Chapter One-Hundred-and-Two; Blackmailer's Identity

(Haymitch's POV)

Haymitch swiftly crossed the street silently and with purpose, his eyes trained on his target.

"Care for a walk?"

An expression of anger and fear flashed across Caesar Flickerman's face initially as Haymitch had seized his elbow, but as he came face to face with Haymitch a grim acceptance settled over his features.

"You've talked to Dan?" It was more a statement than a question.

Haymitch nodded in the direction of down the street and away from the busy establishments that crowded in this part of town, and releasing his elbow they began walking in that direction, Caesar tightening his coat about himself against the night's chill.

They had been walking for a good ten minutes and the crowds were thinning out, the bright lights of establishments spilling onto the pavements becoming less.

They had been stopped once or twice by people who recognised Caesar – most of them a little inebriated by this time late in the evening – who tried to encourage Caesar to join them while Haymitch stood unnoticed, melting seamlessly into the shadows.

Haymitch was grateful it was like that. He remembered a time shortly after his Games when he could barely go out the door without being accosted by hordes of reporters.

Caesar would effortlessly reply with sincerest regrets and such a painfully earnest expression – however he was otherwise engaged this evening or else he would have most certainly accompanied them; and then with promises of future outings the persons would continue on their ways.

A perfect actor, Haymitch noted wryly, though his brother Dan could learn a thing or two about retaining his composure under pressure.

Finally they found themselves in a secluded part of town, show displays in shop windows of sequins and glitter that looked eerie in the gloom with only the streetlamps for lights, rather than their usual gaudy splendour of flashing, coloured bulbs.

Mannequins donned in the latest and trendiest Capitol fashions cast long shadows across the smooth pavement, as they watched silently.

Gradually they slowed to a stop, both of them innately checking over their shoulders for anyone coming – however, the street was completely deserted.

Distantly there could be heard the undulating waves of noise that carried the steady hum of conversation and laughter and undertones of numerous strands of different music.

It was Flickerman who spoke first, his face half-bathed in shadow and half thrown in the harsh light of the streetlamps that caught the streaks of glitter at his eyes.

"You spoke to Dan," he repeated, any questioning incline to his voice gone now.

"Your brother wasn't much help," Haymitch told him shortly.

A wry smirk tugged at Caesar's lips stubbornly before he shrugged half-heartedly, averting his gaze, though there was almost something smug about his demeanour. "He never has been," he admitted.

"I'm not interested in whatever personal mess your brother has landed himself in – I want to know who it is that is blackmailing him."

Caesar scoffed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Getting mixed up with that woman," he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Sharpe's wife! Sharpe treats her like one of his prize guns – it wouldn't have been just my brother waking up to a barrel pressed to his temple one morning," Caesar declared vehemently.

"Who knows about your brother and the Sharpe woman?" Haymitch demanded.

"No-one, except me," Caesar answered.

Haymitch's grey eyes hardened and narrowed as he looked at Caesar sceptically.

"No one – except me!" Caesar repeated defiantly, his voice rising just slightly.

Haymitch exhaled harshly, "Then who is blackmailing your brother with this? How the hell does making your brother into Stephanie's Capitol Lover benefit whoever it is in any way?!"

A tense silence stretched for a moment before Caesar spoke quietly yet firmly. "I don't know why he wanted this – it benefits no one."

Haymitch's gaze snapped suddenly to Caesar as recognition dawned in one fell swoop.

"You know who it is!" Haymitch accused and demanded with one sentence.

Pained reluctance claimed Caesar's expression for a brief moment and Haymitch was ready to use whatever force necessary to get Caesar to talk, when suddenly Caesar's gaze fell over Haymitch's shoulder, and all at once he paled and his eyes widened in alarm.

Haymitch sensed the presence of someone behind them and whipping around fiercely, he faced this newcomer.

"I didn't realise you were that slow, Abernathy."

Seneca's smug expression was only amplified by the harsh shafts of light the streetlamps cast upon his face.

His collar was pulled up high but his ice blue eyes almost gleamed with a fierce brilliance.

A deafening silence ensued the Head Gamemaker and President Snow's son's appearance and frankly the last person Haymitch expected to encounter that night.

Seneca's eyes flickered for a moment in the direction behind Haymitch. "You can leave now Flickerman. And I trust even reminding you of your silence in this matter is redundant, however – just in case, there is a surprise waiting for you at your penthouse."

Haymitch didn't need to look over his shoulder to see that Flickerman's face was almost green in colour, contrasting sharply with the lilac glitter streaked in hair with the silver, or to see the wild flicker of panic in his blinking eyes as he opened his mouth to struggle for coherent words.

Seneca smirked and though Haymitch held no great love for Caesar Flickerman he would have gladly punched Seneca in the face to displace that smug look; too long had Seneca enjoyed making others suffer.

Haymitch was just about to step forward and put his murderous thoughts into actions, his fingers curling into an iron fist when Seneca spoke again, his tone almost careless.

"Oh, don't worry Caesar – if I wanted you dead, you would be. Now, off you go."

Almost immediately Haymitch heard the hurried and retreating clicks of Caesar Flickerman's shoes rapping against the pavement, as he rushed along the street in the opposite direction of them.

However Haymitch didn't dare let his gaze stray from Seneca. To say that he didn't trust Seneca would be the understatement of the century.

"What the hell do you want?" Haymitch's tone burned like acid, his storm grey gaze scorching holes in Seneca.

Seneca for his part smirked smugly at seeing the huge strain he was putting Haymitch under.

Seneca hadn't been able to see and hence enjoy the completely broken expression Haymitch had worn when he had returned from his Games at the tender age of 16, to find all his loved ones dead.

He didn't get to see Haymitch completely break, for his world to fall apart, to lose everything that ever mattered to him like Seneca's had when they had executed the only real family he ever had – Lark.

All because a stupid District boy couldn't play by the simple rules: the Capitol always wins.

And so, ever since then he had dedicated himself to finding that perfect moment when he could capture that truly hopeless and despairing expression on Haymitch's face. He wanted Haymitch to feel that same agony over and over and over again, and Seneca would know once more that he had reset the balance and the Capitol had won.

Because Seneca would one day become President and in effect the Capitol itself and the Capitol won everything; the Revolution, the Games, even Stephanie Trindlesworth herself – Seneca would win her and take her from Haymitch.

Seneca's expression sobered within seconds, "We need to talk Abernathy."

Something livid and dangerous flared in Haymitch's eyes and Seneca spoke across any sharp retorts or threats readying themselves on Haymitch's tongue, silencing him with the one thing Seneca knew Haymitch couldn't refuse.

"About Stephanie."