “Ride back with me?”

Just then, the door to the terrace opens, and President Snow enters the platform. I was facing the door, but Finnick was facing me and didn't see who had joined us yet.

“Mr. Odair.” President Snow said, his voice sounding as if he had only just woken up.

As if someone pressed a button on him, Finnick's demeanor changed. He smiled, blinked his eyes a few times, and stood up straight. He gave me a look like, yay me, before spinning around on one foot.

“Good morning, Mr. President.” He greeted him cheerfully. “I trust you enjoyed the first day of the Games, sir?”

Finnick strutted over to the President, grabbing his hand and shaking firmly. Snow's hand comes up to rest on Finnick's arm as he begins leading them back inside.

“Before you leave, I have a friend who would like to meet you.” I heard Snow say before the door closed behind them.

I watched Finnick's body language respond to what Snow said. Instant stiffness. Usually, a fear response. Discomfort of some sort. Do I want to know?

Cinna's head appeared in the doorway, hand beckoning me to come inside. I hastily walked back in, joining Cinna and Haymitch standing in the middle of the room. A few Tributes were awake now, including Peeta and the Careers. Katniss still slept in her tree, strapped in tight.

“Did you sleep?” Cinna asks me. He had a disposable cup of coffee in his hands, blowing on the surface of it.

“I blinked a few times,” I said humorously.

Haymitch chuckled, “Effie's waiting for you back at the Training Center. Go get some sleep.”

Chapter Text

The four hours of sleep I managed to get were surprisingly quiet. Once Effie set me up with a communication device that would reach directly to her, I laid down on the couch in the sitting room and fell asleep to the public streaming of the Hunger Games. Now that I've been in the Mentor's Tower, I know the feeds they show the public were a completely separate line, even from ours. Of course, I'd always suspected it would be that way. But at least I could keep myself somewhat up-to-date.

My eyes fluttered open when I heard the ding of the elevator doors arriving on the floor. The couch was painfully uncomfortable. I saw Peeta and the Careers on the screen, and blood was visible on all of them. Did Peeta kill anyone? Where's Katniss? I didn't bother to turn and look at who entered; I wanted to know where my Tributes were.

“I went back to the tower,” Johanna's voice rings out from behind me. “But they said you'd come back here to sleep.”

I turned around upon hearing her voice, “And you were going to, what? Wake me up?” I ask with a smile. “Can you even be here?”

“In the short while you've known me, when have you known me to follow the rules?” She asks, smirking as she comes around the couch. “But yes, now that the Tributes are in the arena, we're free to roam. Kind of. Effie gave me permission.”

I chuckled, now sitting all the way up, adjusting the blanket on my crisscrossed legs.

“What have I missed?” I asked, directing her attention to the television.

Katniss was shown on screen as I pointed. Still alone, walking through the terrain. Pure survival right now. The distance she was putting between herself and everyone else was nice, but the Game Makers would get bored soon.

“Nothing big. One more died, honestly forget who. Neither of yours, though.” She says, sitting next to me and grabbing part of the blanket for herself. “I'm checked out now.”

We leaned into each other, her head coming down to rest on my shoulder.

“I volunteered you to accompany me when Bennett shows me the library, by the way.” I said.

She lifts her head from my shoulder, “And when will we be doing that?” She asks.

I shrugged, “Don't know yet.”

“So, it's not a date, then? With Bennett?” She questions with that signature cheeky grin of hers.

I felt myself blush a little before shaking my head and saying, “No, no date. I made that clear.”

“I’m sure Haymitch will be happy about that.” She says, winking at me.

I smirked and looked back at the television. Neither of mine was on screen. Oh, the communication device! I grabbed the small box off the coffee table and flipped it open. 1 missed message, Effie, ‘Johanna's coming to visit.’. I placed it back down and took a single deep breath to relax myself. No news is good news .

The device buzzed. I swiftly grabbed it again.

Effie: Happy birthday, dear!

I rolled my eyes and placed it back down.

Johanna had been reading over my shoulder, “It's your birthday?” She asks.

“Nope.” I responded, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word and leaning back into the couch. I smiled as I saw her studying my face for signs of deception. “Yeah, it is.”

“Well,” she began before leaning back and settling herself next to me. We turned to each other, faces intimately close. “Happy birthday, Tally Heather.”

She places a soft kiss on my lips, lingering for only a moment. My heart skipped a beat, seeming to leap into my throat. I felt my body tense as she first kissed me, but the tension eased when her lips lingered. Our eyes met once the kiss ended, both of us grinning.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

She giggled softly and grabbed one of my hands in both of hers. We both watched the Games for a few minutes. The entertainment factor was already starting to lack, which was concerning. What tricks do the Game Makers have up their sleeves this year?

I fell asleep again at one point. When I woke up, I was lying down with my head in Johanna's lap. She was stroking my hair absentmindedly as she watched the television. I didn't move right away, enjoying the comfort of her fingers in my hair. I hummed, feeling blissfully content at this moment.

“Good morning, again,” Johanna says softly.

I rolled onto my back and looked up at her, “What time is it?”

“Yeah, probably should've said good afternoon .” She says. “It's 2:30.”

“I should get back,” I said.

She nodded, “Probably. Someone's gotta wrangle up Abernathy.”

“I did promise Effie she'd get a break this year,” I said humorously. “He did well until the end of the day yesterday.” I sat up and stretched.

“I know a lot of us have our vices, being Victors and all.” She says as I adjust myself to sit beside her. “But…what happened to him?”

I looked away from her. It's not my place to say anything about Haymitch or the horrors he's been forced through. I pondered how to answer her question for a few seconds.

“A lot,” I said. I turned to look at her again. “Maybe more than most of us.”

“Maybe.” She says sourly. “Tally, you've barely scratched the surface of the horrors committed by our lovely President. There's always more to the monster than any one person knows.”

If anyone could exert the energy of pure rage, it was Johanna Mason. The way she spat out the word President was enough to give me goosebumps. I reached out and grabbed her hands, trying to offer some sort of comfort or security.

I leaned in close, met her eyes, and whispered, “And one day, we'll make sure there's no more monster left.”

I don't know what made me whisper the treasonous words. I don't know why, all of a sudden, I started pondering the idea of rebellion. True rebellion. Not just a fuck you to the President. But a fuck you to the government, the whole system. Fuck the Games.

••

The tower was just as busy as yesterday, if not more. A few new Sponsor faces had made an appearance. I spotted Finnick across the room when we entered. I wonder if he was able to get any sleep. I searched for Haymitch next, checking both bars first. He was at the bar at the far end of the room, turned to watch the screens. Katniss was still on her own, still moving away from everyone. She was getting a little too close to the edge of the arena now, though. Johanna left me for Finnick, leading them both out onto the terrace. I joined Haymitch at the bar.

The Avox behind the counter held up a bottle of champagne and a bottle of orange juice. I shook my head, “Just some water, please.”

The Avox looked startled at the word please , but didn't let it distract him from his duties. He gave me a faint smile as he placed the glass in front of me. I nodded my thanks.

“Peeta's doing well. Seems he's fallen into the gopher role for the Careers. Keeps watch, retrieves food, stuff like that.” Haymitch says, eyes still fixated on the screens. “Katniss still hasn't found any more water, and she's almost at the edge of the arena.”

I spun the bar chair to face the screens, finding both of our Tributes. “Is the girl from 11 still around?” I asked, searching the screens.

“Sure is,” Haymitch said, pointing to the far upper right corner.

Rue was jumping between trees, climbing higher in some, then lower in others. A few times, she popped her head over the treetops to investigate her surroundings.

“Good,” I said. “Johanna said someone died this morning, but she didn't know who.”

“Girl from 8,” Haymitch told me. “Careers.” He gave a deep sigh. “And Katniss has seen Peeta with them.”

“She should be smart enough to catch on to what he's doing, right?”

“Maybe.”

“Did Peeta kill the girl from 8?”

“No.”

“Good.”

I looked over at him. He looked horrible. I doubt he slept last night, and if he did, it wasn't restful.

“You okay?” I asked him quietly.

He grunted and sipped his drink, “Hardly slept. That couch is horrid.”

I chuckled, “Yeah, it is. It got more comfortable once Johanna joined me, though.”

His head snapped over to look at me and raised an eyebrow, “Oh? You weren't joking the other night, were you?”

I shook my head and took a sip of my drink.

Could I blame Haymitch for the thoughts that I knew were dancing around his mind right now? No, not really. I know of few men who don't fantasize about what two women do with each other in the bedroom. Also, let's be honest, I'm no better. My mind has gone to the same gutter, even now.

“Keep your pants on, sir,” I said dryly, yet still smirking. “It was just a kiss.”

“I didn't even say anything.” He says defensively, while also chuckling.

“You didn't have to,” I said, winking.

He shuffled in his seat to fully face me, “Convince Effie to take the night shift tonight.”

“I promised her that wouldn't happen this year,” I said. “Besides, I took last night, it's your turn tonight.”

“ We never made any kind of agreement on that.” He says, resting his hand on my knee.

“We are now,” I say, placing my hand on top of his.

“C'mon, babygirl.” He whispered. “Don't want me to spoil you for your birthday?”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“Same way you spoiled me on mine.”

I didn't know when his birthday was, come to think of it.

I frowned. “When was your birthday?”

“Reaping Day.” He tells me, sitting up and removing his hand from my knee.

••

The day had ended uneventfully for everyone. Bets didn't change, hardly any Sponsors donated money today, and I hardly saw President Snow lurking about. Effie surprisingly agreed to take the night shift tonight, but expected at least one of us back before the sun was up. I didn't argue, and neither did Haymitch. It did occur to me that our willingness to comply with Effie's wishes could've been a little suspicious. But I tried not to linger on the thought. If Effie had a suspicion, she wouldn't be shy about it.

Haymitch and I spent the night locked away in his room. We kept the small television on the 24-hour livestream just in case. Another quiet night, though, for the arena. We should've been sleeping, but the past two days in the tower had both of us fiending for each other's pleasures. Once we finally did fall asleep, I slept like a rock. But I was roused awake only two hours later by the alarm on the communication device.

Haymitch could be tough to wake up, whether he had fallen asleep drunk or not. He didn't even twitch at the sound of the alarm. I left him to catch a few more minutes of sleep while I got myself freshened up for the day. After choosing an outfit, I got in the shower. I turned the water to almost scorching. Water never got this hot in 12, unless you were cooking with it.

I heard the door to the bathroom squeak a little as Haymitch stepped inside. I assumed it was Haymitch, anyway, we were the only two here. I smiled to myself as I faced the showerhead and finished rinsing the bubbles from my hair. A breeze hit my backside as the shower door opened just enough for Haymitch to slip in. I felt the familiar touch of his rough hands wrap around me from behind. I leaned into him, resting my head back on one of his shoulders.

“Good morning,” I said sleepily.

“Good morning, princess.” He mumbles as he starts kissing my neck.

I softly moaned, enjoying the tingling he sent up my spine with each kiss. His hands started exploring, cupping my breasts, then sliding down between my legs. I spun around so I had just as much access to his body, too. Shower sex is a clumsy business, in all honesty. But fun . Most of it was filled with laughter, one of us slipping or failing to find just the right position. In the end, I sat in his lap on the floor of the shower and rode him until he was the one saying my name, instead of the other way around.

I attempted to cover the newly forming hickey on my neck with some makeup before we left. I didn't do a great job, but it'll pass.

As we entered the tower, I saw Seneca Crane standing in the glass doorway to the Control Room. I met his eye for a moment. He turned after noticing me, pointing a finger at someone in the room.

I hadn't even had time to register any faces in the room, yet. I was still wearing a light jacket, no time to hang it up. But that's when the wall of fire erupted in the arena, and all screens panned to Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire . I jerked forward, as if I were running for the Control Room. Haymitch's arm reached forward quickly, though, and gripped my elbow.

“Stop.” He muttered under his breath. “Sit down.” He dragged me to one of the benches and sat down, pulling me with him.

I was frantically looking between the screens and the window panes of the Control Room.

“They're gonna kill her!” I said in a harsh whisper.

“Have a little more faith in her than that, babygirl.” He says, now fixated on watching Katniss struggling to undo her bindings in the tree.

The scene unfolding before me was intense. Katniss barely made it from the tree as the wall closed in on her. And to make matters worse, the wall started shooting fireballs, too. I unconsciously grabbed Haymitch's hand, squeezing it tight. Another screen over by the Betting Board showed the map of the arena's terrain, fixed with a dot for each Tribute. The wall was chasing Katniss away from the edge and right towards Peeta and the Careers. This will be interesting . I looked back at the screens in time to see Katniss wounded by one of the balls of fire. Haymitch flinched and muttered ouch under his breath. The fiery attack didn't last much longer. Once it ended, Katniss found herself in a stream, cooling the burn on her leg. I saw the dots of the Careers get closer to her. I saw the group, Peeta trailing in the back, start to round the corner that would expose Katniss.

Run, Katniss. Fucking run!

The chase between Katniss and Careers was more exhilarating than Katniss's outrunning the fire. Not exhilarating in a positive way, but in a way that had me rooting for her survival. Effie joined us as Katniss started climbing a tree during her escape. She sat next to me and grabbed my free hand, squeezing it as intensely as I was squeezing Haymitch's. I giggled as I watched Katniss, having run up a tree, taunt Cato once he fell out of it. And the girl from One, Glimmer, was an absolutely horrible shot with a bow. Good, Katniss deserves that bow anyway .

Peeta convinced the Careers to just wait her out once all of their attempts on her life failed. Good kid . Finnick joined us, sitting next to Haymitch. His girl Tribute was with the Career Pack and Peeta. Someone, whom I guessed was Finnick's Mentor partner, also joined. The pack of us were glued to the screens, watching the Careers settle in for the day, making a small camp at the base of the tree. The group of Mentors from 1 and 2 piled into the tower just then, running for a front row view of the screens. The girl from 2 and I exchanged looks, me with a smirk and her looking as if she could explode.

All of us had ceased holding hands. Effie fretted about whether or not she wanted to retire for a few hours. She ultimately did, promising she'd see us all no later than lunchtime. Haymitch flagged down an Avox who brought a tray of coffees and teas. Once fixed with our morning choice of drinks, including a healthy amount of liquor in both mine and Haymitch's, we began our long day of watching the Careers wait out a relentless Katniss.

And it was long. And boring. None of the Careers attempted at her again, Peeta stayed suspiciously quiet, and Katniss had herself set and strapped to the tree for as long as she needed. An influx of Sponsors surrounded us at one point, Haymitch taking the lead in conversation, and me keeping an eye on the screens. I allowed myself to get distracted only for a few moments at a time, indulging in some banter here and there. Effie showed back up just after lunch, falling into praiseful conversation all about her Tributes. Finnick was working just as hard for more Sponsor support. I heard Haymitch negotiating for more credits towards some medicine for Katniss. The burn on her leg was bad, and there was nothing in her pack to help it. Thankfully, the situation she was in caught what little empathy the Capitol citizens still had.

Just as the arena fell dark, Haymitch pulled me away from the group of people and led me to a countertop that was lined with 12 tablets. He walked me through the process of sending out gifts, opting for a tin of burn gel that took up about half of what we had earned so far. Worth it .

Haymitch looked up at the clock. They sound off the anthem at 8 o'clock. It was 7:40.

“Not yet.” He said, stopping my hand from pressing the big green send button. He nodded up at the clock. “Send it at 7:55. Don't want the others to hear it come in.”

It worked. The parachuted tin container floated down just as the anthem sounded off, muffling its beeping as it descended. Katniss applied the medicine to find instant relief, saying a silent thank you to the cameras.

We sat on one of the benches by ourselves, still watching the screens. Just before nightfall, Rue, the girl from 11, had made herself known to Katniss in the neighboring tree. The tracker-jacker nest she pointed out was only a few feet above Katniss. The insects weren't active, though, most likely rendered slow by the excess smoke. The Mentors from 11, Seeder and Chaff, joined us. We discussed the interaction between Katniss and Rue. Seeder and I thought it could be a good alliance. I saw both Haymitch and Chaff expressing looks of concern, though. We'll just have to see what happens .

We both opted for staying through the night just in case the Careers decided on a sneaky night attack. Thankfully, they didn't. Katniss, though, was the sneaky one. At sunrise, as she sawed away at the tree branch to try and release the tracker-jacker nest, I saw two or three manage to sting her. I crossed my fingers, hoping beyond hope that the insects were still too drowsy to cause significant damage to her. Just one can be lethal, depending on the situation and the person. Once the nest fell, though, I started worrying for Peeta. He had placed himself furthest from the tree. The tracker-jackers still got him, though. The bulk of the nest fell directly onto the girl from 1. I exhaled through my nose as a sort of laugh. In the end, Finnick's final Tribute and the girl from 1 fell victim to the stings.

With two more Careers off the Betting Board, we knew we'd be getting an influx of Sponsors today. Haymitch was fighting to stay awake, and so was I, but not as badly as he was. Cinna was the first of our team to arrive for the day, so I convinced him to take Haymitch back to get some sleep. Effie joined me a few minutes later, delivering a coffee to me and even asking if I needed a splash of liquor in it. I declined the liquor. Not now, not while they're both like this .

Katniss and Peeta were both struggling from the aftermath of the tracker-jacker stings. Peeta, additionally, was now also carrying a deep gash in his leg courtesy of Cato. Rue scooped up Katniss after Peeta had gone back to check on her post-attack, leading to his almost-deadly showdown with Cato. That's when Haymitch had left. I caught Effie up on anything she may have missed from the public feed, repeating the same storyline to Cinna upon his return. Katniss seemed in good hands with Rue. I exchanged a nod of approval with Seeder and Chaff from across the room. Peeta limped his way down to one of the lakes and collapsed just outside of a rocky cave. He mustered up what strength he had left and camouflaged himself into his surroundings. Fucking brilliant, he is.

Sometime around midday, Johanna came back to the tower. Although she wasn't happy. She wasn't angry, either. She had a blank stare in her eyes, face void of emotion. I started to stand from my place on the bench, but she continued walking up the steps, across the inner balcony, and stopped at the entrance to Snow's private office. I had seen a few people join the President just a few minutes ago, too. I frowned as I watched her knock lightly at the door. Her body language switched up in an instant, probably once whoever opened the door turned to notice her there. She twirled her finger around her long ponytail and flicked it behind her as the door opened for her. A man unknown to me reached his arm out and snaked it around Johanna's waist, pulling her into the room. I heard her giggle as the door closed behind them. About ten minutes later, everyone emerged from the office, including the President. The unknown man was still glued to Johanna. I saw the hold he had on her hip was tight. And for as wonderful an actress as Johanna is, I could still see the plea for help in her eyes as she met my gaze before exiting the tower.

Chapter Text

I sat outside smoking a cigarette after setting Cinna up to watch the screens for me. Both Tributes were resting and generally safe for the time being. My head was spinning thinking about seeing Johanna earlier. What was that? I think the answer is obvious, but I really don't want to be right about it. I guess if you're not above killing children for sport, sexual exploitation isn't out of the question either. I shuddered at the thought, feeling sick to my stomach. Is this what she meant the other morning? Had I really only just begun scratching the surface in this house of horrors?

“Where's Johanna?” I heard Haymitch ask from behind me. He let the door slowly shut behind him as he joined me, nodding to the other two people who also occupied the terrace. “She popped by looking for you, said she was coming here.”

He pulled the chair next to me out from under the small table and sat down.

“She was here, but she went straight to Snow's office. Left with someone I didn't recognize.” I told him, still lost in thought.

“Ah.” He said awkwardly. “Well, I'm sure she'll be back soon.”

I looked over at him and frowned a little. He knew something. He met my frown with a sad smile and patted my hand.

We pushed the topic to the side, making an unspoken agreement to return to it later. We meandered back inside to mingle. Things were quiet, most of the Tributes nursing their strength back after some sort of attack. Haymitch and I agreed it was safe enough for all of us to retire for at least part of the night once the Anthem had sounded. I didn't realize how much I missed having all of us together. Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, Portia, and I - it still felt unfinished without Katniss and Peeta, though. I'd been so secluded for pretty much my entire life, all by my own doing. Defense mechanism, I guess. I've found the excess company now to be comforting, though.

Cinna and Portia continued on their way home while Haymitch, Effie, and I went up to the penthouse floor of the Tribute Center. Effie wasted no time retiring to her room for the night, singing a high-pitched goodnight as she scurried down the hallway.

I hadn't returned the goodnight to Effie. My mind had returned to Johanna again, hoping and praying that the sick feeling in my gut was wrong. I grabbed an open bottle of wine as I passed the bar cart, continuing to the door that led to the roof. Haymitch didn't follow me. I leaned against the same spot I had spoken to Peeta in just a few nights ago, eyeing the hustle and bustle of the street below. How many of them know about the grimy trenches of their government?

I popped the cork off the bottle and flung it over the side. I heard the crack from the connection with the forcefield, and the cork flew past my head. I noticed it was singed on one end as it landed behind me. As I watched the cork bounce off the ground, the door opened, revealing Johanna. She was dressed in a set of pajamas, dark purple, and a pair of slippers to match. I think the same outfit is provided in my room, too. I placed the bottle of wine down.

She closed the space between us quickly, embracing me tightly. I stood frozen for a moment, arms outstretched at my sides. She took me by surprise. I slowly brought my arms around her to return the affection. She held me for a long moment. One of my hands started stroking her hair gingerly.

“He sells us.” She mumbled into my shoulder.

“Us?” I asked, still holding her.

“Finnick. Me. There are others, too.”

My body slumped upon hearing her say Finnick's name. Suddenly, I felt… lucky ? That kind of life isn't something I could survive. And more than likely, I wouldn't have survived, had I been forced into it, as well. I didn't ask what would happen if she were to refuse. I know the answer.

As she pulled away from me, I saw her wipe tears from her cheeks, awkwardly laughing softly to herself. She looked up after rolling her eyes and took a deep breath, willing a way to contain the waterworks.

“I suppose it could be worse.” She says, crossing her arms over her chest. “At least I don't have to fuck him .” Referring to the President.

I gave a single ha , and nodded lightly, “Yeah, that’s definitely a pro in a sea of cons.”

“I won't let you get roped into it too, Tally.” She says suddenly, grabbing my hands in hers. “If he hasn't approached you by now, you're probably safe. But just know, as long as I'm around, you'll never be part of it.”

“You know you can't make a promise like that, Johanna,” I whispered to her, releasing one of her hands so I could cup her face. “But I appreciate you more than words can express, for saying that.”

“I think you underestimate how headstrong I can be.” She says with a smirk.

“No, no, I don't," I said, returning the smirk.

I lightly pulled her face forward and kissed her forehead. We interlaced our fingers and began walking towards the door to go back inside. Haymitch had already fallen asleep on the couch, sitting slumped at the end, head nodding in his hand. The television had the regular 24 live feed of the arena going. Everyone was still sleeping. We sat on the couch quietly, trying not to disturb Haymitch. After I got myself comfortable, legs crossed up on the sofa and a blanket draped over me and Johanna, I reached out and tugged on Haymitch's shoulder until he roused himself awake enough to adjust his head to lie in my lap.

“By the way,” Johanna started, looking over at me. “I didn't pester him about the two of you. He's the one who didn't even attempt to hide his jealousy that first night you met Bennett. Gave himself away way too easily.”

I smiled down at the sleeping figure in my lap.

“What did he do to deserve someone like you, Tally?” She asks. “And is he willing to share?”

The latter question took me by surprise a little. I didn't expect something like that, given the day she just had.

“With you .” I hear Haymitch grumble from my lap.

I looked down to see that he was smiling, eyes still closed. The hand he had resting on my knee squeezed a little, lightly tickling me.

“Eavesdropping isn't nice,” Johanna says loudly, and snorts. Then she shrugs. “But the answer is appreciated.”

••

Johanna and I returned to the tower around 4 in the morning after catching a few hours of sleep on the couch. The morning was just as boring as the day before, for us anyway. Both Tributes were still hidden away, tending to their wounds however they could. I started contemplating the idea of getting some kind of gift sent to Peeta, but I wanted to wait for Haymitch to discuss it fully. He didn't agree once he returned, and I got the chance to bring it up. He wanted to give Katniss the chance to find Peeta first. She had started rustling awake slowly, groaning and tossing back and forth where Rue had her tucked safely away. I felt like he was being a little too tough on them, particularly Peeta. But, again, I'll follow his lead.

By 2 o'clock in the afternoon my eyelids were starting to betray me, falling heavily for long, slow blinks. I stood up from where we sat, attempting to wake myself up a little. I grabbed a drink for Haymitch and me, the chatter of the room waking me up as I waded through the crowd of people. Once I returned with our drinks, I saw Bennett walk in. He hadn't noticed me yet, but it did remind me that I hadn't told Haymitch about the first night when I had spent most of the time talking with Bennett, yet.

“By the way,” I leaned towards him, whispering. “That we'll see turned into a no , the other night.” I nodded my head in Bennett's direction.

Haymitch glanced over at our familiar neon-haired friend, and then back to me.

“Good girl.” He muttered, brushing his fingers across my thigh where no one could see.

“Stop that.” I hissed, cheeks growing hot.

He chuckled, satisfied with himself for getting me hot and bothered with just two little words.

“I am still going to see the library with him, but Johanna's coming too,” I said.

Speaking of Johanna and Bennett, I looked up to see the pair walking our way, Johanna's arm linked in his. Coincidentally, they were coming to ask me if I wanted to break from the screens and visit the library. Haymitch assured me he'd be fine for a while and sent me on my way.

Bennett had his own vehicle, one that he drove himself. Underneath the Headquarters was a small parking garage with only twenty or so vehicles. Johanna and I piled in the back and allowed Bennett to be our chauffeur for the afternoon. We pulled up just outside the Presidential Mansion. Apparently, the library and the archives were kept below the mansion. The Library was able to be visited by invitation only, either by Bennett or by the President himself. Limiting public knowledge and learning - how fascist.  

We entered the building through a door on the side that led directly underground. The skinny hallway and narrow stairs were lit by metal wall-mounted lamps that were illuminated with artificial fire.

“Well, take a look around.” He says as he gives a hefty push on the door at the end of the hallway.

The walls were lined with shelves upon shelves, and filled with more books than I'd ever seen before. The shelving seemed to be made of white stone, speckled with grays and tans. I ran my hand along the edge of one, feeling the cold, smooth surface glide under it. I'd never felt any material like this before. It was like polished rocks, but not the dusty gray ones in the dirt paths back in 12. Rocks that came from the sides of tall mountains, carefully mined and smoothed with precision. Some of the shelves were protected by a layer of glass, the books behind them fraying and chipping at their covers, or left with no cover at all. That section was the Pre-Panem section. It was small, only 6 shelves high, each one spanning about 8 feet long. A stack of maps sat on the top shelf, each one encased in a layer of plastic. On the third shelf down sat a row of what looked to be important documents, adorned in mahogany picture frames.

The Declaration of Independence, July 4th, 1776 .

“What a joke, right?” Bennett says from behind me, noticing my fixation on that particular document. “In a time before Panem, our Reaping Day was their Independence Day.”

“Bet that was on purpose,” I said, scoffing. “Remind me, who was it that created the Games?”

He chuckles, “President Snow's father , and his friend Casca Highbottom.”

“Fucking poetic,” I mumbled.

Johanna was lazily walking around the room, having absolutely no interest in any of the books. She would stop for a few seconds here and there, but mainly kept to a leisurely stroll. I learned that 90% of the books in here were all written post the creation of Panem. Scholarly works on the psychology of the Hunger Games, the importance of the Games, works pre-rebellion, journals from the Dark Days. One section was locked off by a grate, this contained the radical writings of scholars who bravely publicized their ideas, which sparked the rebellion of the Districts on the Capitol. Even Bennett couldn't access it.

Johanna jiggled the grate a little, huffing when it hardly budged.

“Bet I could break it open with my axe.” She says.

“Bet that's a good way to get yourself killed.” Bennett replies. “I won't even ask President Snow. I know better.”

Johanna rolls her eyes and continues walking into the center of the room. It was open, a single round table placed in the middle that was surrounded by a number of cushioned armchairs. She flopped down into one of the chairs and sighed, closing her eyes.

We approached the District’s histories. There were 25 volumes total, 3 for Districts 1, 2, and 4 - most of the history filled with Hunger Games victories. Districts 11 and 12 each had only one volume - neither of them filled completely. They were hand-written .

“Is this all you?” I asked Bennett as I ran my hand down one of the pages of The History of District 12, Volume 1 .

“And my pre-decessor.” He says, nodding. “I’d say three-quarters of District 12 there is written by me, and about 90% of that information came from my day spent with Clerk Carmine.”

“Not much to us out there.” I commented, flipping through the pages now. “No mention of Lucy Gray?”

He shook his head, “Uh, no. That’s actually a second version you’re holding.”

“The first version is…?”

“Burned in the fireplace of Snow’s sitting room just above us.” He pressed his lips together to form somewhat of a sad smile. “Thankfully I’ve digitized everything and could rewrite what had been written before my employment here. Anyway, the first version had a single page written about her. I only wrote that she was a mystery, somewhat of a myth, for District 12. Tried my hand at drawing her from what Clerk said she was,” He makes air quotes, “ rumored to look like.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Clerk’s not too convincing, I know he was hiding things. And the way he described what she would’ve looked like was too detailed and almost sounded personal.”

I frowned, thinking back to my crazy Snow/Lucy conspiracy. I dropped the topic. Bennett wasn’t the person to talk about this with.

He continued leading me around the perimeter of shelves, giving a small summary of each section. We ended back where we started, at Pre-Panem. He knelt and reached into the bottom shelf, coming up with a medium-sized black box.

“One thing that will forever stand the test of time, revolutions, and apocalyptic disasters, is music . Well, art in general, I suppose.” He says, turning to carry the box to the center table. He drops it with a thud, jolting Johanna to attention. “This is the collection of music I found from Pre-Panem. It's quite the plethora of sounds. Some of it is a lot like the music that the people of the Capitol create. But some of it is… old .”

He removed the lid of the box to reveal all types of media, paper, plastic, and electronics.

There were yellowing papers that were scattered in music notes. Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, Vivaldi. John Williams. Ramin Djiwaldi. 

There were small, plastic cases that held thin circular discs inside. Bennett had them organized in a box by genre. Rock & Roll, Country, Blues, Jazz, Pop, Rap, Broadway.

Another small box held a series of what I recognized as flash drives. I saw Beetee use them in his security setups. Bennett explained that they held digital files of even more music and more genres.

At the bottom of the box were a few devices used to play the disks. Bennett called them CD players . He plugged in a pair of what I assumed were earpieces, but they were attached with a plastic strap that sat over your head and used a wire to connect to the player. He placed the earpiece on my head, and the texture of the parts over my ears felt like foam. He dug around in the box of disks, muttering to himself. I saw him mouth ah-ha and raise up a plastic case that had a faded golden front with what looked like a black star.

Hamilton , I read the cover in my mind.

“This is a musical. We have plenty of stages here in the Capitol, and usually there's a musical or two playing at one. But this one ,” Bennett wiggles the case between his fingers. “It’s quite the masterpiece.” He carefully placed the disk in the player and closed it. “There's a digital copy of it, too, if you end up liking it. Honestly, I'm surprised this isn't in the locked off section.”

“Why?” I asked, my voice sounding muffled from my obstructed ears.

“It's a story about revolution.” He said, pressing the play button.

For the next two hours, I sat listening to this Hamilton musical. And Bennett was right - it was amazing . The style of music was nothing I'd personally heard before, but the catchy beats and intelligently rhymed words had me entranced. This guy, Alexander Hamilton, was what pre-Panem referred to as a Founding Father - but according to the end of the musical, his importance was nearly lost, succumbed by the accomplishments of those surrounding him. The revolution they fought was nothing like one we would have to fight to free us from our tyranny. Perhaps that's why Snow didn't see it as a threat. Although dueling seems like it may solve a problem or two. I found myself crying as the last song came to an end, overcome with a cloud of multiple emotions from sadness to grief to being just plain old impressed with the score I just listened to.

Bennett had roped Johanna into some interesting journals from the Dark Days, as I enjoyed the musical. I took the earpiece off and placed it on the table.

Bennett looked at me excitedly, “Well!?”

“We have most definitely gone backwards in the realm of music, here in Panem.” I said humorously. “That was wonderful. Are there any more like it?”

“Not like that one, but I have plenty of musicals I can copy onto a flash drive for you to go home with. And anything else that peaks your fancy.”

We spent another hour sampling the different genres of music, Johanna particularly enjoying the Rock & Roll selection. I got a buzz on my communication device from Effie, asking if I could return as soon as possible, but that it wasn't particularly urgent. That doesn't help the spike of anxiety, though.

I had Bennett write down my choices of music for the flashdrive he offered to fill for me. I had a particular liking for songs called shanties . None of them even hailed from the United States of America, mainly originating from countries called Scotland, Ireland, and Scandinavia. I had him load it up with Rock & Roll music too, for when Johanna would eventually visit me back home. He drove us back rather quickly, dropping us off at the entrance before parking his vehicle underground.

Haymitch, expecting my arrival, had an extra drink in hand for me to take as I approached.

“You might be right about this little alliance she's got going.” Haymitch said, nodding to the screens as I took my drink from him.

I observed Katniss and Rue, their voices louder than everyone else's in the room, making a plan to blow up the Careers' stockpile of food at the cornucopia. I grinned widely. Hell yeah, Katniss. Blow it all to shit.

Chaff and Seeder walked up next to us, exchanging smiles with each other. Their plan consisted of a series of fires to distract the Careers away from the cornucopia, giving Katniss the chance to sabotage it one way or another. I had seen the Careers bury mines around the circumference of the cornucopia early on in the Game. It'll be tough, but I’m sure she can figure it out. The four of us stayed through the night, not wanting to take the chance of missing any part of their plan. The Career Mentors stayed too. All of us were on edge, consumed with anticipation.

Watching that second arrow fly through the air the next morning to pierce the bag of apples, brought a flashback of Karin. But I was shaken away from the thought by the loud explosion on the screen. Katniss was thrown back, landing hard on the ground. I watched the blood start seeping from her ear almost immediately. The camera that was panned on Peeta showed him bolting upright out of his camouflage, startled by the noise. All of the Tributes heard it. And the wrath of the Careers was closing in on the boy they left on guard duty.

His neck snapped like a toothpick in Cato's hands.

Katniss had gotten herself back up on her feet, stumbling clumsily through the woods, whistling the call that Rue taught her. Catchy little tune. The Mockingjays mimicked her, cameras showing a small flock of them just above her head. I shuddered. It was Seeder's hand that offered me comfort, her having spied my reaction to the birds.

The scream, that childish scream, sent chills to the very core of my bones. Would Karin have screamed like that if she had time? She did scream like that when it was I who was reaped. Seeder released my hand, standing with Chaff as Rue was seen on screen struggling beneath a trap.

Everything that happened next seemed to play out in an instant. Rue was freed, she stood up, there was a rustling behind Katniss, her arrow pierced the boy from 1, Marshall, just as his spear flew from his hand.

The room fell silent. The screens fell silent.

Rue fell silent.

I hummed along quietly with Katniss as she sang Rue one last lullaby. I sang this song to Karin as a baby. I think everyone in 12 had this as a bedtime song. Seeder had sat back down, looking defeated. I held the woman in my arms, changing the volume of my humming so that only she could hear me. Effie joined us, followed by Cinna, then Portia, Johanna, Finnick, sponsors, and other Mentors who no longer had stakes in the Game. We huddled around Seeder and Chaff as we watched Katniss prepare Rue's body for departure from the arena, surrounded by flowers in the sunlight of the meadow they were in. She gave the camera the three-fingered salute, face stone-cold. She was going to make them pay for this.

I heard commotion in the Control Room. Seneca swiftly went into Snow's office. Someone just realized they've received a symbolic fuck you from Katniss. Ten minutes later, two Peacekeepers jogged into the room and up to join Seneca and Snow. The sound of muffled shouts came from the room above us. I caught Snow walking by the windowed walls, his face was red, and he was pointing at one of the men in the room as he spoke.

“What's going on?” I muttered to Haymitch. 

“Nothing good.” He muttered back, eyes fixated on the room above.

One of the Peacekeepers left the office and came down to retrieve Seeder and Chaff hastily. Haymitch and I watched them walk into the office, the volume of the room returning to quiet. They emerged shortly, whispering amongst themselves. They retreated to the terrace, which was currently void of any people. The atmosphere of the room was quite the mixture of emotions. Some were crying, others relieved that one more Tribute was gone. Not everyone had taken notice of Chaff and Seeder when they had their quick exchange with the President, but others had and now curiously looked outside at the pair.

President Snow had emerged from his office to take up a perch on the balcony. He scanned the room, examining everyone's reactions right now. Who noticed, who cared, who's crying, who's celebrating. His finger tapped on the ledge he leaned against, still scanning the room. He met my eyes and stopped. His eyes flashed to Haymitch who wasn't paying attention and then back to me. His head nodded towards his office.

I reached out to grab Haymitch's shoulder, “Snow wants to see us.” I whispered.

He looked up towards the balcony and gave a lazy wave at the President before standing. I followed him, both of us slowly ascending the stairs and following Snow into his office.

“I'll make this brief.” He said, rounding on us before we could fully step into the room. The handle of the door hit my arm as it closed. “Just two words, for both of you: be careful .”

He said the words coolly, calm and collected as he looked between us, neither of us backing down from the eye contact he challenged us to in the moment. I saw Haymitch nod once and turn for the door. He held it open and waited for me to join him. I wanted Snow to look away from me first. He sees us as no better than animals, so I'll act like one . And he does look away, peering at the multitude of private screens he had for his own viewing of the Games.

I turned on my heel and walked out with Haymitch without a word.

••

The gift that Chaff and Seeder had saved to send to Rue floated down into Katniss’ arms. Their way of saying thank you for taking care of her. Their gesture of thanks was much more civil than the “thanks” that District 11 erupted into. Chaff and Haymitch discussed it in low voices when they were sending the gift to Katniss. A riot had erupted in their town square, and it apparently didn't take much for the entire District to join those who started it.

Haymitch and I split the night, he sleeping until around 3 in the morning, and I until around 8 once he returned to relieve me. When I returned to Headquarters, I spied Haymitch walking down a hallway up on the second floor with Seneca Crane. I jogged into the tower, crossing the room to Effie.

“Where's Haymitch going?” I asked her, looking back at the doorway again, slightly out of breath. 

“Something about a brilliant idea .” She tells me. She gives a look of concern. “Should I have stopped him? He hasn't had much to drink today. Strange to see him fairly sober lately.”

I shrugged, equally as cautiously concerned. It better be a really good idea if he couldn't wait to discuss it with me. I impatiently waited for him to return, tapping my foot absentmindedly and chewing at my bottom lip, eyes constantly darting to the door. I raised my eyebrows at him when he walked in. He was smiling, proud of himself for something. What did he do?

“What did you do?” I asked him.

“You'll see.” He responds, placing his arm around my shoulders and turning us to face the screens.

I crossed my arms and leaned into him a little. The anthem rang out, followed by Claudius’ voice. Everyone's attention was on the screens, completely undivided.

As the news registered to me, I looked to my right and met eyes with the Mentors from 2. There were still other Tributes left, yeah, but now they're our most lethal competition.

Both Tributes. We could get them both back.

“How did you manage that?” I asked him, awestruck and staring at Katniss screaming Peeta's name on the screens.

“Who doesn't love a good love story?” He said smugly.

••

Haymitch scoffed, “She calls that a kiss?”

“Give her a break, asshole,” I said back, lightly smacking his arm with the back of my hand. “She’s doing what we need her to. Send them something.”

Katniss. Peeta. Thresh. Cato. Clove. Foxface. Katniss called her that so much I keep forgetting her actual name . We're down to 6. I give it two more days before the Game Makers force the finale. Peeta's not doing well, the wound on his leg was infected and he was in and out of fever.

I saw Katniss open the newly landed gift from us.

Broth?

Haymitch returned, watching the screens and ignoring my chastising look as he says, “Things get more expensive as the Games go on. I sent what we could for now.” He peers down at me, daring me to bite back and reprimand him for his decision.

“Fine.” I huffed. “He’s going to die without medicine, though.”

“Then get to work.” He said, pushing me forward lightly at my lower back.

We spent the night plastering ourselves with fake personalities and subtle flirtations with whoever gave us the time of day. Peeta needed that medicine, and he needed it now . By the middle of the night we had procured a satisfying amount of credits and retired. The best strategy for nighttime seemed to be when we all retired together. Haymitch and I would either split the night sleeping, or would commit to only 4 hours of sleep before returning together. We took our 4 hours and returned, successfully obtaining what was needed for Peeta’s medicine by mid-morning.

It was only an hour after we had reached our goal that Seneca Crane stepped out on the inner balcony.

“Time for a feast!” He announced, voice echoing around the room.

We all understood.

Haymitch excused himself from the group of people and walked back over to me.

“All that socialization I forced myself into better not have been for nothing.” I said, annoyed.

He chuckled lightly, “No, don’t worry. They won’t be giving these gifts out of the kindness of their hearts.”

Indeed, the next time I checked our tablet, our credit balance had reduced drastically .

Claudius made the announcement once everyone had obtained what was needed. The supply of medicine was sent out on a hovercraft with three other packages for the remaining Districts. The girl from 5 watched the table adorned with the Tribute gifts rise from the ground in the clearing of the blown up cornucopia innards. Katniss had just arrived on the forest's edge, seeing Foxface scurry like her name sake, grab her pack, and disappear again.

Katniss and Clove scrapped with each other, the latter coming dangerously close to carving Katniss’ face like a pig at the butchers. Honestly, that Clove girl was a pure psychopath that even scared me a little through the screens. The sneers from District 2's Mentors in our direction were almost enough to earn a reaction from me. My rage was smoldered by Thresh's appearance, though. He took care of our problem from 2, smashing Clove's head in with a rock in an act of vengeance for Rue.

Adding to the vengeance for Rue, he spares Katniss's life.

5 left. Katniss and Peeta are the last to be able to take advantage of the twist Haymitch pulled off.

We turned to each other, both of us grinning ear to ear.

“We're getting them back.” I said firmly. “ Both of them.”

He clasped my shoulder, “Yes we will.”

Chapter Text

Haymitch was positive that the Game Makers would give all of the Tributes the night to recoup. With that being said, we all retired for the night. I planned to be back before sunrise in preparation for whatever the Game Makers had planned for the arena.

I snuck into Haymitch's room, finding him emerging from the bathroom, steam dissipating as it entered the cooler air of the open space. I took advantage of his current state and pulled the towel off of his hips.

I had already showered and changed into a pair of silky, dark gray pajamas. Haymitch discarded the silky bottoms before sliding his hands up my sides to start removing the shirt, too.

He pushed me against the wall to our right, only a few feet from the bed. He kissed me once before trailing down my neck, across the dips of my collarbone, and to my breasts. He stayed there, pleasuring one in his mouth and the other with his hand. My hands coiled in his hair as I moaned, enjoying the sparks of heat he was sending to my core. His tongue flicked at one of my nipples, and I reached down to grab his hard member, squeezing. We moaned in unison before he bit down lightly. I let go of him as I jerked from the sudden sensation.

His head came up, chuckling as he leaned in and kissed me, muttering against my mouth, “Let's get you on the bed, princess.”

He carried me there, hands gripped firmly to my ass as I wrapped my legs around him as tightly as I could. He slapped my ass as we got to the bed, indicating for me to release my hold on him. He maneuvered us so I was on top and he was lying back, hands behind his head, studying my body.

“Go on, babygirl. Take care of yourself.” He says when he meets my eyes.

I inhaled sharply and a pang of excitement shot through me as I lifted myself up a little and grabbed his cock. I positioned him just at my entrance and came down slowly. I closed my eyes as I took his full length, craning my head back a little as I moaned.

“Eyes on me.” He ordered, still lounging back on his pillow.

I immediately looked down at him again and met his stare. The hungry look he gave me increased my arousal tenfold. I rolled my hips, the friction between our bodies also stimulating my clit. I was willing myself to keep my eyes on him, fighting the urge to roll them in the back of my skull from the overwhelming euphoria I was putting myself through.

“Such a good girl.” He praises me from below.

I bit my lip upon hearing the praise and increased the speed of my thrusts. He chuckled with satisfaction, watching me unfold at his words. So far, he had made no attempt to add his own work to the job I was doing. His only job was to tell me how much of a good girl I was, giving me all the stamina I needed to satisfy us both.

He broke eye contact with me, closing his eyes and moaning as I continued moving.

“ Eyes on me ,” I said in a somewhat mocking tone and slowed my hips down a little.

He opened his eyes, focusing on me again and smirked, “You like this, princess?”

I went faster again, engulfed in his gaze, knowing he loved the faces I made whenever he showered me with praises.

“Yes,” I said through ragged breathing now. I reached one of my hands down to rub circles on my clit. “I want you to touch me, too, though.” I pouted my bottom lip out as my hips slowed and my hand moved faster.

He glanced down for a moment, admiring the job I was doing, “But you're doing so well on your own, babygirl. You can do it.”

Haymitch usually did a substantial job of feeding me praises when I was finished acting like a brat, but tonight was different. He's never said things like that before. His affections consumed me, the words driving my every thrust, every syllable a danger to bringing on my climax.

“Do you want me to tell you when to come, princess?” He asks in a low voice. I saw him interlace his fingers behind his head, offering some aid to his restraint.

“Please.” I whimpered, excited to hear the anticipated words. I'll come undone right away. “ Haymitch .”

His name rolled off my tongue slowly. He moaned, smiling at the sound.

“Not yet, babygirl. You're riding my cock so well.”

“Goddammit, Haymitch.”

I abandoned my clit, hands using his chest to support me as I swiftly gyrated my hips.

“That's my girl.” He whispers, eyes still not leaving mine.

“You're driving me fucking crazy,” I said back, catching my breath for a moment with a few slow, deep thrusts.

“Good.” He says. “You drive me crazy all day . I can't just bend you over the table whenever I want to while we're here. And you walk around dressed up in those fancy clothes that hug your ass just right .” He groans, finally giving in to his own desires and thrusting up into me in sync with my movements for a few moments.

“I'm gonna come, Haymitch. Fuck .” I said with a moan, losing eye contact as I sat up all the way again.

“Not yet, babygirl.” He says as he stops his movements, leaving me to do the work on my own again. One of his hands comes up and grabs my chin, so I look at him before retreating back behind his head. “That’s better.”

Trying to keep my orgasm at bay was tough work, especially when he continued calling me good girl and princess . But he still hadn't told me to come yet, and I was more than willing to obey whatever he commanded of me.

“Haymitch,” I breathed. “I want to come. Please .”

He gave a deep, guttural moan, “God, I love it when you beg, princess.”

“ Please ?” I asked again, emphasizing the question with a particularly rough thrust. “I'll be a good girl, I promise.” I was making small, rapid back-and-forth movements now, watching him contemplate his answer. I started massaging one of my breasts. “Please, Haymitch.”

He nodded, “Come for me, babygirl.” His hands stayed behind his head. “C'mon, princess. Come for me .”

And as I expected, my orgasm was damn near instant after hearing his approval. I made sure to keep eye contact through my entire orgasm, starting to bring him into his own.

“Don't you fucking stop.” He groaned, hands shooting to my hips to keep them grinding on him. “You know - ah - just what to do for me - mmm - don't you, princess?”

“ Yes sir ,” I said provocatively, grabbing his hand to suck on one of his fingers.

“ Shit .” He muttered, now sitting up. We parted for a moment as he flipped me over and helped me move to be on my hands and knees.

I giggled, gripping the sheets of the bed in preparation, “Did you like that, Haymitch?” I looked around at him. “Do you like it when I call you sir ?” I leaned my chest down into the bed, raising my hips higher and creating a more welcoming opening for him.

“Fuck yeah, I did. But I like it when you do this even more.” He said from behind me, running his hands over my ass, up my back, and leaving one to press at the back of my neck as he lined himself up.

He thrust into me relentlessly, bringing back the orgasm I had started for him. He moved his hand to the back of my head and stifled my moans by putting my face into the mattress until he finished. I couldn't help but slump down all the way once he released himself. I melted into a puddle of satisfaction on the bed, ready to sleep for the next 10-12 hours. I heard Haymitch chuckling from behind me.

“Alright there, babygirl?” He asks, joining me in my puddled state, lying on his side to face me.

“Fuck you,” I muttered, adjusting my head to face him.

“You just did.” He whispered, leaning in to kiss me. “But you can do it again if you want.”

••

The next two days were the most intense yet.

By now, the muts had been released—large, ugly, vicious dogs formed from the ground, seemingly out of nowhere. The birds had been the same sometimes, only they would form spontaneously in the sky.

Watching Thresh get torn to pieces was hard to stomach. Seeder excused herself from the room once one of the dogs had torn off a thick piece of Thresh's cheek. It reminded me of the oversized vultures that picked out the eyes of the fallen Tributes from the bloodbath of my Games. I had climbed a tree on the edge of the forest, spying on the cornucopia to see if the Careers had run after any more victims before staking claim to what remained inside. I was deterred when the vultures materialized before my eyes and began their feast.

Thresh still screamed. It was as if the dogs were programmed to take as long as possible to kill their victim. They probably were. I saw Haymitch looking down into his glass of liquor, tapping on its side. Was he thinking about Ampert? Because I was. Was this a lesson to District 11 for their rioting? Most definitely.

As the cannon sounded to announce Thresh's death, the dogs dissipated. What remained was no longer human - just a pile of red, pink, brown, and white substances. And his eyes. They left his eyes. But he was literally ripped to shreds.

Johanna muttered obscenities under her breath, looking off in the direction of Snow's office. I reached over and grabbed her hand. I shared her rage, but I didn't let it show. Haymitch knocked back the rest of his drink and retreated silently for another. Chaff stood up and yelled in frustration. The whole room fell silent. Snow came out of his office, and Seneca and two other Game Makers emerged from their space. The four authority figures stared at Chaff, waiting for him to say, or do, something else. He stood his ground, staring directly into the piercing blue eyes of the President of Panem. He pointed a single finger at Snow for a moment, then lowered it without a word. A silent threat.

“Sit down, man,” Finnick said softly to Chaff, placing a hand on the arm that had just been outstretched. “It’s not worth it.”

“Maybe not to you .” He snapped, ripping his arm from Finnick's touch. He stormed from the room, following where Seeder had retreated.

From what I understand, they left to go back to District 11 right away. More likely forced to leave.

We entered the finale the next evening. The sun had already set in the arena. Katniss and Peeta had unintentionally killed Foxface that morning. She had been trailing them as they started making their way to the cornucopia, stealing what food she could from them. Peeta, bless his heart, didn't realize the nightlock berries he had picked were deadly. Neither did Foxface. Katniss chastised him for the near stupidity, but ended with an embrace that seemed to steal the hearts of the Sponsors in the Tower.

Katniss, Peeta, and Cato were all being hunted by the muts now.

And truly, muts , they were. It had taken me a second, but I finally caught it when the camera panned to show the muts as if they were chasing it. I knew Thresh's eyes were spared for a reason. They almost looked the same as before, large, ugly, brutish. Now their fur had color, their eyes were human, and they started communicating . They hunted Cato as if he were the dog.

Johanna stood up from where she sat next to me, mouth agape, hands trembling. One camera showed two muts with eyes and fur color that matched perfectly with her Tributes’. Another was on a mut that resembled Clove. Another on Rue and Thresh. And that's when I noticed the collars, identifying them by District.

I stood up, facing Snow's Office.

“You sick fu-”

A hand shot over my mouth, an arm gripped my elbow, and I was moving forward before I could register who had grabbed me. I was pushed through the doors to the terrace outside. I ripped myself from the hands of whoever interrupted my outburst. Finnick stood in front of the door, blocking anyone from joining us, and me from storming back inside.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” He asked sternly. “This is what they do , Tally.”

“That's just fucked u-”

He cuts me off, “And everything we went through wasn’t!?” his hands fly up in the air and clap down at his sides.

“That's not what I'm saying.”

He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, “I know, I know.” He takes a deep breath and peers into the doorway for a moment. “Looks like Snow didn’t catch your little outburst. And if you take a moment to read the room, you'll see everyone feels the same way you do. There's always something that even the Capitol citizens disapprove of at each Games.”

I looked into the room to see Katniss, Cato, and Peeta all up on the cornucopia. By the look on Katniss's face, she's just realized what the muts were. And indeed, the people occupying the room were all jeering up at the balcony, waiting for someone to come out and face the monstrosities they've made us all privy to watching. A few even stormed out.

“I need to go back in there,” I told Finnick, walking forward.

He moved to the side and grabbed the door handle before I could. “Keep it together.” He whispered before opening the door.

I joined Haymitch and Johanna again, sitting between the two and holding Johanna's hand. None of us said anything as we settled back into watching the final moments of the Games.

“You had a good run, Tally.” The female Mentor from 2 called out. “Better luck next year.”

“Fuck you.” Johanna spat at the woman.

I heard the exchange, but paid no mind, too caught up in watching the fight before us. There was no reply from the other Mentor, just a single, mocking, “ha”. I felt Johanna jerk, but I tightened my hold on her hand, making her stay put. She huffed frustratedly, but complied.

This is what the Capitol lived for. This final battle, final showdown, on the edge of your seat, nail biting, adrenaline. And as much as I expected to feel nothing when Cato finally faced his demise, I didn't. I was overcome with a familiar sadness, the one I felt for every other fallen Tribute as I watched them take their last breaths. Maybe a little more intense, really. The speech he gave Katniss as he held Peeta in a headlock twisted my heartstrings. I've always hated the Career Tributes with every fiber of my being - but what if that hate has been misplaced? Do they know any better? Raised from babes to fight. And just like with dogs…we blame the owner, not the animal .

Haymitch and I were standing in the center of the front of the room watching the screens. I had abandoned Johanna when Cato fell into the pack of muts. I felt the eyes of everyone in the room flitting between us and the screens. We were both holding our breath as we watched Katniss give the final merciful blow to Cato.

As the sun rose in the arena, our love birds searched the skies, waiting for a hovercraft to appear and return them to us. We still hadn't moved, both of us in awe of what just happened.

They won.

And when Claudius’ voice rang out to redact the rule that Haymitch had influenced, I lost my cool again.

“ Bullshit !” I yelled, turning on my heel to face the Control Room. Haymitch caught me around my middle as I tried to storm off towards the staircase.

“Go ahead.” I heard Peeta's voice ring out.

I turned back to the screens, relaxing in Haymitch's grasp. He didn't let go, though. The heat in my face now felt cold as I listened to the exchange between Peeta and Katniss.

“ No ,” I whispered.

Katniss pulled out a small sack from her jacket. She unwrapped it and revealed a large handful of nightlock berries. My heart stopped as I saw her stare down at the berries, then up at Peeta again. Together, they were going to take them together.

“Get them out, they won!” Johanna screamed up towards Snow, who had come out on the balcony after my outburst.

A multitude of voices began ringing out, demanding that both of our Tributes be brought back. The words unfair and shameful were scattered among the consistent chants of get them out .

They counted together.

“Stop!” Claudius said frantically. “Stop!” His voice boomed in the tower, all throughout the Headquarters, through the arena, possibly for the entire Capitol to directly hear.

Haymitch and I had still been rooted to the spot, watching the pair come to terms with death, denying the Capitol of their Victors. His hands left my waist, one now gripping my hand. I was frantically blinking away tears, waiting to hear Claudius’ voice again. Johanna came up behind us and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present the winners of the 74th Annual Hunger Games.”

The cheering surrounding us was muffled. I felt my body sway as Johanna shook my shoulders in excitement. My eyes were fixed on Katniss and Peeta ascending into the hovercraft. Two victors. I can't help but wonder what the repercussions from Snow were going to be.

I peeled my eyes away as the arena disappeared. Haymitch hadn't looked away from the screens yet. Johanna grabbed my face and planted a kiss on my cheek as I turned away. I didn't react. I pulled on Haymitch's hand a little to draw his attention.

The cheering and whooping around us was still muffled to me as we finally faced each other. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but closed it again. We were both… happy , yes, but not completely. Relieved, for sure. But the question loomed - what happens next?  

“Now what?” I asked, my voice sounding muffled too. Gods it was loud in here.

He released my hand, taking a step back, “Now we go get our Victors .”

••

It was just Haymitch and I in the car. The driver had rolled up a thick black plastic divider to cut off any interaction with us. The engine was running, but we hadn't moved yet. We sat across from each other. Both of us were silent. I wondered where Effie, Cinna, and Portia were.

That's when the car door opened again.

But instead of our chipper friends, we were joined by President Snow. He sat next to me, sighing heavily as the door closed.

Uncomfortable didn't even begin to describe the atmosphere of the space now. We knew what this was. We just didn't know how bad it was going to be. Haymitch and I glanced at each other for a moment before turning our attention to the President.

“ Why does it always seem to be District 12 that likes to stir the pot?” He asked us, folding his hands in his lap and raising his eyebrows. “ Star-crossed lovers? ”

“It's been done before.” I said quietly.

“Ah, yes, it has, Miss Heather.” He says coyly, turning to me a little. “Only the trope we try to make happen is where one lover dies while trying to save the other. Or even an act of betrayal by one. If Seneca had any brains at all, no one would be going home with a Victor this year.”

I bit my tongue from what truly wanted to come out, before saying, “The Games need a Victor.”

“ A victor.” Snow reiterates. “Precisely.”

“What do you want us to do?” Haymitch finally pipes in.

Snow turns to him, “While I may not have fallen victim to your tricks, it seems the people of the Capitol have.” He scoffs. “The Districts have almost all fallen for it, too.” He pauses for a moment. “I hardly have to give either of you a warning on what the repercussions could be for Miss Everdeen and Mr. Mellark.”

Oh gods, this is our fault.

I looked over at Haymitch, who was still staring at Snow. He nodded his head once and said quietly, “Understood.”

Snow turned to me, waiting for my admittance of understanding. I turned to face him again.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Understood.”

“Whatever happens once they're home is none of my concern. But every moment they're on a screen for the people to see, even I should be convinced they're in love.” Snow says, looking between us as he did. He pauses on Haymitch for a moment. “And I know at least one of you has had the pleasure of knowing what that kind of love really looks like.”

Coriolanus Snow was truly the most despicable man I've had the displeasure of knowing. I looked at Haymitch as Snow finished his sentence. He tried his best to keep a poker face in light of the comment, but I could see the sadness etched in the corner of his eyes. I had expected anger.

“What was her na-” Snow began to ask.

My head snapped over, and I saw the curve of a smirk beginning to form on his face.

“ That’s enough .” I snapped, interrupting him.

Both men looked at me. Snow's smirk turned into a grin as he met my stare. Haymitch may not have been angry, but I was.

“Oh, so he's told you. Such a tragedy, the way she d-”

“ I said, that's enough.” I interrupted him again. “With all due respect, Mr. President, get out of the car.”

His smile disappeared.

I forced myself to smile as I said sweetly, “ Please .”

President Snow chuckled lowly and reached for the door handle, “Your manners have quite improved, Miss Heather. Have a good day.”

He exited the vehicle without another word.

“Go fuck yourself.” I spat once the door shut all the way.

••

It was a long four days. The first day, we didn't even get to see them. They did a good job of keeping us informed, though. Peeta was in rough shape, the doctors told us. His heart had stopped twice when they initially began their work. He lost the leg Katniss tried so hard to save. Katniss, on the other hand, wasn't well. Mentally, that is. I'm sure Peeta wouldn't have been either if he had had the chance to be conscious. Haymitch, Effie, and I all argued to try and see her, but we were insistently shot down.

The second day, they let us see Katniss and Peeta. Both of them were sleeping, their slumber induced by all the medication. Neither of them woke up that day. I had spent most of the time with Peeta, Haymitch with Katniss. There was a commotion originating from Katniss’ room at one point. I distinctly heard Haymitch louder than anyone else. I poked my head out of the door, meeting eyes with Effie. She stood between the rooms, looking back at Katniss's doorway for a moment. I motioned for her to go sit with Peeta as I left his room.

I entered cautiously, unsure of what exactly was happening. I saw Katniss still hooked up to tubes in the wall, two nurses at her side, and a doctor at the foot of her bed. Haymitch was just in front of the door, staring at the doctor. I placed my hand on one of his shoulders as the door closed behind me.

“What’s going on?” I asked him.

He jumped at my touch, relaxing once he heard my voice.

The doctor took a step forward, “Miss Heather,” He began, extending a hand for me to shake. I do. He motions to the unconscious Katniss. “Miss Everdeen is extremely malnourished, given the obvious circumstances. Some of us feel as if we need to make her more… presentable. ”

I saw Haymitch open his mouth from the corner of my eye. I placed a hand on his chest to stop him, now standing at his side. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” I asked the doctor,  crossing my arms. 

“Usually with surgery, filling in the areas that need some support.” He replied.

“She’s just a girl .” Haymitch spat at the doctor.

I shook my head at the doctor, “I looked worse than she does, and you didn't make any adjustments on me.” I recognized his face as the same man who reconstructed my mangled bicep.

“Well,” the doctor said, motioning to Haymitch. “Same problem then, too.”

I glanced at Haymitch for a second, momentarily surprised at this new piece of information.

“Not really a problem if he has a point,” I said, turning back to the doctor to scowl at him. “She’s a child .”

Just then, Cinna and Portia entered the room. Cinna took charge of the situation, promising the doctor she would look just as she did before entering the arena, if not better, once he finished with her interview garb. The doctor argued for only a moment, seeming to be frightened by the idea of possibly disappointing those in the Capitol who gave the order to make her more presentable. Makes sense . Cinna has a comforting aura, though, and successfully convinced everyone he had the entire thing under control. I personally had no problem placing my faith in Cinna. He told Haymitch and me to step out of the room for a moment, staying with Katniss for a little so we could take a second to collect ourselves.

“I didn't know they wanted to do that to me,” I said to him as we found ourselves alone in the hallway of the hospital.

He scoffs, “Of course they did.”

“Why’d you stop them?” I asked.

He was silent for a moment before saying, “It was the least I could do for you after doing fuck all before you went in there.”

I smiled, “Thank you.”

When you escape the arena as a Victor, you're a whole new person as it is. If I had woken up to a new physical body as well, I can't imagine the identity crisis that would've ensued.

••

We were kept away from the couple after that, supplied only with an update every few hours on their state of health. We needed to prepare for their interview with Caesar once they woke up. Both of them were making substantial recoveries, so the festivities would immediately continue when they woke.

The day we would finally see the pair again came. The cameras were rolling, and from here on out, anything in the public eye was going to be televised. The door slid open to Katniss's room. I stepped forward, closer to the window of the room we had been corralled in, wanting to see her as soon as possible. I hadn't seen her smile so genuinely yet, but that smile was glued to her face as she jogged to the room to see us. Haymitch got the honor of the first hug when she entered the room. She grabbed me next. She's so skinny . After we were all reunited, minus Peeta and Portia, we got Katniss back up to the twelfth floor to get her something to eat and a proper shower before the closing ceremony. I went back down to see Peeta once we got Katniss settled in. Haymitch and I had agreed to talk to the pair in detail about any concerns we had once we were back home. Although Peeta would have no problem continuing to play on his crush, Katniss probably needed a reminder. I left that task to Haymitch.

I entered his room, greeted by Portia handing him a silver cane that nicely pulled together his outfit.

“Tally!” He said excitedly. He hobbled forward with the cane as quickly as he could.

I met him halfway, grabbing his shoulders to support him, “Good to finally see you, Pita Bread.”

“Where's Katniss? Can I see her now?” He asked frantically, looking behind me at the door. “Where's Haymitch?”

I gave him a short hug and said, “You'll see her soon. Haymitch, Effie, and Cinna are all with her on the twelfth floor.”

“Why are they making us wait?” He asked, sitting in one of the chairs in the room.

“For dramatic effect,” I said, smirking over at Portia, who giggled and nodded in agreement. “They want your reunion aired live on television.”

He huffs and starts twiddling his fingers, annoyed and nervous.

I turned to Portia, “Can we have a moment?”

She nodded and left the room. I took a seat next to Peeta and reached out to grab the cane. I examined the handle, silver with swirling designs etched all over.

“Think I'll need that for the rest of my life?” He asked me.

I shrugged, “Hopefully not.” I used the cane to poke at the puncture scar on my arm. “I used to think I'd never be able to raise this arm above my head again. Time heals most wounds.”

“Most.” He whispers softly.

I handed the cane back to him, poking him on the shoulder with it first. “Just a few more days and you'll be back in 12 decorating all the cakes your heart desires.”

He laughed, taking the cane back and tapping it on the ground a few times.

“I just want to see Katniss.” He said softly, staring at the ground.

Yep, he'll have no problem keeping Snow happy.

Chapter Text

Being the Victor and waiting for the platform to rise during the closing ceremony was nerve-wracking enough. But this , as a mentor, was somehow worse . Perhaps it was the steady drip of morphling I had been receiving for my arm back then that allowed for a more calming effect. I could use some now . Not to mention Haymitch hasn't joined me yet. We hadn't seen each other since I left to see Peeta. By the time I went back to the twelfth floor, everyone had retreated downstairs to finish Katniss’ final touches and set themselves in their assigned places. I had just enough time to change into the outfit Cinna had chosen for me. Not that Effie hadn't been doing a great job with the styling help. Selfishly, I wanted a little bit of Cinna's touch. He laid out a long red skirt, a black sleeveless top with a low dip at the front, and a red blazer that complemented my curves.

I heard the beginning of Caesar's opening theme song come from above me, and I started to panic internally. Suddenly, a hand touches my shoulder, and Haymitch is pressing against me from behind.

I feel his mouth come down to my ear as he whispers, “It's a shame you got all dolled up just for me to make a mess of you later.”

Weak in the knees didn't begin to describe what I was feeling. A tingle ran slowly down my spine as his other hand grazed across my lower back when he stepped to stand beside me. I stared up at him, frowning a little, irritated that he said something like that just before throwing our faces to the public. But at least I have something to look forward to later.

He gave me a smug smile before saying, “Smile, babygirl.”

And the platform lifted.

••

We were leaving that evening. Katniss and Peeta sat in the sitting room of the twelfth floor in comfortable traveling outfits that complemented one another. We had just finished one last meal in the Capitol and were waiting on Effie. Avox's had already come and taken any luggage we had to the train for us. Haymitch was teetering on the edge of too drunk , and I had just entered a state of head fog from my own indulgences.

Johanna and Bennett were at the station when we arrived to board the train. Others were there too, but I only cared about my last moments with Johanna. She had grabbed me in an embrace the moment we stepped onto the platform. The others continued to the train.

“Snow’s pissed isn’t he?” She muttered next to my ear, refusing to let go yet.

“Yes,” I whispered back.

“There’s rioting in 11.”

“I know. Don’t go starting one in 7.”

She giggled, parting from our hug, “No promises.” She grabbed both of my hands. “Be safe.”

I nodded, “I will. Visit me soon?”

“You know it.” She replied with a wink. “Now go home, get out of this shithole while you still can.”

“Aren’t you heading home too?” I asked, dropping her hands and taking a step towards the train doors.

“Always work to be done.” She said quietly and shrugged.

I tried not to give her a look of pity, but I know that's how it came off. She waved me away and then started motioning for me to shoo and get on the train.

Bennett waited next to the door with a small brown package in his hands. He handed it to me, it fit comfortably in my palm.

“Your flash drive. I threw a few extras on there. I hope you'll like them. And also,” He reaches into his back pocket and reveals a leatherbound book. “It's part of a series.”

I took the book and opened it to the first page, “ The Giver .”

He shushes me softly, “It's banned here.” He points to the leather binding. I noticed it was some kind of cover to give the book the guise of a journal. He closed it and latched a strap around it that was attached at the spine of the leather.

“You're ballsy to give it to me in such a public space, then,” I whispered, stepping closer to him.

“Best place to hide is in plain sight, Tally. Safe travels.” His arm grazed my shoulder as he retreated from the platform.

I shoved the package in my pocket and put the book under my arm as I boarded the train. I dropped the gifts off in my bed car before joining everyone else. We all ate dinner together and watched the recap of the closing ceremonies. Katniss and Peeta had already started to show coldness to one another. What was that conversation like? Peeta looks defeated.

I watched Peeta retreat to his bed car after an hour of watching the recap. None of us really needed to watch it. We were there for it. The only interesting thing I saw was the careful maneuvering of the cameras over each District, being careful not to show too much . Were the Districts really fooled by the love story, or was Snow just trying to add to the fear he needed us to feel?  

Katniss stayed on the couch a few feet away from me. She had hardly moved, hardly realized Peeta had left the room. I suppose the real mentoring comes when it's time to help them navigate what the arena left to skulk in their minds.

“Katniss…” I said softly.

“I’m tired.” She said flatly, rising from the couch and leaving the car without another word.

I looked at Haymitch and Effie, all of us exchanging looks of sadness or grief.

“She was nicer about it than you were,” Haymitch says, chuckling a little.

Effie laughed, “Oh, that's for sure.”

I frowned at them both. Did I even interact with either of them on my way home? I can't remember.

“I don't even remember talking to either of you,” I said, confused.

“Well, all you said was ‘fuck off’, so there's not much to remember,” Haymitch told me through soft laughter.

“To both of you?” I asked, looking at Effie. They nodded. “I'm sorry, Effie.”

She laughed, waving a hand at me, “Long forgiven, my dear.”

“I'll pretend I was included in that apology,” Haymitch said snarkily.

“Okay,” I said, smirking at him from behind my glass of liquor.

“Apology accepted.” He said, the sass level matching my own. “I’m off to bed. Goodnight.”

Haymitch left the car, looking back at me as he walked through the doorway. We both called out a goodnight as he retreated.

“Well, my dear,” Effie says, adjusting herself in her seat so that she is facing me. “How does it feel to have such a victory in your first year mentoring?”

I sighed heavily, “I feel happy to have them both back.” I curved my mouth into half a smile. “I'm sure I'm not feeling as ecstatic as you are, though.”

“Don't get me wrong, Tally, dear. You'll always be my first greatest achievement.” She assures me. Then she starts getting a little giddy. “But this is history .”

“Right you are, Effie Trinket,” I said, raising my glass to her.

“How can you not be so excited?” She asks.

“There's this thing, Effie, that one needs to do to become a Victor. Kill people .” I said, not with an attitude, but with a healthy sternness. “I’m happy they're alive. But I also know what it's like to be them. So does Haymitch. Thankfully, you'll never have to feel it too.”

Effie's smile slowly left her face as I spoke. I seemed to actually be getting through to her. Has she never actually sat back and thought about the process we have to go through just to give her the spotlight?  

“I'm just happy I never had to deal with that shrew, Drusilla,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Haymitch makes her sound like a right cu-”

“Language!” Effie squeals at me. She swiftly changes up and starts chuckling, though. “She certainly was dreadful .”

“Major upgrade on her replacement,” I said, winking at her.

She makes a face as if to say oh stop it . “When did you and Haymitch finally start talking to each other?” She asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“Not horribly long ago. A few months, maybe. Not to say we never interacted before. It’s kind of hard to make friends, even with your neighbor, when both of you choose to lock yourselves away from the world.” I was talking fast, ignoring the possible insinuation from her raised eyebrow. I look too far into things, don’t I? Thank you, anxiety. “We were both informed around the same time that I was going to start mentoring this year. Next thing we both knew we hardly drank alone anymore.” I shrugged. “He’s not that bad. Especially on the off-chance that he's sober.”

“I've hardly seen a sober Haymitch before this year.” Effie chuckles. “Quite a few achievements under your belt this year, Tally. First year Mentor, two Victors, sobered up Haymitch.”

“I wouldn't take it that far. Sober is a big word .”

“Well, either way. I'm proud of you, Tally.”

I met Effie's eyes, and tears instantly started welling. For both of us. She's just dramatic. But those words sank deep into me, offering a comfort I didn’t know I needed.

••

Home again.

I didn’t miss home as badly as I did when I was in the arena, but I was close to it. I saw the cameras and the crowd of people as the train slowed to a stop. They wouldn't want to see me, though. They'd all want Katniss and Peeta, offering me the chance to slip home immediately. I'm sure my flower garden needed some extra TLC from my prolonged absence.

The cameras absorbed the couple, who were now holding hands and smiling, just as they were in the Capitol, as they were the first to step off the train. Once they moved forward enough to make room, Haymitch and I stepped out and moved to the side, allowing the attention to center only on our Victors. I looked off in the direction of the Victors’ Village.

“Not yet, babygirl.” Haymitch said, noticing where I was looking. “Think you won’t be getting any attention?”

“Why would I get-” I started asking before I was interrupted by a cameraman and a handful of people with microphones.

I gritted my teeth and played the role of proud Mentor for two separate camera crews before I became insistent that they spend their time on Katniss and Peeta. I've now been labeled as a good luck charm . Something Caesar started when he introduced Haymitch and me at the closing ceremony. I waded through the crowd of my fellow District 12 citizens, everyone giving me their congratulations or a simple pat on the back.

I spotted Clerk Carmine at the back of the crowd and gave him a small wave as I approached him. Haymitch, who had been following close behind me, veered in the direction of home.

“Tally.” He greeted with a nod of his head.

“Clerk.” I greeted back. I stared at him a moment, studying the lines of his aged face. He's not much younger than Snow. “Mind if I drop by soon? I have a guitar that could use some restringing.”

Clerk squinted at me questioningly before looking back in the direction Haymitch went in, “If you have questions about-”

“No. Someone else.” I cut him off, making sure to catch his eye as he looked back at me.

He nodded silently, “You'll hear me if I’m home. Stop in if you hear the fiddle.”

He walked away without another word, moving closer to the crowd that was surrounding Katniss and Peeta. Haymitch's figure had disappeared in the distance by now. I suddenly felt the urge to visit Karin before I went home. I wanted to tell her what happened.

After a long one-sided conversation with a headstone, I went back to the Village. Tears stained my face, and the fabric of the shoulder on my shirt was drenched from wiping what tears I could catch. I watched a few Peacekeepers helping the Everdeens and the Mellarks move into their new homes. Peeta took the house next to mine, and Katniss took the one across the way from Haymitch. I caught sight of a little blonde girl running in and out of the new Everdeen residence. Prim . A cat followed her inside at one point. Peeta and his family were more solemn as they moved their belongings. I stopped at my flower garden. Most of them had died in the heat, but a few cups of coffee grounds and adequate water may bring them back. I walked into my house and observed the thin layer of dust that had formed in my absence. I'll clean tomorrow . I cleaned up one of my kitchen counters and made a cup of coffee, transferring the grounds to sit in the soil surrounding the worst of my flowers. I ran the hose absentmindedly as I sipped my coffee, watching the new families hustle and bustle.

Prim came back outside and noticed me in the garden. She skipped over to me, the orange fluffball trailing at her heels.

“What are you growing?” She asks brightly, coming to a halt right next to me.

“A few flowers, I think I even have a primrose in there,” I said, smiling down at her.

“You do.” She pointed to the flower I had just surrounded with coffee grounds. “And some poppies, and a very sad sunflower.” She giggled. “This is Buttercup, by the way.” She pointed down at my feet.

I looked down at the cat who was now weaving between my legs and purring. I reached down to pet him, but he sank to the ground and hissed.

“Charmed,” I said flatly.

Prim hugged me all of a sudden, making me drop the hose and scare off her cat, “Thank you.” She whispered.

I looked down at her, slowly bringing my hand to pat her head. “Your sister did all the work, my dear. Haymitch and I simply believed in her.”

She gripped me a little tighter before letting go. Mrs. Everdeen called for Prim to come back to the house. We waved at each other from across the way. I had met her only one other time. Against my will, really.

A month after I'd been home from the arena, I had made a hard decision. One I felt was necessary, and one I still think is necessary to this day. It changes me, as a woman, forever. But when one is given the ability to bring life into the world, wouldn't they only want to bring life into a world that protects its children, not murders them? The operation had been simple, and I spent less than a day in the District 12 hospital. They had to fly in a doctor from the Capitol to perform the surgery because I refused to return to the Capitol so early after my victory. Anyway, the scar from my surgery ended up getting infected before healing all the way. Karin knew Katniss from school and knew her mom was a healer. She had run to their home late at night when my fever had spiked to a point that it was almost painful for Karin to feel my forehead. I woke up two days later with a binding around my middle that had a large pile of herbs and some sort of ointment being held against my incision. Mrs. Everdeen left Karin with instructions on how to care for me until the wound healed. We tried paying her, but she refused. I slipped the money into her medicine bag before she left, though.

••

I walked into Haymitch's house once the Village got quiet again. I found him sleeping on his couch, television on as usual.

“Haymitch,” I whispered loudly, walking around the couch. “Haymitch,” I repeated, sitting in the small space of available couch cushion at his waist. I placed my hand on his abdomen and slowly started trailing my hand down. “Wake up.” My fingers found his belt and started unlatching it.

He groaned, starting to wake up. I felt his body stretch as his eyes opened, looking down where my hands had almost finished unbuckling his belt.

“I'm awake.” He mumbled. “Took you long enough to get over here.”

I took my hands away from his pants, “I can take longer. I think I might’ve left the coffee pot on. I’ll be right back.” I started to stand, a smile playing at my lips.

He stood and grabbed me around my middle before I could even start to walk away.

“Fuck that.” He muttered. “I still haven't gotten around to making a mess of you like I wanted to the other night.”

“Yeah, I was lying about the coffee pot, anyway,” I said, reaching up to bite his lip.

He grabbed my hair and pulled, “Figured.” He smiled down at me, soaking in the pleading look I knew was pouring from my eyes. “Gonna be a good girl for me tonight, princess?”

“I can try,” I whispered, reaching forward to roughly grab his cock through the front of his pants.

“No, no trying, babygirl.” He said, stifling a moan as I began rubbing him through his pants. “Trying won’t get you what you want.”

I opened the fly of his pants, reaching into his boxers and gripping him, “Looks like I've already got what I want.”

He enjoyed himself for a few moments, allowing my name to escape his lips as his hand loosened its hold in my hair. All of a sudden, his hands are on mine, pulling them away from him.

“You know what I really missed?” He asks as he begins leading us out of the living room, hands steering me by my hips as I walk backwards.

“What's that?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him.

He flipped me around and pushed down by my back. I came face to face with the top of the dining table as my hands caught me. A pang of excitement shot through me and settled at my core.

He groans, satisfied, as I lift my hips, “This.” His hands swiftly pull my pants down over my hips, and there's a slight pause as he releases himself. I felt him slide his cock up and down my folds in preparation. “Fucking you whenever I want.” He enters me without warning. I moaned loudly at the automatic pleasure. “We've got some time to make up for, princess.”

••

Katniss is scarcely seen around the Village. I see the cat more often than I see her. I like Buttercup. He regularly kills birds. Peeta likes to visit Haymitch and me. Most of the time, he finds us already together - surprisingly, no close calls though . I noticed he spent more time with us than he did with his own family. I started acting almost motherly around Peeta, constantly making sure he was eating, fussing at him for not wearing a jacket when the weather started getting colder, and making sure he changed the padding under his prosthetic regularly.

One afternoon, Peeta joined me for some lunch, bringing a loaf of bread with him. He stopped by Haymitch's house first, but he had been heavily passed out on his couch. The pair of us ate at the dining table I had never used before now. Well, I hadn't used it since Karin was around . As I cleaned up our plates, Peeta made his way to my couch and proceeded to fall asleep. It made me feel like I was doing something right if he felt safe enough to sleep around me.

I hummed as I stood at the sink washing dishes. A glass of wine sat on the windowsill, half gone already. I'm happy to say neither of our Victors has decided to indulge in the addictions of their mentors.

“Tally!” Haymitch's voice echoed from the front door that slammed shut behind him.

I stepped into the hallway, finger pressed to my lips, and shushed him as I pointed over at Peeta. He silently said sorry as he continued walking towards me.

“He just fell asleep,” I said in a whisper.

Haymitch grabbed the sudsy plate I held in my hand and placed it on the counter.

“You two had lunch without me?” He asks, closing the space between us by wrapping his arms around my waist.

“He said he went to see you first. Couldn't wake you up, though.” I told him, leaning into him a little.

Haymitch had surprised me these past couple of weeks. He welcomed Peeta's company right away. I thought maybe he'd slip back into old habits once we were back in 12, haunted by the memories of this place, even shutting me out for a little. Something's different about him, I don't know what. He even tried to speak to Katniss on the off-chance we would see her out and about. It's not as if she ignored us, but she was short with conversations these days. And her and Peeta? Hardly a word since we got home. That'll have to change in a few months time for their Victory Tour .

I heard a noise coming from the living room, a whimper of sorts. It was gradually working its way into a scream. Haymitch and I both made for Peeta on the couch. He was drenched in sweat, and his hands were reaching out, trying to grab something. He screamed again, and it turned into a wailing sob as his eyes shot open. I had just reached the couch, keeping a safe distance from his reach.

“Peeta, it's Tally,” I said softly, slowly approaching the back of the couch.

He sat up and looked over at me, tears streaming down his face, but no longer trapped in the nightmare. His chest heaved as he caught his breath.

“She-she-” He started stuttering, running his hands through his hair.

Haymitch was behind me, a hand on my shoulder.

“She ate the berries. No.” Peeta muttered to himself, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. “No. I fed her the berries.” He started rocking back and forth. “She died. She died, and I did it. It was me.”

Peeta was in a state of shock from the nightmare, spiraling into a dark abyss I needed to help him climb out of.

“It was just a dream,” I whispered.

“ Nightmare .” He spat over at me. “She died.”

Haymitch's hand left my shoulder, and I heard his footsteps retreating. I spun around to try and catch him, but he was already at the door. I rounded the couch and knelt down in front of Peeta.

“Where are you right now?” I asked him, thinking of that first time Haymitch got me out of one of my fits.

“What?” He asks, confused.

“ Where are you right now? ” I repeated.

He shook his head lightly, “Uh, home. I'm home. In 12.”

“Exactly.” I grabbed his hand. “And so is Katniss.”

He blinked a few times, steadying his breathing. His body no longer shook, and the color was returning to his face. He rubbed his hands on his face for a moment, groaning with frustration. I sat next to him after he swung the prosthetic leg, which he fell asleep with on, off the couch, so he was sitting up.

“I've had countless nightmares where I'm the one who shot Karin,” I told him.

“ Still ?” He asks.

I nodded, “It's been a measly 5 years since I won, 4 since Karin died.”

“Was Haymitch just here?” He asks.

“Yeah, just popped by for a second, though.” I lied. Despite the bond they had, I knew Haymitch would never talk about the truth of his Games to Peeta. Or about what happened after. “He was heading to the Hob.” Probably was. He was overdue for a visit to Hattie's booth.

Peeta and I talked through the nightmare he had before I sent him on his way home for the evening. I attempted to go to Haymitch's house just before it got dark, but the door was locked.

It was two weeks before any of us saw Haymitch again.

••

I had gotten tired of banging on Haymitch's front door by day 3. But I still stopped once a day and tried. I got a go-away one time. Progress, I guess?

I walked to the edge of the District, the sound of a fiddle growing louder as I approached Clerk Carmine's house. I walked up the wooden, rickety porch. The fiddle stopped when my foot made one of the steps creak particularly loudly. Clerk opened the front door and smiled when he saw me.

“I've been waiting quite some time for you, Tally.” He said, a hint of a smile on his lips. He took a seat in one of the rocking chairs, motioning for me to sit in the other. “You've got me rendered confused on who you want to talk about. I thought you'd have questions about your neighbor.”

I sat and began rocking slowly, “Surprisingly, Haymitch has told me quite a bit. Especially about Lenore Dove.”

Clerk looked surprised, “Oh.” He said softly. “Then, why are you here?”

“Lucy Gray,” I said.

He looked up at me sharply, “I've told you about her, too.”

“Not everything, Clerk,” I said, grabbing a flask from my pocket.

He shook his head at me, “So that's how you got Haymitch to talk.” He points at the flask.

I shrugged, "He's been somewhat of a bad influence, I suppose.”

“Always has.”

“No, not Haymitch,” I said sarcastically.

“Lenore Dove was no better.” He said with a soft chuckle.

I took a drink, allowing him the moment of silence to mourn the memory of his niece.

But then I decided to bite the bullet, “Lucy Gray was in love with President Snow, wasn't she?”

The look of shock on his face gave me enough of an answer. He stopped rocking in his chair and his jaw dropped a little. He sat up straight again, fixing the look on his face and staring off into the distance, avoiding eye contact.

“How did you possibly come to that conclusion?” He asks me, voice void of any emotion now.

“She's not that subtle with the songs she wrote,” I said with a raised eyebrow. “ Pure As the Driven Snow ?”

“That could be about anyone.” He countered.

“Anyone who won the Hunger Games because her Mentor was in love with her.”

“Get in the house.” He whispered, standing as quickly as he could from the rocking chair and holding the front door open for me.

I told Clerk all about my run-in with Snow, the song that played at the Mentor's party, and about the underground group of sympathizers I joined in the Capitol. Apparently, my theory had been spot on to the point that he told me he couldn't bring himself to lie to me anymore. I was right. About all of it. Coriolanus Snow had been in love with Lucy Gray. Coriolanus Snow is also the reason no one in 12, not even Clerk, knows if she's truly alive or not. His lust for power and control was what drove him and his ambitions, even back then. Although Clerk seemed to think that maybe, just maybe, Snow truly returned those feelings for his dear friend at one point. Okay, so Snow knew love at one point in his life - so did I, but I don't go ruining people's lives because someone took it from me.

“We have a headstone for her. We don't know if she's still out there somewhere - but her presence here in 12 is dead.” Clerk told me. “Do you want to see it?” I nodded. “Truthfully, I'm too old to make the walk anymore. Think you can find it if I just give you the directions?”

“I can certainly try,” I told him, ready to receive my instructions.

It was easy to find. A long walk . But worth the extra amount of sunshine I got to expose myself to today. People are like plants; we all need a little sun to survive.

I saw the patch of land speckled with different colored headstones as I rounded a particularly wide tree. Clerk gave me the basic location of Lucy's grave. I had found it easily, whispering the words on her headstone to myself,

“ Yet some maintain that to this day she is a living child; that you may see sweet Lucy Gray upon the lonesome wild. ”

I sat in front of the headstone, legs crossed, eyes welling with tears.

“You've created a little bit of a mess for some of us, Miss Gray.” I whispered humorously. I placed my hand on the ground. I knew no one was under there, but feeling the grass is always comforting. And if she's somewhere roaming in the wild, the earth would carry on my message to her. “Of course, I don't blame you. Imagine who he could've been if he only let himself love you back. Maybe the Games would've ended. But I can't harp on maybes and what ifs. ” Just then, a mockingjay landed on her headstone and stared at me, flitting its head to the side. I jumped back, heart leaping in my throat. But the bird relaxed, sitting on the rock, and began whistling a familiar tune over and over. “ Are you, are you, coming to the tree ?” I sang along with the repeated tune, still holding myself stiffly away from the songbird. It stood up and left after I finished singing along with it. Well, if that's not some sort of sign, I don't know what is. “I would've come to the tree with you, Lucy Gray,” I whispered, relaxing to sit on the ground again. “Anything to prevent… this. ” I referred to the basic state of our world, Panem, and Karin's death.

I looked to my right and froze for a moment. The headstone just next to Lucy was gray and speckled in pink and purple. Dove gray . I didn't have to read the words to know who slept beneath it. I stayed where I sat with the ghost of Lucy as I focused on the words on the dove colored headstone.

I remembered the promise Haymitch said he made to her in their last moments together. I thought of Katniss and Peeta's defiance in the Games, partially influenced by Haymitch. I remembered the spark of rebellion I felt when talking to Johanna on the twelfth floor of the Training Center. I thought of the rioting in District 11.

I gave the stone a small smile before whispering, “He's working on it.” I paused. “Alright, so he's a bit of a mess, too. Especially right now.” I thought about that day two weeks ago when Peeta had that nightmare. So similar to the same haunting vision that plagues Haymitch in his sleep. “I guess all I can ask from you is that you watch over Karin for me in the sweet old hereafter , Lenore Dove.”

A goose landed about 50 feet away, perching itself on the branch of a willow tree. I stood up, frightened by the sudden feathery appearance, but smiled as I came to a halt. Another sign .

And while I was grateful for both signs from the otherside , I couldn't help but think - why is it always birds?

Chapter Text

My journey home brought me back past Clerk's house. He was sitting in his chair on the porch, where I had left him when I went to the graveyard. I stopped at the foot of the steps, not joining him this time.

“And what did the winds whisper to you while you were out there, Miss Tally?” Clerk asked, studying my face.

“I'm not sure yet, Clerk.” I admitted, shrugging lightly. “You didn't mention that she was next to Lenore Dove.”

Clerk's face transforms into a look of despair at the sound of her name. He's lost two people, people he loved one way or another, so young, to the hands of the President. Did he know? Does he blame Haymitch? It's a wonder how he's not plunged himself into the vices Haymitch and I did.

“Does he visit her?” Clerk asked suddenly.

I frowned for a moment, not understanding the question at first.

“Haymitch?” I asked, surprised. Clerk nodded. “Frequently,” I assured him.

Clerk stayed quiet for another moment before sighing, “I blamed him for a long time.”

I didn't respond. I wanted to hear what he wanted to say. It looks as if he’s needed to say this for a while. But he didn't continue.

“He still does,” I told Clerk with a sad smile. “Blame himself, that is.”

“He shouldn't," Clerk admitted. “We're all victims of Coriolanus’ broken heart. What can any of us do about it?”

“One day, Clerk Carmine, I promise you - Coriolanus Snow will find himself the victim of my broken heart.”

“Watch what you say, Tally.”

“There's nothing else he can take from me, Clerk.” I said sadly. “Nothing worth keepin’, anyway.” I winked.

“And what about Haymitch?” He asks.

“What about Haymitch?” I returned the question.

“You think I watched those two sneaking off together from the time they were 10, and I not know that look in his eye? In your eyes? Pfft.” He rocked the chair back with a heave of his toes and started chuckling.

I felt myself blush a little, “Well, Clerk, I can't say you're wrong.” I kicked at the ground a little.

“Nothing gets past me.” He says, smirking and waving a finger at me. “Take care of him, will ya?”

“I'm trying,” I told him.

I left Clerk on his porch, listening to the song he was humming fade out as I walked further away from him.

••

The door to Haymitch's house was open, and the commotion that ensued inside was quite concerning. I heard Peeta's voice between shouts from Haymitch and crashes from glass bottles. I jogged up the steps of the porch and went inside. Peeta stood just inside the doorway, dodging a glass bottle that shattered at his feet.

“I found the door unlocked, figured it was safe,” Peeta said frantically as I stepped beside him.

My boots crunched on the broken glass, “Next time, come get me first.”

“You weren't home.” He retorts.

“Touché,” I respond, continuing to walk into the house.

“What are you doing?” Peeta asks in a whisper, not moving from where he stood.

I didn't respond, quietly walking into the living room. Haymitch was sitting on the couch, face buried in his hands. He looked over at me as I crunched through another pile of glass.

“You can fuck off too.” He snapped at me.

“Gonna take more than that to get rid of me, and you know it,” I said. His hand tightened around the neck of the bottle he held. “Throw that at me and you'll regret it. You've been cooped up for two weeks now.”

“And?” He asks before chugging what remains in the bottle.

“ And it's time to get off your ass.”

The bottle in his hand flew across the room in the opposite direction from where I stood.

“I'll get off my ass to grab another bottle.” He mutters, standing from the couch and dragging his feet to the kitchen.

I moved to step in front of him. He tried to move me aside, but I planted my feet on the ground. He stepped to walk around me, but I mirrored his movement 

“Fuck off, Tally.” He said, taking another step to the side.

I reached out and grabbed one of his hands, “Haymitch.” He started to walk forward, but stopped at my touch. “Talk to me. Please. ”

He shook my hand away and continued into the kitchen. I looked back at Peeta for a moment before following Haymitch. He was still rooted to the spot.

Haymitch was reaching up into one of the cabinets, revealing another bottle of white liquor. I swiftly reached around him and grabbed it from his hand. He turned on me and gripped the wrist attached to his bottle of liquor.

“Think about your next move carefully, old man,” I said softly, trying to pull my wrist from his hold.

He didn't let go.

“Give me the bottle.” He growled, pulling on my wrist.

“Not until you talk to me.”

“You'll be waiting a while.”

The bottle was snatched from my hand. Not by Haymitch, but by Peeta. He had finally uprooted his feet and come to my aid. He may have a prosthetic leg, but he could still move quicker than I or Haymitch now that he's gotten rid of the cane. He was on the other side of the kitchen by the time I turned around once Haymitch released me.

“She’s right, Haymitch. It's been two weeks.” He said curtly.

Now free from Haymitch's grasp, I pushed past him to inspect the cabinet where he kept his stock of liquor. Empty now. Good.

“Take that to Mrs. Everdeen for her medical supplies,” I said, pointing at the bottle in his hand.

“Like hell he will,” Haymitch said, starting to walk towards him.

Peeta didn't reply, only turned on his heel and ran out the front door. I gripped Haymitch's arm to stop him from advancing after the boy. He turned around and grabbed my face in one of his hands, fingers gripping my jaw. I smacked his hand off of me, but he just brought it back up.

“Get off of me,” I said through gritted teeth, smacking his hand away again. “What the fucks gotten into you?”

“Two bottles of liquor, and it would've been three.” He replies.

I knocked his hand out of the air before he could grab me again.

“Haymitch,” I said sternly.

“Tally.” He repeated in the same tone.

I stared at him for a moment - bloodshot eyes, messy hair, clothes he's probably sat in for days now. This hasn't happened in a while. I felt the look on my face change to one of pity.

“Don't give me that look.” He says, tone beginning to soften.

I cupped his face in both of my hands. He jerked away at first. I was insistent, though, grabbing his face and pulling him forward a little.

“We need you, Haymitch. Katniss, Peeta. Me. ” I shook him lightly, frustrated with the man in front of me.

I guess that's what he needed to hear. He wrapped his arms around me, my arms automatically moving to wrap around his neck and hold him tight. He buried his face into my shoulder, and I felt him shake a little as he let himself cry. I stroked the back of his hair, untangling a few knots in the process.

“I saw a goose today,” I whispered to him. “It was sitting in a willow tree.”

He gave a solitary chuckle through a sob, “You smell like the woods.” He mumbled into my shoulder.

“I finally went and talked to Clerk about Lucy, he told me where to find her grave,” I told him. “I, uh, I didn't know she was next to…” I trailed off, afraid the topic of conversation could backfire on the small progress he's made.

“She was probably happy to have a face other than my ugly mug show up out there.”

“Lucy?”

He shook his head against my shoulder, “Lenore Dove.”

I kissed the side of his head and loosened my hold on him. He brought his head up from my shoulder and kissed my forehead.

“Go shower, then come over and raid my alcohol cabinet as an apology for sending away your last bottle,” I told him, wiping away a few stray tears on his cheeks.

••

Withdrawal comes in many forms. For some, they get depressed, like me. For others, they get angry, like Haymitch. Most withdrawals come with delusions. And all come with wrenching sickness.

Hattie, a woman who lived well past the average age in District 12, passed peacefully in her sleep one night. Her business had been passed down to a woman named Ripper. In the time that Hattie passed and Ripper took over, there was a lull in supply. District 12 was dry for almost a week. Our rations from the Capitol only included booze upon request, and even then, it was limited.

I was cooped up on my couch, sweating profusely and wrenching into a bucket that I had placed on the floor beside me. Peeta, Astrid, and Prim all cycled through taking care of me. Prim was my favorite to see through all of this. Pure gentleness radiated from her.

I was on day five of my withdrawal now. I had the odd visit from Katniss that morning, followed by Prim visiting me that evening. All of them, except Prim, had tried helping Haymitch, too. That task proved much harder. Overindulging in alcohol is one thing, but being cut off from it after years of fueling yourself with it is a whole other demon.

The commotion erupted not long after Prim left me for the night. I was fighting off a particularly intense wave of nausea at the moment, but I forced myself up from the couch. I lay there and just listened for a few minutes at first, listening to Haymitch shouting, Prim screaming, Katniss yelling, and Peeta shouting. As I started making my way to the front door, Katniss barged in.

“Are you going to help us, or what?” She screamed at me.

I stopped walking, taken aback by the hostility. Suddenly, I felt frightened of her. Katniss Everdeen, a perfect shot with a bow. Karin materialized behind her, swaying in place with an arrow in her eye.

“Get out,” I said softly.

“I'll get out when you get him under control.” She spat at me.

“I'm no help right now. Get out, Katniss.” I said, just as softly as before, trying to control any sudden outbursts. I started walking backwards. Karin was still there.

She marched forward, gripped the front of my sweat-soaked shirt, and began walking out the front door. The chill from the autumn air smacked me in the face as I was forced through the doorway. The wave of nausea threatened to unfold right there on my porch, but I was launched forward again by Katniss's hold. I turned around to look at my house and saw Karin now materializing on the porch.

“Get off of me!” I yelled, ripping her hand from my shirt.

I stood in the middle of the Victors’ Village square. Everything was blurry, people were yelling, and someone was sitting on the ground. I felt something brush against my leg and jumped backwards, almost falling on my ass. The orange blur stayed at my feet, rubbing against the tops of my slippers. Buttercup? I blinked a few times. Buttercup. I ignored the cat and looked up to examine my surroundings again. Less blurry, still just as loud . I saw Haymitch locked in a bear hug from behind by Peeta. Katniss had left me to scoop up Prim and was halfway through the door to their house when I caught sight of them.

Peeta was struggling to drag Haymitch off in the direction of his house now. I didn't want Peeta to take on the task of wrangling Haymitch on his own, despite the fact that he's done so a dozen times before. This was different. I've dealt with this before; he hasn't.

I caught up to Peeta and Haymitch, avoiding one of Haymitch's rogue kicks. I continued past them, opening the door to Haymitch's house so Peeta didn't lose the grip he had on him. Haymitch kicked against the doorframe, making Peeta begin to stumble backwards. I reached out and grabbed what I could, ending up at the sleeve of Peeta's jacket, which was enough to balance him back on his feet. I was fighting hard through my own withdrawal side effects, my head was spinning, the nausea still hadn't stopped, and now my head pounded with a headache that radiated behind my eyes. I was weak, shaking a little just from supporting myself. But I powered through and caught Haymitch's ankles the next time he tried to kick himself free. We clumsily got him through the door and dropped him to the floor of the breezeway. He didn't get up, just let out a pained groan and rolled on his side. He gave up the yelling and shouting once we got him through the door.

I sank down to the floor beside Haymitch, adjusting myself to sit cross-legged. I rubbed my temples and groaned at my own pain.

“Go home, Pita Bread. It's late.” I said, trying to focus on him as the blinding light from a streetlamp glowed through the window. “I’ll be fine.”

He hesitated a moment. He used to argue with me when I would tell him to go home or insist I had things under control when it came to Haymitch. But he's slowly learned to not argue. I assured him once more before he accepted it and left.

I let out a long sigh. Haymitch sat himself up enough to pivot so his head laid in my lap. He opened one eye and looked up at me.

“You look like shit.” He mumbled.

“You look worse,” I said as I moved a strand of hair from his face.

“What just happened?”

“I'm not entirely sure. But I have a feeling Katniss will have some choice words for you in the morning. Possibly for me too.”

“She looks so much like Burdock.” He said quietly, tracing circles on my knee.

“Who?” I asked with a frown.

He was silent for a moment before saying, “Her dad, Burdock. Katniss's dad. She looks like him.”

“You two knew each other?”

He laughs, “He was my best friend. Cousins with Lenore Dove, too.”

Now it all makes sense. Suddenly, that little ball of anger I was still holding towards Haymitch for his willingness to actually help Katniss and Peeta in the arena disappeared. Peeta had been right; Haymitch had favored Katniss. I don’t think he could help it, though. Burdock Everdeen died in a mining explosion years ago. Haymitch then, for only a few seconds, had the life of Burdock's youngest thrust into his hands, before the eldest volunteered herself. He probably felt some sort of responsibility, one far stronger than he had felt for any of us past Tributes. Who could Katniss have been to him in another life? Like a niece?  

“Does she know that?” I asked him.

“Not unless her mother has told her. And I doubt that.” He said sadly, burrowing his head into the cushioning of my thigh.

“Her and Prim remind me of me and Karin,” I said, blinking away flashes of Karin's dead body.

“Me too,” Haymitch whispered. “I did try, you know.”

I looked up, blinking away the tears that started forming, “She couldn't have done it. I knew that.”

“She never stopped talking about you the whole time we were in the Capitol.” He continued. He never talked about her before, and I never had the strength to ask. I was so afraid her last days in the Capitol had been spent in utter fear. And I didn't want to hear the truth. “She kind of reminded me of Louella, like Katniss does. Effie absolutely adored her.”

Most of the Capitol had adored her. She played on the sweet, innocent girl card like nobody's business. I remember feeling proud when I watched her interview with Caesar. Had she survived the bloodbath, Haymitch surely would've had enough sponsors to keep her alive as long as he could. But the young ones are always too easy for the older ones to pick off at the cornucopia.

“Honestly, some of my better memories come from you and her now. Hearing you both sing over there late at night.” He said while rolling onto his back so he could look up at me. I was still looking away, tears flowing steadily now.

“Didn't think you could hear us,” I said as I muffled a sob.

His hand came up to cup my cheek, “I'm a drunk, not deaf.”

That earned a small laugh from me. I wiped my face with the sleeve of my shirt and sighed, looking down at him again.

“C'mon, let's get you up,” I said, heaving him forward with the leg he laid his head on.

He groaned, pressing his fingers on the bridge of his nose. He sat up and slouched forward like a rag doll. I sighed, feeling no better myself. The two of us pathetically got to our feet and barely made it to the couch.

“You know,” Haymitch groaned, making himself comfortable as I lay against him. “You may think you three need me. But I'm starting to think I'm the one who needs you guys.”

The night plagued us both with nightmares. We took turns wrangling each other in when the other woke up screaming or flailing. When the sun came up, it brought another blinding headache with it. I woke up lying atop Haymitch, my lower body resting between his legs and my head on his chest. The rising and falling of his chest was soothing as my eyes stung from the sunbeam that peeked through the curtain. I got up, Haymitch hardly moving as I used his arm for support. His house was filthy right now . I hadn't noticed in the dark last night.

I couldn't find a single clean dish in the kitchen, so I trudged my way back to my house. No one in the village was awake yet. Mockingjays sang in the distance. I ran, stumbling a little, wanting to escape the haunting songs as quickly as possible. I got myself a glass of water, feeling my body start to perk up with each swallow I took. I breathed a sigh of relief as some of the stiffness in my body actually started to relax. I’m over the worst of my withdrawal now. I'm sure Haymitch wasn't, though.

It was three more days until Peeta delivered Ripper's first batch of white liquor to us. I spent those days with Haymitch, cleaning his house in between helping him separate his delusions from reality. Katniss had, in fact, stopped by on one of those days and tore into him for scaring Prim with his behavior the other night. I stood back and allowed the girl to say her peace. I wasn't going to stop her, that's for sure. She turned to me before leaving and thanked me for my help that night. Haymitch felt horrible once she left.

The clinking of the bottles as Peeta walked through the front door sent a thrill through my body. I was just caught in the idea of possibly not touching the stuff again, having gone a week without, and the withdrawal being almost completed.

But …

It's crazy how drunk you can get after only a week-long break.

••

I actually received mail. I never get mail. The plastic red flag was pointing up on the black box just outside my door. I was going back home after a night at Haymitch's, the sun just kissed the horizon in the distance on its way up. I grabbed the single envelope inside and read who the sender was.

Johanna Mason

Victors Village 7

House 4

I ran into the house, opening the letter in the process. Just one page, a short message, and a heart at the end of her signature. I leaned against the kitchen counter and read.

Tally,

Sorry I haven't been to visit yet. Things are tense here in 7. Can't wait to see you on the Victory Tour.

xx Johanna

Dammit.

I ran the letter to Haymitch, finding him still asleep in bed where I left him. I crawled on top of him, straddling him, and shook his shoulder.

“Wake up,” I said, placing the letter on his chest.

He woke suddenly, hands reaching up to grip my arms as he registered who I was. He frowned and looked down at the paper on his chest.

“What’s this?” He asked, picking it up and smoothing it out.

“It's from Johanna,” I told him.

He read the letter quickly and sighed. Neither of us ever had that talk with Katniss or Peeta. Haymitch had debriefed her quickly before the closing ceremony back in the Capitol. And based on the way Peeta and Katniss acted towards one another, they had their own conversation on the topic. They played the part well enough during the festivities after the Games. Now, the cameras were gone, and the press moved on to bigger stories on Capitol News. The tour was in a week, so they'd have to figure something out by then, but for now, their lives seemed secure no matter if they continued the love farce or not. We thought things were fine. Snow told us that both the Capitol and the Districts were caught in the love story. Now that I've got this letter from Johanna, though, I'm starting to question if that's actually true for the Districts.

“Katniss knows what she needs to do. You know it's her that Snow cares about right now.” He says, folding the letter up again and handing it to me.

“You really think a love story is going to put out the spark those berries created?”

“Maybe not. But it'll keep Katniss and Peeta safe, and their families. She knows that.”

“What if it's not enough? For Snow?”

“Stop with the what-ifs .” He says, sitting up and kissing my forehead.

He's weirdly calm about this .

••

I watched Katniss swing out of one of Haymitch's windows the morning of the Victory Tour. I sat on the porch sipping my spiked coffee, already dressed and done up for the day.

“Glad one of you is ready!” Katniss called out to me.

“I fear the wrath Effie Trinket would set on me if I weren't!” I called back.

She laughed as she climbed the steps into her home. Indeed, I'm sure Effie would have my head if I didn't have myself and Haymitch squared away for the day. I need to finish this cup of coffee before tackling the latter of the tasks .

Haymitch and Peeta sat in the kitchen together, talking quietly. I grabbed one of the chairs and joined in. We reviewed the expectation we had for the way Peeta and Katniss were to behave on the tour. Peeta still had it bad for her. He's pretty convinced that not everything was an act on Katniss's part. Time will tell. Peeta left about half an hour before the prep teams were to arrive.

“Why are you wet?” I asked, looking Haymitch up and down.

“Katniss.” He grumbled. “I told her to make sure I was up at least an hour before everyone got here.”

I chuckled, “I know what to do next time I can't wake you.”

He rolled his eyes, “You haven't had a problem waking me up in a long time, babygirl.”

He went upstairs and cleaned himself up while I cleaned up the downstairs a little. He came back down dressed in a plain white t-shirt and black pants, belt around his waist but undone at the front.

“Need some help with that?” I asked him, grabbing the belt and pulling him to me.

“You know we don't have time for all that, princess.” He says through a moan as I start to slip the belt out of the loops.

I heard the crackling of gravel under tires and two separate engines dying down. I whined softly, slipping the belt back through and buckling it for him.

“I'll see you out there,” I said before kissing him on the cheek and leaving out the back door.

Chapter Text

It would be five more days until I got to see Johanna. These five days were going to drag .

The first night on the hovertrain was quiet; Katniss and Peeta were still warming up to one another again. Effie was completely oblivious to any odd feelings between the pair. She only focused on the material things - the parties, dinners, interviews, and five-star treatment everywhere we went, fabulous everything.

“Everything for my Victors must be…”

“ Fabulous ?” Haymitch and I say in unison, slightly mocking Effie's tone. We looked over at each other and giggled, both of us drunk at the moment.

Effie made some off-brand comment about Katniss needing to enjoy her Victory Tour because she earned it . Sometimes I think Katniss's greatest weapon is actually the sharpness of her tongue.

“ By killing people. ” She said, irritated and disgusted by Effie's words.

Katniss stormed out, leaving Effie stunned. Peeta called after her, but she didn't even pause.

“You don't realize what you say sometimes, do you, Eff?” I asked, shaking my head lightly at her.

Haymitch started to stand, probably planning to follow Katniss and give her some sort of lecture. Personally, I was going to find her later so I could tell her she had nothing to apologize for. But I saw Peeta rise from his seat at the same time. I pulled on Haymitch's arm to make him sit back down. I nodded at Peeta, who was making for the door now, as Haymitch looked at me and frowned.

“Do you think they'll read from the cards that I wrote up? I worked on them for a long time.” Effie asks us, fussing with her purse to find said cards.

“I'm sure you did, Effie,” Haymitch says, snarky from the liquor.

“Hmph.” She frowns over at Haymitch. She looks at me next, “What do you think?”

I shrugged, “Katniss, probably not. Peeta, yes.”

“Well, if I got you to comply with the cards, I'm sure I can convince Katniss too.” She said after finding the cards, lifting them from her purse with an ah-ha!

In truth, those speaking cards were what got me through the tour. Each visit to each District would've just been me standing silent at the microphone had it not been for Effie. Katniss wasn't playing this like I did, though.

I retired to my room, followed close behind by Haymitch. He slipped in with me, taking advantage of Effie's absence. I was worried about getting to 11 in the morning. How was Katniss going to react when she had to meet Rue's family? Thresh's family? Would Haymitch and I get a chance to see Seeder and Chaff? My intoxicated state, unfortunately, did not put these anxieties at rest. If anything, it was making things worse. But, being the addict I am, I grabbed a bottle of red wine from atop the mini fridge and started searching for a corkscrew.

Haymitch found it first, holding it out for me to take. Before I could grab it he pulled his hand back and took a step backwards. A smile played at his lips as he took another step back, his current path leading to the bed. I placed the bottle back down and followed him. He dropped the corkscrew to the ground, landing it with a loud thunk as he continued walking backwards. He sat on the bed now, watching me approach and slowly climb into his lap.

“This trip might get a little boring for us.” He tells me, placing a few kisses on my neck in between words. “All the attention on the lovebirds and whatnot.”

“Gonna need something to bide our time with,” I whispered back, lifting his face to mine so I could kiss him.

He chuckles softly against my mouth, “I have a few ideas.” He says, once we part for a moment.

“Like what?” I ask, starting to grind against him.

“Want me to tell you?” He asks, standing up and flipping me around so I'm beneath him on the bed. “Or show you?”