A/N: Good day all! I haven't much to say in my first A/N today so you don't have to read through paragraphs of my ramblings before the chapter starts this time :) Enjoy!

I am on my feet in an instant.

A shout begins to build at the back of my throat but my hands clamped over my mouth aren't letting it pass. My whole body goes ridged and my eyes are set widely, focused on Peeta's lifeless body on the screen in front of us.

Haymitch is also on his feet, hands behind the back of his head, muttering some obscenities under his breath.

A scream cuts across the room like a blade as Katniss shakes Peeta and slaps him in the face in an attempt at rousing him, her face a mess of sweat and tears.

Finnick picks himself up off the ground and gives Katniss a forceful shove out of the way. "Let me." He says calmly, checking for a heartbeat in his neck and wrists. He pinches Peeta's nose shut and Katniss throws herself towards him with a yell but Finnick brings up his other hand and sends her backwards into a tree trunk where she stays for a while, winded.

I watch as Finnick does something virtually unseen in the Hunger Games. And it is so inexplicable that at first I don't even recognise it but then I realise - he is trying to revive him.

He pushes his fists against Peeta's chest so forcefully I'm afraid they might go straight through his ribcage, then dips down and breathes into his mouth. Peeta's chest rises and falls but even after a few distressing minutes, there is still no sign of life.

I look away, not wanting to see any of it anymore and just as I am about to accept the fact that Peeta is gone, there is a cough from the screen.

My attention snaps back as Finnick moves away leaving enough room for Katniss to take his place at Peeta's side.

"Peeta?" She touches his cheek and brushes the hair from his face.

His eyes open slowly to meet Katniss' and he manages a small smile.

"Careful, there's a force field up ahead." He says weakly.

Katniss, Haymitch and I all begin to laugh and I too begin to feel my heart beating again, for surely it must have stopped as I don't remember breathing at all.

"Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Centre roof. I'm alright, though. Just a little shaken."

"You were dead! Your heart stopped!" Yells Katniss beginning to sob. She puts a hand across her mouth in an attempt to subdue the choking sounds.

"Well it seems to be working now," he says as an attempt at lightness but then frowns. "It's alright, Katniss." She nods but continues sobbing and a look of complete concern crosses his features. "Katniss?"

"It's okay. It's just her hormones, from the baby." Interjects Finnick but Katniss shakes her head.

"No it's not-" is all she manages before the sobbing returns.

I feel Haymitch's hand at the small of my back. "We should probably show our faces down at the Sponsor Centre. We owe Four our thanks."

"I know. But what if something happens to Peeta?" I ask taking in the boy on the screen, struggling to stand on his shaky legs.

He frowns for a moment, considering. "He'll be fine. Besides, if something happens, it'll happen wherever we are."

I purse my lips together and, unable to come up with an argument to match his, come out with a reluctant "I suppose."

As I anticipated, the Sponsor Centre is busier than I have ever seen it before and upon around five seconds of our arrival; we are swamped with recollections of people's responses to Peeta's ordeal and congratulations on the fact he has 'defied the odds and returned to us'.

I end up smiling and nodding my way through the small crowd that has gathered, biting my tongue at a particularly shallow comment made about Katniss from whom I can only presume a reporter from some prevaricating tabloid.

I look to my left to see Haymitch having the same problem. He catches my gaze and frowns and I can tell he is doing all he can not to make a perverse remark that could cost us any potential sponsors.

When the suffocating crowd eventually begins to disperse and we are able to move, I re-join Haymitch at his side.

"I'm not entirely sure how the winning districts do that more than once." He says tiredly and I smile.

"Neither am I."

"I think I preferred it when we weren't so popular."

I laugh lightly at his pessimistic demeanour and pass him a glass of something from a nearby table. "Look happy or you'll drive away sponsors."

"People here don't know me for my smiley attitude, sweetheart."

"Fine," I say. "Just look… approachable then."

He shakes his head and swallows the last mouthful of the indigo drink I gave him just moments ago.

"I'm going over there, you're welcome to come." He says beginning towards where Beatrice Copain, District Four's mentor, and victor of the 59th Hunger Games, is seated.

I don't have chance to reply before he is down the steps and has disappeared into the clamour of the room.

I am about to follow when I hear a voice behind me.

"Long time, no see, Effie."

I whirl round to see a familiar face smiling down. Acton Adelard, an old friend and former classmate from my teenage years.

"Acton!" I say in surprise and he embraces me, best he can, with two drinks in his hands. "How are you?"

"I'm perfectly well, thank you, and yourself?"

I smile. "Getting by. I'm feeling a little snowed under with all the paperwork and whatnot but nonetheless, I am absolutely fine."

He frowns sympathetically and nods towards the seating area. "Come sit?"

"Yes. Are you sponsoring this year? If you are, I would obviously recommend my Katniss and Peeta-"

I am cut off by a small laugh. "I'm not sponsoring this year," he says with a smile. "Because I finally landed the job. I'm Four's Escort."

I suddenly feel awful for not knowing that and put my hand on his arm to stop him. "I'm so sorry! I can't believe I didn't pick up on that! Congratulations!" I say apologetically trying to think back to the Reaping recaps.

"It's perfectly fine. You've had two wonderful victors to look after. Well, three." He smiles and gestures to Haymitch.

"Well, yes." I say with a laugh. "When don't I have to look after Haymitch?"

We continue towards the two mentors, already it appears, in deep conversation and passing papers between one another. They barely notice when Acton and I sit on the buttery coloured sofas next to our respective colleagues.

"…so clearly water is a must because as far as I've seen, there appears to be no source of fresh water. Unless they're keeping it hidden which is a possibility. I don't know what they are planning with the weather so for all we know, it may rain. Even so, it is unreliable and no one but the Gamemakers will know for sure whether that will happen or not." Says Beatrice, brushing a strand of auburn hair behind her ear.

Haymitch nods, leaning forward on his elbows. "I agree but we need to send something more sustainable than a few bottles of water. They'll drain them in minutes and if the Careers found out, they hold an even greater risk of being attacked or killed. We need a way to get them water but in the most disguised way possible."

"Well what about something to purify the sea water, like what Katniss used in the last Games?" I chime in but Haymitch shakes his head.

"It's a good idea but it's too risky. The beach is too exposed; they would be noticed easily if they went down to the shore line." He frowns and clicks his thumb and middle finger a few times as if trying to conjure up some way to get them water. "Pass me that?"

He gestures to the catalogue of sponsor gifts Acton is flicking through and he passes it across the table.

He flips through the pages upon pages of food, medicine, weapons, and objects such as sleeping bags and blankets before finally landing on a section of assorted metal instruments. I recognise some by picture from past Games but other than that, am left completely incompetent in the situation.

He skims down the page before his forefinger finally lands on an image of an object that I cannot even begin to fathom its use. He passes it across the table for Four's team to examine.

"A spile." He says plainly and Beatrice smiles, her features lighting up with recognition.

"Ah – well done, good thinking."

"What does it do?" Asks Acton taking the booklet from her to try and get a better look at the object. I am thankful that he asked so that I didn't have to.

"Basically you hammer it into a tree trunk and if there's water or any other liquid inside, you can get it out." She explains.

"But what if there isn't? Anything inside, I mean?" I direct my question to Beatrice but Haymitch answers.

"There must be. Unless the water flows underground, which I doubt highly considering the terrain, the plants couldn't live. So the only other place there could be water is in the trunks."

"Yes but what if they don't know what it is? Need I remind you that Katniss nearly died last year down to your chary gift-giving?" I bite forgetting we are in the company of others.

"Yes but she didn't, did she? She figured out what I was trying to tell her and she got there in the end. Besides, Mags has a lot of years' experience. This won't be the first time one of these has been sent into the Games."

I frown knowing that in my whole career, I have never once seen on of these… spiels before.

We spend the rest of the afternoon in the company of Four's team. At a point when all the tributes seem to be doing is walking around, Acton announces his recent engagement to a rather dapper young man of whom he shows us a picture. Haymitch of course is completely disinterested and spends the time drinking.

I watch him as he does so, the way he holds the alcohol in his mouth for a moment before swallowing – savouring the taste I suppose – and how his arm comes up to lift the glass, the navy shirt that is just that bit too small for him taut against his skin. It is the first time in the last few days that I realise just how much I want him.

I promptly repudiate the thoughts from my mind and I don't realise I have been staring until his gaze meets mine, a quizzical look on his face and when I look away promptly, I hear him chuckle softly.

Evening couldn't come sooner for the tributes and by the time the unforgiving sun sets in the sky, they are all parched. Katniss has found them a meal of some peculiar creature from a tree and Peeta, an effective way of cooking it.

They sit the mouth of the grass hut as a large moon lights the sky. It is replaced with the seal of the Capitol and the eight dead victors' portraits in the sky.

The four careers and the tributes from Three and Four are still alive and kicking. The man from District Five is the first to be shown then the male tribute from Six, both from Eight, both from Nine and the females from Ten and Eleven.

I didn't imagine that I would feel this upset at the demise of the eight victors, but I do.

I knew none of them well but that's not to say no one else didn't.

I think of Haymitch, of Beatrice and the others who did and who considered them friends. I knew Cecelia and I knew of her children and that thought is enough to fill me with anger and self-loathing.

I begin to ask myself questions. Questions like how could you stand for something like this? And I wish I knew. I wish I knew how Haymitch could stand me. Maybe he can't, maybe I'm just a way for him to vent his emotions and his passions.

I shake the thoughts from my mind because they are starting to upset me.

I feel the sofa dip beside me as Haymitch re-joins us, his attention on the screen as a silver parachute drops down from the sky.

"Whose is it, do you think?" asks Katniss and numerous people in the group shrug.

"No telling, why don't we let Peeta claim it, since he died today." Says Finnick and the room ripples with quiet laughter.

Peeta unties the silver cord and spreads out the silk on the floor.

"What is it?" is the first thing we all hear and I shoot Haymitch a glance but he seems remarkably unfazed by the fact he was wrong.

They pass it around each other, each of them trying to find a way of deciphering the object and the meaning behind it.

Katniss looks thoughtful though, and remains quiet as if the silence in itself would be able to conjure up a usage for the thing. But even she eventually gives in and in frustration, jams one end into the dirt. "I give up," she says "maybe if we hook up with Beetee or Wiress they can figure it out."

She lies down and Peeta rubs her back.

The four of them, though having admitted defeat, still continue to stare at the spiel determinedly.

It takes a while, perhaps five minutes or so, before anyone speaks again but all of a sudden Katniss sits up, startling the rest of them and exclaims loudly: "A spile!"

Haymitch shoots me a smug look and suddenly I feel bad for not believing in him. He does, after all, know Katniss better than the rest of us, or so I believe. The two seem to be of one mind – one quick thinking, sharp witted mind. Somehow he knew she would figure it out, and he was right.

The rest of them seem confused, especially Finnick who finds the whole process of extracting liquid from a tree preposterous.

"It's a spile. Sort of like a tap. You put it in a tree and sap comes out. Well, the right sort of tree." Explains Katniss.

"Sap?" asks Finnick.

"To make syrup," replies Peeta. "But there must be something else inside these trees."

They all jump up from the ground at once and gather around one of the green trunks.

Finnick has the spiel in his hand and picks up a rock from the ground, about to forcibly hammer it into the tree when Katniss stops him.

"Wait. You might damage it. We need to drill a hole first."

They jump to it straight away, their thirst taking over, going at the tree trunk with knives and an awl like there's no tomorrow until a hole is made, big enough to fit the spiel inside.

Once a steady stream of water is going, they take turns putting their mouths under the lip until Mags brings over a bowl made of grass that, remarkably, holds water.

Without the worry of finding water and edible food, Katniss Peeta and Mags settle in for the night while Finnick takes the first watch with instructions from Katniss to rouse her as soon as he gets tired.

Haymitch and I linger around for half an hour or so, and when we decide they are in no great danger at the present moment; decide to leave for the penthouse.

It is dark outside but there is no moon.

We cross one of the bridges over a passage of water. The lake, manmade – like everything else, reflects some of the streetlights, bending their light on its glassy surface. I stop to look for a moment which I soon regret as my thoughts from before catch up with me.

Haymitch continues for a few steps but when he hears his name, stops and joins me at the railing.

"What is it?"

I frown and the words fall from my lips before I can even think about any meaning behind them. "What am I to you?"

He pauses and looks moderately shocked. "What kinda questions that?"

I feel my eyes widen as I shake my head at his response. "Just-just forget I said anything-" I start to walk away but his hand gripping my arm stops me.

It is enough to turn my body to him, his face hard as stone, and for a moment he just stands there, looking me straight in the eye. I break his hold on me; leaving him on the bridge before eventually he falls back in step with me.

"What do you want me to say?" he asks, quickening his pace to keep up with me.

"Just drop it. I shouldn't have said anything." Annoyance begins to creep into my tone at his tenacity and I walk quicker still. "I wasn't thinking and – and…" I trail off.

"Hey, just stop for a minute, will you?" Once again he tugs on my arm and pulls me down onto one of the benches before sitting beside me. "You're gonna break your damn ankle walking that fast in those shoes."

I fold my hands in my lap, wringing them together. "Stop it." I whisper.

"Stop what?" he asks perplexedly.

"Stop being so nice to me," I say bitterly.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

I sigh angrily. "I want you to stop because I don't understand. I don't understand how you can even stand to be in the same room as me, let alone in the same bed." I stop and look around to make sure no one heard that. "It makes me mad at myself and it makes me so unbelievably mad at you because I am such a terrible, terrible person and you should push me away and get as far away from me as possible but you don't. And that's what I don't understand."

He processes this for a moment, the creases in his forehead prominent in the dark as he frowns. "No. You're wrong."

I look up to meet his gaze but find instead he is looking at the perfect square tiles of the pavement, shuffling his foot occasionally.

"I am in no way justifying some of the things you have done because they-" he pauses and I don't have to ask to know he is talking about all of the children. "They are truly appalling but somehow you aren't the same as the rest of them. It has taken me a long time to realise it, but it's true. Everyone else in this god-forsaken place may be shallow, gluttonous, unthinking conformists through and through, but not you. For you it's skin deep."

He half smiles to himself. "Like when you take all that shit off your face and the hair and the clothes come off and I finally get to see the real you. The real Effie. The one too proper and picture-perfect for a district and one too avant-garde and… good for the Capitol. And after all this time spent believing you were just another one of them." He shakes his head.

"But I am-"

"No." he says adamantly. "Stop arguing with me, woman."

"Then stop trying to defend me!" I counter-attack. "I am one of them! I always will be. There is nothing you nor I can do to change that." I put my head in my hands, wanting to hear nothing more on the subject.

Haymitch stands. "Say what you want. You're not going to change my mind."

I expect him to walk off down the road; leaving me to my own devices, but for the umpteenth time today I am proved wrong. He looks awkward about it but nonetheless offers his hand.

"Come on."

I slide my hand into his, letting him pull me up off the bench but immediately withdraw it as we begin to head back in the direction of the Training Centre.

Upon our entering of Twelve's quarters, the apartment is dark.

"Hello?" I call out but find only silence in reply.

I turn to Haymitch. "What do you think could be keeping Cinna and Portia?"

His eyes flicker to the ground momentarily and if I hadn't of been looking closely, I wouldn't have seen it at all.

"Haymitch," I warn him taking a step closer. "Where are they?"

"I don't know." He says.

"Don't lie to me."

He shakes his head and frowns.

"Haymitch, please." I beg him; worry beginning to waver my voice.

"I don't know where they are but I can hazard a guess." He says, wincing.

"I don't understand-"

"The dress, Effie. The goddamn mockingjay dress." He runs a hand through his hair.

"But surely Snow wouldn't have-"

Haymitch glances up at me, giving me a look that I suppose is to remind me of everything he told me about his family. Of course Snow would.

A shudder runs through me and I feel tears prick my eyes. What are they doing to them as we speak?

"I don't know if they're dead or just being held. My guess is the latter. Snow would want to punish them for such an act of defiance. He knew it wasn't just an innocent costume change."

"Cinna knew what he was doing." I state flatly.

"Yeah, he did."

I bring a hand to my mouth, swallowing back tears. "But it makes no sense. Why would he risk his life like that?"

When I look up, Haymitch is at the other end of the apartment pouring himself a drink.

Not one to expect an answer any time soon, I slip off my shoes and carry them down to my room and when I get there, I sit on the end of my bed running my fingers along the silk.

Words and thoughts scramble together in my mind.

Why would Cinna do that? He knew it would be seen as an act of defiance and he knew the consequences. So why?

Haymitch appears in my doorway, a glass of bourbon hanging from his hand. He saunters over to the bed, sits down beside me and without a word wraps his free arm around me and pulls me into his side.

I comply and lean my head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I know you were close to them."

I nod. "Thank you."

He ghosts his lips over my temple, almost as if afraid to kiss me properly. But I meet him halfway, bringing my lips to his in some gentle yet passionate motion.

He is the first to cut off the kiss and without another word, leaves as quickly as he came.

A/N: Oh dear, does Haymitch have a guilty conscience? You will find out next chapter ;) … well I apologise wholeheartedly for the quality and the lateness of this chapter. I kind of reached a deadline with it and felt entirely unmotivated to finish it but me, being a nice author, decided to carry on having received a particularly lovely review from alwayslovedbooks which motivated me :) and also my best friend foreverandalways861 with whom I had a deal to update by Christmas if she did the same. The next chapter should be better (but probably a little shorter) as I have it all planned out in my head :) I know I don't deserve it but feel free to drop off a review at the end, it would make me a happy person!

Thank you for sticking with this! ~ H x