A/N: I'm not sure why, but it must be because I am copying and pasting out of a libre office document into fanfiction's document manager, and it's causing html code to show up in the published version, but not in here, where I am editing. If you see a bunch of code, please give me an hour or so to fix it. It takes 30 minutes for chapters to post, I check, come back in, and delete the code, and it takes another 30 minutes for it to update. It's really very annoying, but short of retyping the whole thing, I'm not sure what to do. If you like the story, you can find it in its entirety here: /works/34937059/navigate

Thanks for reading! (And if anyone knows how I can fix my html code problem, I would really appreciate it!)

The morning after the kids get their training scores, Haymitch is still up when they bring in breakfast, never a good sign. He started on breakfast and his breakfast wine and went back over his meeting with Finnick.

They had discussed the rebellion in the easy, coded shorthand they had developed over the last four years. No one could hear them over the wind chimes, but you could never be too careful in the Training Center.

Then Finnick had moved in a lot closer on the bench, and put his arm inside Haymitch's jacket, around his waist. His big, warm hand rested easily under his rib cage. Finnick rested his head on Haymitch's and pulled him close.

Haymitch slipped his arm under Finnick's jacket as well, and then under his thick woolen sweater. He was wearing a thin, cotton undershirt, so Haymitch pulled that up until his hand was on Finnick's smooth skin. Finnick sighed.

"Remember when we first started talking about our mutual friend?"

"Hm," said Haymitch. "I seem to remember you buying me a lot of drinks."

"You wouldn't budge though. I had been wanting to meet our friend for years-"

"Try decades."

"I haven't forgotten how old you are," said Finnick, and Haymitch could hear the grin in his voice.

"You forgot that night," he said.

"I should have known you would need a softer touch to spill your...secrets."

Haymitch pinched him in retaliation. "It wasn't that and you know it." He felt Finnick tense up, and added, "But it was one of the best nights I've had since my own Games. I thought you knew that, too." He took his head off Finnick's shoulder to look at him. His eyes were unaccountably wet. Did he not know then? "Finnick, tell me you knew how I felt."

Finnick just looked away for a second, out over the Training Center roof and toward the city. Then he cleared his throat, smiled at Haymitch briefly, before addressing his knees, "I do now."

Haymitch squeezed his arm around him. He put his face in Finnick's neck, moved his head up to smell his hair. It was heavily perfumed, of course. He would be seeing a client tonight, no doubt. When he first reached the Capitol each year, Finnick smelled like fish and salt. Haymitch probably smelled like alcohol and vomit wherever he was.

"I'm sorry, I thought you knew. You're so beautiful, District Four. And I don't just mean your face. You have something most victors don't. There's something in you that isn't broken, yet."

"Yet?"

Haymitch looked at the ground. He nodded. "Yet. A victor's life is always precarious." He stood up, stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I hope you remember that."

Finnick stayed seated. He looked both happy and sad. Exactly the way Haymitch felt whenever he got to spend time with Finnick.

"You coming down?" he asked.

Finnick waved his hand dismissively. "In a bit."

"All right. See you at the interviews."

Finnick nodded and Haymitch went downstairs to drink, to think, and to remember.