Disclaimer: I just used the character for a while. I don't own anything.
Chapter 1
Cemeteries -and hospitals, for that matter- have never been my thing. I loathe them, but don't know exactly why. Maybe it's because of their closeness to the death, and the fact that I've seen so many people die in front of me already that I can't stand being around corpses anymore.
I stayed right outside the giant bunch of people in black surrounding him, trying not to glance directly at Meg, who was standing next to the priest. From where I was watching, she seemed to be in some sort of trance; her face had no expression and her eyes were looking at nowhere in particular, but her hands were steady, pinning Katniss and Prim to her chest. She was wearing the dress she didn't know I had picked out for her, and that record made a knot stick in my throat.
Everdeen and I had worked together for the last… I don't know, six, seven years? When I got into the District Seven Police Department he was assigned as my tutor and later as my permanent partner. I knew all his ways –to walk, to talk, to interrogate someone, even to lie to someone- and I learnt a lot more from his experience than from the academy. I argued with him about every single topic, from his tendency to push the accelerator in streets which weren't a highway to what he should or shouldn't buy to his wife on their anniversary –like the dress Meg was wearing right now. I laughed at his bad jokes and he laughed at mine.
We were good friends, although both of us did our best on not to get too attached… And now there he was, several meters underground, with his chest turned into a strainer, covered in a thick layer of dust and a big marble top which looked like it weighed a ton.
About twenty minutes later, when everybody finally walked away, I got closer to the grave and looked at the epitaph written in the headstone. I'm not one of those very expressive people whose laugh comes from their belly when they're happy or who cry rivers when they're sad, but reading his name there, followed by the phrase "beloved father, husband, son, brother and the best friend one could ever wish" made two big tears run down my cheeks.
- So you took the training wheels off my bike, huh, Deen? –I said, in a half-dead sigh, noticing a tiny cracking in my voice-. You left me pedaling on my own…
I couldn't keep talking. The knot in my throat just pushed the tears out my eyes and I started crying like a three-year-old girl who lost her doll in the sandbox. A very shaky performance, I must say, for someone who considers herself stronger and colder than the rest of her gender and prides herself for it.
- Trinket.
I recognized Plutarch's voice behind me. His tone brushed paternalism, as if he was trying to console me and it was getting progressively uphill. I mentally thanked him for the gesture; Plutarch is not exactly friends with making people feel better.
- I distinctly remember you saying you don't go to funerals –I said, without turning around and trying to sound a little more together than I actually was.
- Well, I don't see any priest or family, so, technically, this funeral is already over –he replied, back to his usual coldness.
- Still, you did mention something about not wanting anything to do with the death of… How did you call it? Oh, yeah: incorrigible bastards…
He chuckled.
- Everdeen wasn't a saint worth your devotion, was he? –I continued.
- No, he wasn't. He did die in an honorable way, though, and that's worth my respect –he answered.
- I should have been there… -The knot in my throat made my voice come out a full octave lower.
- What could you possibly have done? Do your heroic stunt of the year and then end up as an old piece of fabric just like him?
- You weren't there either. You can't know what would have happened…
- I've been in this business for longer than you, so yes, I can and I will tell you this just once, Trinket: there's absolutely no way this could have turned out differently. Besides, I wouldn't have liked to lose two of my best agents on the same night. I had enough with one.
- That's… -I snorted- You have a really funny way to care about people, did you know that?
I turned around to face him before saying my next line.
If it had only been Plutarch, it wouldn't have bothered me to look like an actual sad woman, all weepy and red-faced over the death of a loved one; he's seen worse. But the presence of the stranger standing next to him brought me to reality; that where I was this polite and almost kind yet insensitive rock that doesn't let out any sign of emotion unless is extremely necessary.
- I'm really sorry –I said to the stranger, quickly wiping my cheeks with my fingers-. Didn't know you were here…
- It's OK –he said, with a small compassionate smirk (that's the only way for it to be called) in his face.
In fractions of a second, I took stock of the stranger: tall, wide shoulders, leather jacket, black shirt, black jeans (funeral outfit), ash blonde hair, stubble, silver grey eyes. Twelve, my mind supplied. He's from the Seam; he's got Deen's and Kat's eyes.
- Well –Plutarch started-, I guess it's safe to say that the introductions are due now. Trinket, this Haymitch Abernathy. He's from Twelve and… wanted some fresh air, so I took him for our team. Abernathy, this is Euphemia Trinket. She's a local and your new partner.
- Well, I'm… Wait, what? –I said when I processed the last part of information.
If looks could kill, the one I threw at Plutarch would have made him fall on his back with my father's butcher knife right in his stomach.
- And you've got nerve enough to come and tell me over Kale's still warm corpse, for goodness' sake! –My voice sounded two or three tones higher than usual-. I mean, I know you two didn't get along very well but…
- I wasn't going to wait a week or two for you to come back to work to inform you, if that's what you're trying to say… -he said, coldly.
- No. I'm trying to get some respect to his memory from you… And I wasn't going to take a week or two, either.
- Good, because there's no time for mourning in this business, Trinket, and you know it. You also know the rule here is nobody works alone, so I'd like for you to stick to it or step aside otherwise.
- Is that a threat?
- Take it however you want. I was going to assign you to someone else next month, anyway.
Plutarch flashed me his signature satisfied smile before take a glance to his surroundings.
- Maybe the reason I don't go to funerals is that I don't like these places –he told me and then addressed to Haymitch-. She doesn't like them either; please make sure she won't get lost and die of fear.
I just rolled my eyes and went back to watch Deen's grave, annoyed to the core.
A few seconds later, when Plutarch was gone, Haymitch came to stand next to me. The sudden smell of alcohol made me turn to look at him.
- You always carry that? –I asked, when I found him drinking from a flask.
- Only when the time's worth it –he replied-. Plutarch told me my new partner was going through a hard time and that it might be a little more difficult than usual to bond with him…
- So you brought the whiskey for courage, then…
He looked at me intensely (more than I expected) for a brief second and then handed me the flask.
- You need it more than me right now. Sorry for your loss, by the way –he said.
- Thank you –I said, a little taken aback by the gesture-, but I don't drink this early.
- Who says it's early to drink? –The smirk reappeared in his face, but it was nothing like the previous one. This was a mischievous, knowing grin.
- People experienced enough to say that drinking too early in the morning is a clear sign of alcoholism.
- First of all –he checked his watch-, it's almost noon so it's not "too early in the morning". And second, I'm not an alcoholic. I'm more a… social drinker, if you have to label it.
That made it. I reproduced his smirk on my face and accepted the flask, taking a slow sip. The whiskey soon burned in my throat and, by his soft chuckle, I might have made a face at its taste.
- Now that's a sip –Haymitch said when I gave him the flask back, sounding satisfied-. So, Euphemia Trinket… You're not exactly a local, are you?
- What gave it away? –I asked, my eyes back on Deen's grave.
- You mean, besides the fact that your name sounds an awful lot like a Capitol one? Well, I'm a trained observant and an exceptional physiognomist. I also happen to recognize a district person from miles away. And you, sweetheart, don't look a shit like one.
The pet name didn't escape my ears.
- But I do look like a sweetheart to you, right? –I said, making the irritation in my voice pretty clear.
- Oh, you don't like that? –He arched is eyebrows in amusement-. Hands down, then. Capitol people usually don't like the nicknames I make up for them. What part of the big city are you from?
- I'm from the center.
- By the magnificent and glorious presidential palace?
- By the presidential palace, indeed.
I could have said I was a regular on the presidential palace once, but given that the man I was talking to didn't seem so fond of the Capitol, I kept my backstory for myself.
- What part of Twelve are you from? –I asked instead.
- The Seam –he answered, and I could hear some pride creeping out his voice.
- By the coal mine?
- By the coal mine, indeed –The mocking of my former accent was actually very good.
- Did you know Deen? –I intended to sound trivial, but sadness betrayed me and the question came out almost like a plea.
- Not personally. But I used to be friends with Meg before they got married and moved here, so I'm sure he was a good guy.
I detected some resignation in his voice. As if "friends" wasn't an accurate enough word to describe his actual relationship with Kale's wife. I didn't ask anything, though. I'd have plenty of time to find out about it later now that we were officially partners.
- Sun's burning –he changed the subject, as if afraid I was actually going to ask him something he didn't want to answer-. We better get going.
I looked at the headstone and reread the epitaph. The tears stung in my eyes again.
- I think I'll stay a little longer –I said, trying to steady my voice.
- You sure? –He frowned-. You're not afraid of ghosts?
- I'm going to kill Plutarch for that… No, I'm not afraid of ghosts, thank you very much.
There was the smirk again.
- Well, you talk about them in your Capitol accent, so I take they're a bit of an issue… -He said, matter-of-factly.
- Do I? –I asked, raising an eyebrow. If I did so, I didn't notice.
- Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll keep an eye on you from the good shadow of that tree over there.
He winked as he pointed to it with his head, and without giving me time to reply, he walked away.
I stood in front of the grave for what felt like an eternity.
- What is this, Deen? –I said quietly at some point, glancing over at Haymitch and finding him sipping from the flask-. You just die without a warning and then send me a highly potential alcoholic to deal with? Let alone the one who probably had something to do with your wife before you... What, you want me to watch over her or something? To forbid him to get close to her while you're not here? That's not fair, you know. Because it's going to be a long, long while, and I've already paid my share with hard bones to chew...
I looked at Haymitch once more. This time he met my eyes and waved me a toast with his bottle.
- Yeah, this feels pretty you... You and your bad jokes until the end, huh? –I sobbed a laugh and quickly dried the tears running out my eyes so they couldn't open the gate for the rest to flow-. Look after me from hell, Kale Everdeen. I'll see you there.
With that, I started to walk to the cemetery main door.
Haymitch lifted himself from the ground and met me on the path.
- Good talk? –he said, walking by my side.
- Yes –I replied, with a little smile.
- So he won't come in the night to haunt you? 'Cause I won't be there...
- Shut up, Abernathy –I smacked his arm strongly enough to make my point.
Apparently, this man couldn't take anything seriously. Or make a good deed without a joke following. Or (and I would have to dig a little about that) stay sober for longer than ten minutes. And for me, there was nothing more annoying than that. Or interesting.
A/N: Give yourself a huge thank-you hug on my behalf for reading this :) Don't be shy and please leave a review!
