A/N: A short oneshot. I listened to 'Roslyn' by Bon Iver & St. Vincent a lot while writing the second half.

Dancing Lessons

The interview finally over I retreat to the town hall cloakroom and shrug into the heavy velvet coat Effie picked for me, already looking forward to the moment when I can swap it for my father's old hunting jacket and head into the woods.

I'm halfway to the door when I hear Peeta call my name. I turn back, forcing a smile. It's not his fault interviews are so difficult for me. If it wasn't for him cheerfully fielding eighty percent of the questions, they'd be unendurable.

He's hovering in the doorway leading back to the main hall. 'Celeste's here.'

Oh shit. My hope of escaping to the woods evaporates instantly. Now that the Victory Tour is mere days away, our dance teacher, Celeste Ingram, has been cramming in extra sessions in the hope she can make our waltz presentable in time for the ball at Snow's Palace. Effie recruited her in the Capitol, warning her Peeta and I would present a challenge, but I don't think Celeste realised just how much of a challenge.

'Fine,' I manage dully. 'Let's get it over with.' I pull off the coat, shove it back into the closet and follow Peeta towards the small hall where we have our dance lessons.

When we reach the hall doors he hesitates and as I look over his shoulder through the glass I see why. Usually it's just the two of us with Celeste, although Effie swoops in every few lessons in the hope that our technique will have drastically improved since her last visit. She always leaves disappointed. Today, however, Haymitch is leaning against the back wall, arms folded across his chest, as Celeste fiddles with the old-fashioned record player.

'What's he doing here?' I hiss, feeling the last vestiges of my good mood vanish.

Dance lessons with just Celeste are bad enough as she nags us over and over about straightening our backs and relaxing our hold – and instructs me for the umpteenth time that it's Peeta's job to lead. A dance lesson with Haymitch watching, however, will be unbearable.

Just yesterday he'd called me 'deader than a block of wood' after listening to us rehearse our Victory Tour speeches, and I'd stormed out of his house, his laughter ringing in my ears.

'I don't know,' Peeta replies. 'Maybe he thought it was time to check up on our progress.'

'Like he gives a damn about our progress. He just wants an easy laugh.'

Peeta shakes his head soothingly. 'It'll be fine, Katniss. He probably won't say anything.'

He won't need to say anything, I think bitterly as I push open the door and stalk inside, glowering in Haymitch's direction.

Sure enough, as he meets my gaze his eyes glitter mockingly and I turn away quickly, determined not to look his way again until the lesson is over. Out of the corner of my eye I see him shift slightly, recrossing his arms and adjusting his position, no doubt getting comfortable for the hour of entertainment ahead of him.

'Peeta, Katniss, welcome.' Celeste raps over to us on towering heels, her long skirt snapping briskly around her slender calves. The spicy scent of her perfume half-masks the room's smell of floor polish. 'Today I thought we'd begin with something a little faster to see how you manage.'

Something a little faster. I feel my stomach clench in dread. I can just imagine how Haymitch is suppressing a grin at the thought of my inevitable humiliation.

'Into position then. One, two, three; one two three.'

The gramophone needle slots into place and a lively tune fills the hall. Peeta and I take off, stumbling through the steps. I concentrate hard on each step but miss every second one. Today I'm wearing flats. In the Capitol I'll be wearing heels.

'Relax, Katniss!' Celeste calls out over the music. 'Your arms are as stiff as a board.'

I force myself to loosen my death grip on Peeta's hand, and catch him wincing as the feeling returns to his fingers. We falter through a dozen more steps. I'm painfully conscious of every bump of our knees. Against my will my eyes move over to Haymitch. His eyes flash with mirth and I have to clamp down the urge to kick him.

'Katniss,' Peeta gasps. 'You're squeezing again.'

'Oh. Sorry.' Face heating up, I relax my grip on his hand.

'Next; an underarm turn!' orders Celeste. 'And remember, Katniss: there's no need to duck.'

Wishing she could have kept that last instruction to herself, I manage a semi-graceful turn under Peeta's outstretched arm, relieved when he pulls me back into our usual embrace, and I'm no longer the focus of attention.

'Beautiful! A huge improvement on last week's session.'

Her obvious relief is embarrassing but nonetheless I feel a twinge of hope. Peeta smiles at me encouragingly, and I manage a small smile back. If I can just keep this up, maybe we won't make a complete fiasco of our opening dance at the Victory Ball.

'And now a cross-body lead followed by another underarm turn. One, two, three –'

It starts off well, and as I start to rotate a swell of freedom blossoms in my chest, like I'm taking flight. I turn back towards Peeta, smiling. I'm half a second away from completing the turn when my right ankle slams into my left and I wobble badly, arms flailing. Peeta's hasty grab for my waist is the only thing keeping me from falling.

And there it is. The sound I've been dreading since I stepped into the room.

Haymitch's laugh starts off quietly but quickly grows and swells until it seems to bounce off the walls. The seconds drag out painfully and my face turns to stone as my arms fall to my sides.

It's only when Peeta puts his hand on my arm that I realise my fists are clenched so tightly my nails are biting into my palms.

'Mr Abernathy, if you can't contain yourself, I suggest you leave,' Celeste says sternly.

After a second he manages to master himself. 'I apologise. You won't hear another sound from me.' Despite the contrite words there's an insolent grin on his face. His eyes flick to mine and I look away quickly, scowling.

'If he laughs one more time, I'll shoot him,' I growl to Peeta.

'Don't let him get to you,' he says soothingly. 'Anyway, it was my fault. I led into the turn too early.'

'Don't lie,' I tell him, but I feel a little better. If Haymitch just keeps his promise and stays quiet then maybe the rest of the lesson will be salvageable.

'I think it's best we switch back to the slow waltz now,' prompts Celeste, and she plucks out the gramophone needle and replaces the record with one we've danced to countless times before.

This time our movements are more coordinated. I only miss every fourth step and I manage not to squeeze Peeta's hand too tightly. Celeste is by no means satisfied, however, hovering around us and nagging us to lower our shoulder blades and rise and fall at the right moments.

In her eyes, dance is a beautiful ideal I'm falling woefully short of. With each criticism my nerves mount and I make more and more blunders. Finally, she loses her patience. 'For the hundredth time, Katniss; it's Peeta who should be leading, not you! Here; watch!'

Impatiently she shoos me aside and takes Peeta's left hand, briskly placing his other hand on her hip. They start to circle the floor. Now that he has a partner who can actually dance, Peeta moves with more confidence. My eyes follow them as I stand helplessly in one spot, knowing that I could live a thousand lifetimes and never be able to dance as well as Celeste. I resolutely avoid looking at Haymitch. I wouldn't be able to bear the pity in his eyes.

Suddenly there's a knock at the door and Mayor Undersee's secretary looks in. 'There's a call for you, Miss Ingram. From the Capitol.'

'They really do have the worst timing!' Celeste huffs, her razor-thin eyebrows rising sharply. 'Fine; I'm coming.' She drops Peeta's hand and crosses the hall with rapid steps. 'Don't stop while I'm gone!' she calls over her shoulder to Peeta and me as she follows the secretary down the corridor, the clipping of her heels slowly fading.

'Ready to try again?' Peeta asks hesitantly, walking over to me.

'Just pretend I'm Celeste,' I say, trying to smile.

Peeta's mouth purses in sympathy. 'You'll be fine, I promise. I really think I'm getting the hang of it now. I bet you will too, this lesson or the next.'

Why is he always so nice? We start dancing, concentrating on the steps. I'd hoped that Celeste's absence would make both of us more confident, but as always we make countless mistakes. I can feel Haymitch's gaze following us back and forth across the floor. Sweat breaks out across my palms as I imagine Peeta and me lurching across the ballroom in Snow's Palace, the watching guests roaring with laughter.

'You two are hopeless.'

At the sound of Haymitch's voice I tense up from fingers to toes. Ignore him, I tell myself, but it's impossible.

'Effie kept telling me you were a work in progress. Clearly that was the understatement of the century.'

'Shut up, Haymitch,' I snap, instantly regretting it. Provoking him is never a good idea.

'You better hope Cinna makes you another dress that lights on fire. That way when you trip you can blame the pyrotechnics.'

I stop so suddenly Peeta almost crashes into me. 'And you could do better?' I demand, twisting to face Haymitch.

A smirk is playing around his mouth as he watches me with cool eyes. 'Is that a challenge, sweetheart?'

I falter – and his eyes flash with silent laughter. 'Yes,' I force out, determined not to be beaten. 'We'll see who's laughing when you're done.'

For a second he doesn't react. Then he nonchalantly pushes himself off the wall and saunters towards me, hands in his pockets. 'You're on.'

I blink in confusion as he stops in front of me.

'Care to dance?' he mocks. 'Or are you expecting me to dance alone? Unless Peeta's willing to follow?' He glances towards Peeta, eyebrows raised.

'No chance; I'm staying out of this,' says Peeta, hands held high.

'Smart choice.' Haymitch turns back to me, smirk firmly in place. 'What's the matter, sweetheart? Having second thoughts?'

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. 'You can actually dance?' I ask, playing for time.

'Is that so surprising? You and Peeta aren't the only Victors to get a ball. Now quit stalling. Yes, or no?'

My eyes narrow to slits. 'Fine. Let's get this over with.'

His smile widens as he steps close. 'Hardly a positive attitude, but I'll take it.'

With one hand he lazily takes mine, raising it to shoulder level, while with the other he reaches for my waist. I feel my skin prickle with disquiet. Apart from Peeta and my family, I'm not used to people touching me – not used to this proximity. As I breathe in I register a sharp smell of liquor, half-obscuring a tangy male scent.

He leans closer, his voice pitched low so only I can hear him.

'Who knows; you might actually enjoy this.' He chuckles softly at my glare.

With every second that passes I grow more conscious of his hand against my side, my self-awareness expanding unbearably until it's barely contained beneath my skin. Suddenly I'm desperate for the dance to begin. Maybe once we start moving I won't be so hyper-aware of the warm weight of his hand against my waist, the largeness of his fingers linked with mine.

'Ready?' I snap.

His eyes flicker. 'Sure, sweetheart, if you'd prefer to dance without music.'

My face scorches and I fight not to duck my head.

'Just a sec; I'll put something on.' Peeta goes over to the gramophone and changes the record. My eyes follow him, then snap back to Haymitch, wary of letting my attention lapse from him for too long.

A slow song starts up, one I've never heard before.

Haymitch shifts his weight onto one foot, listening closely to the music. His characteristic cynicism fades away and I realise I've never seen him like this before, relaxed and absorbed at the same time. His eyes find mine.

'Close your eyes,' he says with a gentleness that surprises me. 'Relax.'

I hesitate, not sure I like the idea of him being able to watch my face while I can't see him. But there's something in his voice, in his expression, that I trust. Drawing in a steady breath I slide my eyelids closed. My skin tingles as I wait for his first move. A moment of stillness – then his fingers press lightly on the small of my back and by instinct I step backwards. He moves with me, exactly in sync and we step again and again, moving in time with the beat.

Even in just these first few seconds it feels different. With Peeta – and under Celeste's critical eye – I'm always tensing up, trying to anticipate every move so I can get them right. It's no wonder it's so difficult for Peeta to dance with me.

But this time, I don't try to lead. I've watched Celeste enough to know instinctively that Haymitch is no expert. But what he lacks in finesse he makes up for in focus, and step by step I feel myself relinquishing control, surrendering to the sequence of movements.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder what Peeta is thinking as he watches us. But gradually even this thought is blotted out.

With my eyes closed my other senses intensify. I feel the hardness of the wooden floor beneath my feet, the steady warmth of Haymitch's hand linked with mine, hear our breathing. Occasionally he stops for a beat, then takes us into the next step, turning me smoothly. If I move too soon, or if he misjudges a step, he calmly adjusts for the mistake, and the dance flows on, uninterrupted.

As he pulls me back in from a turn his fingers graze my waist and my eyes startle open, catching his. I feel a shiver of heat spread outwards from the spot and my pulse speeds up. One look at his face is enough to know that that brief touch was unplanned, an accident. There's a guarded look in his eyes, and I know that if I look away the dance will be lost in some indefinable way.

So I hold his gaze, feeling my heart beat in my throat, and something changes in the way he holds me, in the way we dance. There's a new force to his lead, a new power to the frame of our bodies moving across the floor. His hand presses my waist more firmly as he guides me through the steps, impelling me to step, to turn, to draw away then back again.

Far too soon, the music fades away and we slow to a halt. A burst of applause makes me start. Celeste is back.

'Now that is what a dance should be. Far from technically perfect, of course, but really quite charming. Katniss, if you would only…'

Haymitch still hasn't let go of my hand. Celeste's words fade into a meaningless buzz as I look at him.

My mouth feels dry, and I can feel my heart pounding steadily.

His eyes hold mine, deep, preoccupied. 'Not bad, sweetheart,' he says quietly, and for once his irony is gone. 'Not bad at all.'

Then before I can speak – or even think of something to say, he steps back. 'Well, I can see I'm not needed.' He nods to Peeta, then Celeste. 'See you around.' With one last glance at me he leaves the hall. My eyes stay fixed on his back, disappointment nagging at the edges of my mind.

'Not what I was expecting,' Peeta says wryly, as he rejoins me.

I nod, not quite meeting his eyes. I feel unsteady, like I haven't quite returned to reality. I'm not sure I want to. Not just because it would mean losing the feelings that linger on from the dance, but because it would mean acknowledging that one of those feelings was attraction. To Haymitch.

At once I shove the thought away. It didn't mean anything. It was the dance; nothing to do with him. Next time I see him he'll be his usual drunk and unpleasant self and it'll mean less than ever.

Peeta reaches for me and I step into his arms as the familiar waltz starts up again. Already I can feel that other dance blurring at the edges. Good, I tell myself as we start to move. It was just a dance; nothing more.

Thanks for reading. Please leave a review :)

I am currently working on a dark AU story for Haymitch/Katniss so keep an eye out if you're interested.