A/N: In which Elara hears Haymitch out, and everything changes.

Hope you all enjoy!


Chapter Twenty Nine | If fate be cruel I will mark it down,

"And, to sink in it, should you burden love –

Too great oppression for a tender thing."

1.4, 23-24 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare

"Tell me about the desert," she asks him one night. He scoffs quietly and doesn't turn to look at her. He's far too comfortable to move. Pressed into strewn sheets, eyes closed in the dim light of the lone bedside lamp, Gloss is the picture of ease. Elara can't help but look upon the sight of him and all his sun kissed skin on display.

"It's a whole lot of sand," he grumbles after a moment, and snorts, "You've got weird ideas about pillow talk, Winston."

Elara snickers and knees him in the side. The move makes him glance at her, his eyes opening just a sliver to peer over at her form. She's laying on her side facing him, propped up just so on her elbow. When he peruses her bared form and finally locks his gaze with hers, he raises an eyebrow at her as if he's daring her to ask another silly question.

A few years ago, she might have let that expression get to her, but as it is now…

"I'm curious is all. I've never been to District 1. What's it like?" she demands, tilting her head at him.

Gloss is quick to mutter, "You have been to District 1."

She rolls her eyes at him. "Yes, but my Victory Tour hardly counted. I didn't even leave the Justice building."

He scoffs again and drawls, "Sand, rocks, cacti. What else do you need to know?"

Elara sends him a laugh and edges closer, so that the space between their bodies amounts to mere inches. Gloss isn't one for having deep conversations about their respective lives. He rarely indulges her in any topic that hits too close to home. It is his way of maintaining the barriers between them. He never asks about District 5, Elara's interests, or what she does in her spare time. She never asks about District 1 or his life there. At least, that's how he's tried to keep things between them, but Elara Winston is a stubborn woman and for a long time now, he hasn't bothered reclaiming the pedestal in which he had forced their relationship on previously. Instead, and against his better judgement, he's allowed her to ask her questions as she will. Her curiosity is boundless and his willpower is questionable, concerning her.

"What happens when there's a sandstorm? You have those, right?" she wonders, curling her fingers into his hair and watching at the way his eyes flutter at the touch. It's endearing to her how easy it is to distract him by just massaging his scalp.

Gloss narrows his eyes at her but doesn't pull her hands away. It doesn't matter that he knows what she's up to. Elara smirks down at him and he grumbles, "We go inside, you idiot. What else?"

Elara hums. She pulls her nails through his hair and he sighs out, just deep enough to make her smile edge up the smallest bit. He notices, of course.

Rolling his eyes, Gloss mumbles, "Don't you dare tell me I look like a fucking kitten again or you'll regret it, Winston."

At this, she bursts into laughter and rolls onto her back, abandoning her place beside him in favor of snickering on the mattress. Gloss chuckles too and lifts himself up on his elbow to look down at her. There's this soft, almost contemplative look in his eyes as he does, as if he is considering something of great magnitude. She doesn't notice it at first because she's too busy laughing, but after a while it's hard not to see it.

Stretching a bit, Elara studies his expression and murmurs, "Gloss? You okay?"

The question seems to snap him out of it. He clears his throat and lays back down. He takes a moment to get comfortable, lifting his arms behind his head and shifting into the mattress. Then he looks over at her, raises an eyebrow, and says, "Come here," as if nothing had even happened. As if he hadn't been caught staring at her with a mixture of amusement and desperate longing.

Elara doesn't question him. There is a strange lilt to the atmosphere that she doesn't want to force. She's afraid that if she presses too hard, it will all shatter around her like glass splintering from a broken window. So she just edges closer to him, fits her body into his, and lets him lift an arm to pull her flush against him.

She doesn't make mention of how comfortable and warm it is to lay with him like this. She doesn't say how incredibly beautiful and luxurious it is to be so at ease with another soul. She doesn't tell him that she loves these moments the most, when they merely coexist in calm repose, laying together for the sole and express purpose of being within close proximity to the other's heartbeat.

He reaches up to tangle his fingers into her hair, and Elara sighs out with a slight laugh when she feels him massage over her scalp in much the same manner as she had done minutes before, to him. And then, in a voice pursed just so with amusement, Gloss tells her, "There are mountains in the distance no matter what direction you look, but you can't see them when you're in the city. Too many skyscrapers in the way. And – the Factory, of course. It makes thousands of luxury items for the Capitol. Even in the dead of night the thing is lit up. The machines are always running, trying to meet the needs of Capitol clientele…"

His words are just bitter enough to tell Elara that he's thinking now on his own Capitol clientele, and so she hurries so ask, "What sorts of things does the Factory make?"

Gloss hums dryly and shrugs. "Electronics, clothing, kitchen accessories – anything the Capitol wants. The place probably employs half the district, at least. There's a lot of smaller businesses too though – like where I got this."

He touches the pendant that is still around Elara's neck, and has been for months now. She never takes it off. Gloss hasn't said anything about it yet, which is why she's a little surprised when he drags his fingers over her neck to touch the gemstoned glass.

She tilts her head up to face him and wonders, "And where did you get it?"

"There's a jeweler near my house – my old house, I mean, not the one in the Victor's Village," he corrects, shifting a bit more to get comfortable and propping a leg up as he does. Elara shifts too, lifting herself up to peer down at him curiously. He huffs at the curious expression and rolls his eyes, "Why do you want to know about District 1?"

At the question, Elara chuckles in amusement. She lifts her fingers to caress his jaw and whispers, "I don't want to know about District 1, Gloss. I want to know about you."

He stills at the confession, but Elara has long ago stopped feeling the particular burn of nervous embarrassment that comes from opening herself up to him. She merely waits, watching the shades of his expression until he turns to look at her with an emotion that is suspiciously similar to the one he had worn before – all amusement and desperate longing.

"You already know me," he tells her, and his voice is just a shard.

She leans down to kiss him. He lets her.

"Yes," she agrees against his mouth.

She might not know every detail of his life, or his home, or his childhood. She might not know what it feels like to stand at the edge of the desert and to look upon the vast stretch of sand that pulls her into eternity's grasp. She might not know what paths he walks when he is home, or where he goes when he needs to get out of his house. But –

She knows what the press of his soul feels like against hers. She knows the pleasure of having him become a part of her. She knows the plans of his face and the many emotions that play out in his hazel eyes. She knows how to read those emotions, and all the ins and outs of his body and his heart. She knows him in ways she never thought she would, back in the beginning.

The beginning…they have come a long way since then.

Gloss sighs against her lips and murmurs, "At night, the desert is beautiful. The stars are so bright it looks like a painting."

Elara hums against him and draws her mouth to the edge of his to whisper, "Tell me more…"

And – she's a little bit surprised at the way Gloss indulges her that night, spinning such a clear picture of his home and what it's like. They lay there together for hours, talking and laughing about their homes as if they have completely forgotten where they are. And with every laugh and every warm look he sends her, she thinks that perhaps it wouldn't be so very strange after all, having him love her. Perhaps –

He already does.


By the end of the day, Elara is exhausted and sore, but she somehow manages to drag herself up to the District 12 suite anyway. She's not sure what to expect. She doubts she'll be welcomed there, but when she knocks on the door, Haymitch takes one look at her and nods to the elevator.

"Roof," is all he says, glancing back into the suite as if he's making sure no one else sees them. Katniss and Peeta must be in their rooms, because thankfully, the living area is empty.

Elara turns around and walks back to the elevator she's just vacated with Haymitch on her heels. It feels almost as if he's rushing her, as if he knows that speaking to her is dangerous for reasons she can only scratch the surface of at this moment. But those reasons will soon become clearer to her, which she realizes fairly quickly.

"Johanna basically ordered me to talk to you," she says as they walk out onto the rooftop. A quick survey of the place tells her that they're alone, at least as far as she can tell from their current location. It doesn't stop Haymitch from walking around the parameter in a deceptively lazy manner, just to make sure. It doesn't stop her from following him. To an outsider, they appear to be enjoying a bit of fresh air and an evening stroll.

It is only once Haymitch knows for sure that they are alone that he glances over at her and quips, "I gotta admit, Winston – you weren't supposed to be a part of these plans at all."

At this, Elara tilts her head and eyes him suspiciously, hands in her pockets to stave off the slight chill of the night. She's confused and a little wary about this entire situation. The mystery, the caution – it's all rubbing her the wrong way. She knows she should tread carefully.

In a slow voice, she murmurs, "I'm not sure what these plans are, exactly, but I'm starting to think I get the picture."

Haymitch snorts. "Well then, by all means, do tell."

They come to a standstill at the edge of the railing on the far side of the roof, and Elara purses her mouth. "…Whatever's going on, it must be dangerous, which means it's probably rebellious…which means there's a good chance we're all gonna die if it goes wrong."

There's a pause. The silence puckers at them, thrown off by the harsh wind that blows up from the city streets far below. After a moment, Elara adds, "Of course, we'll all die in the arena anyway, so what does it matter?"

Haymitch grunts in agreement. It's a soft sound, drawn out like the wind that rushes over them.

"Let me start with this," he says, turning to face her. His voice is solemn in a way it rarely is, his eyes sharp and wary as he takes her in, as if he doesn't fully trust her and sees no reason to change his stance. The corner of his mouth twists sardonically, and he drawls, "I didn't want to include you at all. You're in too deep with District 1. Frankly I've never understood your relationship with Augustine, but it's pretty obvious that you're in love with him."

She opens her mouth to refute his words – an immediate reaction, thoughtless, born from years of hiding – but Haymitch raises a hand and cuts off her weak attempt with a sarcastic, "That wasn't a question, Elara. You two aren't exactly subtle during the Games season. We all know how you feel about each other."

She glowers surly at him and mutters, "What's your point?"

He rolls his eyes, "My point is that I don't trust you. This entire plan revolves around Katniss, you hear? I don't trust that you won't try to turn it around to save lover boy and his sister."

Silence once again puckers at them. Elara leans onto the railing, peering out into the city streets below. The noise of rushing cars is like a soft symphony this far up. It's peaceful in a way it rarely is, being in the center of this monstrous place. In this city, there have been so many broken moments between her and Gloss which has threatened to pull them apart and has agonized them with the dread of hopelessness. This place is her downfall. It is all of their downfalls. Like dominos, the Victors constantly fall. Usually, they find ways to stand back up again, and the process repeats on a constant loop…but this time around, she fears that the fall will be permanent.

She glances over at Haymitch, only to find that he's staring at her har as if he's trying to understand her; to match her up with the other dominos. She's not sure if he finds what he's searching for.

"If this plan of yours works," she begins, twisting her fingers casually as they hang from the railing, "how many of us will survive?"

Haymitch pushes an elbow against the railing and surveys her quietly, studying the planes of her face and the emotion that sparks through her gaze. He must see something in them, at least, because he seems to answer honestly when he finally says, "We should all survive. Everyone that knows the plan, that is."

The words are carefully construed, and she knows why. He's purposefully excluding the Careers. He's leaving Gloss out of it. She frowns at him, and he frowns right back.

"We can't have everyone in on it, Winston. The Capitol wants blood and death. If they don't get it, they'll be suspicious and our plan won't work."

Elara purses her lips and sighs, "Okay. I want to survive, but I want Gloss and Cashmere to survive too. If you tell me your plan, I'm going to tell them. But – I don't want to see Katniss or Peeta dead either, Haymitch."

His expression twists a bit, as if he's caught between sarcasm and hope. He grunts and stuffs his hands into his pockets, eyeing her carefully as he muses over her words. He already knows that Elara and Gloss are a package deal, and that Cashmere would no doubt be added to it. That was why he didn't want to inform her of the plan, despite the fact that she would probably be willing to help the rebellion should she make it to District 13.

But would Gloss and Cashmere help? Haymitch isn't an idiot. He's gotten to know all the Victors fairly well over the years. He knows that the siblings aren't nearly as Capitol-centric as they appear to be on television. He knows what it's like to put on an act and to pretend to be one way for the cameras. The duo from District 1 is not loyal to the Capitol, but that doesn't mean they would be loyal to District 13.

Still. Elara Winston would be an intriguing addition to their band of misfits. Her IQ is nearly as high as Beetee's. She'd be an asset to 13 in the same way that Beetee would be. Technology is her strength, and she would fill a role that not many people could fill were she to join the rebellion.

Haymitch sighs, rolls his neck back to glance skyward, and mutters, "I've got a feeling I'm going to regret this."

Elara just raises an eyebrow and presses, "Regret what, exactly?"

He peers at her for another long moment before sighing again and edging closer. In a low voice, he murmurs, "Okay, Winston, listen up. I'm only going to explain this once."

She leans in too, and for good or for bad, everything becomes just a little bit clearer.

She heads back down to her floor in a daze. After an hour spent listening to Haymitch's plans and ironing them out with endless questions and inquiries, Elara has a solid understanding of what will be going on in just a few short days. She discovers that half of the Victors are in on the plan, and those are aren't are either Careers or other Victors that Haymitch doesn't trust to keep the secret. He clearly doesn't trust her very much either, but he must see something in her – and in Gloss and Cashmere, by extension – that makes him talk. He tells her everything, or at least most everything. She suspects that there are parts he leaves out, perhaps to protect Katniss and Peeta, but she certainly has the gist of it by the time that hour is up.

Johanna's cryptic words make sense now, as does her warning to her that if Elara screws this up, she'll have her head. She believes it even more now.

It's a solid plan, brought into existence by District 13 – a place that Elara hadn't even known still thrived. According to Haymitch, it does, and its citizens are ready to try their hand at another rebellion after all these years of staying silent in the background.

The history of District 13 is one that everyone is aware of, but the things that Panem has been told about their rebellious neighbors are based entirely on Capitol propaganda. Seventy five years ago, during the Dark Days, District 13 declared open war against the Capitol and sent missiles at them. Soldiers fought and died for a lost cause. Their failure was what brought the Hunger Games into being. In a way, they are at fault for carving out the morbid tradition that now perforates Panem's culture.

Back in school, Elara was taught that the Capitol flattened District 13 into the ground, destroying all remnants of it and obliterating its legacy. The nuclear weapons that the district was known for used this technology to wage the bloodiest war in Panem's recent history. The Capitol, seeing its mistake for entrusting such a job to an outer district, moved its nuclear production to within its own walls, and District 13 faded into darkness, never heard from again.

She's more than a little surprised to hear that District 13 wasn't fully destroyed that day. That, despite the surface of the place being torn to shreds – its buildings collapsed, its infrastructure damaged beyond repair – the people had a backup plan all along. To think that they have been living underground all this time, and that President Snow himself is aware of their continued presence! She's shocked. Dazed.

Her teachers had never taught them about the Armistice. She had never known that the President of Panem, the man who was in power back then, had signed a treaty with 13. Keep out of sight and out of mind, stay alive if you will, but never make trouble again or your end will come swifter than you can draw breath.

She's beginning to realize that there is quite a lot she doesn't know.

As she enters her bedroom and starts slipping out of her jacket, Elara stares at the far wall with that dazed look blazing through her eyes. Her mind is overloaded with information. The logical side of her is trying to come to terms with it all, to categorize these new and startling facts into neatly tiered thoughts. The emotional side of her doesn't want to waste time with all that, but she knows that she needs to think this over thoroughly before she unloads it all on Gloss.

Now that she knows the plans, she can't just leave him out of them. If there's even the smallest chance that they might survive, she won't ignore it. Haymitch knows it and yet he still told her. Johanna knew too. Elara supposes that her affair with Gloss truly isn't that discrete when it comes to the other Victors, who see far more of her than the rest of the Capitol. Still…

She needs to sleep on this. She'd like nothing more than to go find Gloss and curl up in his arms, but she fears that if she does, she'll spill her guts to him thoughtlessly. She knows Gloss well enough by now to realize that she needs to approach this a little more cautiously.

So instead of going to him, Elara takes a hot shower and pulls on a pair of comfortable pajamas before curling up into her bed. She half expects that he'll be there when she steps back into her bedroom, hair tousled and freshly washed, but she's thankful and relieved that he is not. Tonight, she craves silence to think things over – to figure out what she should do and to decide how she might broach this delicate subject with a man who is not quite so delicate.

She doesn't get much sleep. Her mind is too busy, and her heart is too hopeful, to truly surrender to her dreamscapes.

Perhaps it is just as well, because when she does finally succumb to rest, her dreams are filled with images of Gloss turning on her – eyes cutting, body threatening – as he holds his hand around her throat and coldly squeezes the life from her. And she wakes up shivering, because she can't shake the feeling that those dreams hadn't been dreams at all, but a reality that could very well unfold for her if she is not careful.