A/N: This was written as something of a joke for a friend, and I believe I promised her to publish it here... It is really not meant to be serious fiction. I mean. It's Jack.
Captain Jack Harkness, Time Agent, really had very little interest in going back to the time of Panem. Not that there was anything wrong with the Capitol nightlife or, indeed, the ladies and the gentlemen of the place (although, thinking back, there was something off about his last date, Finnick, his name was). It was that any and all missions back to that particularly shameful era of history always had something to do with the Hunger Games. And that was always a mess.
This time, it was the 69th Hunger Games. If the matter wasn't so serious (and just so horribly sick) he might find it a little funny. A few days later, he was sitting in a bar with the mentor of District 12, and he began to think maybe it was just a tiny bit funny.
"So, Haymitch, what do you do when you're not here?" Jack asked at some point between the third and fourth round of drinks. Haymitch didn't answer. Jack didn't expect him to.
Sometime between the fifth and sixth round, Haymitch ended up with his head on Jack's lap, as he opened up about his own Games, and how district 12 had been crap in the past few years, and how useless he was, had always been, at keeping them alive. "And those kids, they go in there, and they don't even try. They just want it to be over. They're smarter than I was."
After the seventh round the conversation was less conversation and more blatant flirting. Neither of them really knew how the night had taken that turn - Haymitch was often drunk but rarely flirty, and even Jack was surprised at his success.
Sometime after they'd lost count of drinks, Jack kissed Haymitch. 69 had always been his lucky number.