Chapter Four | A tempest trapped in a preserving squall.

"I'll look to like, if looking liking move;

But no more deep will I endart mine eye

Than your consent gives strength to make it fly."

1.3, 97-99 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare

Elara Winston doesn't know the Capitol as well as she will. She gets lost easily. She barely knows how to get to the new apartment Snow had given her. So – she doesn't know how she ends up stumbling into this particular bar, in this particular part of the city, at this particular hour.

Maybe it's some strange twist of fate that throws her into his path. Maybe it's just that she's slightly tipsy and in desperate need of getting full out drunk. All she knows is that the moment she reaches the bar, two hands are gently grasping her and pulling her abruptly away, and she's not quite drunk enough to make a scene about it – especially when she realizes who has gotten between her and her drink.

Gloss Augustine is pulling her to the back of the bar, where it's less populated and darker. She's such a new Victor that it takes her a minute to remember his name, but she recognizes his face easily enough.

District 1, winner of the 63 rd Hunger Games. He's known in the Capitol as a famous model. His face is all over the place, from billboards to magazines. He's even been in a few commercials. The Capitolites are desperately obsessed with his voice, which they describe as being honeyed and sexy, and his masculine appeal certainly doesn't hurt either. He's got the appearance of a typical Career: impressively muscular frame, sculpted good looks, and most importantly, a very charming, Capitol-centric disposition. At least on screen.

Elara is so confused to see him that she doesn't struggle, even when he pushes her into one of the booths and slides in beside her, no doubt to ensure that she doesn't try to move.

Narrowing her eyes at him, Elara scorns, "What the hell do you want?" She sways a little in her seat.

Gloss sighs at the sight she makes and pushes a glass of water her way. She doesn't take it and he doesn't make her, just leaves it innocently in front of her in case she changes her mind.

"Heard about your parents," Gloss murmurs to her after an awkward moment. "Is that why you're in this state?"

He wouldn't be surprised. News involving Victors tends to get around pretty fast, especially between Victors themselves and especially when it concerns the latest one. Since Elara Winston is the newest Victor in Panem, the Capitol has been obsessively tracking her for the tabloids ever since she sarcastically told Caesar Flickerman that she had known she'd be the winner all along.

Apparently, her sarcasm is addictive – according to Capitol Weekly, anyway, which did an article just the other day about Winston's various sarcastic drawls and how to differentiate between them. Gloss thought it had been rather amusing.

Anyway, news about Victors travels fast, and the news that both of Elara's parents had died in a freak accident in the Coriolanus 9 power plant back in District 5 has been buzzing around the city for days now. Being a Victor himself and much less disillusioned than he'd been directly after winning his own Games, Gloss isn't stupid enough to look past the obvious. For her parents to get into an accident so soon after her Games, and for them to die in the Coriolanus 9, of all places, is almost like a slap to the face to anyone with a brain. The Coriolanus 9 is, after all, named after Coriolanus Snow, President of Panem. Her parents had not died in any freak accident like the news stations had spun.

Beside him, Elara's mouth twists into a scowl, but Gloss sees how much she's trembling, as if she's trying very hard not to cry. He swallows at the sight, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. He doesn't really know how to deal with crying women. Cashmere usually just shoves him away whenever she's feeling upset and tells him to stop being mushy.

To be honest, he doesn't even know why he'd dragged Elara back here. He's been sitting at this unassuming little table for about half an hour now, nursing a drink as he waits for the night to end. In the morning, he'll be heading back to District 1 after spending the last week here in the Capitol. He's just waiting for the sun to come up to take him back home to the edge of the desert where he belongs.

It had been unexpected, dragging her back here before the rest of his brain can catch up. Elara Winston's presence in the bar seems to have caused a bit of a stir with the current patrons, and Gloss knows how dangerous that can be. Maintaining a careful image while in the city is imperative, but she clearly doesn't know her way around these people yet. She's only been a Victor for a matter of months and doesn't know how the system works yet.

Gloss isn't sure why he'd decided to help her out and remove her from the public's attention. Maybe he feels bad for her. Maybe he just wants to drink in peace without the bar freaking out about having another Victor in their midst. Either way, none of those reasons are helping him now – not when Elara Winston is sniffling and blinking back tears.

Clearing his throat, Gloss hesitantly puts his arm around her shoulders. He feels exceedingly awkward about it, but Elara is either too tipsy or too heartbroken to share the feeling. Within seconds, she turning herself against him as if she's known him for years, burying her face into the fabric of the expensive suit he'd worn to a photoshoot earlier that evening.

As her fingers grasp onto it, he finds himself tightening his hold of her, thankful that the dark lighting in this far corner does a good job at hiding their current position. He definitely doesn't need any tabloids spewing bullshit about him getting involved with the new Victor.

"He killed them," she suddenly whispers, sober enough, it seems, to keep her voice down. With watery eyes, she looks up at him and swallows, "Because I told him I wouldn't do it."

Gloss holds his breath. He knows what she's talking about. Cashmere had been through the same thing; the sick ring of prostitution that many of the Victors deal with. Even he himself has gone to a few hotel rooms in his time. Unfortunately, it tends to be far worse for the female Victors.

He pulls her against him. Suddenly he doesn't feel very awkward anymore. That doesn't mean he knows what he's doing by any stretch of the imagination, but he thinks he does fairly well when he murmurs, "That's what he does. Dangles bait in front of you and gives you ultimatums. You've got a little sister, right?"

He'd heard all about the sister from Elara Winston herself, when she had charmingly explained to Caesar Flickerman during the initial tribute interviews how much Amelia drives her crazy. The ten year old is apparently very talented with getting into trouble.

Mention of her sister makes Elara bury herself farther against him as she whispers, "I have to protect her."

The response tells Gloss two things. That Amelia Winston is currently okay, and that Elara is not going to say no to Snow again. His heart clenches at the thought of her having to endure the same torment that Cashmere does, but he knows there's nothing he can do, especially as a District 1 Victor. He can't exactly give her support when they live hundreds of miles away.

"…When?" is all he asks.

She shivers when she answers, "Tomorrow night. A previous Gamemaker."

His arm tightens around her slim shoulders. Anger and sadness course through him. Despite having a reputation as a Capitol lover, as most Victors from District 1 do, he isn't the same person that he portrays on screen. His careless smirk is saved for his Capitol audience. He is first and foremost a brother who will protect his sister from harm. He finds himself, abruptly, wanting to protect her, too.

He's not sure why, exactly. He doesn't even know Elara Winston. He's met her only a few times, having been formally introduced during her Victory Tour when she had come to his home district to make her speech before heading off to the Capitol. She has a reputation for being a woman with an edge, but right now she looks broken and mournful. Maybe it plays on his masculine nature, this need to protect. Maybe there's another reason entirely that he cannot yet grasp.

He's about to say something – anything – to comfort her, but then she blurts out, "I've never even had sex before and they want me to do it with a man old enough to be my grandfather!"

That shuts him up pretty fast. Awkwardness returns in a sharp wave, and Gloss shifts uncomfortably as he grapples for something to say in response. He can't find anything, and Elara seems to realize his discomfort.

She draws away with a muttered, "Sorry. You probably don't want to hear this."

Gloss opens his mouth to deny her words, but just ends up closing it again. It's partially true. He doesn't really want to hear it, but not because the topic itself is awkward. The real reason is that he just doesn't know how to comfort her. He's never been very good at coming up with the right thing to say.

She looks just as uncomfortable now, and a lot more sober than before. After a moment of total silence, she reaches for the water glass and drinks it down just to give herself something to do. Gloss watches her every movement. Something churns behind his eyes, but she doesn't try to figure out what it is. She's not sure she cares all that much.

In truth, she's a tiny bit embarrassed. She just blurted out the fact that she's a virgin to Gloss Augustine, one of the most attractive men in Panem. He must think this entire situation is laughable. How many women has he had in his bed? She imagines that it must be a lot. He was probably putting notches on his bedpost long before he rose to fame as a Victor.

She's never much cared about things like this before, but ever since President Snow had politely recommended that she obey him without question unless she wants to get the remainder of her family killed in more 'accidents', she hasn't been able to stop thinking about it. She's so nervous that, couple with her parent's death, she's been a total wreck. So she really doesn't expect the words that leave Gloss's mouth. She really, really doesn't.

He shifts again, turning to look at her with a serious glint in his eyes, and hesitantly wonders, "Do you…I mean, if you want, we could go back to my apartment…? I would be gentle with you…I mean – Christ. Never mind. Just forget I said that – "

"Are you propositioning to me?" she wryly asks. Apparently, she's regained some sense of herself, because the wry edge of her voice is back with full force. Gloss actually feels nervous in the face of it. He thinks his palms are a little sweaty.

Rubbing his forehead, he murmurs, "No. Well, yes." He pauses, then adamantly says, "No." And then proceeds to flounder a bit in the booth, which is really rather off putting for him, because he's never floundered in his life.

When he glances over at her, Elara is wearing a very quiet smile. Her eyes have stopped watering. He only feels a slight twinge of pride at the fact that he's stopped her from crying. To be honest, he's more overcome with his own mortification. He's usually a lot smoother than this, but in all fairness, he's never offered to have sex with someone out of pity.

Is it pity though? Surely that's the majority of his reasoning, but Elara Winston is very pretty with her twinkling blue eyes and her auburn hair. She has a very petit frame with slender shoulders and sharp cheekbones. He just thinks that she deserves more than when Snow intends to force her into. At least for her first time, he can save her from the torment that she would otherwise feel. And – to save her, in some small way, is the only reason why he's bringing this up. He's been to his fair share of hotel rooms. He knows the horrors that await her.

"You don't have to," she tells him, and pats his arm as if she's the one doing the comforting. It makes him chuckle.

He leans in and murmurs, "Listen, I'm leaving for District 1 tomorrow morning and I know I won't be getting any sleep tonight anyway. I'm willing to…help you out. It'll be a little awkward but…I know how these things work, Winston. That man isn't going to be gentle with you. He's not gonna care about your comfort at all."

His straightforward words make her frown, looking down at her hands in sullen silence. He sighs and reaches for her, drawing her hand into his and quietly telling her, "My apartment is just a few blocks away."

He waits to hear her response. He's surprised to find that his heart is racing in his chest, as if he's nervous about being rejected. Or – maybe he's nervous about his offer being accepted, because he can't remember the last time that he's done this willingly. It must've been before he won his Games three years ago. Since then, any intimacy he's experienced has been either forced onto him or has equated to little more than one night stands back in District 1 in an endless quest to feel something sincere. He hasn't been very successful so far.

Elara looks over at him and asks, "Why are you doing this? You don't even know me."

He pauses, eyes locking with hers, and slowly responds, "…I couldn't save my sister from this, but I can save you. At least for tonight."

But he's not sure if that's really the reason or not. All he knows is that Elara Winston is a slight young woman with an addictively wry smile, and he doesn't think that her first time should be with some old sixty year old man. A girl like her should have someone capable of showing her what intimacy can truly be – the good and the bad – and maybe he's not that person, but he's the only candidate at this moment.

She looks down at their hands and very haltingly says, "…You said your apartment is nearby?"

It's the only response he needs. With a soft smile, he squeezes her hand and pulls her up, heading out into the squalling streets. And he's not completely sure that she really enjoys being with him as the night progresses, but he's very gentle with her. He's probably gentler than he's ever been before, and he thinks she appreciates it because after it's all over, she kisses him chastely on the mouth and murmurs, "Thank you, Gloss."

It's a funny thing to say after having sex, but he doesn't question it. Instead he just pulls the sheets over them, idly rubs her back, and jokingly murmurs, "I think this is the start to a great friendship, Winston."

And – she laughs at that. He'll remember the sound of her laughter for months after. The way she turns into him and chuckles against his chest will make him smile. He's right, in a way: it is the start to a great friendship. But it's also the start to something else, too. Something that has the potential to steal his breath away. Something that will make his heart burn with sorrow and love at the same time.

They hadn't know it then, but that night had only been the beginning.

Elara returns to the Tribute Center the next day several hours before dinner. She's been out on the town, hunting down sponsors for Matilde and Graham. It's always a bit challenging, finding sponsors for District 5. They don't have the same reputation as the Career districts, and this year, there is another group of contenders that seem to have taken the Capitol by surprise: District 12.

Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark wowed the entire city last night during their initial interviews with Caesar Flickerman. The whole place is in an uproar about Peeta's apparent love for his district partner, which has everybody twittering in excitement about this new turn of events. And then there's Katniss, who is strong and tough and definitely not the usual type of tribute who comes out of District 12. They're definitely people to watch out for this time around.

Even Haymitch has put aside his customary devil-may-care attitude this year. Since they've arrived with their tributes, Elara had witnessed first hand his attempts at swaying the masses and securing sponsors. It had been…well, amusing isn't quite the right word for it. Out of character, perhaps. He usually drinks his hours away, resigned to the fact that District 12 rarely ever wins the Games.

Elara can't blame him. It's hard watching your tributes die year after year. She sometimes wonders if she'll be that resigned, too, when she's been through as many Games as him.

"How did your first day go?" she wonders as they all sit down for dinner in the District 5 suite. Matilde and Graham are quietly eating, and it's fairly apparent just from watching them where they are from. Even if Elara hadn't already known, it's obvious that Matilde is from one of the nicer neighborhoods in District 5. If not the Grid itself, then another higher income home. Graham, on the flip side, is clearly from a poorer part of town. The way he shovels food into his mouth is telling.

Everyone turns to the tributes to hear their responses. Ignatius, who is Matilde's stylist this year, pauses as he sips from a golden drink that shimmers subtly in the lighting.

When they don't immediately answer, Olive huffs, "Well, tell us already."

Elara glances at her, a quiet warning blazing through her eyes, but Olive hardly notices. She's too busy helping herself to another portion of sautéed vegetables.

Graham is deathly silent, so Matilde takes the lead and murmurs, "It was…fine."

Fine? That doesn't sound very promising, but then again, Elara isn't very surprised either. District 5 is full of scientists and brains. Intellect is far more important than physical strength. No one needs to be able to lift heavy weights when the most sought after jobs require mental finesse.

Holding back a sigh, Elara says, "What stations did you go to, Matilde?" She glances over at Graham's downturned face, and decides that it would be best to speak with him when they are alone.

The orange haired girl shrugs, "Basic survival stations, mainly. Fire making, snares, edible plants…stuff like that."

Elara takes a sip of her drink, buying herself a bit of time before she carefully says, "Good. Those are important things to know. Harley and I have been thinking about your strengths, and we think you should use your intellect to your advantage."

She looks over at Harley, who is sitting next to her, and he shifts in his seat as he agrees, "You might be able to outlast the others. You're smart and resourceful."

Matilde looks down, and it's clear that she's wondering how her resourcefulness will really help her. District 5 tributes are very rarely confident about the Games. To uplift the conversation, Elara adds, "There are plenty of tributes who win the Games by staying out of the way. Let the others finish each other off. Keep improving your survival skills during training tomorrow. Don't get in anyone's way. The less they remember you exist, the easier it will be in the arena."

Matilde nods, and Elara sees Graham duck his head further down, avoiding eye contact with the others. She grips her fork tighter at the sight of him, swallowing back a wave of sadness, but doesn't say anything. She doesn't think it would be a good idea to draw attention to him when he so clearly wants to avoid it. But the moment dinner is finished and he jolts up from the table, Elara is quick to follow him to his room.

"Graham," she says softly before he can close his door. He pauses, looking over at her with wide eyes, and doesn't respond. She sighs.

"I think your strategy will have to be winning sponsors," she tells him, leaning against the threshold of his room and crossing her arms as she looks down at him. She watches him shift uncomfortably, and says, "You're a handsome young man with a great disposition and a smile that could charm even the grumpiest man. Now there's one last interview with Caesar the night before the Games, and it's a great chance to show the Capitol who you are."

He swallows tightly and mumbles, "I'm weak. I doubt I'll make it past the Bloodbath."

His doubts have her gripping her arms harder, trying to rein in her sorrow and her fear for him. She doesn't know this boy – she hadn't even met him before his name had been called in the Reaping – but he's too young to be a part of this bloodthirsty battle. It's a terrible thing to have to witness.

She chews on her lip for a moment before asking, "What happened during training today?"

The question makes him pause. He takes a few moments before muttering, "…I got pushed around."

She raises an eyebrow. "By who?"

His response makes her blood run cold.

"…District 1 tributes."

Swallowing thickly, Elara nods. District 1. She's not surprised. District 1 is a Career district, and its tributes this year are older and more prepared for the Games than Graham will ever be. Like many Career districts, they've been trained in defense and weaponry since their early years, and no doubt saw Graham as a prime target to unleash their frustration and show off their skills. The Career tributes often use districts like 5 to inflict fear into the others, but in past years, there were other reasons behind their aggression towards her tributes too.

It isn't exactly a little-known fact that Gloss Augustine and Elara Winston are friends. There have been rumors flying around the Capitol for years now that their friendship actually goes deeper than it appears on the surface, but no one's ever gotten actual evidence. Still, even the mere rumors that there is a sense of comradery between the Victors from 1 and 5 have occasional consequences during the Games. It doesn't happen every year, but sometimes Elara has noticed that the tributes from District 1 will specifically target the ones from 5. She assumes it has to do with a sense of pride and superiority, as if they're trying to say that no one from their district could ever care for someone from hers.

Elara swallows thickly before cautious saying, "Keep to the survival stations tomorrow. Avoid the Careers as much as you can. If you see them coming towards you, go to a different station. Graham – " she waits until he looks up before continuing, "I've been doing this for a long time now. It's not uncommon for the Careers to target other tributes before the Games even start. Just stick to yourself, maybe make a few friends. Allies are immensely helpful."

He nods sullenly, and Elara heaves a sigh. "Get some rest. We'll talk more about this during breakfast."

With that, she closes the door, feeling even worse than she had before. She considers going to her room, but her mind is whirring too quickly for her to be able to relax, so she heads up to the roof and hopes that Gloss is there, too. They usually meet there during the Games. It's the most secure place for them. There are no cameras, and the blustering wind allows them to talk about whatever they want, without consequence, because it interferes with the mics. He isn't there when she arrives, though, so Elara just sighs and walks to the railing, leaning against it as she looks out over the city that she's come to know so well during the last eight years.

Some Victors are lucky. They get to return to their homes and they only have to come to the Capitol during the Games. Victors like Johanna and Haymitch, who don't have anyone that Snow can threaten them with, don't have to go through the same brand of horrors that many of the others do. They have their own horrors to contend with: the loneliness, the bitterness of being alive when their families and friends are long gone. Elara sometimes wishes that she could exchange her suffering for theirs, but then she remembers Amelia, and Gloss, and Cashmere, and even though the latter two can take care of themselves, she still feels the need to protect them.

It's funny, sometimes, when she thinks about how much she's grown to care for the District 1 Victors. She never imagined that she would form such a close relationship with the brother and sister duo. But all Victors, regardless of their home district, share a sense of solidarity. They all suffer in their own way, and once you reach the status of Victor, the other things that had separated you before – the pride of your district, the petty differences of your upbringing – they all fade away. They don't matter anymore, after you win the Games. You realize that, in a way, they never did.

She jumps in surprise when two arms cage her against the railing and the hard press of a familiar body leans against hers. It takes her only a moment to recognize the shift of cologne. He's arrived.

They don't say anything to each other for a long time. Gloss just stands there, looking out into the city streets below. The streets are lined with Capitolites celebrating the oncoming Games with their usual vigor. They love this time of year. They live for it. It's almost ironic, how much life spreads through their hearts as children are forced to give up their own lives. It makes a bitter smile coil over her mouth.

She mutters, "Graham is going to die. There's nothing I can do to stop it."

She's not sure why she brings it up. Maybe because she can't stop thinking about it. Maybe because she knows how much it will haunt her, after it's all said and done. The young face of the thirteen year old boy will be a hard one to forget.

Behind her, Gloss sighs and wraps his arms around her, pulling her back against him. In her ear, he whispers, "It's not easy getting a young tribute. Remember last year?"

Last year. Yes, she remembers. District 1 had a fourteen year old girl volunteer for the Games. It's almost unheard of in the Career districts to have a tribute so young. Usually, there are plenty of other volunteers jumping at the chance to bring pride to their home. Once a volunteer steps forward, no one else can take their place. The girl had been utterly confident – to the point of her own demise. She lasted about halfway through the Games before the other Careers turned on her, deciding to remove the weakest link before it could pose a problem.

Elara turns her head into his neck and twines their fingers together. She knows that her current situation isn't one that the other Victors are blind to. They've all dealt with this before. It's never easy. It hadn't been easy for him, either, when he had to watch his tribute meet a particularly blood death at the hands of her supposed allies.

Gloss is very good at pretending to be strong and fearless, but she remembers the way he'd trembled against her the moment they were alone and he could take down his defenses. She had held him right here on this roof, hoping to give him what little comfort she could. Her own tributes had died right at the start of the Games last year, before the Bloodbath had even ended. At least they had met a quick death. Certainly quicker than that fourteen year old girl from District 1.

"I shouldn't complain," she begins, but Gloss just shakes his head.

In a far lighter voice, he jokes, "Complaining is what you're good at, Winston."

She's surprised at the joking lilt of his tone, and chuckles against him. He seems pleased that he's made her laugh – that he's distracted her, even if only for a moment – and he pulls her closer to rest his chin against her head.

"…Glimmer and Marvel were talking about him during dinner," he informs her in a grave voice, and the distraction of their lighthearted moment comes to a swift end. "I think they have a grudge against our friendship."

Friendship. What an amusing little word that is. Elara glances up at him with a raised eyebrow and drawls, "I think the entirety of Panem has a grudge against our friendship." She says the word wryly, in her familiar sarcastic tone.

He grins down at her and chuckles, "I don't know why they care so much. All the Victors are friends – well except maybe Johanna."

She hums in dry agreement, and then smirks as she looks out over the city. In a playful voice, she tells him, "They're just jealous that I get to hang around with Gloss Augustine, the most prized bachelor in the country." She throws him an amused look over her shoulder and he laughs.

Turning her around to face him, he edges closer and murmurs, "I think it's the other way around, actually. I doubt there's a woman alive whose more desired than you, Elara."

Her eyebrow jolts up as his hands come to rest on her hips, and before she knows it, he's pulling her into his chest with a look blazing through his eyes. It's a look she knows quite well by now. She grins at him.

"Oh, I don't know about that," she tells him as he starts dropping kisses to her neck. Craning her head back and threading her fingers through his hair, Elara whispers, "Though I do think we'd shock the Capitol if we were ever allowed to be together in public."

He pauses at this, and pulls back slightly. Lifting a hand to cup her cheek, Gloss looks down at her with an unreadable expression in his eyes. It looks vaguely like yearning, but Elara purposefully doesn't try to read further into it. Her heart is already on thin enough ice as it is, wherever he's concerned. No need to make it suffer even more.

He sighs. His breath tumbles against her. His touch is far gentler than most would imagine, upon first looking at his hulking frame and muscular body. The softer side of him, the one he very rarely shows the rest of the world, is one of the main reasons why she loves him so much.

She had seen it from the very beginning, when he'd taken her to his apartment all those years ago and gently introduced her to the world of intimacy. That night had been awkward for them both, but she couldn't have asked for a better person to be her first. Everything about him that night had been careful and ardent. She had seen a side of him that she hadn't known existed, but it's a side that she's seen many, many times since then.

"…One day," he whispers to her, and her heart clenches with the ferocity of her want. One day – what a beautifully tragic promise. Perhaps that day will come, when they're old and grey and Snow no longer needs them in the ways he needs them now. That is, if they even make it that long. If they're able to weather the continuous storm of their hidden relationship for decades longer. If they don't get so tired and exhausted and drained from the immeasurable, lonely nights that they decide to stop this undefined relationship before it can devour the last of their hope.

They stare at each other, both thinking the same thoughts. Both wondering if that day will ever come.

Elara reaches out for him and he goes to her, and together they just stand there on the rooftop, trapped in an embrace that they wish didn't have to end. And as she grips him tightly and buries her face against his chest, she murmurs back, "One day…"

He holds her tighter, as if he's trying to solidify the words against their skin and their hearts and their minds – as if he's trying to dispel the hopelessness that has crept up between them like weeds sprouting from an untended garden.

One day is all they can hope for, but hope is such a fickle thing.