While Haymitch had been trapped in the arena, his mind was so set on preserving his life that he never thought of how it would be affected if he somehow achieved his objective. He never imagined that being a victor would alter every aspect of what he'd been accustomed to all these years.

The moment he stepped foot on District Twelve again, poverty became nothing but a distant memory. He and his family were moved from their shack of a home in the Seam to a spacious, beautiful house in the Victor's Village. Never again would they be short of either food or money, and Haymitch wasn't even required to go to school anymore. This suited him perfectly well, as he had never been one to make friends.

One of the only things that hadn't changed a bit was his family. His mother, strong and resilient, continued to cook and clean and care for the boys, although she could have certainly hired a maid so she would never have to lift a finger for the rest of her days. And Lionel remained as cheerful and energetic as ever, Haymitch's polar opposite. He also retained the wide-eyed innocence of the ten-year-old boy that he was, despite being forced to see his beloved brother barely evade death on multiple occasions.

That was why during a trip to the bakery one day (even the fact that they could now afford the delicious pastries still felt unreal), Haymitch watched as Lionel raced ahead of him, a huge grin on his face as he glanced back at his brother, with a mixture of amazement, affection, and a touch of envy. Ever since their father was hanged seven years ago simply for going door to door selling fish, Haymitch's days of playing games were far past.

Except for the Games he had played a few weeks before, but he was trying to put those behind him as well.

Lionel waited until Haymitch was within earshot to say, "Do you think we could get a few cinnamon rolls, Haymitch? Those are Mom's favorite."

By this time, Haymitch had finally caught up with him. "Sure thing, Nellie."

The young boy scowled at the nickname. "I told you to stop calling me that!"

"Well it's not my fault Mom wanted a girl," Haymitch defended. He patted his brothers head, making the curls identical to his own shake slightly. "She just had to settle for you."

Lionel most likely made some kind of retort, but Haymitch was no longer paying attention to their banter. They had reached a fork in the road, and his eye caught onto a girl traveling away from them on one of the paths. Despite the notable distance between them, he could clearly make out the hip-length dark hair cascading down her back.

Haymitch blindly reached into his pocket and pulled out some money. "Here, Lionel. Go on ahead, and I'll catch up in a minute."

The boy wasted no time snatching the coins from his hand. "Alright, but if I were you I'd be quick. Don't expect me to save you any cinnamon rolls."

After Lionel took off on the left road, Haymitch quickly began his route on the right.

"Tanya!" he called out.

The girl didn't turn around. In fact, Haymitch could have sworn she actually quickened her pace.

She's been acting this way ever since his return. She had given him a warm smile and a quick kiss at the train station, after that she began avoiding him for reasons Haymitch couldn't understand for the life of him. She was usually reserved and unwilling to show that she was upset, but with Haymitch there were no secrets, which served to make him all the more puzzled.

Although Tanya had a head start of several hundred feet, her beau soon reached her. Being a victor has its occasional perk.

"Tanya, what is it?" Haymitch asked. He tried reaching for her hand, but she maneuvered away from him. She tried to walk again, but Haymitch got in front of her and placed a hand on either shoulder, forcing her to come to a halt.

"I can't know what's wrong unless you talk to me, sweetheart," he pleaded.

Tanya's eyes, previously looking at anything but him, at last meet Haymitch's.

"I think you've made it clear who your sweetheart really is," she said, her expression stony.

Haymitch's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Bet you thought I wouldn't notice," Tanya continued. "The small smiles, the sneaking glances, the way you held her hand..."

"Whose hand?" Haymitch cried in exasperation. "Tanya I've had enough with playing games."

Tanya studied him closely. Then she released a short laugh, displaying a tone that Haymitch didn't like the sound of. "You haven't even realized yet, have you?"

"What?" Haymitch asked the question warily, feeling eerily as though he were approaching a tribute ready for battle.

Tanya looked him straight in the eye and said simply, "You love Maysilee."

The phrase, stated as though it were a commonly known fact, was like an unexpected blow to the chest.

Haymitch stumbles with his words, attempting to parry the attack. "What the... love... why would you possibly... Maysilee... I knew her for barely a month!"

Tanya's words are much smoother, like the swipes of a sword. "Well it seems that was long enough."

Another hit to Haymitch.

Desperate to find a counter attack, Haymitch says, "How could you accuse the girl who saved my life of trying to steal me from you?"

"Don't pretend I'm not grateful!" she shouts, deflecting Haymitch's strike with ease. "But that's beside the point and you know it."

He can feel himself being closed in, but he tries one last ditch attempt to gain the upper hand.

"Maysilee's dead!" he screams, voice and temper rising to a dangerous level. "Even if I did have feelings for her, it wouldn't have made any difference. At least one of us was doomed as soon as we were reaped into those Games sent from Hell itself."

Tanya leans in so that she's only inches from Haymitch's face. The following words are no longer loud and angry, but deadly quiet that was even more terrifying.

"But the question is, what would you have done if she had survived?"

Haymitch's weapon flies from his hand. Now defenseless, he awaits the final blow, but it never comes. Tanya leaves without another word, but just before she turns away, Haymitch catches a glimpse of tears.

That sight alone was enough to kill him. In all the time that he had known her, he never saw her cry. Not once.

All thoughts of bakeries gone from his mind, Haymitch veers around and starts back home, his back to the retreating Tanya. Neither have lost, yet neither have won.