21.

Haymitch raised his liquor-free cocktail as a toast. "One down. One to go."

"That's how you coach Katniss and Peeta for the World Championships?" Finnick mocked. "Or is that how you and Effie are getting ready for the gala. That's soon. You're ready? Nervous? Anxious?" The boy flashed him a wolf-grin. "Do you need advices, old man?"

Everyone at the table laughed. Haymitch shook his head, annoyed not to be annoyed by that young peacock. The hotel bar was full and the buzz from the surrounding conversations was making his head spin and his throat parched for something a little stronger than a virgin margarita – he hadn't even known virgin margaritas existed. They had decided to celebrate the end of the competition after the gala exhibition of that afternoon and he didn't know how to feel about everyone picking non alcoholic beverages out of deference for him. It was well-meant certainly, but it also made him think about liquor and…

"We will manage just fine, Finnick, thank you very much." Effie cut in, stirring her iced tea with the straw distractedly. Her eyes kept shifting to the dance floor in the corner of the room but his eyes were drawn to the thin silver charm bracelet around her wrist. She hadn't been wearing it since he had come to Aspen, now she was, and he didn't quite know what to make of that.

"I can't wait to watch you make a spectacle of yourself." Jo snorted. "How long do you think you will last before you fall on your ass, Trinket?"

"Longer than you did at Nationals." Katniss retorted. "But that won't be hard…"

The girls glared at each other but Johanna wasn't done. "Seriously? You're not afraid of the comparison? 'Cause I heard Enobaria and Brutus would be skating too…"

"It's not a competition." he grumbled. "It's for charity."

"Please." Jo scoffed. "Maybe there won't be a jury and medals at the end of it, but you know everyone's going to compare. Old glories back on ice… It's always about who should have stayed at home and who's the most ready for a nursing home."

"I do believe Haymitch and I are not quite ready for the nursing home yet." Effie hummed. "I also do believe it is none of your business what we do or not."

"I'm impatient to see you skate." Peeta offered. "I'm sure it will be great."

"As I am." Mags cut in, her voice raspy. "I had always hoped I would see you skate again before I die."

"You'll never die, Mags." Finnick objected. "You're immortal."

The old woman made a dismissive wave, smiling fondly at the boy. "Why don't you ask your girl to dance, boy?"

Annie perked up at that and flashed Finnick a sweet smile, immediately holding out her hand. He kissed it reverently and turned it around to drop a kiss on the inside of her wrist. "My lady's desire is my command."

Effie nudged him with her foot under the table. "See? That is how a proper gentleman behaves."

He lifted a challenging eyebrow. "If only you were into gentlemen and not bad boys, sweetheart…"

She narrowed her eyes at him in irritation.

"Do you want to dance?" Peeta swiftly asked Katniss, hand already outstretched.

Haymitch didn't think Katniss wanted to dance but she very much wanted to get away from their bickering, so she grabbed the offered hand and followed the boy to where Finnick and Annie were already wriggling. It was a loud pop music and it made him want to cringe.

Effie stared at him with a pointed look he ignored, sipping his cocktail slowly, until Johanna rolled her eyes and stood up, hauling her to her feet by the arm. "Come on, Trinket, we don't need men to have fun."

He didn't know if it was really wise for Johanna to be perched on her brand new sparkly heels – louboutin, he had been lectured at length when he had called them shoes – given that her ankle was still weak but he held his tongue. Effie wanted to dance and better Jo than him.

Mags switched chairs to sit next to him so she didn't have to strain her voice to speak in the crowded room. "Do you still have the ring?"

"What ring?" he frowned. She gave him a pointed look and his frown deepened. "How do you know about that?"

"Did you truly think you could get something like this past me, boy?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "You had this habit of playing with the box when you were nervous and her back was turned. You kept it in your pocket. I was never blind."

Had he? He had never realized.

"She doesn't know about that." he shrugged. "Don't tell her."

"That's your secret to tell, not mine." Mags granted easily. "But are you going to use it?"

"Propose?" he scorned. "That ship has sailed."

"Has it?" she hummed. "You love her still, boy. And she never stopped loving you."

"I'm forty." he scoffed, not bothering to deny because she would simply glare. "Look, I thought getting married was stupid at twenty-five… But at forty? It's just ridiculous." He drummed on the table impatiently. "Besides, she's not even… We're not…"

"Your relationship is a work in progress." she countered. "All relationships are."

"What difference does it make?" he grumbled. "That ring's been collecting dust in a drawer for years… Best to let sleeping dogs lie."

"Let them lie too long and they die." She clicked her tongue. "Life is short, boy."

"You have any other banality to offer?" he snorted. "A ring on her finger won't make anything better, Mags."

"She thought you didn't love her when you left." she declared. "It would do her good to know you did."

"She knows why I left." he mumbled. "We discussed it."

Well… Discuss was a big word. They hadn't really talked about it since the night of the gala. The texts were still on his phone.

"And she forgave you." Mags insisted.

"It's not about forgiveness…" he stated. "We're past that. It's about trust."

Trust that he wouldn't leave again.

Trust that she would put them first.

And he figured that was why she was so desperate for them to go back on the rink together. Through daily training and hours spent rehearsing, they were slowly building that back properly, not just leaning on what had been there before but rediscovering it, making sure it was strong enough to hold…

He wanted this, her. He wanted it badly. But despite everything he still had doubts. He was afraid he would fuck up again and she would suffer. He was afraid he would relapse and fall back on alcohol. He was afraid… He didn't deserve her and he was afraid she would realize that. He was afraid they had been doomed from the start and they were just too stubborn to admit it fifteen years later. He was afraid she would be hurt again because of his own stupidity.

"Rule one." he muttered under his breath.

"Rule one was never about you playing martyr." she sighed. "Haymitch… You two are good for each other. You are better together. She was a spoiled little girl with an inferiority complex who was desperate to prove herself when she met you. She couldn't have stood up to Elindra if her life had been on the line…"

"That woman is a bitch." he growled. He had called Plutarch to let him know what she had tried to do – although they had no proof naturally – because he didn't want any surprise of the sort at the World Championships. He wouldn't put anything past the dragon. What if they arrived in Canada only to find out she had managed to rule them out of the competition? Plutarch had promised he would look into it and keep her in check as much as possible – if anyone could, it was him; neither Haymitch nor Effie had ever wanted to look too closely at the nature of the friendship they shared.

"And she realized that because of you." Mags triumphed. "You helped her understand she was more than what her mother saw. And you… She…"

"You don't have to tell me what she did for me." he snapped. "I know what she did for me."

He had been lost before her.

He had wanted to die. Join his family and that guy he had killed. It hadn't seemed fair for him to live when they were all dead.

It was her constant bossing him around that had saved him, her nagging and her pushing… Her need to transform him into the perfect figure skater… She had worn him off every day, forcing him to work his ass off from dawn to dusk, making him so tired he had had no time for thinking when he had dropped on his bed at night… She had crawled her way into his heart and then… Then he had found something to live for: their shared dreams, a future, her…

"You helped too." he whispered, embarrassed for no good reason. He had never properly thanked Mags.

"Then do me a favor, boy." she smiled. "Never give up on her again. I never birthed any children but I found a lot of those along the way… I know Finnick, Annie and Johanna will be alright no matter what. They have Effie. But I need to know Effie will have you. And I need to know you will have her."

"What are you talking about?" he sneered. "Stop talking like that. Sounds like you're dying or some shit."

"We are all dying a little more with every new day." she shrugged. "I am just closer to the finish line than you are."

"Mags…" he frowned but he was interrupted by Effie who placed a hand on his shoulder, a bright smile on her lips.

"Come dance with me." she demanded.

"No way." he scoffed.

"Haymitch. Let me put it in another way." she said very seriously. "We are in Paris, they are playing a slow song… You are dancing with me."

She dragged him up and away before he could argue some more and he automatically wrapped his arms around her waist when she locked hers around his neck.

"Bossy." he accused.

She rested her head on his shoulder, not bothering to deny it.

"We will always have Paris, won't we?" she hummed.

"I hate this line." he commented.

"And yet…" she replied, a little bitterly.

"And yet." he repeated, pressing a furtive kiss against her hair.

°O°

"We won, we won, we won…" she kept chanting like a mantra, clinging to his arm like a child.

"Did we?" he smirked. "I didn't realize…"

"Oh, hush, Haymitch." she grinned. "It's the first time we win a competition. Let me enjoy."

Coming to Paris had been the greatest idea Mags ever had and exactly what they needed after the disaster that had been Nationals. Not only had they shared a perfect afternoon in the city but they had been simply astounding during the competition itself. They had been flawless, more in synch than ever before…

"How's the knee?" he asked.

She waved that question away. There was the familiar tinge of pain but she was so euphoric she didn't even feel it. She pressed herself against his arm as they walked toward the exit of the stadium, he adjusted his grip on both of their sport bags.

"We should celebrate." she declared. "Where do you want to go? My treat. There are a lot of nice restaurants. We could…"

"Honestly, sweetheart, my idea of a good celebration right now is a pizza and a beer in our room." he sighed. "I'm still not used to this country fucking time zone."

She tried not to attach too much importance to that 'our'. He had slept in her room ever since they had arrived in France.

"Beer is out of the question but I will make a concession and order champagne." she bargained and then she bit down on her bottom lip. "But pizza… I suppose you can have pizza, I will see what they have on the room service menu that fits my diet."

"Screw your diet, we're celebrating and you don't need that anyway." he grumbled, freeing his arm from her grip to wrap it around her shoulders, drawing her closer to his side. "Like you need to lose weight… You're having pizza with me."

They climbed into a taxi in silence. They were halfway to the hotel when she cleared her throat. "I never had pizza before."

His head was resting against the window, eyes closed and his eyelids fluttered open to stare at her. "Ever?"

She felt stupid. He had a gift to make her feel stupid. She hated that.

"Mother…" she started and he rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, stop right there." he scorned. "Should have known."

His hand found her thigh long before they reached their hotel and his previous exhaustion seemed to be forgotten. His hands were everywhere he could get away with in public, his fingers coiling around her nape in frustration every time they were interrupted.

He had his hand inside the bodice of her dress before she even had time to unlock the door to her room and she was torn between giggling and vocally disapproving this improper behavior. The bags were dropped near the door and kicked away to give them more space. She spared a thought for her faithful skates being so mistreated but she was soon distracted by his mouth and fingers. He pinned her against the wooden panel, pressing a forceful kiss against her lips. Mags would be furious if she ever found they had had sex when they were supposed to perform at the closing gala the next day.

"I thought you wanted pizza?" she grinned, as he tugged at the zipper of her dress. The dress gave and he pulled it down, taking her panties with it.

"I'm hungry for something else." he smirked, dropping to his knees.

She was sure people heard her cry out from the other end of the hotel corridor ten minutes later. She vowed to get her revenge and she tore the clothes off his body long before they even reached the bed a few feet away. They tumbled between the sheets in a midst of chuckles, moans and mindless whispers.

Afterwards, he remained draped over her for the longest time until his stomach started rumbling and he finally consented to let her go so she could call room service. She ordered entirely too much for the both of them and he chided her for it like always when he thought she was wasting food.

To her utter horror, he didn't even get dressed when someone brought their order, he remained where he was on the bed, his bare ass poking from between the tangled sheets, leaving her to answer the door wearing his shirt. She blushed and babbled in French to the groom who was too professional to show anything more than a blank face. She tipped generously.

They ate on the bed, like ruffians. Pizza, she decided, wasn't her favorite dish but she could understand why he loved it so much. She had one slice and she left him the rest of it, tired of hearing him complain that American pizzas where better than this European thing and that he needed to introduce her to a proper pizza as soon as they would be back in the States. She sat crossed-legged on the foot of the bed and spooned the chocolate mousse she had ordered, her eyes glued to the TV.

Her mother would have had a heart attack if she had seen her, she thought.

Haymitch was lying behind her, sprawled across the bed, still naked and obviously not bothered one bit by it, his hand was under the shirt she had borrowed, tracing silly patterns on the small of her back.

"You're watching this like you haven't seen it fifty times." he teased.

"I love Casablanca." she answered distractedly.

"You love all old movies." he argued.

"Not all." she hummed. "But a lot of them."

She watched Ingrid Bergman delivering her iconic line 'Play it once, Sam. For old time's sake' and she sighed, glancing down at him. He wasn't looking at the TV, he was studying her, his fingers still running on her skin under the shirt. She leaned in and he immediately craned his neck to meet her halfway. It wasn't a hurried sort of kiss, it was sweet and slow and she laughed against his mouth when he tugged her down. She caught herself on her hand and grinned.

"We will always have Paris." she said.

He made a face. "Don't quote this movie to me. It's shit. I hate this movie."

"Language." she chided him, shifting to find a more comfortable position lying next to him on the bed. "How can you hate this movie? It is a masterpiece."

He brushed her hair away from her face and snorted.

"It's shit." he insisted. "Bogart's an idiot. He's got the perfect girl and he lets her go with some shitty line about Paris? Here's looking at you, kid – myass."

He leaned in to steal another kiss but she drew back a little. "You are completely missing the point. He leaves her so she can have a chance at some sort of future. He leaves her so she can be happy. It is so selfless… It is the greatest proof of love you can find! He loves her so much he lets her go…"

He rolled his eyes. "He's an idiot. You love a girl, you fight for her, you don't let her go." He ducked his head to nip at the delicate skin of her jaw. "I'm never letting you go."

He froze.

You could have heard a pin drop.

He didn't move, not an inch. His face was angled down from hers, she could feel his breath rolling on her skin, one of his hand was still under the shirt pressed against her back, the other was on her arm.

Her mind went in overdrive for a second, wild with the implications. Her heart was racing fast in her chest. And then, in a heartbeat, her panic was over. She was calm, serene.

"Well…" she said. "I am glad you would not be a good Bogart because I would be a terrible Bergman." He looked up at her, his grey eyes guarded and almost uncertain. She smiled and brushed her fingertips against his cheek, relishing in the familiar hitch of his stubble. "I would never let you get rid of me so easily. I love you too much for that."

The words were easy to utter but obviously they weren't so easy to hear. His eyes widened a little and she was certain, for a second, that he would bolt from the bed and flee the room – she imagined him running through the hotel corridors stark naked and she had to bit her bottom lip because the idea was ridiculous. His hand travelled up her arm and to her neck, his touch almost ghost-like. He was firmer when he coiled his hand around her nape.

Their lips brushed together once, twice… Her breath was caught in her throat, she felt drunk and in love and…

"I'm never letting you go." he promised against her mouth. Each of his words sent a thrill down her spine.

It was his way to say I love you.

And she was loving every part of it.

That was part 2 of the Paris trip :p Next week, we get part 3! We're only 7 chapters away from the end!

This flashback might be my favorite part of their relationship to be honest so I hope you really liked it and I hope I didn't spoil Casablanca for anyone... But really you should watch it because it's an awesome movie. ;) Let me know what you think!