First off, we'd like to give a huge thank you to XmadlyinloveX, Changolian, GataFairy, Nerd Beckett, valevilandra, Minerva-Amantine, K8 G.H. Ducey, revanha, gabisamore, Adessa101, Doc95, FunnyPuffins1600, LizzieHatter, BelieveInDream, and Guest for your kind and ever inspiring reviews of last chapter. We seriously appreciate all of the support you have given us. Now, without further ado, here is the next installment of "Forging Iron".

Title: Forging Iron
Summary: In which Haymitch and Effie are imprisoned in the Capitol. AU.
Genre: Romance/Drama
Pairings: Hayffie
Rating: M for violence, language, and sexual harassment
Disclaimer: We own nothing. Sorry, lawyers!

Chapter two: Haymitch

"Ah, Mr. Abernathy. Welcome."

Haymitch's reaction was immediate. Instantly, as if Snow's mere voice was a trigger, hatred boiled inside of Haymitch. His teeth barred behind his snarling lips, his nostrils flared like a raging animal, and he clenched his fists until his nails left deep crescent marks in his calloused flesh. His hatred was so potent, Haymitch could taste it on his tongue— a bitter, metallic flavor like the blood on Snow's breath.

Haymitch forced himself to swallow back his loathing and said in a wry drawl, "Always a pleasure, Mr. President." Haymitch carefully watched Snow's approaching form. He stopped until he was close enough for Haymitch to make out his features clearly in the dark room. Years of staying awake during the night has given Haymitch the eyes of a bat. Sometimes being forcibly nocturnal had its perks.

Snow's lips twitched upward ever so slightly as if he were enjoying some hilarious private joke. "For once, Mr. Abernathy, you may just be right in your sentiments. Though, I admit, I am a bit surprised."

"Yeah?" Haymitch answered with a dark smirk. "Join the club."

"Indeed. Though I was sure I'd never have to resort to these measures. I had thought my last warning quite…efficient." Snow's eyes twinkled with a madness only few had seen in their lifetime. Haymitch was one of those few who were smart enough to identify it. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Fury boiled inside of Haymitch's stomach. Memories flooded his mind, horrific images bombarded his vision. Things that haunted Haymitch's nightmares and daydreams—and there was no drink to quench the assault. No longer caring about containing his unadulterated loathing for the vile old man, he spit, "What do you want, Snow?"

Snow started like he was appalled Haymitch hadn't figured it out. "Isn't it clear, Mr. Abernathy? Surely the reason is quite obvious."

"I'm going to take a wild guess and say that this isn't an invitation to go for a drink."

Snow chuckled. "Oh no, you're correct about that. But let's not dance around the subject now, Mr. Abernathy." The mask of politeness fell ever so slightly. The amused glint in his beady eyes was replaced with cold calculation. If his lips weren't so blown up from surgery, they would have thinned. "You know why you're here."

"No, I really don't."

"What happened in the arena, Mr. Abernathy?"

"How should I know? I've been placed in this rat hole."

"To where has everyone escaped?"

"Don't you think if I'd known, I'd have escaped myself?"

President Snow sighed heavily. "You really aren't making this any easier on yourself. I hope you know that."

"And I hope you know that I honestly don't remember a thing."

"I highly doubt that."

"I wouldn't bet on that."

"I don't bet, Mr. Abernathy."

"You bet on the lives of children."

Snow's eyes flashed angrily, challengingly. "I grow tired of your games."

Haymitch's mouth stretched into a slow, bitter smile. "And I've grown tired of yours, Mr. President."

Snow drew back and straightened his shoulders, his calm and aloof air returning once more. "Indeed." He clasped his hands together and pressed his index fingers against his lips. He remained silent for a few moments, mulling over something in his head.

"Well," he at last chirped brightly. "I can see that we'll be getting nowhere this way. I did hope you'd be more compliant and reasonable. We'll just have to try something a little different."

"What are you gonna do, huh?" Haymitch growled, all earlier traces of mockery gone from his being. "Kill my family? Oh, wait. Looks like you've tried that, too."

"You're a clever man, Mr. Abernathy," Snow replied while gliding towards the door, deeper into the shadows and out of the limited sight Haymitch had in the dark. "Surely you know that I have other means of making sure you give me what I'm after."

Haymitch rolled his eyes. "Look, I can't give you what I don't remember."

"I suppose." The underlying glee in Snow's voice was so apparent that Haymitch couldn't help but feel that little knot of apprehension in the pit of his rolling stomach. "Then we'll just have to jog your memory."

President Snow opened the lone door. A beam of light briefly illuminated the dark room enough for Haymitch to see the bloodthirsty tyrant exchange a solemn nod with a looming figure. As soon as the door had opened, it closed, encasing Haymitch in darkness once more.

The dark hair on Haymitch's arms and the back of his neck stood on end.

His eyes darted about the room, searching for the danger he sensed coming. They immediately snapped to the floor. The cold tile underneath Haymitch's bare feet began vibrating. The knot in his stomach grew.

As the vibrations became more pronounced, the room began to slowly glow in an eerie blue light. It was so dim, it was almost imperceptible. As the vibrations got stronger, the light got brighter. The vibrating traveled up his legs, through his wrists, and finally when it reached his spine, it burst into an explosion of pain while the room flashed a bright blue.

Searing pain quite literally shocked through Haymitch's spine, traveling all the way up to his cranium. His back arched away from the chair, his fists clenched, every nerve in his body crying out until he couldn't help but vocalize the agony. He felt like his body was on fire. He could practically taste the burning flesh as he gasped for air between shouts and groans.

Fire. Burning.

It was like a movie reel playing in his head. He could remember.

He remembered what happened.

He remembered getting in a fight with Effie and storming out of their private viewing room, brushing past Darius and Lavinia, their Avoxes who were required to stay right outside the door should the argumentative duo require anything. Haymitch had been excruciatingly irritated with Effie—nothing new, really—but had brushed it off. He had spat some particularly rough insults this time around, and he briefly thought about going back and blaming it on the very limited alcohol he had consumed—his own pathetic version of an apology (it's not like he was ever truly repentant whenever he hurt her feelings). He had swallowed back the sudden impulse and settled for staying close to the farthest corner in the main viewing room that held sponsors and schmoozing mentors and escorts alike. When he looked at the large television screen, he knew it would be futile to find her anyway.

The time of action was almost upon the rebels.

Besides, it wasn't like he cared what Effie thought of him. It was unlikely they'd ever see each other again after the rebellion went fully under way.

Haymitch remembered slipping out of the main room and walking in the direction to Twelve's section. When he had been in sight of the door and two redheaded Avoxes, he caught their eyes and nodded, signaling them that it was time. Beetee had just given Johanna and Katniss the coiled wire. The three had a limited amount of time to sneak away to the emergency stairwell and race to the roof of the Game Headquarters. There they would hijack the two hovercraft stationed on their landing pads.

He remembered making it to the arena just minutes before Katniss shot her arrow and blew up the force field. He remembered a frenzied battle getting everyone out of there and into the designated vehicles—Katniss and Finnick with Plutarch, Peeta and Annie (should Plutarch have been able to smuggle her out of District Four) with Darius, and Johanna and Lavinia with Haymitch. He remembered flying his hovercraft when, suddenly, he felt a rough jolt that sent his head knocking hard against the side of the vehicle. He remembered lots of spinning, losing control, and a sharp impact. Then he remembered blackness.

He remembered everything.

The images subsided as the electric shock abruptly stopped. Haymitch coughed and gasped for breath, his throat raw from electricity and screaming. Sweat poured down his temples, and his stomach heaved. There were no contents in his stomach. Only dread as he realized just why he was being held captive. And he realized just how much pain he would have to endure in order to keep all of the information about the rebellion locked inside of him.

His sweat turned cold against his burning flesh. He knew the risks of being a leader in the rebel's cause. He took up the responsibilities gladly—and sober. But that didn't stop the fear at the oncoming terrors. Who knew what kind of creative form of torture President Snow had in mind?

The electric shock was bad enough. It had lasted no more than fifteen agonizing seconds. The utter anguish and memory flashes felt like it had been minutes.

Snow's voice came over a speaker that must have been hidden in the room somewhere. "I do hope you've recovered from you amnesia, Mr. Abernathy." Haymitch just barely managed a glare at the opposing wall. "Now, could you be so kind as to tell me what I need to know?"

Haymitch sucked in oxygen to speak. He hissed through his teeth at the scraping sensation tickling down his throat as air met raw flesh. He spoke venomously through his clenched jaw, "Over my dead body."

Snow's answer was calm and impassive as if he were merely discussing the weather and drinking tea in his parlor. "If you insist."

Before Haymitch could think of spitting a reply, he was overcome with the bone- breaking vibrations and white hot voltage coursing through his veins. The room burst into an eerie, bright blue, Haymitch's hair-raising scream piercing the empty room, echoing with each pulse of electricity.

Poor Haymitch, electrocution is not much fun-except to Snow and his odd sense of amusement maybe. Anyway for those who are wondering, are dear Haymitch and Effie will eventually meet up. All in due time, dear readers. Any feedback and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated and loved. We talk everything into account and your words are a great motivator in our abilities to write. Effie's up next, so stay in tune! -Grace and Jen