Haymitch half sits up, a hand around the handle of his knife, ready to kill whoever wants him dead, before he collapses again on his stomach when he realizes he's still aboard the train. He has gone straight to his room after dinner but Peeta, damn him, had it cleaned out of all sorts of liquors and there has been nothing to do but lie down and try to get some sleep. Easier said than done, though. He has drifted off now and then but it's hard enough to sleep at home, where he's relatively safe, it's near to impossible to do so on the train. And Katniss' recurring piercing screams as she wakes up from another nightmare make it all the more difficult.

Dinner had been an awkward affair. Peeta had refused to speak to him, Katniss had still been upset for being unable to say her goodbyes to her family and Effie had spent her time glancing guiltily from him to Peeta. He had still been too stunned by the reaping and Effie's odd confession to do much more than munching his meat and reflecting on how his life could have taken such a drastic turn. He means what he's told her, nobody had ever done something that foolish for him. He doesn't know how that makes him feel. He does know he would have done something equally reckless to save her, it seems stupid not to acknowledge that now, when they were so close to the ending. It had helped him to get a grip on himself. If Effie hadn't been so very obviously on the verge of fainting earlier, if she hadn't collapsed against him like she did… He would have gone nuts. His hands are still shaking, even know, and that has nothing to do with his constant thirst for alcohol. It's fear, he knows, pure and untamable terror. He's going back. He's going back and if he thinks about it, he will go mad. So, all things considered, it was probably a good thing that Effie had chosen that moment to turn his world upside down.

Now, all he had to do was find a way to get Katniss to win the games and try to secure a safe pass for Effie after all hell breaks loose. Because, he's sure it will break loose eventually. The first thing he has to do when they finally get to the Capitol is find Plutarch and see if they've got something planned to help them out of this hell. He doesn't think they do and he doesn't think they're going to tell him anything. All his contacts with the rebellion have been abruptly severed after the Quarter Quell announcement. They'd put him on the sidelines.

He's just beginning to doze off again when another scream makes him reach for his knife instinctively. He forces himself to relax, drop the weapon, and go back to this passable imitation of sleep he's doing, all the while cursing Katniss for not being able to keep it to herself. He buries his face in the pillow. He's wondering if it's possible for a man to suffocate himself with a pillowcase full of feathers when someone knocks on his door. It's strange enough to make him raise his head again.

"Come in" he barks, after another series of knocks.

Under the pillow, his hand is on the knife, just in case. He doesn't think agents of the Capitol would politely knock on his door before trying to kill him but you never know these days.

The figure that slips through the gap of the door is so small that he thinks it's Katniss at first – which would be weird because Katniss is more likely to run to Peeta than to him – but when she steps a little closer, he can see her properly in the night-lights he always leaves on because the dark makes him nervous. She's wearing a nightgown under a satin dressing gown that shimmers in the soft lights. Her hair are loose, her real hair, and he wouldn't have peg her for a blond but there she is, dark blond curls barely reaching her shoulders.

He moistens his lips, aware that it's probably gross, but it's automatic really. For an heartbeat, he thinks that she's actually making a pass at him, that she wants to make the most of the time they have left because she knows there won't be an after the arena, but then, he stops staring at her body to look at her face and he's glad he's still on his stomach because this has nothing to do with lust. She isn't wearing any make-up which isn't surprising given her state of undress, she seems oddly frail without any of it, younger too. Despite the fact that she's totally decent – even if the gown is a little shorter than what she usually wears – she looks naked to him without her wig and her make-up.

"I had a nightmare" she says, so softly he's not sure he heard her right.

She's worrying her hands and he would like nothing more than to reach out to her, but, really, that's not his scene. He's not good at that kind of thing. He rests his head on his pillow, once again, and pretends he doesn't see the tears in her eyes.

"And you want a membership card? You have to go to Katniss for that," he mumbles, his voice's rough from disuse and… other things. "She's the club's administrator."

"You were dying" She seems out of breath as if she has just run for miles. "I was in my flat and I was watching the Games and you were dying and I… I couldn't do anything."

She's shaking but he can't tell if it's from cold or from fear.

This is wrong on so many levels… With a sigh, he lifts up the covers in invitation.

"This isn't proper" she states.

He's so not in the mood for one of the lectures she keeps giving Katniss and Peeta.

"Well, I don't think it is really proper for an escort to run into a tribute's room in the middle of the night either." His arm is getting tired and he would like her to make a choice before dawn. "I will be a gentleman, I promise."

She glares at him and eyes the bed dubiously.

"Do you have something on under that sheet?" she asks and apparently she can't receive a compliment without turning this lovely shade of red but she can ask that kind of question without even batting an eyelash. He rolls his eyes but lowers the cover a little more, just so she can see that even if he's bare chest, he does indeed wear pants. "Oh."

"Was that disappointment I heard?" he jokes when she finally climbs in bed with him.

He's hoping for a blush or an outraged shriek but all she does is pull back the covers on them both.

"Perhaps."

He can hear the smile in her voice and it doesn't help him at all think of other things than the fact that there is a woman in his bed and that he has been celibate a little too long for his liking. He expected cuddling – which he is not entirely fond of – but he's surprised to be manhandled from his stomach to his side. In no time, she's snuggled up against him, her back pressed to his chest and his arm around her waist – over the cover because he doesn't trust himself – and her head on his other arm which is going to go numb in a matter of minutes but he's not complaining. And if she realizes something's a little too pleased to see her, she's kind enough not to mention it.

"It was a nightmare," he says, even if they both know it's a lie. "Not some kind of prophetic dream."

Up close, he can see her hair's not really blond, more like a rich honey.

"Didn't you say we should start believing in fate?" Her retort makes him smile.

"I say a lot of crap."

"That you do."

He snorts and burrows his nose in her hair just because he can. It smells like flowers – deeply exotic flowers, of course, not the kind you would find in the meadow, at home, but it suits her better than her expensive perfume – and it's really soft against his cheek. He muses for some time about what it would be like to wake up his face buried in her hair and then he begins to panic because her breathing has even out. He can't let her fall asleep in his bed. It's too dangerous. What if he finally goes to sleep and wakes up to find out he has killed her in a nightmare induced fit of madness?

"Haymitch?"

He's so relived she's not asleep – and not about to be murdered by his subconscious – that he holds her a little tighter. He could get used to that, holding her…

"I want you to promise me something."

Of course she does. Women are always trying to extract some kind of promises out of him.

"There's a reason I always tell my one-night-stands I'm secretly married." he deadpans "I don't want that kind of noose around my neck, so please don't ask because I'm not sure I can say no to you."

She's silent for several seconds. He can't tell if she's amused or pissed. "I'm glad I'm not just one of your one-night-stands, I'm less glad to learn there are one-night-stands."

"I'm a crown victor, sweetheart, it kind of goes with the job. " He tries not to sound too bitter but it does anyway.

"Do you call them sweetheart, too?" she snaps.

He's torn, for several seconds, between joking the topic away and telling the truth. And then, he thinks, what the hell, after all? She cares about him enough to risk her life to keep him out of the arena, he sincerely doubts she's going to run away on him now.

"I call them whatever they want me too," he says "and afterwards, I take the money or whatever I'm supposed to get, smile and look grateful beyond measure."

She tenses in his arms, he regrets ever saying anything, maybe it's too much. He doesn't know exactly how aware she is of the Capitol's power on the victors. Does she know that the arena is just the beginning? He was lucky enough, on that account. The Capitol had understood soon enough that he wouldn't be their ideal playboy, they got Finnick for that, now, he supposes. But it doesn't mean he doesn't have to pay in flesh, sometimes, when sponsors are old cows that fancy themselves beautiful but that nobody would touch with half-foot pole. It could be worse, though. They have nothing to threaten him with, they have killed the only people he has ever cared about and he's notorious for not caring about much else except his liquor.

"If it wasn't so unladylike, I think I would like to borrow that knife of yours and hunt down everyone who has ever hurt you." He wasn't expecting a judgmental comment but her cold determination is worse, somehow, than any cutting words she could have chosen. Her voice is bursting with hatred and she isn't cut out for hatred. Effie is made of joy, colors and laughter. That's what he loves about her, you couldn't look at her and not fall in love with her, it wasn't possible. She was too bright, too lively, too… She was everything he wasn't anymore, everything he would never be again.

"No, you really wouldn't." he refutes. "Blood is awfully hard to clean off clothes."

He kisses the pale skin of her shoulder, just at the edge between her neck and the collar of her gown, and she melts against him. The arm under her head has gone numb but he doesn't want to move, he doesn't want to ever move again.

"You changed the subject" Her hand's moving up and down his forearm slowly, her nails barely scraping the skin but it was enough to be distracting. He was sure he was meant to be distracted. "I want your word."

"Everybody wants my word, these days." His sigh blows some of her hair but she doesn't seem to mind. "What can I do for you?"

"I want you to promise me to fight. I don't want to you to sacrifice yourself for…" she hesitates, then, and she wonders if she will have the gut to say her name... "For anyone."

"Don't worry," he scoffs "I'm not that noble."

"You did it for Peeta." she points out. "And I know you care about Katniss."

"You care about them too," he says. "And I think you may not see the real picture, here. In the arena, I will be the liability for Katniss not the other way around. I'm old, I'm alcoholic and I couldn't hit a target if it hit me in the face. I may be able to make it out of a hand to hand combat but that's not sure."

"Don't talk like that." she begs. "Don't talk as if you were going to die."

He rolls on his back with a sigh and she turns around to face him. On the plus side, his arm is free to regain feeling, on the bad side, she's not snuggled against him anymore. He studies her in the semi-darkness. He wants to tell her he is going to die, there's no if in there, but he doesn't know how to do that without breaking her heart.

"Everything's my fault, isn't it?" she asks, softly. "If I hadn't cheated, Peeta would have volunteered and you would be fine."

"If you hadn't cheated, you wouldn't be in my bed and I think I like it better that way." He wraps a strand of her hair around his finger, watching the ways it curls on itself and bounces back when he lets go. "I thought they would be short because of the wigs."

"There's a net you…" Suddenly she stops and her eyes widens and she steals the pillow to cover her head. "Don't look at me! I'm hideous."

He nearly roars with laughter and struggles to make her drop the pillow.

"Stop that!" she shrieks "Stop laughing at me!"

"Stop being stupid, then" he jokes once he's finally managed to snatch the pillow away. "You couldn't be hideous if you tried."

"But I don't have any make-up on." she pouts "And my hair…"

"I love it." he swears. "I mean it. You're beautiful, you know that. Everybody knows that."

She doesn't really seem convinced but she doesn't try to smoother herself with the pillow so he counts that as a victory. And she's blushing again. He finds it a little odd that she can shot back innuendo for innuendo with a blank face but can't accept a compliment without her cheeks turning red.

"I am sorry, you know." She sits up and the covers pool in her lap. "I really am."

"You didn't know." He wishes she would stop coming back to that because he can't help but wonder what would have happen if she had called out his name. Peeta would have volunteered and then… "What's done is done, no point thinking about it."

"I knew I would be sending Peeta back." Her head is lowered and he can't see her face properly but he knows there is guilt there. "I knew it would be awful and I would never be able to look in the mirror again but I couldn't… I made my choice when they announced what the Quarter Quell would be, you know. I made my choice. I was so foolish. I didn't think it through. I've never even thought that one of you would volunteer for the other. I just wanted to save you… I was going to save you, no matter what, and then…"

He cups her cheek with his shaking hand and when she finally meets his eyes, he feels something warm and soft ripping open in his chest.

"And then?"

Her hand wraps around his wrist as if she's afraid he will pull it back if he doesn't like what she says. He won't, though.

"And then you would love me."

It's barely a whisper.

"Already did, sweetheart."

Her lips part from shock but he doesn't give her time to recover. He's already sitting up, the hand that was on her face slides to the back of her neck and he kisses her. Hard. She gives as good as she gets, though, and she leans into the kiss, a hand on his chest, the other clutching his arm.

"Not really proper that, is it?" he smirks, between two kisses.

"Oh, shut up!" she snaps and kisses him some more.

Soon, there's a lot less clothes and he feels a little guilty because she's not the kind of woman you bed for a few nights – and he has only a handful of those left – she's the kind of woman you wed. However, she doesn't ask for that kind of promises but she does threaten to castrate him when he tries to slow down, to stop maybe, so he gives up to temptation and need and want.

Later, when she's sprawled on his chest, he absent-mindedly draws patterns on her lower back and fights the drowsiness. It's not safe for her to stay there if he falls asleep, it's not safe he reminds himself, but he can't help drifting off a little.

"You will fight, Haymitch." she commands, out of the blue, and her arms tighten around him. "You will fight to come back to me."

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, the smell of flowers is almost overwhelming.

"I'm not going down without a fight," he swears.

"You're not going down, at all" she refutes.

He doesn't know how to make her understand, he doesn't know how to explain… Even if the other victors weren't his friends…

"I have absolutely no chance in hell to win this thing, Effie." Being blunt may be the way, he thinks. Katniss does, but he doesn't say that because that's not what she wants to hear and now he's a little afraid of the lengths she's capable of going to. Peeta will only have Katniss in mind during the games, what if she tries to highjack the sponsors he finds for the girl?

"Let's run, then."

He wants to laugh but he also wants to cry a little and that's a terrible thought because he can't remember the last time he's shed a tear. "Run? I don't think wigs and high heels are very practical when you're on the run, sweetheart."

"Let me worry about my outfits." she snaps "Do you think you would have a better chance if we try to run?"

All things considered? Probably. If they had taken off when Katniss had offered, they may have survived. But now?

"Not anymore" he says. "There's nothing we can do."

"You're giving up." she accuses him. "You can't give up."

"I'm not giving up but we should be realistic, here. The odds aren't in my favor." he scorns.

"There must be something we can do" she mumbles against his shoulder.

His only answer is to kiss the top of her head. There's nothing to do and they both know it. They have mentored and escorted enough tributes to know there isn't.

She ends up falling asleep on his chest and he tries not to doze off but he knows it's a losing fight so he throws the knife out of reach, just in case. And then he does drift off. One second he's playing quietly with Effie's hair, the next he shots upright when someone barges in his room without knocking first.

"Haymitch, we have a problem. Effie's missing. They say we're very late and we've searched the whole train but… wow!" Katniss gapes at them, completely stunned.

"Good morning to you too," he says, smugly. "I found Effie."

Effie, who is currently trying to no avail to melt into the sheets out of pure embarrassment.

"Katniss, did you wake him?" Peeta shouts before entering his room – still without knocking. "She's nowhere I… wow!" The boy turns his back on them at Effie's shriek. "I think I'm traumatized."

"We're all traumatized." Haymitch says, sensibly. "Now, could you both get the fuck out of my room?"

"Wait, you said very late. Exactly how late are we ?" Effie pips from under the covers.

"Not that late." Peeta grins, and drags Katniss out of the room. "Do… What you want to do. We'll manage."

The door slams shut behind him and Haymitch has only time to count to three before he hears them burst out laughing in the corridor.

"What are you doing?" he asks Effie who's gathering her belongings. "You heard the boy, we're not that late."

He pulls her back on the bed, her talk of being on time and responsibilities and work flying right above his head. He kisses that spot just behind her ear and she muffles a frustrated scream in his shoulder because she knows they will be late but she still kisses him back and he's laughing then because he's happy, simple as that. Her blond hair makes a kind of halo around her head on the white sheets and he thinks, before she kisses him again, that he would have liked to wake up with her every morning for the rest of his life. Yes… He would have liked that very much.