The first time was after District 11, after remembering Rue. She was alone in her room on the train, feeling like her insides had been ripped out and trying to think of what she was going to do about Peeta - about her false pregnancy - about the anger and rebellion that was starting to replace acceptance and grief, in her and in almost everyone she met.

Haymitch knocked. He usually did, unless he was more drunk than usual, or felt like making a point. So, he sometimes did.

"Come in," she said. She knew who it was before the door opened. Three solid knocks was Peeta; a knock and a half-assed tap was Haymitch.

Effie didn't knock. She trilled.

Haymitch came in, closing the door behind him. Katniss wondered if it occurred to him that people might think something was going on. Something like what would, and did, happen in the Capitol.

Maybe not. Sometimes she overestimated how aware Haymitch was.

"Katniss."

"Haymitch." She was curled up on her bed. She nodded at him, then waved a hand at the chair near her bed. "Sit down. If you want."

"If I could avoid ever standing, I would." He dragged the chair closer to her, then sat in it, legs wide and feet planted on the ground. His hair was greasy, and he looked at her too directly for her to be comfortable. But he smelled, and looked, sober. For once.

"You're still mourning her."

"Lots of people." Katniss looked away from him.

"But Rue was special."

"I knew her for a few hours." Her voice sounded harsh, like she'd been swallowing sandpaper. Crying had that effect, even now, when she was so used to it. Or used to wanting to cry, anyway.

"Don't give me that shit."

Surprise made her look back at him. He'd pushed his hair back and was leaning forward, eyes piercing.

"I know how it is in the arena," he said. "I know how - you're close to someone. Closer than you'll be to your mother, your brother. I know how that is."

At first, Katniss couldn't think of anything to say. Then she managed to say, "I don't have a brother."

"No." He reached forward, but he didn't touch her. She didn't flinch - didn't even move - because the Games meant people touching her. But he didn't. His hand hovered above her thigh, warm, but never making contact. "I'm telling you I know," Haymitch said. "What you want to do? How you want to hurt them, how much you miss Rue, how you see the arena at night. I know, Katniss. I was there."

"Different year," Katniss said.

"They change it for entertainment," Haymitch said. "But the essence remains the same."

His hand was so warm. Katniss shifted without thinking, pressing her thigh against his palm. His palm was, impossibly, rough; years of drinking and never lifting a finger hadn't completely done away with his callouses.

His palm was rough enough that it caught the fabric of her sleep pants. He curved his hand, and her thigh stilled. They sat like that for a long moment, so close that she could feel his breath. It smelled like cinnamon.

Katniss closed her eyes. Rue's face was there, every time she did. Rue's voice, so hopeful. She felt a rush of anger thinking of it, because Rue had to have known she was going to die. But she'd trusted Katniss all the same.

"I need to forget," she said. "I don't know how. But I need to."

"I know how."

Katniss opened her eyes at that, frowning. "I don't mean getting drunk," she said. Her voice caught on the last word. Anger did that.

"I know," Haymitch said. "Neither did I." He took his hand away and leaned back in the chair. "How do victors forget? Booze, drugs." He held up three fingers. "And sex."

Katniss almost swallowed her tongue.

Haymitch stood up and walked towards the door. "Peeta will help you, or someone else, when we get to the Capitol," he said. "Let someone make you forget, Katniss. It'll be good for you."

He almost had his hand on the doorknob when she said, "What about you?"

He froze.

"You're here," Katniss said. "And you won't tell anyone."

Still staring at the door, he snorted. "Very convincing. Kid."

"I'm not that." Katniss swallowed. "You know that."

He turned, then, and looked at her straight on. "Do you know what you want?"

Katniss thought of Gale, of Peeta, and shrugged. "To forget." She met his gaze. "If that's your advice, why isn't it on offer?"

It reminded her, morbidly, of bargaining for food. But Haymitch apparently didn't want to bargain. He walked back to her bed and dropped to his knees beside it. She had height this way, and leverage. But she didn't want to use them. He'd said he could make her forget. She didn't even need to be prompted to pull off her sleep pants.

"I could," she said, touching the hem of her shirt.

He shook his head. "Just tell me what works." He didn't look at her directly, even when she pulled her underwear off. She thought he might, but instead he focused on her belly. "Tell me if anything hurts, Katniss, you understand?"

"Yes," she said, and he trailed one finger down her right thigh.

Since she'd noticed her body reacting to - sensation - she'd resented it. When she was hunting with Gale or almost-kissing Peeta, it wasn't important. Right now, though, it was the point of what they were doing. So she didn't mind as much when she felt her body getting interested, when she felt herself getting wet.

She licked her lips and leaned back on her elbows, her legs dangling off the bed. At first she looked at the ceiling, but that felt clinical, so instead she looked at Haymitch.

He didn't make any sense. This whole thing didn't make any sense. And yet, there he was, leaning in and kissing her thigh, tongue darting out to make a warm impression in her skin.

"It's no wonder people loved you," Haymitch said. "You're so alive."

She wasn't totally sure he meant it as a compliment. But he splayed a hand on her stomach, scooting forward so that he could run the nails of his other hand up her thigh. With that hand, he slowly - so slowly she was almost annoyed - touched her, her folds and her clitoris. Her hips jumped at that, and he smiled just a little.

"I didn't do anything," she said, obscurely annoyed.

"Not yet," he said. "That's good, though."

She relaxed a little at the words. He pressed his thumb against her clitoris, then swept it down before she had time to react too much, dipping into her, then pressing, until his thumb was all the way inside her.

She hadn't realized she was ready for that. But she was - oh, she was. Warmth traveled up her spine, and her knees shook a little.

His hands were so warm. And she could feel his breath on her, still, on her thighs and her cunt, as he watched her.

She didn't feel the need to perform. Not for Haymitch. But on the heels of that came a wish that he enjoyed watching her. She dropped her head back and moved her hips, just a little, just enough to make his thumb slip a little.

"I think I want more," she said.

The train was soundproofed, or close to. Her voice still sounded too loud to her ears.

"I'll give you more," Haymitch said. "Give it time, sweetheart. Let it build."

Sweetheart. She looked at him again, but he was focused on other things - his own hand, as two fingers circled her opening, and his thumb rubbed her clitoris.

It felt good. Her nipples, she realized suddenly, were hard, the fabric feeling too rough against them. She made an impatient noise and tugged at her shirt, wiggling out of it one-handed.

"I told you," Haymitch said, but she cut him off with a glare.

"I want this." She touched her breasts with one hand. Kneading didn't do much, and even her nipples weren't that impressive. There were no fireworks. But it felt good, and as she pinched and brushed her fingers over them, "good" got a lot better.

Haymitch looked away again. She responded by pressing herself more firmly against his hand.

"Do you like this?" he said, rubbing his thumb over her clitoris. It was direct and rough, sending shockwaves through her that were almost too much.

Almost. "Yes," she said, and spread her legs wider. "Your fingers..." Two fingers, just outside her.

He pressed them in. Slowly. It had never occurred to Katniss to question if she could do this, but now she was a little surprised that they fit. His hands were big, and it felt like a stretch. But it felt good, too, and she could feel herself getting more open, wetter, more ready for him to move.

But he didn't move. He went still with his fingers, his thumb still rubbing.

Katniss glared at him. He looked up in time to see it.

"Move," she said.

He smiled a little - it went away almost right away, like most of Haymitch's expressions that he hadn't planned. But he moved his fingers, thrusting, curling them as he did it. She wasn't surprised when that movement made her gasp, arching back on the bed. It felt so good - warm all through her, solid and heavy. He rubbed his thumb and thrust again, and she found herself holding her breasts, squeezing, moving frantically to get more of that sensation.

It should have been awkward, but it wasn't. Not even when he moved the hand on her stomach to - work with two hands, like you would whittle a stick. Her thigh brushed his face, his stubble, and that send thoughts running through her mind of his mouth - and even that wasn't awkward. He had to know, but he didn't say anything. He just watched her as she moved, feeling liquid, coordinated like she never felt, except when she was hunting. He thrust his fingers, again and again, and she grabbed fistfuls of the sheets, reaching, reaching -

She couldn't get there, though. Not quite. She kept seeing blood and death, and it kept her tethered. Clenching her teeth didn't help, but she did it anyway, letting out a frustrated moan.

Then he spoke. "Easy, sweetheart," he said. "Let it happen. It's okay."

It wasn't. It never was. She wanted to argue, but then his lips brushed her thigh. It wasn't quite a kiss, but her body didn't care. That was enough to make her clench around him, spinning out of her own head.

He stayed close as she came back to herself. The loss of awareness also made her forget, for a minute. But when she became aware of him again, and aware of how hard she was panting, she felt a little embarrassed.

He must have known, judging by the way he squeezed her thigh and said, "Okay?" It was like she was preparing to go into the arena, and he was grounding her.

It was unnerving. But she managed to get her mind together enough to say, "Okay."

He stood up. Her eyes went right to his - crotch. He was hard. "I could," she said, and reached for him.

He moved away so quickly he practically blurred. "It's fine," he said. "You - sleep. You need it. I'm going to leave. Get a drink. Christ." He looked at her, then looked away. As he left, he laughed. It didn't sound happy.

She got up and walked over to the door, pulling up her pants as she went. She thought she heard movement just outside. Maybe the doors weren't soundproof.

Or maybe she was imagining things. Maybe she shouldn't be thinking about Haymitch at all. There wasn't, she thought, anything that interesting about him touching himself. He was Haymitch; he was, in all honesty, kind of gross. She shouldn't want to watch, or touch. She didn't want to, she thought. Probably. Almost definitely.

She backed away from the door. The images in her mind were still there, but a little more distant. She fell asleep with a hand splayed on the sheets, trying not to think about the slide of big, rough hands on her skin.

-

They arrived in the Capitol. Katniss wasn't sure if she was avoiding Haymitch or not. She didn't really want to be around him, but that was nothing new. What was new was the way she was overly aware of her body when he was around. She couldn't help but think of his fingers inside her, his breath on her legs. It was a sense memory, like mist on her skin in the mountains, or the pain of her burn in the arena. Of course, it was nicer than anything that had happened in the arena. She had that to comfort her, at least.

She knew Snow was planning something. Snow was always planning something, and people were unhappy. But they had a few days, she guessed, before things got really bad. A few days for Snow to plan, and for Katniss to wait.

It was going to be a distinctly unequal couple of days. But there was probably nothing to be done about that.

She went to bed early for the Capitol and late for her. Her room connected with Peeta's, but the door was locked, and she didn't see a reason to change that. She changed into pajamas and lay down on the bed, hoping that the sheer exhaustion of the day would make her sleep.

No such luck. She was tense from head to toe. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, which was actually a moving display of the stars. It was accurate, she thought, to the night sky. The stars were in the right places. But somehow, that made it look even less real.

Her skin tingled a little. She rested a hand on her thigh. Maybe if she touched herself, sleep would come more easily. Maybe this time, she wouldn't be overwhelmed by bad memories. If she could with Haymitch - even though now, after, her mind shied away from the memory - if she could then, why not now?

She curled her fingers, and her too-perfect nails dug into her thigh.

Someone knocked on her door. Haymitch, unless someone was imitating his knock.

Risking it was easier than getting out of bed. "Come in."

Haymitch entered. He closed the door behind him, but then he hesitated, not quite looking at her.

She drew her knees up to her chin. "You wanted something?"

For some reason, he flinched. "Just wanted to check on you."

"I'm good."

He raised his eyebrows at that, like he didn't believe her. Well, she didn't really believe herself, but she acted often enough without adding acting for Haymitch in her room to the list.

"There are things we won't discuss here," Haymitch said.

Her fantasy pregnancy. Her and Peeta's fake love. She nodded.

"But I wanted to make sure you were...comfortable. With what we did on the train."

Katniss frowned. "Well. You left." She wouldn't exactly call it teamwork.

"Aside from that."

She shrugged. "It was fine."

"Are you sleeping?"

She wasn't sure, looking at him now, that that's what he meant to say. But he swallowed and watched her all the same, so she answered. "Sometimes."

He kept watching her. She lowered her legs to the bed again. "I slept better that night."

He caught his breath. If they'd been in a room with people, or music, or even white noise, she might not have heard it. Since they weren't, it was almost painfully loud.

She met his eyes. It was stupid to be afraid of this. She wasn't afraid of him, anyway. "Come here," she said. It was supposed to be a request, but that wasn't how it came out.

It came out like an order, and he obeyed it, walking over to the bed and sitting down on the side.

"If I want this," she said. She licked her lips. "If I want - touching - is that okay?"

He took a deep breath, deliberately this time, and let it out as he tapped a finger against his thigh. Those fingers were - Katniss pressed her legs together, just a little.

"You're sure?"

Irritation spiked in her. She was tired of reassuring people.

But Haymitch didn't look afraid. He looked like he wanted a true answer, not the right answer. She said, "I'm sure."

"Well, then," he said, and leaned in.

It should have been awkward when he kissed her shoulder, but instead it just felt good. It felt easier than almost anything in her life, which was ridiculous. Nothing about Haymitch was simple. But here, when he was sober and not hounding her to make friends with the glittering, fake people of the Capitol, it was easy to just feel things. With him.

He moved fully onto the bed, and she leaned back until she was mostly lying down, propped up on four of the huge, plush pillows. His lips moved from her shoulder to her collarbone, then to the edge of her jaw, and his fingers tugged at the fabric of her pants.

She didn't need him to say anything. She slipped her pants off, with her underwear - and then, when he didn't try to stop her, she took her shirt off, too. It felt a little strange, lying naked while he was fully clothed, but she knew better than to insist he take his clothes off too.

Did she want him to? The question stopped her for a second, just long enough for him to notice. "Okay?" he said, one hand on her hip.

She did want him to, she decided. But that didn't mean he'd be willing, so she just nodded and shifted her hips a little, to indicate that he should keep going.

His hand was shaking a little as he rubbed her hip and trailed his fingers up her side. She'd thought he didn't want her shirt off, and so when he moved his hand up, up, and cupped her breast, she gasped. She was surprised, but also - someone else touching her was very, very different from what she'd done last time.

She couldn't predict this. She hadn't even really thought about it, how his callouses - different from hers, his skin drier - would catch on her nipples, almost hurting her as her skin tightened and her nipples got hard.

"Katniss."

He spoke quietly, but he didn't sound certain, so she made herself look at him. He looked away first, focusing on her chest as he leaned forward and licked her nipple.

She arched her back as feeling ran through her, concentrating in her groin. The not-quite-familiar feeling was starting again; she wanted more, from him, right then. The last time she'd moved without thinking, she had to have been a child, but she didn't quite consider the ramifications of reaching up and tangling her fingers in his hair until she'd done it and he went very, very still.

Except for his shaking hands. She wondered if it was the alcohol, or some kind of nervousness. How could he be nervous? It didn't make much sense. Then again, very little about him did.

It must be the alcohol. "Keep going," she said, voice harsh in the silence.

He bent his head and nuzzled the underside of her breasts, then moved down her ribs, tongue occasionally darting out as he got lower and lower.

Finally he was lying on the bed, belly down, head on her thigh. He was so close, closer than last time, but Katniss didn't want him to stop. She wanted the opposite, actually, and he gave it to her. He parted her folds and stroked her clit, watching as she shuddered, her shoulders pushing back against the bed and her toes curling.

"You -" He broke off, shaking his head. She raised her head to look at him, but apparently one word was all he was going to say, because he leaned in and licked her, making conversation impractical.

At first, for a few seconds, it didn't feel like much of anything. Then he found the spots she liked, slid two fingers into her and reached up with his spare hand to play with her breast, and his tongue - his mouth -

She lost track of time. Sensation filled her, making her shake as she arched her back and pressed against his mouth. He was good at it, which surprised her. He seemed so standoffish - and yet, he sucked her clitoris and licked her folds, thrusting into her with his tongue and his fingers until his entire lower face was wet. Occasionally he paused and she bit back curses, tugging at his hair until he went back at it. The stops were the best, though, in some ways, because then she got his stubble against her thighs and his eyes on her, the intensity in his expression making her feel everything that much more.

When she came, it happened in waves. She had to bite her hand to keep from crying out, but even that wasn't really enough; she moaned from the back of her throat, heels digging into the bed as she came against his mouth, over and over, until she felt completely wrung out.

Then she noticed that he was moving.

He wasn't moving much; she wasn't sure if he realized he was doing it. But his hips were working against the mattress, and Katniss, who'd spent half her life tracking targets from a distance, noticed.

She shifted with purpose, and he froze. He looked up at her, his pupils blown wide, and pushed himself off the bed. "I'll go."

Her words got stuck in her throat for slightly too long. He made it to the door before she managed to say, "Wait. Don't."

"Katniss -"

"No." She sounded too irritated, too tense, and she knew it. No one liked her like that - Haymitch himself had said. But when she snapped, "Get back over here," he obeyed.

It was a good feeling. She pulled him onto the bed and splayed a hand on his chest, then stopped and looked at him. He was hard; it was obvious. But she wasn't really sure what to do next.

"What do you like?" she said. That seemed like a good place to start.

He laughed. It sounded bitter more than anything, but he was also moving, so she didn't pull away. "What do I like?"

"Yes."

She waited. He looked at her, and the sarcasm in his expression slowly faded. Holding eye contact, he pulled his own pants off.

"Touch me," he said. "You can't really fuck it up. Maybe use some lotion, if you have it."

She did, so she got it and put a small amount on her hand. It meant that touching him felt unreal - slicker than skin should be, and softer. And cherry-scented. For a few moments, that alone was distracting. Then her senses cleared, and she noticed other things: his ragged breath; the tiny movements of his hips; the hardness of his dick under her fingers.

He liked when she moved her hand quickly, but he also liked when she slowed down, rubbing her thumb over the head. He liked when she moved so that she was between his legs, and touched his balls.

She tried not to watch him, but after awhile, as he thrust into her hand harder, his eyes stayed closed. Then she felt free to watch, twisting her hand, stroking his hip. He moved like she did, fluidly, almost desperately. It occurred to her to wonder if he'd done this for - help - for District 12. She buried the thought as soon as it arose, because it didn't belong here. Not when he was twisting so he could press his face into the pillow and coming all over her hand and his stomach. It made a messy thing messier, but it also smelled, and looked, a lot more normal than the lotion.

She stroked him through it, then wiped her hand on the bed. She didn't want to stay crouched between his legs, so she made her way over to the other side of the bed, leaning against the pillows again as he let out a breath and pulled his face away from the pillow.

The pillow was a little damp. She pretended not to notice.

"They can't know we've done this," he said. He pulled up his pants, grabbed tissues and wiped his stomach. He was lucky that his shirt had ridden up. Unless he'd done it on purpose.

"I know," Katniss said.

"That would cause trouble."

She thought of Peeta, who'd be happier at home baking bread. Peeta, who might love her. Peeta, who she wanted to keep alive.

"Yes," she said finally.

He reached out. His hand was steady now. Not the alcohol, Katniss thought as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I'll see you," he said, and got up.

For one crazy second, she wanted to ask him not to leave. Then practicality re-asserted itself, and she got under the blankets, instead. "See you," she said.

She was asleep almost as soon as he closed the door.