Disclaimer: I do not own Hunger Games

…

Screaming, Taya launched herself upright, staring uncomprehendingly into the shadows dominating her bedroom, trying to make sense of what was real and what was dream.

Shuddering, she slowly let her body lean back, closing her eyes in exhaustion as her head made contact with the pillow.

Damn it.

She'd expected nightmares. When her mind had dared to explore what she'd do after surviving the games…she'd known to expect nightmares.

What she hadn't expected was the…delayed guilt…for lack of a better term.

When most people thought of Haymitch Abernathy, Taya knew, she knew that they didn't think him a fit father. Never had.

She'd been the product of one of her father's numerous attempts to forget the horrors he himself had suffered due to his own reaping. He hadn't loved her mother, she knew that too. But when he found out about her, about the pregnancy, well, Taya remembered what her mother had often told her before she died.

'He was so happy, Taya. Never, ever, believe any different. Your Dad wanted you from the moment he knew you existed, but he was scared. But don't ever blame him for that, baby, not that. I always knew, he always made sure I knew that it was only because he was scared for you, nothing else. He loves you, little love. He loves you just as much as I do.'

Her mother died in an accident a few days before her sixth birthday, but before that her father had been nothing but respectful and even faithful to the mother of his only child. And if Haymitch Abernathy only loved Violet Knowles because of what she gave him – his daughter – he never treated her with anything but the utmost respect.

Still, most people in the district only saw his drinking and the lack of a mother, and they judged. But Haymitch was a victor of the Hunger Games, a Quarter Quell at that, they didn't have the power to do anything but whisper and grumble about unfit parents.

She stayed with him.

Running a hand across her brow, Taya brushed her long chocolate curls over her shoulder, hating the feel of slick sweat against her palm even as she hoped exposing the skin to the night air might cool her body.

Why was the guilt only hitting her now? She hadn't felt guilty in the arena. Not really. She'd been sad, when she'd had time for anything but blind panic and the all-powerful instinct to survive…but she'd never felt guilty for the four people she'd killed.

It had surprised the Capitol; Taya knew that too, to see her petite, doll-like figure purposefully cutting down the other tributes.

They should have known better.

Haymitch Abernathy was many things but generous towards the people of the Capitol he was not.

He'd had her training since she was eight, never trusting the Capitol not to exploit the crowd-pleasing idea of a victor's child in the games. And so he'd prepared her. With the money given to him from his own victory she'd never wanted for food as others in District 12 had – a sore point with many – and as a result she'd grown up as healthy as can be. The daily runs, jumps, endurance training only becoming more intense the older she became.

Taya knew that she should be considered a career tribute with her combat and survival skills but her Dad had made it very clear in the run-up to the games that she shouldn't reveal what she could do. To take the other tributes by surprise.

And that's precisely what she did. Because it was kill or be killed.

…So why was she feeling guilty?

Burying her face in her pillow, Taya hated herself for the tears that wouldn't seem to stop coming no matter how harshly she rebuked herself for them. No matter how much she rationalised her situation in the games.

It didn't stop the memories of those four bodies hitting the ground, ceasing to breathe.

And it didn't erase the scent of bitter iron that seemed to contaminate everything in her waking world.

The smell of freshly spilled blood.

…

"How'd you do?" Gale asked softly when Katniss came to a stop beside him, discreetly slipping the coins she'd earned from their morning hunt into her pocket.

"Alright," She murmured, sending him a small smile but nothing else.

She'd always been a person of few words.

"Well, I managed to sell everything," He grinned easily, hoping to buoy her spirits.

He received a rare chuckle in response for his efforts.

Katniss' eyes suddenly fixed on a small figure slipping inside the warm Hob; picking her out with the skill only a hunter of her calibre was capable of.

It wasn't hard to understand what had caught her attention.

Floating down the busy makeshift aisles of District 12's black market was a face everyone was more than familiar with, a face that had dominated their screens for weeks in the lead up and execution to the 73rd Hunger Games.

Taya Abernathy.

Even before her reaping she was an impossible girl to ignore, not least of which was due to who her father was, and, where she lived: the Victor's Village. In a place where everyone you knew struggled to meet the bare essentials of life, the money forever connected to Haymitch Abernathy was a foreign concept. Strange. Compelling…Hard to swallow.

But that was only half of it.

Ever since Gale could remember people had spoken of Taya Abernathy. Spoken of her vivaciousness, her cheeky charm and toothy grin. Her fearlessness. On her fifth birthday the little girl had snuck away from her mother and into the Hob, determined to find out what was so interesting and dangerous about the warehouse she'd been told never to enter. The story had made numerous rounds over the years, the amusement and tolerance of the event affecting even the coldest District traders. For five-year-old Taya Abernathy had seemingly ignored all the questioning glances and grumbles and bounced straight towards the colourful materials stall, wide blue eyes sweeping over the gleaming fabrics with awe.

Apparently, it took her parents a good five hours to find their wayward daughter. Violet Knowles, beside herself, had collected a then-tipsy Haymitch Abernathy and the pair had been running all over the District, searching frantically for their small child. They'd found her, it was said, perched up on a tall stool happily slurping away at some sort of broth the man behind the counter had finally broken down and served the adorable, moaning child, if only to shut her up. As it was, she'd been listening raptly to the tales of a group of tired miners that had only recently emerged from their day in the mines, at first cautious and then humouring the insistent girl's demands to know why they were all so dirty.

Five hours alone in the dangerous Hob and all that little girl had done was march from stall to stall, coaxing, charming, annoying and, on some specific occasions, browbeating the booth owners into explaining what they sold and answering her never-ending line of questions.

Her father had not been pleased.

"Think she'll buy anything?" Katniss' soft inquiry broke Gale out of his thoughts, bringing his attention back to the raven-haired young woman at this side.

Mouth pinched, back straight, Katniss' gaze never moved from the smiling Taya Abernathy as she greeted a few of the stall owners on her way down the aisle.

Running a hand through his hair, Gale almost sighed. Almost.

"Probably," He answered instead, keeping all other comments locked away.

"You'd think she'd help more, pass along all that Capitol money to those who really need it," Katniss muttered lowly, turning her back on the girl barely younger than herself without another word, dismissing her as she'd dismissed her all of her life. "It's not like she needs it."

Gale often wondered if Katniss realised that her quiet rebellion and dislike was completely unknown to the subject in question. Shaking his head, hitching up the bow on his shoulder, he followed in his friend's wake, knowing that she didn't care either way.

Still, glancing back over his shoulder, Gale couldn't pretend that he was indifferent to the victor of this year's Hunger Games. With her long brown curls and dark blue eyes, Taya Abernathy had never been short of attention.

He only wished he hadn't fallen into the same trap.

…

"She's fifteen," Haymitch growled through his teeth, snarling at the powerful figure on the holoscreen with far more heat and hate than most men would ever even dream of, let alone do. "Even you…"

"I assure you, Mr Abernathy, I don't intend for our victor to commence her duties in the Capitol until after the Victory Tour," President Snow smiled sibilantly, his finger circling the rim of a crystal glass filled with amber liquid. "And, of course, the months before the tour begins will be her own, as tradition dictates. However," Blue eyes hardened, "I feel it only fair for you to know now that I expect the young Miss Taya Abernathy to be prepared to fulfil her first client's wishes to the very best of her ability come her last stop on this years Victor Tour."

"You can't mean to-!"

"Directly following the evenings events at my home in the Capitol, Mr Abernathy," President Snow clarified with glacial eyes; the polite tone and words coating the hideous subject of his orders only succeeding in transforming Haymitch's hate for the man into something even he hadn't believed himself capable of. "Your daughter is already in high demand, as I'm sure you can imagine. These months before the Victory Tour ends is a gift…don't forget that."

The threat couldn't have been more explicit.

If a fuss was made, timetables were easy to push up.

The screen abruptly cut off, the President ending the call.

…

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