Desdemona Spire was running late the morning she heard the news. She was always running late these days. The Bid was taking up most of her time.

She burst into the large café, glancing around for her cousin, Cressida, who she found sitting casually at a table by the far window. Desdemona shifted her bag further up her shoulder and strode over, the heels of her flats clacking on the tile floor. Cressida rose and greeted her cousin warmly.

"I am so sorry I'm late!" Desdemona apologized, returning her cousin's hug. The two had been trying to meet for weeks, but Desdemona had kept rescheduling due to work.

"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad we got to meet. There's something rather important I want to talk to you about." Cressida explained coolly, but there was a hint of mystery to her voice that intrigued Desdemona. Before she could ask for specifics, the server stopped by the table and Desdemona ordered a cappuccino. Cressida was halfway through a cup of black coffee already.

"I love what you did with your hair!" Desdemona commented, noting the half-shaved look was very in right now. Perhaps she could get Emett to try it with one of the victors this year.

"Thank you! I'm thinking about adding some tattoos. How are things in the victor fashion industry?" Cressida smiled her demure smile at her lovely cousin. Desdemona ran a hand through her long auburn hair, which was offset by her incredibly bright blue eyes and pale skin.

"Ugh! Don't get me started! First of all, since Seneca Crane is becoming Head Gamemaker, we're going to have to put in a bid this year. My mother wants me to do it, can you believe that?! She's going to retire and hand over the reins to me," she quickly explained, taking a sip of her cappuccino after the waitress dropped it off, "And since it's my first year, not only do I have to present it to President Snow, I have to do boys and girls fashions! That's why I've been so busy lately. It's because I'm new and he wants to test me; claims it's policy but that's total crap. So you know what I did?"

Her mother, Calpurnia, at the ripe old age of forty-seven, had decided to retire after twenty-three years as the stylist for District Four in the annual Hunger Games. Upon her retirement she would resume her position at her fashion house that she ran with the assistance of her son, Augustus, while Desdemona would run The Hunger Games portion of the business.

"What did you do?"

"I offered to personally tailor a suit for President Snow!" Desdemona bragged and Cressida's jaw dropped. Desi had always been known in the family for her impulsiveness, but this one could actually lose her the better portion of her mother's business.

"You did not!"

"I did! Crane couldn't believe it. He tried to talk me out of it but I insisted. Gus and I have been at it for six days! This was the first time I've left the office since our meeting." Desdemona took more frantic sips, trying to refuel as quickly as possible before heading back to the office.

"Well I don't want to keep you,"

"No, no, no, no, no! You are a most welcome distraction, my dear cousin! Now let's eat lunch and talk about something other than my big mouth." Desdemona interrupted Cressida and put on a comically strained smile.

Cressida had just opened her mouth to respond when the Capitol Theme blasted over the sound system and Caesar Flickerman's lime-tinged face appeared on screens around the café. Desdemona thought he looked as if he had disturbing news to share, and not just because his face was green.

And she was right.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I'm Caesar Flickerman, here to deliver…most upsetting news from District Four."

Desdemona's heart leapt into her throat and her thoughts raced to Finnick. As far as she knew Finnick was still in the Capitol, but he would come and go as he saw fit with little to no warning.

"Desi? You're pale." Cressida placed a hand over her cousin's, who shushed her as her eyes were locked on the screen. Indeed, the entire café seemed to be holding its breath along with her.

"At nine forty three this morning, our beloved Victor Annie Cresta was involved in a most unfortunate sailing accident. She did not survive." Caesar's eyes welled with tears and he dabbed them away with a flourish of his hand. "President Snow has declared that flags be flown at half mast to mark the passing of this heroic young woman, and is planning a memorial service for tomorrow in the Victor's Square."

After that, Desdemona stopped listening. She had known Annie; her mother's partner Tress had been Annie's stylist. But she hadn't really known her. What her favorite color had been. The names of her parents. If she had any siblings. What she had known was how much Annie meant to Finnick.

She knew all of those seemingly trivial things about Finnick (his favorite color was light blue; His parents were Johann and Selene, his mother was deceased; one younger brother, Shell, should be around eighteen by now). By virtue of her apprenticeship with her mother, she had been in Finnick's proximity for the better part of nine years. For this reason (and a few others), they had gravitated toward each other and now Desdemona could feel the pull more than usual. She threw down some cash and apologized to her cousin, bustling out of the café just as quickly as she had bustled in.

She took the next train to the Victor's Square stop and rolled her eyes at the small group of "mourners" who were already starting to gather there. This usually happened after the death of a victor, but this one was different. Annie had won the Hunger Games a mere three years ago, so the wounds the Capitol felt were relatively fresh. A pang of guilt hit her in the gut as she entered the lobby of Finnick's apartment building and proceeded to the elevator.

She'd always loved this building. Like the rest of the Victor's Square, it was an old neoclassical structure but with modern glass accents. It was meant for Victors' use only, but with her status as a stylist she could access the building. The elevator stopped at the second-highest floor and she got out, practically sprinting down the carpeted hallway to Finnick's door.

She pounded on the door, "Finnick! Finnick, please tell me you're in there!" she shouted through the door. Her worry abated when she heard slow, shuffling footsteps approaching the door.

The door opened slowly, a morose-faced Finnick leaning against it as if it was the only thing holding him upright. His sea-green eyes met her sparkling blue ones and she entered his apartment without an invitation, throwing her arms around his neck. This was quite an accomplishment, as he was a full head taller than she was. He closed the door and stood there, uncomfortably accepting Desi's hug.

"I'm so sorry Finnick." She said into his chest.

"Are you done?" he asked irritably. She let go and took a step back, looking at him confusedly. "What?"

"Um…I thought you could use a hug?" she said, raising her voice at the end of her sentence, but not in the annoying Capitol way. In fact, she had the lightest Capitol accent Finnick had ever heard, only affecting certain words.

"Why? Because my girlfriend was murdered?" He walked deeper into his lavish apartment, heading straight for the bar.

"What? No, Finnick, it was a sailing accident! Caesar said - " She followed him, shouting after him to make sure she was heard.

"Oh, come on, Desdemona! You cannot possibly be that naïve!" He shouted back at her, grabbing a bottle of spiced rum and pouring himself a glass, slamming the bottle down when he was done.

"But who could've…" she trailed off, the pieces falling together in her mind as Finnick stared at her expectantly, "Oh God…" Her eyes widened as she remembered the news he had shared with her not three days ago. He had decided to propose to Annie, but needed to end his unseemly career before he felt comfortable marrying her, so he'd met with the President. Apparently it did not go well.

"Yeah. I try to back out of the game, argue my point that I've made him a lot of money over the years and have more than done my duty…" he downed the glass and poured another. Desi crossed the room and put a hand on his wrist to stop him from downing another.

"Finnick…is there anything I can do?" She had thought about denying his involvement but she knew exactly how ruthless President Snow could be.

He looked at her, this wonderful, beautiful, incredibly surprising woman who had been his friend for nearly a decade, and saw the concern etched on her face. What had he done to deserve a friend like her?

"Have a drink with me." He said. It wasn't a question or a request, more like a hope. Desdemona briefly thought of all the work that awaited her back at Spire Fashions and that she couldn't really afford to take an afternoon off to get drunk with her friend; hell, she could barely afford the time it had taken to met with Cressida and yet here she was, completely derailed from her original purpose.

"One drink." She said firmly as they retreated to the bedroom; the one room in the apartment that didn't have a screen blaring the details of Annie's life and showing highlights of her Games and Victory Tour. Finnick brought with him the bottle of rum and Desi momentarily wondered why he bothered with a glass. Her heart ached for him, wishing there was something she could say or do to make it all better but knowing that this was a crushing blow for him.

"Suit yourself. I plan on having many drinks." His face was dark and his voice even darker as he flicked on the lights of his bedroom. His neatly made four poster bed looked mighty inviting to Desi as she hadn't had a decent night's sleep in nearly a month. The presentation was in three days and as badly as she wanted to get back to the office, she wanted to make sure Finnick didn't drink himself into oblivion even more.

He sat on the floor next to his bed, leaning his back against it with his long legs stretched out in front of him. Desi sat next to him and sipped her drink, unsure of what to say. Perhaps all he needed was for someone to be present.

"So…how's the bid coming?" he asked conversationally.

"Finn, we don't have to talk if you don't want to." Her voice holding a gentle tone that he wasn't used to hearing from her.

"I could use the distraction. Please."

She sighed, "The bid is going well. We've got our models signed on already and Gus is about ready to blow a gasket over how much I'm spending on this special fabric from District Eight, but I told him that Snow will expect the best, so the best is what we will give him."

"Why would Snow care about the fabric you use? As long as it looks good I don't think he gives a rat's ass if it's special or not."

"I forgot to mention that I'm…custom tailoring a suit for President Snow." She said quietly, bashfully sipping her drink.

"What? Why?"

She lowered the glass and looked at his incredibly handsome face, seeing a fair amount of concern crease his noble brow.

"He doesn't think I have what it takes, so I'm going to show him that I do." She explained with a half-hearted shrug.

Finnick let out a frustrated sigh, "Are you kidding me? Snow doesn't like playing games, Desi. He likes winning. If you show him up he'll – "

"Show him up? I'm trying to impress him, not beat him! I'm trying to instill in him the same confidence that he had in my mother's abilities because if I don't, my mother's company and me are dead in the water. We can't live off of the dozen or so commissions we get every year; we need the Games. And I know how horrible and hypocritical that sounds, but until I've got any other options that's where I am." She defended, throwing her arms about in order to make her point.

"I'm not talking about your intentions, I'm talking about his! Being challenged like this has got to piss him off, and when he's pissed at people bad things happen! Things like Annie's accident or my mother's sudden illness. All I'm saying is watch your back."

"I will. You know I will." She said calmly, trying to placate his sudden anger rather than responding with her own.

"I just…I can't lose you too." His voice broke slightly and she could see his eyes getting glassy with tears as he looked down at his hands, setting his jaw.

"Hey," She reached out her hand and lifted his face to meet hers, "You won't ever lose me. Ever." She promised and Finnick could tell that, as far as she was aware, she

was telling the truth. She didn't think that she would fall prey to Snow because her Capitoline heritage somehow made her off-limits. Finnick knew the ugly truth; that no one was safe from Snow, not even his allies.

Instead of ruining her tender display of kindness with the knowledge that Snow could very well kill her at some point in the future, he shifted himself toward her and wrapped her in his arms, burying his face in the nook where her shoulder met her neck. Her hair smelled of jasmine and honey, just like usual. He used the scent to ground himself, panic threatening to carry him away.

Desdemona returned his hug, gripping him tightly. They held each other for a long moment before his grip slackened and he moved back to his original position, picking his drink up off of the carpet and downing it.

"You want to know the worst part about all this?" he asked, and Desi realized he had switched topics back to Annie.

"What?" she asked, blue eyes scanning him intently.

He smirked bitterly, "I can't even mourn her properly. They'll probably expect me to give a speech at her funeral but…I can't let on that she and I were…" he trailed off and her put her small hand over his larger one and squeezed it.

"If you need to talk, I'm a phone call away. Even if you're in District Four, I'll hop on a train and be there as fast as I can."

His smirk turned genuine as he looked at her face. The intercom interrupted before he could thank her, "Mister Odair, your car is downstairs."

"Shit!" he swore and looked over his bed at the clock on the far bedside table. He had a client that afternoon and was nowhere near presentable enough.

"Client?" Desdemona asked, lifting herself to her feet, ready to make her exit.

"Yeah. You should go, I've held you up long enough." He stood as well and placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the door. Because of his arrangement with President Snow, Finnick was in and out of the Capitol every few months. Desi had only found out about it because her mother had paid him for a night of his time as her sixteenth birthday gift. Naturally, Desi had been horrified to find that her friend was subjected to such flagrant abuse of personal freedom and had refused to sleep with him.

"Come on, Desi," he said seductively, advancing on her and brushing one hand over her dark red hair while the other drifted to her hip, "I see the way you look at me. You want this. You want me to kiss you…"

She pushed away from him violently, "No!" Hot, angry tears formed in her eyes as she hugged herself, rubbing her arms to ward off an imaginary chill.

"No?" He stood opposite her, confused. No one had refused him before. He was Finnick Odair, Boy Wonder and Capitol Darling. Women (and a surprising number of men) were constantly prostrating themselves for a minute of his time. But, as usual, Desdemona did not fit into the Capitoline mold.

"Not like this! Never like this!" She half-yelled at him, holding herself tighter, "If you kiss me, Finnick, it should be because you want to, not because you're being paid to!"

"Are you coming to the presentation? It's on Thursday at the Tribute Center." Her voice in the here and now snapped him from his reverie.

"What time?" he asked, determined to go see her bid and possibly help sway the vote in her favor. In all his time in the Capitol, he'd never seen anyone work as hard as Desdemona. She deserved to keep her spot as a stylist.

"One o'clock." She answered, one foot out the door but not budging. She wanted to hear his answer.

"I'll be there." He promised, leaning against the door.

"Don't be late! And seriously, Finnick, call me if you need to talk." She insisted one more time, tossing him one last pitying look before striding down the hallway toward the elevator. He watched her go, the movement of her hips causing the fabric of her skirt to swish gracefully against her bare legs.

He shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts he was having for his best friend. She was Capitoline and he was from the Districts; there was no reconciling such fundamental differences. It was why he had pursued Annie. She at least had understood where he came from, his upbringing, what it was like to go hungry, to know the pain of a hard day's work, or to lose everything in a hurricane.

Desdemona was a princess in a golden tower; Annie was the girl next door.

His heart lurched. Was.

He felt sick as he closed the door, but forced himself to put on a smile. He had a client to see that night, and he couldn't disappoint.


Hello my lovelies! This story is one I'm pretty excited about. Let me know what you guys think and I'll hopefully post more soon!

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