Chapter Eighty-Four; Jack-in-the-Box

(Haymitch's POV)

They had been practicing for a while now with an array of weapons and physical sparring.

There had been no miraculous improvements but then Haymitch had hardly expected any.

However positively Stephanie rarely dropped her weapon now and she didn't fall over her own feet as much when fighting.

One of the problems – among numerous others – was that Stephanie had a tendency to become over-emotional during fighting.

It wasn't that she broke down crying or anything, and Haymitch conceded that strong emotion when fighting could be advantageous.

It could provide that burst of adrenaline from fear and determinacy to survive to give you that extra strength to counter an otherwise crippling blow from an opponent.

However the only thing such emotions did to Stephanie was make her careless.

When cornered and fearful or when she was riled and angry, she would forget about keeping her blows precise and close so as to cover herself, and would start swinging huge arcs in anger or desperation to catch Haymitch, which of course she never did.

What she did do was open herself up to countless attacks that would see her dead in the arena within seconds.

And the more Haymitch pointed this out to Stephanie with growing impatience, the more her own temper shortened and the more angered her fighting became.

"Break," Haymitch announced shortly.

…

(Stephanie's POV)

Stephanie immediately dropped her weapon, glowering up at Haymitch as she doubled over panting.

In truth she wasn't annoyed at Haymitch, but her tired limbs and growing annoyance were hard-pressed to believe her.

Haymitch, looking a lot better than she was feeling Stephanie noted sourly, began to replace the weapons to their respective places.

Stephanie straightened and grimaced as she felt her spine twinge in protest at the many times it had connected harshly with the floor in the past few hours.

"I'm going to freshen up," Stephanie called over her shoulder as she started to walk towards the dressing room, thinking she could collapse from exhaustion and hide in there for a while; not that she doubted that Haymitch wouldn't hesitate in going in to drag her out in a few minutes.

She hadn't wanted to tell Haymitch, but more than a few times during the training she had been brought close to the point of fainting; the only thing stopping her being sheer determination.

But her vision would blur, black spots swimming before her eyes, her head incredibly light as she would stagger, the weapon in her hands falling to the floor unnoticed.

Of course Haymitch noticed, his grey eyes immediately flooding with concern. But Stephanie would brush it away as nothing. She never fooled Haymitch though he would continue anyway at her insistence.

Stephanie groaned as she pressed the heels of her palms into her tightly closed eyes and continued ambling in the general direction of the dressing room.

She stopped suddenly when she felt a blast of cool air hit her.

Stephanie immediately dropped her hands, her eyes flying open as she furrowed her brow in confusion.

Stephanie frowned as she looked and saw that the wall 'door' that led back to Sterlin's apartment was now open.

Looking over her shoulder with a short sigh, Stephanie found she couldn't see Haymitch and realised that he must be round the other side of the 'L' room replacing the bows and arrows.

Grumbling under her breath Stephanie guessed she must have set off some motion sensor, given that she wasn't looking where she was going.

Stephanie approached the now open door, looking about for a switch of some kind and randomly waving her hand in front of the wall either side, hoping that would do the trick.

It didn't and the door remained open.

Stephanie glared at it. Damn Capitol technology.

Stephanie stepped half out into the hall, wondering if there was an outside switch. Not a wise idea given that if it had of closed it would have shut with her in it.

As it were, the door remained open.

Numerous emotions flooded Stephanie at that stage but Stephanie found that they all blurred and faded to one of cold numb resignation; that this was the Capitol, and she would never escape.

And so when she spoke her voice was dead and toneless.

"You are like a damn jack-in-the-box that turns up everywhere I am," Stephanie intoned listlessly.

Seneca merely smirked and shrugged.

The door shut effortlessly. Stephanie leapt out of the way to avoid being shut in it, leaving her standing in the hallway with Seneca as he pocketed a small switch.

"Training?" Seneca drawled out carelessly, tilting his head slightly towards the closed off 'door'.

Stephanie realised that now would be a most understandable moment to be terrified: The Head Gamemaker had just caught her training secretly in the Capitol for his Games.

But given Seneca's most recent confusing behaviour and the fact that his unwanted appearances were becoming somewhat common-place, her fear was considerably diluted.

She had spent the previous night crying on his shoulder while he comforted her; that in itself gave Stephanie pause.

Seneca was leaning up against the wall casually, a smug smile toying on his lips.

Stephanie remained silent. What could she say?

The fact that Seneca was here meant that he knew exactly what she was doing. There was no point in trying to deny it or lie about it.

Seneca's smile wavered slightly at Stephanie's dead stare.

"You don't seem particularly good at it," he told her with an arched brow.

Stephanie stared at him deadpan. "Yes, the art of senseless murder and slaughter seem to be beyond me. Do you think you could teach me?" Stephanie spoke, her words like acid.

A slow smile spread lazily across Seneca's face before it froze and he became suddenly serious.

"You can't win if you can't fight…."

Stephanie stared coldly at him. Was that all he had come here for? To point out to her that certain death was approaching.

"You need more time," Seneca said.

Stephanie looked at him, unable to help the curiosity in her gaze.

Seneca's usual ice glare was thawed, his gaze unfocused as he clearly was deep in thought on something, repeating the words "more time" under his breath in a hushed mantra.

"What do you want?" Stephanie barked harshly again. She wanted to be in his presence as little as possible. She loathed the fact that it was his shoulder she had cried on last night, his arms that had held her, words from his lips that had comforted her.

"I need to speak with you about something," Seneca told her, his voice entirely business-like.

Again Stephanie realised that this was another opportune moment to be terrified, confused, baffled, angered, annoyed or all of them.

But ever since she had saw his ice-blue eyes the only thing she had begun to feel was cold acceptance.

He was here whether she wanted him to be or not. He would stay here as long as he liked. If he wanted to kill her he would; Stephanie had little choice in any matters concerning what Seneca wanted to do.

So Stephanie just waited expectantly for Seneca to say whatever it was he was going to say. Her heart still beat in fear like a hummingbird's wings but she realised there was no point articulating that fear.

"What is it?" Stephanie asked quietly.

Seneca seemed to be getting annoyed at her listless responses.

Stephanie distantly feared if he would strike her.

Seneca sighed irascibly.

"The fact that I love you."

Stephanie fainted.