A/N: I'm not really sure how much I like this. Please tell me what parts you like and dislike and give me a specific review or PM. I would really appreciate some constructive criticism right now. I'm not looking for flattery.
Anyways, I've always loved Haymitch and Maysilee. I think they are ADORABLE! From what we know about them , their personalities seem to fit so well together.
Summary: "They killed my mother, younger brother, my girl." Haymitch forgot to mention she was dead days before be pulled the axe stunt. Maysilee/Haymitch
Most of their days were spent in silence, but that was fine by him. Getting too close did nothing but break you.
Sometimes, though, he caught her giving him curious looks. Amused. He rolled his eyes. Fool. Getting attached was what got her killed. Perhaps if she had stayed with the alliance until the end, and wasn't afraid to kill him, she would've won, could've survived instead of him, and all would be right in the world.
She tried to talk to him, at the beginning, and every now and then they would banter, playful for her, curt for him. She appeared to grow tired of short answers, however, and stopped trying.
She wasn't really his, so when he told Katniss they killed his girl, it wasn't really true. However, he had never met a girl as intriguing as her, and no one had ever come closer to holding his heart, so he felt justified in the act. Besides, she was dead, so it's not exactly like she could come back and slap him silly for it.
They were polar opposites: she, a rich trader's daughter sure to marry well; he, a boy from the Seam who spent his life fighting for every bite of food scraps he considered himself lucky to get. They rarely conversed before the Games, but they knew each other well by reputation. She was sweet and witty and wanted. He was cunning and cut-throat and also wanted, but in his case, it was the Capitol running after him, not love-struck hormone-crazed teenage boys.
If she could see him now, oh how she would laugh. She would laugh so hard she would roll around on the floor until her cheeks and stomach ached and her head was dizzy. Then she would grab the liquor out of his hand, smash it on the floor, and shove his drunk self into the shower with an amused look on her face. Her eyes would tell the whole story. Didn't care about me? Nice try.
She was strong, for a merchant girl. She didn't even cry when she died, rather, had a sad look in blue, blue eyes and she stared deeply into his gray ones, trying to tell him everything she couldn't say because of the blood blocking her throat. He got the message.
I love you too, Maysilee.