I'm back with another chaptered hayffie story !

So this story takes place 16 years before the events of the Hunger Games and, as you can probably tell from the summary, is an AU. It was actually written a while ago – well before I wrote the zombies AU – so the English, the style and the characters might be a little different from what I write now. I hope you will like it anyway.

As usual thanks to Akachankami who made this readable and who made two very beautiful banners for that story. You can see them on my tumblr at Ellanainthetardis.

Updates will take place on every Sunday. Please let me know what you think, reviews make my day =)

Running From Snow

Prologue

The house was cold when Haymitch woke up. His legs were on the couch, his back on the ground… It wasn't difficult to understand how he ended up in this predicament, the empty bottles of liquor surrounding him like corpses were a good enough explanation. He stayed in that position for a while, despite the fact that it wasn't really comfortable, watching the rays of pale light the rising sun was projecting on the ceiling.

At only twenty-four, his life sometimes seemed like an endless repetition of the same day.

It had been eight years since he won the Quarter Quell, approximately seven years since Chaff convinced him that it was better to be wasted all the time than to endure the bad memories and the way some Capitol bought them like cattle for their own private enjoyment… It had been approximately seven years since he hadn't woken up plagued by a hangover.

Every day he spent in District Twelve was the same : he got up nursing a headache, he grabbed a change of clothes – if he had anything clean left – he rummaged around for something to eat, he went down to the Hob to hunt for more alcohol; sometimes if he was feeling particularly adventurous he went to the dirtiest – but only – tavern in District Twelve and then he went back home or passed out on the way there if he couldn't make it.

Most people didn't talk to him and he didn't talk to anyone if he could avoid it. He felt lonely more often than not but he preferred to be left alone. Alone was better. He would take alone over whatever the Reaping brought each year. Not only did he have to watch kids die – kids, he often passed by everyday in the streets – but he also had to bear the utmost ridiculous fits of temper from District Twelve's escort and then he had to smile and pretend to like it when Capitol monkeys decided they wanted him for a night.

The house was very cold, it must have been snowing again.

There had only been two inches the day before which wasn't that bad for a winter in Twelve, but if it went on like that, he would get snowed in. He probably should make sure he had enough food and, above all, liquor for a few days. He sighed and let his legs fall off the couch before propping himself up on the coffee table to get up. He stretched but the throbbing pain in his back refused to go away which was just great – all he needed to brave the day, really.

He dragged his feet to the fireplace and started a fire, figuring he'd better stock on some wood too while he was at it. That meant he'd have to get out and that meant… How long had he been wearing those clothes? Two… Three days? He reeked of booze. The whole house reeked of booze, though, but he could actually smell it on himself so he knew it was bad… That and sweat and… other things. He needed a shower. Was there any hot water left? – it would be just his luck if there wasn't and given how his day had started…

The stairs creaked under his weight as he made his way upstairs, he could have fixed that years ago but he liked the noise. The extreme silence in the house got to him sometimes.

He stumbled in his bedroom, intending to grab whatever clean shirt he had left, when the sight waiting for him made him freeze on the spot.

There was a girl in his bed.

Strawberry blond tousled curls sprawled on his pillow, his not-so-fresh sheets bundled in her small fist, a leg clad into shapeless baggy black pants thrown over the covers… She looked tiny and frail. She looked exactly like how he would have pictured fairies in one of those stupid tales for children – if fairies had been wearing that kind of clothes – or princesses maybe. Wasn't there a story about a cursed sleeping princess? He didn't remember. That wasn't the only thing he didn't remember.

He had absolutely no idea where she came from.

Did he pick her up at the tavern the night before? She wasn't one of Betha's girls, that was for sure. They weren't as pretty or as young as that one was. Speaking of which, she did look pretty young. He took a step closer, trying to decide how old she was, when her eyes flew open. Blue eyes. Sapphire-blue. She was beautiful. Not the kind of women you found in the Seam. In town maybe. A merchant's daughter…

"Please, tell me you're at least eighteen."

He couldn't for the life of him remember going out the night before or hooking up with anyone but he knew it didn't mean anything. It had happened before. If she wasn't of age… It would be a new low for him.

The second her eyes fell on him, she bolted from the bed and flattened herself against the furthest wall, breathing heavily. That's when he actually saw her whole face for the first time. There was an ugly bruise on her right cheek, it spread from the jaw to her eye. Something resembling lead dropped in his stomach. He stepped closer but she only pressed further against the wall, obviously scared. He stopped and slowly raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.

What on earth happened the previous night?

"Did I do that?" he asked, pointing at her face.

Her eyes were wild as she shook her head no. "Please, I'm sorry. I didn't think anyone was living here."

His relief at not being responsible for her injury was short-lived. It was soon replaced by annoyance at dealing with an intruder.

"Well, you thought wrong." He couldn't help but notice even her voice sounded unusual, soft and yet high-pitched at some moments. The intonation, the accent… She wasn't from around there. "Are you from the Capitol?" It was an idiotic question. What would a Capitol girl do in his bedroom in Twelve? There were some crazy admirers but most of those wouldn't have looked as terrified as she did to face their favorite victor…

She shook her head again. "I will go. I won't come back. I'm sorry."

He had enough on his plate without worrying about a strange blonde who came out of nowhere. His back was killing him, he had food and alcohol to buy, and wood to take in from the shed… And yet he couldn't actually brush the bruise on her face away… She looked slightly older awake than asleep. He would give her around eighteen, twenty at most. What kind of troubles could an eighteen-or-so Capitol girl get in that warranted such a bruise?

"Is that my shirt?" he asked, because the dark blue shirt she had on was incredibly familiar and wasn't as battered as the pants – obviously designed for a man – she was wearing. It looked better on her than it did on him, though, it really brought out her eyes. "So what? You saw things laying around, clean clothes in the closet, but you thought the house was abandoned? What are you, a squatter or a thief?"

"I am no thief!" She straightened, openly offended by his accusation. Haymitch found it funny. "And I wouldn't say the clothes are clean or that the house is, for that matter, hence why I thought it was empty."

Feisty.

"How did you even come in?" He crossed his arms and stepped to the right, to block any potential attempts at fleeing. He didn't like the frantic way her eyes kept darting at the door behind him. She was about to go for it, it was written all over her face.

He should let her go. Out of sight, out of mind. But the bruise was tugging at his conscience.

"You should think about locking the back door." she snapped. "I want to go now."

"Yes, well… I want a lot of things I can't have." Haymitch sighed, before nodding to her cheek. "Who did this to you?"

"I don't see how that's any of your concern, sir." She crept along the wall, keeping him in her sight.

"A word of advice, sweetheart, if you're trying to blend in stop talking like you're in the Capitol."

She froze and swallowed, eyes wide. "What would you know about the Capitol?"

"Enough to understand why someone would want out." It was getting difficult. Why did it have to be bloody difficult? He just wanted to be sure she would be alright because throwing an injured girl in the snow seemed a little bit harsh even for him. "Now, let's try again. Who did that to you, sweetheart?"

What was he going to do with her, anyway? Bringing her to the Justice Building seemed a good idea, or, better yet, to the train station. She had probably run away from home or something like that. Maybe Daddy didn't want to buy her a new wig and she had decided life was too unfair in the Capitol… How she had managed to go as far as Twelve was anyone guess but she obviously was smart for lack of being clever. It couldn't be more serious than that. She must have hurt her face while breaking into a house or another – he couldn't believe most people would be as comprehensive as he had been until then.

"Don't call me sweetheart." she cringed.

"Okay, what should I call you, then?" He was quickly becoming frustrated. This was all a childish tantrum, he was sure of it. And, of course, of all the houses she could have chosen, she had to break into his. "What's your name?"

"I don't have one." she lied, finally gathering her courage and pushing herself off the wall. "And now, you will step aside and let me leave."

"Sorry, kid." He smiled in apology. "Can't do." She couldn't roam about the District with only his shirt on her back when snow was coming down so hard, she would catch her death and, somehow, he was sure someone would pin it on him. Haymitch wasn't a sensible man but she looked like the kind of girl who would only consider the sensible approach. "Look, I will take you to town. You should go back to your family, I'm sure they're worried about you."

"I am not a kid." And she didn't look like a kid at the moment. She looked frightened and desperate – and he knew what would happen before she even put her hand in the large front pocket of her pants – but she didn't look like a kid at all. "And I don't have a family to go back to." She pulled out a knife. "Step aside or I will kill you."

It was a nice knife if you wanted to scale a fish, he wasn't sure it would work so well on humans, though. Maybe if she put enough strength behind it but she looked as weak as a kitten, unsteady on her feet, he could spy a slight limp… Okay, maybe it wasn't just a simple runaway story. He needed a drink to think properly and she needed ice for her cheek. If she would just stop being so damn stubborn for a second…

"Cute." Her grip on the knife handle actually wasn't so bad yet it wouldn't take much to wrestle it from her. He hoped he wouldn't have to do that. Too much trouble when he was sporting a hangover. "I have some of those too. Let's not make a contest."

"Back." She advanced on him slowly, threatening him with the blade. He refused to move. "I will kill you. I will do it." There were tears in her eyes, now. Probably because she knew she wouldn't and she knew he knew that too. She wasn't a killer. He knew that kind, he was one of them. She wasn't. "Don't make me."

"Nobody is making you do anything, sweetheart." He nodded at her leg. "What happened?"

Her smile was devoid of any amusement or joy. It was bitter and sad. "I fell."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Did you fall or did someone push you?"

"I fail to see how that's any of your concern." She waved her knife in front her in what she probably thought was an intimidating fashion.

"And here's that Capitol speech again." He pointed out. "Look, I'm just trying to help."

"Then you will step aside and each of us will go our merry way." she said firmly.

She was close by now and he was done with chit-chat. He quickly grabbed her wrist and twisted it – enough for her to drop the knife but not enough to actually hurt her. That part worked well but he wasn't expecting her to kick him in the stomach with her knee or to slam her fist on his back once he was bent in two. He rolled on the ground, the breath knocked out of him, and could only watch as she took off.

Never underestimate your opponent.

By the time he had recovered enough to go after her, she was gone and the snow had covered her tracks. It was as if she had never been there.

And maybe, that was for the best.

That girl was trouble and he had enough of that on his own.