AN: My first fanfiction! This is one of my favorite pairings and I think that Haymitch is a very underrated character. I'd appreciate constructive criticism (NOT flames) and reviews. Enjoy. :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Hunger Games. All characters belong to Suzanne Collins. I'm just another writer playing with her characters.
The house on the end of the dark street was deadly silent. The few people passing by knew to walk quickly, for they knew if District 12's oldest victor wasn't outside throwing bottles at them, then he had to be too angry to even show his face. They knew that even now, late into the night, that he wasn't sleeping. Of course, no one could blame him; even though years had passed since the revolution that took many lives, the revolution that destroyed him, destroyed her, was still taking a toll on the middle-aged drunk. He was likely trying to drown himself in alcohol again, refusing to let anyone see him like that. It was with this thought that Katniss Everdeen hesitated at his door, her hand already in a fist about to knock on the door to Haymitch Abernathy's house.
She paused, as if trying to decide if this would be a good idea (not that she didn't know the answer to that) and finally knocked once, twice on the wooden door. She waited for a sign that would let her know that he was either coming to the door to let her in or avoid her, but she heard nothing. She didn't even hear him scoff or make an attempt at rushing upstairs to stay away from a visitor. She frowned, knowing that he wouldn't be sleeping. The frown deepened as she prepared to knock again, but before she could, a loud thud sounded from somewhere - faint, but she heard it nonetheless. Katniss's frown turned to one of worry, and she turned the handle on the front door to find it unlocked. She looked around her, ensuring that no one was watching her, and slipped inside the seemingly empty house.
Katniss took quiet steps through the silent house, walking into the kitchen that looked as deserted as it always did. The one large window in the room was closed, causing the kitchen to appear even darker than normal. Even in the dark, she could tell that Haymitch wasn't there.
She padded across the kitchen, glancing into the living room and seeing that he wasn't in there, either. Her hands twisted at her sides as worry gnawed at her gut. She called out his name, frowning at how her voice shook. She knew that she shouldn't have been this worried. She told herself that he was probably sleeping fitfully upstairs and that she should leave before something happens. Still, she found herself creeping up the stairs and in front of the room she had been in many times before.
She put her ear to the door and listened intently, and she could just make out the sound of him shifting on his bed and sighing in hopelessness. She debated on knocking or just entering the room, but eventually she settled on knocking. "Haymitch?" She spoke, taking a step back from the door.
She could hear him grumble something and take a swig of alcohol before he shouted in his gruff voice, "Get out."
Katniss felt worry clawing at her again and she put a shaking hand on the door handle. "I'm coming in," she stated quietly, opening the door and entering the room.
Haymitch was sitting on the edge of his bed in the darkness of his room. The windows were closed and the only thing lighting the room was a tiny table lamp. His sandy blonde hair was messy and untamed, sweat on his brow, his face unshaved and in a clear show of agony and despair. A dark bottle of alcohol was in his tight grip and was just at his lips before he murmured, "Leave. Now."
Katniss strode over in two large steps, grabbed the bottle against his lips and pulled it from his grasp and threw it against the wall. He stood up, glaring at her as it cracked against the wall and the beverage spilled across the floor. She knew that maybe she shouldn't have done that, but she was willing to resort to anything to talk to him.
Haymitch growled, towering over Katniss and hissed, "Why are you here?"
She blinked and raised her head taller, matching his glare and stating, "You know you can't stay in here like this forever." She gestured to his stained shirt and messy hair.
The older man shook his head, reaching for the other bottle of alcohol on his nightstand. She slapped his hand away, and he stood up even taller and stared into her eyes with a menacing glare. She backed up slightly, making for the door, but he snatched her wrist and gripped it tightly.
"Haymitch, what-"
"Shut up!" Haymitch snapped, shoving her against the wall roughly, still holding her wrist. He took a step forward and towered over her, his hands on either side of her to cage her in. He was so close that she could see the tiny scars littering his face, see the fury in his eyes, and as he opened his mouth to speak, she could smell the whiskey in his breath,
He leaned down close to her ear, his stubble grazing her cheek as he growled, "You think you can march in here and tell me what to do?" Katniss faltered, opening her mouth to retaliate, but he chuckled darkly and said, "Well, newsflash, sweetheart. I've been drowning myself for over twenty years. Can't change that."
She found that her voice was small, like a mouse, and frowned that even the symbol of the revolution couldn't stand up to this tall, drunken man. "Yes, you can. And I'm going to help you."
He sneered, and she could see the yellow on his teeth. "You're still so naïve," he growled, leaning closer until their noses were nearly touching. "I can't be changed. I've been to hell and back, sweetheart, and you can't change that."
He lingered there for a second longer than necessary and pulled back, letting go of her sore wrists. "It's over, sweetheart. We can't do anything about this. We can't fight anymore."
His eyes clouded with something Katniss couldn't place, and was unable to because Haymitch pushed her towards the door. "Go."
Katniss stood there, refusing to leave. His back was turned to her, his shoulders slumped, and even from where she was standing, Katniss could see the taut muscles in his back through his thin shirt. Something made her wonder what it would feel like.
Silence reigned within the small room, and neither of them moved a muscle that whole time. She wondered, then, what kind of demons he was fighting, and if they were at all related to her own. Something sparked inside of her then. She couldn't - wouldn't - let her mentor sink this far again. She had survived two brutal Games, sparked a rebellion and led an entire revolution. She could help her mentor piece himself together again.
With that determined thought in her mind, she strode over and placed a hand on his shoulder. He tensed under her hand, but then relaxed, sighing in defeat. They stayed like that for a while, her small hand on his tight shoulder, his head bowed and his hair hanging over his eyes. No words were needed. It was the smallest bit of comfort Katniss had to offer, and she was too caught up in this moment to do anything about it.
Haymitch turned suddenly, showing his face which, to Katniss's utter surprise, was stained with tears. His grey eyes were watery, his lips in a thin line, and his body quaking under her hand. She realized, then, with the shadows on his face and the way his hair hung in his face to his shoulders and his grey eyes catching the light from the lamp, that he looked almost beautiful.
Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his body and pulled him in for an embrace. He responded immediately, throwing his strong arms around her and pulling her against him tightly, and it was then that the tears fell freely again and he openly sobbed. Katniss found tears prickling her eyes and tightened her hold on him, choking on a sob.
"I couldn't protect you two," he cried, his hand tangling in her hair.
Katniss didn't respond - whether it was because she was too choked to answer or because she just didn't know the answer to help, she didn't know-shed instead buried her face in his chest, her hands weaving in his hair. Katniss forgot all about her dignity because she needed this comfort as much as he did. She cried, ugly sobs wracking her frame as they both sunk to the floor, her face contorted in anguish. Her heart clenched and unclenched like a fist and she felt utterly empty.
They held each other like that for an hour, victor to victor, and didn't let go until Katniss fell asleep like that. Haymitch had carried her across his room and laid her on his bed, crawling in next to her and wrapping his arms around her sleeping form yet again. He felt oddly content, having his Mockingjay next to him, pressed against him. He couldn't say he was happy, for he'd forgotten was that was long ago, but what he was feeling was close to it. He shut his eyes and tightened his arm around her waist, burying his face in her hair and allowing himself the first comfortable sleep he'd had in thirty years.