Songs inspiration for this chapter: Young Blood (The Naked and Famous), this is what falling in love feels like (JVKE)

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Looks of Rage, Love and Nostalgia

The knife moves up to my forehead and for a long moment I feel nothing but the cold of the metal against my skin. Then all of a sudden it disappears, and I smell the blood trickling down to my left eyebrow. Maybe I've actually become insensitive to pain, because I don't feel anything other than an unpleasant stinging sensation. There is no pain, but instead a wave of fear washes over me. It surprises me. Haymitch would probably be relieved, considering how careless I was with their attack the last time we met. Old Effie would want me to pull myself together and fight.

The proximity of the man, who is still pushing me against the wall and now running his knife down my cheekbone, makes me dizzy. I feel the heat trying to escape from every fiber of my body, as if I would overflow at any moment. For a long second the vision blurs before my eyes and the feeling of the now warm blade in my skin is all I notice. My body goes into shock, just briefly, until his other hand goes up to my hair and takes one of my blonde strands between his fingers. I don't know why, but the gesture breaks me out of the rigidity that has pinned me in place.

Adrenaline rushes through my body, cold and relieving against the heat that has driven the sweat onto my skin. My eyes focus on the man's face. I think about the only form of self-defense that has ever helped me in my life and pull my knee up. I know it's risky, considering how quickly just one wrong move on his part could end my life. My hands press against his chest, and I push him away with all my strength as he groans and loses his balance for a split moment and staggers to the side.

My legs start moving and as I turn my head to give my attacker one last look, blood drips down my eyebrow and into my eye. How long does the cut have to be if the blood is already aggravating in the hairs of my brows? I stumble forward and automatically grab my temple with the fingers of my left hand. Wrong decision. The blood that stains my fingertips dark red sends an electric shock through my limbs, awakening a fear too deep for this murderous stranger to compete. To my detriment. The blood throws me off course and my feet with it. I stumble but don't fall.

The man clutches my shoulders and tries to pull me back. I turn around, my blood-stained fingers outstretched, scratching his face. Now that he's prepared for my defense, he moves to the side and is about to drag me back into the shadows by my wrists when something whizzes past my ear. I barely have time to bat an eyelash. The man screams, cursing, and I do the only thing that comes to mind and push him away again. It's only when I blink and open my eyes that I see the knife stuck in his chest. Deep enough that the throw could have killed if that had been the intention. It's a second knife, not my attacker's. I take more steps backwards, just fast enough to avoid Johanna, who flies past me like a projectile. One second, she's flying through the air, the next she's brought the man to the ground. Compared to him, even she must be a flyweight, but she doesn't seem to care. It doesn't seem to be at her disadvantage.

Johanna has crouched on the man's chest with her legs spread, her right foot on his arm. The fingers of her hand cup his chin in a taut grip. "How long I've been waiting to finally be able to kill someone again," Johanna murmurs, sounding both pleased and crazy. I know it's just an act.

The few people walking across the square begin to pause. Someone runs away to get help. The man gasps under Johanna and then he spits in her face. "Traitor."

"Shut up," Johanna hisses, pressing her nails into his skin. "You're really unlucky that I caught you, you know? I am Johanna Mason, victor of the seventy-first Hunger Games, and I will make your death extra slow and painful. I love slashing people open. Especially freeloaders like you."

The man beneath her growls and begins to struggle against Johanna's weight. He has no chance. Although Johanna is sick, addicted and unstable, at this moment the victor has taken full control of her. Every fiber of her body seems to be thirsting to hurt someone. The expression on her angular, distorted face is wild and irrepressible. The look in her pine-brown eyes is detached from any reality as her fingers close around the knife protruding from his left chest. She doesn't pull it out, instead she moves it back and forth a little and the man beneath her begins to roar. He doesn't seem to be resistant to pain at all.

Johanna giggles and just when you think she would stop, she jerks the knife upwards. I am amazed to see that it is a sharpened butter knife. When she might have stolen it from the nursing staff remains a mystery to me. Another scream escapes the man's lips. A dark red stain spreads across the gray uniform. Just like me, Johanna also seems to be triggered by the blood for a second. She pauses and stares at the spreading red. Then a wide grin spreads across her lips. I don't hold her back as she presses the knife to his own temple, where he had just touched me, without paying any attention to the man's pain. A small part of me is content to watch the blade in his skin making him twitch. I enjoy his painful noises and I know Johanna feels the same way. I also know it's wrong. I don't care. How can feelings you can't control be wrong?

I didn't notice myself moving closer to the spectacle. My eyes continue to rest on the distorted face of the man who is coiling due to Johanna's knife. His gaze darts up to me. The blood is still running down my face and I'm sure my own uniform can't be completely clean either. As my attacker's dark eyes scan my features, the hateful expression returns to his pupils. "She's one of them," he screams as loud as he can, but Johanna presses her hand flat over his mouth, so that for a long moment I think that she really wants to kill him. His further words come out muffled. "She is our enemy. Why can she kill our children and walk around like she's not a criminal?"

His words hit me where it hurts because I know he has a point. Because I have already asked myself these and similar questions. Because I don't know how to deal with the guilt myself. I squint against the bright neon light shining down on us and stare into his brown eyes. I don't have an answer, but Johanna does. She shares it with him by pressing her knife against his throat. All the noises that have surrounded us so far cease as abruptly as Johann's movement toward the man's neck. His breathing becomes shallow. His gasping reminds me of broken ribs and the feeling of suffocation. The wound in his chest must have hit his lung. I blink again to clear the impressions from my head. When someone grabs my shoulder, I twitch so hard that I almost fall to my knees. A sound of panic escapes my lips and Johanna's head snaps in my direction, so quickly and so briefly that I only notice it peripherally.

"Stay calm," a deep, upset voice says, and the fear in my limbs fades into the background. Haymitch's nervous eyes scan my face. The silver in his pupils is hard as stone as he looks from me to Johanna and then to the man. "What the hell is going on here?"

"I can tell you what's going on," Johanna snorts and raises her hand with the bloody knife in the air, as if Haymitch had overlooked a very important detail. "I just stopped Trinket from joining the list of our friends who bit the dust this year."

I laugh at Johanna's choice of words and catch an annoyed look from Haymitch. His hands grip my upper arms, squeezing them so tightly as if he's afraid I'll fall apart at any moment. "I fought back," I tell Haymitch, as if that's the only thing that matters. In fact, something like relief flashes in his eyes and the hard silver seems to melt a little. At least until I lower my head to my attacker, whose breathing continues to lose steam. "I don't think he can breathe properly."

"Let him die," Johanna mocks, and Haymitch doesn't seem interested in helping him either.

"How badly are you injured?" Haymitch then asks, touching my face with a feather-light movement. His hand is shaking, and I have to stop myself from reaching for his other hand. As he withdraws his fingers and examines the blood that continues to flow from the cut, I'm the one who has to hold on to him to keep from sinking to the floor. Haymitch follows my eyes and grimaces affected. In one quick movement, he wipes the blood on the pants of his uniform before pressing his hand against my cheek and raising his eyebrows.

"I'm fine," I murmur and take a step towards Haymitch, momentarily forgetting our argument from before. If you ignore the time in captivity, he was always at my side when such events occurred. So it's completely normal that my body longs to be close to him. It knows that Haymitch's presence means security. I try not to think about it any further.

"Ask her again when the adrenaline has left her body," Johanna remarks and slowly gets to her feet, a knife in each hand. Her amused eyes continue to fix the man, who returns her gaze with a mixture of growing panic and sinking anger. "What do we do with him now?"

Haymitch lets go of me and kneels down next to the man, who hasn't made any move to get up yet. "You missed his lung, Jo," he says after a long look at the spot where Johanna's knife was stuck just now. "He's probably just in shock. He wouldn't have survived the arena." His voice has taken on a dark tone. The trembling of his fingers has turned into a tremor and for a few seconds he crouches next to my attacker as if he doesn't quite know what to do with him. I'm surprised he has so much control over himself. Last time, he was beside himself, on the verge of going crazy.

"Of course he wouldn't have," Johanna snorts and sticks the knives inside her uniform before the wrong soldiers can see the weapons. "He's a coward, just like the rest of his squad."

Haymitch leans his head down until his lips are level with the man's ears. Even Johanna leans forward to hear the words he whispers. No chance. Haymitch tries to keep his tone as quiet as possible. Just his frozen features and the murderous look in his gray eyes indicate that the words can mean nothing good. When he stands up and turns his back to the man, Johanna looks more than just disappointed.

"We're leaving," Haymitch says in a strained voice, grabbing my arm to move me forward. His eyes move over me to the exit he has in his sights. It's abundantly clear that he wants to leave the scene without further delay. The pleading look that crosses his eyes for a split second as he looks at me is the only reason I give in.

"What, that's it?!" Johanna says in frustration, her voice whining like that of a spoiled child who once didn't get her way. "I only left him alive so you could finish him off and now you puss out?!"

Haymitch whirls around in a flash and takes a warning step toward Johanna. The inhuman hatred in his eyes gives even her pause. "Can't you ever shut up?" The words leave his lips in a hissing tone, as if each syllable was cauterizing his tongue.

Johanna raises her blood-stained hands in a placating gesture. Haymitch is about to freak out and she doesn't seem to want to get caught in the crossfire. "Alright, alright, Papa Bear," she replies in an amused tone and crosses the distance to us in quick steps. As she falls into her crotch next to me, she winks. The warning look I give her only seems to improve her mood. What a strange scene these two are.

"Are we just going to leave him there?" I ask uncertainly as we reach the exit of the large square. The stranger may have tried to kill me, but can we still just leave him there? He could still die, which in itself doesn't really interest me. Still, it seems wrong to me.

Haymitch throws me a sideways glance and his eyes dart to my eyebrow, which must be completely red by now because the bleeding still hasn't stopped. I feel the warm drops running down my cheek, but I've just stopped trying to hold them back. I would just smear the rest of my uniform. "The soldiers will take care of him, sweetheart. The inside of a prison cell is the only thing he and his friends will see for a long time. Don't worry."

Johanna and I exchange a look and I know that we have the same image in our heads. A cold, dark cell that smells of mold and death. Does District 13 treat its prisoners better than the Capitol? Haymitch catches our gaze and releases my wrist to squeeze my hand. His fingers are still shaking.

"I should have slashed him open," Johanna says saddened and both Haymitch and I give her a look. I don't know whether to find her disappointment funny or appalling. At least she seems happy with herself. "Maybe I should be concerned about how much I like doing that."

"I think there are other things you should be more worried about," Haymitch snorts, trying not to sound completely serious.

oOo

"You didn't have to come with me, Haymitch," I murmur as I open the door to our quarters. My skin throbs where the paramedics in the ambulance disinfected and bandaged my wound. I did lose a lot of blood for a comparatively small cut, but that seems to be only due to the good blood circulation in my face. The cut is long but not deep and will heal on its own in one to two weeks. Until then, I'll have to walk around with a bizarre scratch that runs from my brow to my cheekbone.

"You bet I had to," Haymitch answers in a dark voice and follows me inside. I decided to change my uniform before we visit Katniss. Johanna has already moved ahead and Haymitch doesn't take his eyes off me for a second. I can't say what's been going through his mind since my treatment in the ambulance, but his muscles are tense and he's constantly scanning our surroundings.

The metal door closes behind Haymitch, and I sigh. "They were arrested, the soldier himself confirmed that to you. There's no–" I stop abruptly as his fist hits the closet and he begins to curse in pain when it doesn't give in under his brute force. I spin around and, for a moment, stare speechlessly at Haymitch rubbing his knuckles. "I think the closet is a too strong opponent for you," I murmur indignantly and cross my arms over my chest. "I also think it would be a lot better if our furniture could stay intact."

Haymitch stares at me with emotionless eyes for a while, then sighs and abandons his defensive stance. "I wanted to kill him. I was so close to losing control," he admits in an intense, heated voice, lowering his gaze.

"I know," I whisper, moving closer to him to press my fingers against his arm. "You're better at holding back your feelings than you used to be and I'm glad you didn't touch the man. That wouldn't have done anyone any good."

Haymitch's arms wrap around my waist, and he pulls me closer to him. I let him because the shock is still in my limbs and his presence helps slow my pulse. "All I saw was the blood on your face," he murmurs against my ear, pressing his cheek against my hair, his tone a little calmer than before. His fingers tremble in my back and I press my lips into the crook of his neck.

"I'm glad Johanna was there," I admit, breathing in his scent. Again, my brain imagines the smell of alcohol surrounding him. It's too old a habit. "I couldn't have overcome him alone. He was one of the three from the first time." The man's smile as he holds his knife in my face makes me shiver.

"I think I should teach you a few basics of self-defense," says Haymitch, stroking the back of my head with his right hand. "Wouldn't have done you any harm eleven years ago."

"Why did you wait so long?" I answer in a half-amused voice.

Haymitch shrugs but doesn't move away from me to look me in the eye. "If someone had told me back then that we would eventually live together, I would probably have tapped my forehead at them," he snorts and laughs when he thinks about it. "Me and a woman from the Capitol? And then an annoying one like Effie Trinket?"

I jerk my head back, about to return the compliment, when I see the amused grin on his face. He's having fun with me. Even if his basic statement is true. I would have dismissed it at the time just as much as he would have. It simply wouldn't have been possible regardless of what we might have wanted. "That was before, sweetheart. In another world," he adds with a contented sparkle in his eyes and presses a quick kiss to my lips.

"Another world indeed," I whisper, reveling in my own memories for a moment. I can't stop part of me from feeling longing; nostalgia. Despite the pain and guilt, many things in the Capitol were simpler, more beautiful even. But my world was all the more false and artificial. The illusion of a flawless, aesthetic society. But what wouldn't I trade to be able to sit at the same table with my mother one last time and endure her tirades of disappointment? To be able to spend a holiday with my family and see the happy looks my parents give Aurelia's husband? To be able to look down on the sparkling city from the penthouse one last time? The Capitol has made me so sick over the years that despite all the horror, I still miss it. A parasite that eats us all from the inside and makes us so dependent on an illusion that we still don't want to get rid of it. Because the illusion is more beautiful than the reality that far too many people have been living for far too long.

Am I a bad person for missing these moments even though I and my people caused so much suffering in the process? Should I be punished for feeling nostalgia for a time when others had to suffer so that I could live?

"The new world is better," Haymitch says in a quiet voice, and I wonder if he can read the questions in my eyes. "You may not see it yet, but that will change. Our consciences will be clearer. We will be able to stop feeling guilty because there will be no one who has to die for this country."

"The new world has to be better," I reply, just as quietly as he does. "All the sacrifices must not have been in vain." I know it is selfish to label my family as victims of the rebellion when I was on the wrong side from the start. I am selfish, always have been. If I wasn't, I would definitely have found a way to get out of the Games' business. No matter how.

"I can be with you without having to worry about endangering your life or that of others," Haymitch adds, looking me directly in the eyes for the first time. His expression is soft and there is a small smile on his lips, as if he is actually content. "For that reason alone, this world is better."

I stare at Haymitch, unable to give a decent answer. My mind flashes back to our argument this morning, which feels like a lifetime ago after everything that's happened in the past few hours.

"Jo would now probably comment something like Freedom, equality, basic rights are of course only a minor plus as long as you can be together," Haymitch remarks, trying to imitate Johanna's voice and failing. Maybe in another situation I would have laughed about it.

"What are you hoping from this new world, Haymitch?" I ask, studying his face closely when he hears the cautious tone in my voice. His features close again within a few seconds. "To you, does being together mean just spending time together, or do you mean the same thing as me? A relationship, something permanent? Because I can't keep playing this game with you if you don't want to commit."

Haymitch breaks away from me and takes a step backwards, the wall at his back. Again, I can't shake the feeling that he would like to turn around and run away. He closes his eyes and looks strained for a moment, as if he were debating something. Finally, he sighs and looks at me. His walls are still there, but I can see he's conflicted.

"You want me to say what I feel, Effie. I understand that, even though I don't understand why you're worried. What did I do wrong to make you think I'd run away when the war ends? I'm not a coward and I'm certainly not an ass."

"You ran away before," I say after a while and raise my hand before he can interrupt me. "I know the reasons, Haymitch. I know why you turned away and I'm glad you did. It doesn't change the feeling it left me with. I can't just turn off the reservation I feel when I think about our future." At the words our future, Haymitch twitches as if I had caused him physical pain. I can't stop myself from getting angry. "And apparently, I have every reason for these reservations. Look at you! You can't even hide your repulsion!"

"It's not that," Haymitch growls, leaning against the wall dejectedly. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling, trying to block me out completely. "You know me, you know what happened the last time I ... loved someone." His voice falters and I press my lips together. Of course, I know. "My family is dead because they were unlucky enough to have me. I never wanted you to suffer the same fate. I wouldn't know how to live with that."

"But you said yourself that you don't have to be afraid in this new world," I whisper, squeezing my eyelids shut to hold back the tears.

"It's just like you say, sweetheart," Haymitch laughs, without a hint of joy in his voice. "You can't push away your fear of rejection. I can't push away my fear of commitment."

"Now what?" I ask, no longer able to hold back the tremor in my voice. Haymitch looks down and crosses his arms over his chest, as if he needed a shield to keep me away from him. "You can kiss me, you can be close to me, but you can't love me? What kind of fucked up logic is this?"

Haymitch again flinches from my direct words. Love. Has the word become so foreign to him over the years that he can no longer feel it? "You misunderstand me," he says, sighing to himself. He opens his mouth, closes it and then opens it again; unable to put into words what he is thinking. He looks desperate. "You want to know what I feel?"

I nod and Haymitch continues. "When you were in the Capitol and all I could do every day was wait, every goddamn minute felt like years. The fear of losing you, after so much and so little happened between us, drove me crazy. Not knowing if you were even alive was hell. Worse than watching these children die. Worse than watching Chaff die. I was fucked the second we met back then, and I didn't even know it. Damn, it took me so long to understand."

I stare at Haymitch, unable to say anything. Unable to take my eyes off him. Unable to breathe.

"The two of us, Effie, have been through so much together. All those years of the Hunger Games, even if you couldn't even stand me most of the time. We share the same sins, we share the same suffering. Even if there hadn't been this connection between us, that would have brought us closer. Sure, I have my own demons and you have yours, but some of our demons are the same. What person would I be without you today? Even Chaff knew you were a good influence on me, and he really couldn't stand you early on." Haymitch pauses and laughs at something, perhaps a memory of his friend. He shakes his head, disbelief in his eyes. "My life has been so dark for years that I have forgotten what it is like to see the light. Every time I look at you, I see nothing but light. In the past as well as today. How could I not be attracted to you?"

Tears are running down my cheeks. There is no darkness when I look at him. Yes, there was frustration, anger and despair, but complete darkness? Never. He doesn't come from my world. He doesn't care about manners, about looks, about opinions. He is rude, arrogant, withdrawn, but also so much more than that. He would go to the ends of the earth for the people he cares about. He would give his life to protect them. He has a sharp mind that has turned into a burden often enough. He is open to new things and gets involved with the foreign, even though the foreign is responsible for his scars. He understands my pain because he feels the same pain. He freed me from the opportunism, from the blindness of my ignorant, naive life. How could I not be attracted to him?

"You want to hear the three words, I know that. You're Effie Trinket, of course you want to hear those three words," Haymitch continues, giving me a pained look as if he wants me to understand. "I will never say those words. Not because they're not true, but because I can't. I'm a traumatized victor who had everything he loved taken away from him. I isolated myself for years to escape this situation. To not repeat the past. And yet you're standing here now."

"You don't have to explain it to me, Haymitch," I say, forcing a smile onto my lips. "I–"

"No, I know you understand. Nobody knows me as well as you know me," Haymitch interrupts me and takes a step towards me. "You should still hear it from my mouth." I nod and he continues. "Confessing my feelings to you is like putting myself in that shark tank again. It forces me to confront the past and I'm pretty shit at that."

"You've confessed more than enough to me," I manage as Haymitch begins to fall silent. "I never should have doubted it, after everything we've been through. Sometimes, it's just so hard to confront fear when it's so deeply rooted."

"Things are different now," Haymitch whispers, stroking my cheek in a gentle touch. "We certainly are different than before. We learned a lot together. You and me, there's always been a connection. We both feel it, we already did back then. I want you with me, even when the war is over. Damn, especially after that. Life is allowed to go uphill anytime soon. You're my best chance for a happy life."

"Now you're getting cheesy," I giggle and throw my arms around Haymitch. "That's my job."

"I know, I know." Haymitch's body shakes beneath me as he begins to laugh. "But I feel like you should hear it. At least once. I'm not really a man of big words but look what you're leading me to do."

"Shocking," I say in an ironic tone, leaning back and giving him a big, genuine smile. We belong together. Has it always been like this? I press my lips against Haymitch's, and he returns the kiss with a passion that makes me sigh into him. Then I press my hands on his chest to push him away from me a little and search for his silver eyes, which are still only a few centimeters from mine. "You may not be able to say it. But I do and I am Effie Trinket and I need these ceremonial, official moments."

"You've always had a romantic streak," Haymitch remarks, rolling his eyes and smiling softly as he strokes my hair. He's right. He is the complete opposite of what I imagined in my dreams. My mother would probably be deeply shocked, and the thought only makes my smile widen.

I move my fingers away from the pit of his neck to cup his cheeks. His beard pokes under my palms, but I don't mind. I close my eyes for a second, breathe in and open my mouth. "I love you, Haymitch Abernathy." Haymitch flinches from my words, but that loving, soft look in his eyes remains. "I know you do too and that's enough for me."

"A Capitol all over," Haymitch murmurs and kisses me. The world around us merges into a sea of gray tones and monotonous processes as we seem to explode into a variety of colors and feelings. His fingers dig into the back of my bloodstained uniform, tugging at the fabric that's suddenly in the way. I press myself closer to Haymitch and he takes a step backwards until he collides with the wall.

"We should stop," I murmur, without any initiative in my voice. Instead, I tug at his own uniform. A wave of heat rushes through my veins, making it almost impossible to think clearly.

Haymitch makes a breathless sound and something in my stomach starts to tingle. I wrap my arms around his neck, press myself against his body and he adapts to my movements like a magnet. Like another one of our dances, only now we're no longer dancing on a knife's edge, no, we've long since fallen over the abyss. All worries, all risks, all obstacles have vanished into thin air. Without the shackles that have held us back, it is now up to us alone to continue the dance at our own pace. Nothing stops us.

"You're right," Haymitch says, leaning his head back a little to look at my face. His eyes are dark with passion, dark with lust, and the silver now more closely resembles a dark, surging storm on the edge of a horizon.

I raise my eyebrows because I barely understood a single word he said. Either he has forgotten how to correctly string the syllables together or my ears have given up. The world around us is still spinning. His face alone is in focus, while the rest of the room appears to be nothing but blurred colors.

"You're right," Haymitch repeats, now a little clearer. It was truly him. His voice is a slur, as if he were drunk. The thought makes me laugh and now it's Haymitch who raises his eyebrows. When I just shake my head silently, a smile spreads across his face and he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear as he continues speaking. "We shouldn't keep them waiting. I mean Katniss. Johanna too. She's probably freaking out already."

I almost sigh in disappointment and pull away from Haymitch. He rolls his eyes. "The day is still long enough after that," he murmurs and gives me a conspiratorial wink before he walks past me to his bed and throws himself onto the mattress. I can feel his eyes on me as I open the closet and dig out my second uniform. I'd love to know what's going through his head right now. Just the thought makes me blush. "The quicker you change, the quicker we can get going and the quicker we'll be back here." I shake my head and smile to myself.

oOo

"I'm so glad you're okay, love," I say, patting Katniss's arm. The girl gives me an indefinable look. She's in her right mind, Johanna assured us, but something seems to be bothering her. She manages a short nod, but that's all I get.

Johanna looks more than satisfied, almost euphoric and I wonder where her sudden flight of fancy comes from. This morning she was her usual picture of frustration and now she seems to be able to push her withdrawal symptoms into the background with no problem. She looks more focused. I'm happy and relieved. When I exchange a look with Finnick, who is sitting on the empty bed next to Katniss's with Annie, he seems to share my feelings. He gives me a satisfied grin, which I can only return with equal satisfaction.

Something in his sea green eyes sparkles. Even Annie looks happy, clutching Finnick's arm and taking a more active part in the conversation that broke out the moment Haymitch and I ran into them just outside Katniss's room. The two seemed shocked for a moment when I told them about the attack, but Haymitch was able to calm them down.

It's a pleasant round. We're almost all together and even though Katniss is wounded, she seems relieved to be in the company of her friends. Finnick and Annie in particular are rewarded with content looks and Annie responds with small, shy smiles.

"I bet Snow was furious when it turned out you weren't dead after all," Johanna giggles, holding her stomach at the idea. "How I would have loved to see that bastard's face."

A smile creeps onto Katniss's lips. The idea also seems to satisfy her. "He was disappointed for sure," she says sarcastically.

"The poor guy who had to personally break the news to him," Finnick adds. His white teeth glint in the neon lights as he grins. Johanna's laughter gets louder and Finnick and I exchange another look. He raises his eyebrows in amusement when she doesn't look in our direction and I shrug helplessly but can't hold back a smile.

"Speaking of news," Annie whispers at that moment, nudging Finnick. For a second, they look into each other's eyes and his face begins to light up. He nods hastily as they communicate silently, then wraps an arm around Annie's shoulders and pulls her a little closer to him.

"We have great news and we thought you should be the first to know. After all, we're a family!" Finnick's voice has taken on an exuberant tone and his self-satisfied smile is so wide that the dimples on his tanned cheeks are hard to miss. "Annie and I are getting married!"

Johanna and I make a surprised sound at the same time. Her from nausea and I from joy. I clap my hands and jump towards Finnick, wrapping him in a hug. "I'm so, so, so happy for you!" Annie lights up as we hug, more timid but no less happy. Finnick seems to be bursting with pride.

Haymitch stands up from the chair he was sitting in and fatherly pats Finnick on the shoulder, a pleased smile on his lips. The look they exchange seems so deep that it almost brings tears to my eyes. "I want you to give me away," Finnick says, a little more serious now, but the sentimentality of the situation is inescapable. "In Four it is tradition for a family member to accompany the bride and groom. It would have been Mags's role, and aside from her, you're the person who's been the most like a parent to me over the years."

Haymitch is visibly touched and can barely do more than nod. "It would be an honor, little one." Finnick smiles contentedly and the two hug. You can see they're thinking about Mags. The absence of her, Chaff and Peeta is overwhelming at this moment. The victors have formed their own circle for so many years that friendship has turned into family. Of the original three – Mags, Chaff and Haymitch – only Haymitch remains. I can still remember the three of them coming together at every opportunity; to get through the Games together. Mags was a mother to them all. Haymitch was a father to Finnick and Johanna and now also to Katniss and Peeta. Chaff was the uncle who never really wanted to be involved but was somehow always in on it.

Their absence is clearly felt. Annie hangs her head, Finnick manages a nostalgic smile and even Johanna's eyes seem sad. Katniss stares pointedly at the ceiling. They all seem to travel back in time. Their looks seem far away, as if their bodies are all that remains in place. They probably all have a different image in mind right now, although I'm sure they all conjure up the same people in their memories. It hurts my heart to watch them, knowing that they have all suffered the same pain and yet each carry their own demons.

A family. At least they are a family. At least they have each other. At least they can mourn the lost family members together. None of them have to suffer alone and the thought brings a small smile to my lips.

-

A chapter full of action, Hayffie and Finnick? You're welcome, dear readers! No, for real, I hope you liked this chapter! :) Please let me know in the comments. Also a huge thank you to all the people who comment my chapters already! I love you guys and I read all of them, and answer most of the time! :)

If you want to know how I imagine the characters of this fanfic, then go check out my Pinterest page. My name there is ccskyllen and I have a whole folder dedicated to FIO and its protagonists! :)

See you next weekSkyllen :)