A/N: Does anyone know why I'm getting html code in the published chapters? It's not happening for all of them, but it's extremely annoying having to manually delete all those em's and /spans. Does anyone have any advice other than typing it straight into fanfiction?

The Training Center has been refurbished – again. Haymitch thinks it's no wonder the Capitol needs the Games to distract them. Anyone who grows bored of one luxury after another must be bored enough that ritual child murder can seem like entertainment. It's not a new thought, and neither is the one that follows it: I'm so miserable. He takes a swig of gin from the flask he filled on the train.

Effie comes bustling up to him. He should hate that mincing, pigeon-toed walk Capitol women affect, but it really works on Effie. He supposes anything would. He's not sure when he realized how attractive he found her. She became an escort five years ago, and he hated her on principle. Her wig had been green, and tiny multi-colored crystals had hung from her fake eyelashes. She had been unhappy about being assigned 12, and he had been determined to make her even more unhappy.

He had had a starveling from the Seam, actually gray and balding from malnutrition and bad air, and a 12-year-old from a big family. Their dad had traded in the Hob, so they had done better than most Seam families, but there had been hard, hungry weeks too. They had eaten with their hands and Effie had left the table in disgust. That made him hate her on more than just principle.

It wasn't until last year that he had seen her as a fellow human being, and it had come as quite a shock.

**The 73rd Hunger Games**

He had just watched his other kid die. He left the control room. He knew they would chase him down to make him give his opinion. His Capitol-approved opinion, anyway. But he needed a minute.

He had looked for a deserted stretch of hallway and found one. He leaned his forehead against the wall. The smooth, painted wall was cool on his skin. He heard something, a funny sort of squeaking. He followed the sound and found Effie crying in her own deserted hallway.

Haymitch had been so shocked, he had said her name, as though needing proof he was really seeing Effie Trinket show human emotion (other than irritation with him).

"Effie?"

She had jumped, her feet actually leaving the floor. When she turned around, her face was a real mess. Tear tracks through her pancake makeup, wig pushed almost backwards, red eyes.

"You all right, Effie?"

She had thrown her arms around him and continued crying, getting makeup and glitter all over his jacket.

She had quieted slowly, and leaned back to look at him, still wrapping her arms tight around his midsection.

"Oh, Haymitch!" She looked around, apparently making sure they were really alone. "I know the Games have their purpose," she whispered, and Haymitch tensed, but Effie continued like she didn't notice. "They create jobs, the winners live in unparalleled luxury for the rest of their life, boosting their District's economy. And, of course, they keep the Dark Days in our minds, so we never repeat those atrocities." Haymitch was about to desert her, tears or not, in that hallway. "But sometimes I…I…" She shook her head and couldn't continue.

"You see that they're just kids," he said.

She nodded and closed her eyes. A few more tears slipped out and down her cheeks. Something stirred, a feeling of welcome surprise.

Of course, she had immediately squashed that stirring by saying, "I wish I could be promoted to a district with victors."

He had walked away, told her to clean her face for the cameras, irritated, mostly with himself, but with plenty left over for Effie Trinket, that he had believed for even a second a Capitol citizen had some humanity.

Haymitch had given his interview, the last for this year, and gone out to get blind drunk, hoping to black out the rest of the Games and the last few days. He had nearly succeeded.

He had woken up in Finnick's bed. He looked down and made sure he had clothes on. Check.

"Don't worry. I wouldn't violate a sleeping man."

Finnick was watching him in the mirror of his vanity while he slathered some kind of white lotion on his face. He was smiling. Finnick Odair had a beautiful smile. It was indecent for someone to look like that which was, of course, the reason Finnick had his own Capitol apartment to stay in on official visits.

Haymitch sat up against the headboard and groaned. "You got anything to drink?"

Finnick shook his head. "Dry as a bone. Actually, there's something in the drawer."

Haymitch rolled to the right side of the bed where the nightstand was, feeling slightly seasick. He opened the nightstand drawer and saw a cigarette case. He started to close the drawer when Finnick said, "It's not cigarettes."

Haymitch opened the case. They looked like cigarettes, but not the pink-tipped, glitter filtered ones Effie smoked. These had bulges in the middle and looked hand-rolled, like his father used to smoke. (It had driven his mother crazy, having an open flame in a house in the Seam. His father's interminable, or so it had seemed then, coughing kept up the whole street at night.)

""What is it?" he asked.

Finnick was industriously rubbing the lotion into his face and neck, until the lotion began to disappear.

"You smoke it like a cigarette. Hold it in, though."

Haymitch saw a lighter in the drawer and scooped it up. He made the effort to sit up a little more and regretted it. "Oooh," he moaned, closing his eyes.

"I don't like hearing that sound unless I'm the one causing it," said Finnick.

Haymitch said, "Shut up, District Four."

He stuck the not-a-cigarette between his lips and lit it.

"It won't give me a headache, will it?" he asked, taking a deep drag, and holding it in.

Finnick just rolled his eyes.

He let it out on a cough.

When he could speak again, he said, "What the hell is it?"

Finnick shrugged. "Something a friend grows. They leave Panem a lot, come back with stuff."

"Leave Panem? And they tell you about that?"

Finnick was finally finished doing…whatever he was doing. He started putting on makeup. Not the way Effie did, so it obscured and altered her features. He used mysterious brushes and powders to enhance his natural beauty. Haymitch wondered if he had learned these tricks from District Four's prep team, the very same prep team Finnick had had eight years ago.

He took another drag, held it in. He was feeling lightheaded, but pleasantly, like his head was empty as a balloon, not the way it felt to be hungover and dizzy.

"A little," Finnick answered.

That Finnick wouldn't elaborate on such an intriguing topic could mean only one of two things: Finnick had recently found another recording device in his apartment, or it was too depressing to talk about. Haymitch felt like talking about outside of Panem would be harmful to his health either way. He took another puff and realized he didn't feel hungover anymore at all.

"Well, this is good stuff."

Finnick laughed.

"I thought we'd go for a walk by the river."

"Sure. Can we get something to eat on the way?"

For some reason, this also made Finnick laugh.

He got up and stretched. Ah, so he was still hungover. Whatever that shit was, it was not a cure.

Haymitch put on his jacket and sat back down while he waited for Finnick to get dressed.

"Where did you find me last night?" he asked.

"Just Marty's. You and Chaff were having a good time, till you weren't."

"I hit him?"

"Eh, he hit you first. How do I look?" Haymitch turned around to see. He felt like there was a lump in his throat.

Finnick was wearing a cotton shirt, loose, exactly the color of a tropical ocean. His pants were very dark blue, and also loose. The colors brought out his bronzed skin, accentuated the dark blue around his otherwise sea green eyes.

Haymitch cleared his throat. "You look beautiful. You always do."

Finnick grinned. "Let's go, then."

They caught up as they walked. One of Finnick's kids, the boy, had died in the bloodbath, but his girl was still alive, in the Careers Pack.

"I'm sorry about yours," said Finnick.

Haymitch shook his head. "I told them to stay away from the Careers and the Cornucopia, but they didn't stand a chance anyway."

Finnick did not contradict him. He had been arrogant, a little like Haymitch had been when he had won. Snow had seen to that, just as he had seen to Haymitch's feeling of superiority to the Capitol.

Finally, they reached the river. It was too loud, too open, and no trees nearby for anything to be hidden.

"I'm being watched."

"I figured."

"There's someone I want you to meet."

"Don't you need to get back?"

Finnick shrugged, but they started walking faster.

"I'm just dropping you off. I'll come see you at the Training Center later. Don't go out tonight."

"No problem. Who am I meeting?"

"His name is Cinna. He was on 2's prep team last year, and this year."

Haymitch didn't say anything.

Finnick correctly interpreted his silence and assured him with, "He knows Heavensbee."

Haymitch felt his eyebrows rise. "Well, any friend of Heavensbee's."