Authors Note: Helloooooooooooooooooo! Thank you for the follows and reviews, they really do help with motivation! I'm feeling particularly hard-working today so here's another update! (Well actually just procrastinating school work :L)

So yea, enjoy! (And do tell your friends! *bows head shamefully for self-advertising*)
All mistakes if any, are mine! Sorry! Also the characterization, if Santana's a bit OOC... I'll work on it! All will be explained!

DISCLAIMER: HUNGER GAMES AND GLEE ARE NOT MINE /3

"Morning." grumbled Haymitch as he entered the training room. The area was spacious; it was well lit since it was the only room which had no windows. The long rectangular expanse of white walls was divided; it had a little chamber on the far left side where a simulator for the games was installed. Mounted on the side was a vast collection of weapons: from various blades to artilleries and explosives in different sizes. A segment of the wall panels on the bottom left quarter of the room also acted like huge screens in which programmes were displayed where the setting for battle simulation can be adjusted. A partition made from glass isolated this vicinity from the rest of floor where a punching bag was hanging down in the hand-to-hand combat arena and a metal surfaced table was located against the upper right corner.

Haymitch dressed in grey sweats and a plain white shirt wobbled inside, his bare feet stepping on the smooth granite floor. His right hand supporting a cup of freshly brewed coffee while the palm of his left hand came to his face rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

Santana briefly looked up giving Haymitch a quick nod and returned her attention to her training. Fists momentarily moulded the punching bag. It swayed repeatedly as it was showered with jabs, hooks, uppercuts and kicks. The black rubbery skin was worn white from the previous episodes of abuse.

"This- bag is really light, Haymitch-"

The scruffy man blew the steam off his coffee and took a sip, warm liquid slid down his throat as he watched the Latina beat the victim of her aggression.

"I need a new one-" Santana finishes by delivering an uppercut with her left fist, spinning the bag and rattling the chain as they coiled together.

"Well, it made you sweat like a pig. Clearly it's doing something right." He chucks her the white towel resting on the stainless chair by the working table he was leaning on.

"I've been here since 5am." She replied as she wiped the dots of sweat off her forehead.

"And what time is it now?" Haymitch asked.

"1pm." Santana grabs the bottle of water and takes large gulps of water to cure dehydration.

"Shit. Must have drank more than the usual last night..." Haymitch's eyes widened and took another drink.

This caused Santana to scoff; folding her arms as she looked at Haymitch with a cocked eyebrow amused "Why does this come as a surprise? Sometimes I actually make a bet with myself whether you'll actually get out of bed. Hell, sometimes even whether or not you're still breathing!" she jibes.

"Whatever" The older man turns his back to her and waves his left hand dismissively "Wait, if it's 1 in the afternoon... We should be in District 10 by now!" He turns to her waiting for Santana's confirmation.

"Yea pretty much. We're only here because we're waiting to get your drunken ass sobered up. I'm not having a repeat of what happened in District 7..." The young brunette's face pulls into a scowl from the memory. She pinches the frayed edges of the bandage wrapped around her right knuckles and starts to undress it.

"Hey! Don't look at me like that! We made it alive didn't we?! Besides who would have thought that was going to happen..." Haymitch places his now empty cup on the smooth metal surface of his table and brings his hands up defensively at the Latina.

"What." Santana stop her movements and looked at Haymitch. "Your liquored drenched ass of a brain thought it was a bright idea to go out in the middle of the night- during a blizzard might I add- to get to, and I quote-"

Santana puts her hands in the air and makes a gesture of quotation marks as she said ""The North Pole" and that we had to move fast because this Santa guy. Who from what you described is an overweight man in his 60's and enjoys watching children in his free time was about to leave on his magical sleigh pulled along by flying reindeers. Now, I don't care if that was the illegal grass you smoked talking or if it's one of your ancient references that I don't get or you have some dark, dark ,dark fetish in that disturbed head of yours... But either way, all I know is that it almost got us killed!" exclaimed the fiery Latina.

"Ugh. Lighten up, it's not my fault you had a bitter childho-" Haymitch bites his tongue but was a moment too late, he saw the way the Latina's posture stiffen, invisible to those who didn't know her but carried a motion of a trembling ground to those who had been around her for a long time. How the tiny nonetheless previously existing playful glint in her eyes completely dulled down like dying embers. The way her smile was no longer genuine but plastered. Santana was done playing and had retired back to the asylum of her fortress.

"Santana, I didn't-"

"I know." She cuts him in mid sentence. "It's alright Haymitch. I'll be packing my stuff and I need to wash myself, meet you in the dining area in half an hour." Santana turns her back to him and calmly walks out of the room and enters the darkly lit corridor, her steps echoing as she left.

"Oh Santana..." Haymitch sighs, watching the girl walk away until the door slid shut hiding the figure away. His head was drowning with concerns, how he wished he could back out from this responsibility or somehow change the brunette's mind about this mission of hers. It's admirable he thought, but borderline insane.

But then again, what else do you expect from a person who believed they were born broken and didn't know what it's like to be fixed?

Santana and Haymitch joined one another after finishing their individual preparations. Both of them carrying a backpack each, only holding the essentials. Santana learned to pack light another skill she gained from the whole trip. Only keep those you will need and not to waste a space or even a thought for trivial things. She was dressed in a white vest top which hugged her slender frame, sporting black torn jeans with worn out boots and leather jacket. Santana frees her black mane from the towel wrapped around her head and combs her hand through it.

"Looking very handsome." Commented Haymitch.

"Looking less beggared." Santana replied.

Haymitch looked down on his fresh light blue buttoned up shirt which was scrunched up to his elbows and inspects his beige corduroy trousers. "Thanks, I tried. Anyway, we don't have anyone waiting for us in the victor village this time. We'll be staying with an old friend of mine, he's a rancher. They're not a very well-off family, but he volunteered into taking us in. We'll be helping them out in exchange for their hospitality, so I hope you know how to ride a horse bareback and how to milk cows... Oh, and try not to stick out like a sore thumb...But I guess it's a bit too late for that, judging from your outfit... This is an oppressed district-"

"Aren't they all." Santana interjects.

"This is different." The way Haymitch looked directly into Santana's eyes with such unusual intensity made her drop her snarky remarks.

"These people are putting their lives in danger for us. The capitol had probably sent for their pets to sniff each District out to look for us. We are in their debt, and if we had some other place to hide, trust me we wouldn't be here. So be courteous, these people barely have enough to feed themselves let alone another two mouths. We can't afford to be reckless, so stay out of trouble; it's not just your ass you're looking out for this time. These people could be killed for nursing two outlaws." Haymitch lectured; in all the years she was under his wing he hardly ever spoke to her in such manner. So when Haymitch speaks in such an authoritative way, Santana knows the gravity behind his words. To her it means "Keep your head down. Think about your actions. You are a walking devastation. We don't need you to cause more unnecessary deaths. Don't make me remind you of what happened in District 4."

"I understand."

They hid their means of transport in an abandoned airbase. It was deserted after the Dark Days and all of its functions were deactivated as it was used by the rebels to deliver provisions to District 13. It was north from their destination, a good half a state away from the main District and so it was secluded. Haymitch took out their beaten up sidecar from one of the cabins, they were going to drive for a good length of time and leave it miles from the outskirts and trek the rest. They would have used a much more efficient vehicle if it wasn't going to draw so much attention on them. Unfortunately, a smaller hovercraft with engines that rumbles like the stomachs of a gam of whales may cause a few chatter.

It took them almost three hours to drive to the outskirt of District 10. The journey was set in a large vast of fields. However when they got on foot, dense undergrowth clogged up their way which took them another 3 hours to get through. The sun was setting and the sky was painted with brushes of purple, pink and indigo with white splatters of the stars. It wasn't dark enough that you couldn't see anything, there was still light which helped them find their way into the threshold.

Haymitch wasn't kidding when he said the place was stroked by poverty.

Houses were as small if not smaller as a cabin back in their train. Flies were buzzing everywhere, hovering around grubby children. There was an offensive odour in the air, a mix of the sour smell of decay, animal faeces and mud. Mothers carried their infants in tattered cloth from outgrown clothes; they stood by their shabby door steps- if you can even call a stained curtain with holes a door. They yelled for their children to come home. One house was made of different planks of wood stapled together by rusty nails; its roof was made from iron sheet. Outside the house was a ramshackle of a fence, tied to it was an anorexic cow. Santana could see the way the bones and ribs of the animal stick out, stood beside the animal was a young girl perhaps around eight years of age. She was cradling a little infant who was wailing in her skeletal arms. A woman who Santana assumed was their mother was squat next to the cow with a wooden bowl placed underneath its shrunken udder, desperately pinching and pulling on the organ for milk to feed her children. However, no matter how hard she pulled not a single drop of milk was caught by the bowl. Santana looked down on the ground when the little girl caught her eyes; she carried on walking but shuffled an inch closer to Haymitch whose neck was stiff; only looking straight ahead. She guessed that Haymitch had seen sights like this before, if not he was doing a remarkable job ignoring the despair around him.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it." Mumbled Haymitch his eyes still trained forward.

When Haymitch explained that the way of living in the district was through livestock, Santana was expecting cows mooing and chickens flying in all sort of directions; maybe a few goats chewing on grass and she accepted that it was possible that she'll wake up in a field with them chewing on her hair during her stay. Also, perhaps find herself in a pig pen, but not this. This place felt like an animal pen, even the laughter of the children felt practiced to her, like a chorus of mewing sheep. It was as if, people were the cattle. Santana lost in her thought didn't notice that Haymitch had ceased walking and ended up walking into him.

"We're here." He said.

She was given a minute to absorb her surroundings. The construction in front of her was a little bit bigger than the previous houses but nonetheless in a detrimental state. The front of the house had an enclosure made of wood just like the rest. There's an arch in the entrance littered with withered vines. It had a pair of four paned windows on each side of the face; one of them looked broken and was nailed to the wall to prevent it from falling apart. On the far side of the house was a little wooden gate which Santana assumed led to the garden, opposite this was a water pump surrounded by buckets indicating it was still functioning. Santana couldn't see anymore and so she decided that she'll carry on with her observations tomorrow. Haymitch looked at her waiting patiently until she came back to their reality; she turned towards him and gave her a small nod telling him she's ready. He walked forward, ducking down to avoid the arch. Santana followed on shortly and walked tentatively. Haymitch knocked on the feeble door. They waited but no one came. He knocked again and they could hear increasing volume of muffle voices, it sounded like a confrontation as two voices remained consistent and biting. Haymitch decided to turn the doorknob open, entering the vicinity cautiously.

"This is a bad idea Dad!"

"Keep your voice down."

"No! Mum! Say something! Tell Dad this is a bad idea! It's been hours and they're not even here yet! For all we know they could have gotten caught and have mentioned us to the Peacekeepers! Who even are they?!"

Santana peered over Haymitch's back to see the argument. The room was dimly lit by an orange glow from a candle, there in what looks to be a small kitchen was a girl about her age standing waving her arms as she spoke disapprovingly to who she guessed was her father. The man was sat on wooden chair, his back resting on the frame. In the middle was a woman who resembled highly to the girl, she was leaning on a small counter. Her arms folded with one hand to her face, fingers appeared to be pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Haymitch is a good friend of mine-"

"Yes I know! "The great Victor of the Second Quarter Quell"! By why is he coming here?! He probably owns a mansion and eats and throws up food only to eat more!" screeched the voice.

"Brittany dear, lower your voice. You're speaking to your father dear-"cooed the older woman, desperately trying to diffuse the rising tension.

"They're a friend and they will be staying here for as long as they need to-"

"WE HARDLY HAVE ENOUGH FOR OURSELVES DAD! The blonde snapped at her father.

Raising from his chair the older man stood firm in the room and thundered "BRITTANY. YOU ARE NOT TO SPEAK TO ME IN THAT MANNER. I AM THE HEAD OF THIS FAMILY AND WHAT I SAY GOES. THIS IS HOW IT HAD BEEN AND ALWAYS WILL BE, SO DON'T YOU DARE QUESTION MY AUTHORITY NOW."

The room fell silent.

The tension was suffocating. Witnessing enough, Santana briefly looked out of the house and found a mother and her child sitting on a stool; the woman was singing a lullaby to her baby. She smiled at the scene before her and turned her attention back to the spectacle, the room was still silent and the two sides were still engaged into a standoff. The woman in the middle continued to bow her head down in silence. The door creaked as Haymitch released his hold from the doorknob, breaking the gaze between the two aggressors. Their attention fell upon them; Santana's eyes broaden and her body was paralysed. She felt unusually intimidated. An apology was making its way through Haymitch's lips when the young blonde strived towards them. Santana can see her face much clearer now, her eyes sharp like a lioness, her skin ghastly but with red searing cheeks from the dispute. She was tall and moved lightly yet strong and she was coming straight at them. She walked past Haymitch but her shoulders collided against Santana's as the Latina's unmoving body occupied most of the exit. It made her stagger backwards and look back to the relentless marching blonde. The offender carried on her way and did not even turn to notice Santana, disappearing into the night.