honesty
He was honest with her.
The first time they were together was nearly manic, with Katniss raw with self-hatred and Haymitch burning with guilt; she raked her nails up his back and he sank his teeth into her shoulder, the two of them fucking like rabid animals. Her first time wasn't soft, sweet, or with Peeta. It wasn't steady, intense, or with Gale. It was burning and savage and full of pain afterwards, because that was her life, wasn't it? She might have guessed that sex with Haymitch was just an extension of herself.
"Damn," he had panted, the two of them sprawled and tangled in his bedsheets, "we're not in the arena, sweetheart, you don't have to kill me on the first go."
She had smacked him hard on the arm—or tried to, because at that moment she had been feeling boneless and scraped clean. He should know better than insult her after her first time.
"If you were in better shape you could keep up with me," she breathed back, throwing a leg over his waist. Already she's aching, sore inside and out, but there's a gaping hole in her chest that hasn't been closed. There's a Prim-shaped gap between her ribs and in the cold winter nights, she hopes Haymitch can fill it. But he can't—he can be warm and solid and equally scarred. That's the best she can hope for.
Haymitch linked his arms around her and buries himself in her hair. "Slow down, wildcat," he had groaned. "Give an old man some breathing time."
Neither of them are accustomed to sleeping with another person, and they wake each other up at least a dozen times during the night. After a while, Katniss just stays awake and listens to his heartbeat, an old soldier which marches on despite the beating it's taken over the course of Haymitch's many years. He cards his fingers through her hair and they stay mostly awake, too pleased with the novelty of them.
"You spend so much time over Haymitch's," Peeta asks. "How is he?"
An image flashes in her mind of his crooked, half-drunk smile when he sees her. The knowledge that their scars don't bother each other rests on her tongue, and she shrugs noncommittally to Peeta.
"He's Haymitch."
He's Haymitch, which means he's drunk, messy, mean, lazy and usually heartless. But he's also Haymitch, which means he's what she needs right now. The hole Prim left grows a little smaller by the day, and part of her feels selfish. Her new family is Greasy Sae, Peeta, Haymitch, and Buttercup; they hobble together like an old limp horse but it works surprisingly well; her life without Prim rolls on downhill, gathering no moss but hitting plenty of bumps along the way.
Peeta brushes her hair back. "I'm worried about you," he admits.
(If he would only just stop looking at her like that. Like she was a hurt puppy that needs his help.)
She looks away and says nothing.
As time goes by they get slower, softer, more tender. They don't leave marks anymore, not physically at least. Katniss knows he's like a splinter in her system, irritating and painful—but he's buried so deep that she can't even begin to think of cutting him out of her life.
After one night, he finds her crying. "Sweetheart, baby, what's the matter?" he whispered, rubbing her shoulder.
She can't begin to explain. Explaining how she felt would cheapen it. Whatever she feels for Haymitch hurts, deep down in her core, and she can't tell whether it's love or hate. It didn't really matter, anyway. There was no going back. She had images of Haymitch between her thighs, of his calloused fingers skimming her hipbones, his mouth on her breast. How could she go through life knowing that his mouth had been on nearly every part of her? Knowing that she knew the scars on his back better than he knew them himself?
There wouldn't be any see you laters or long time no see because if he left her all the matchstick walls she built up around the hole Prim left would just crumble. If he left her now she would implode.
"I'm falling in love with you," she told him. Bitter. Exhausted. Half-hidden in sarcasm.
He sighed, pulled her into bed.
There was a long moment, and then he said, "Don't say that again."
Peeta goes to the Capitol and it's like an unexpected holiday; she goes directly over to his house and drags him out hunting. Haymitch is sober, grumpy but compliant, and as the two of them stumble through the woods she's shot with a ray of pure, clear happiness. They catch nothing and she doesn't see a single turkey. That's all right, because killing something was not high on her agenda today.
The two of them sit down by a small stream and listen to it gurgling, watch the sunlight make green patterns on their skin. Haymitch looks older in broad daylight, and Katniss is struck by the fifteen years between them. He glances at her, raising his eyebrows, and then gasps.
"What?" she asks, looking behind her instinctively.
"My God," Haymitch said, sarcasm dripping, "I could have sworn I just saw you smile."
She punches him then, on the shoulder, and he hauls her into his lap. "You're an asshole," Katniss mutters, but she's smiling in spite of herself.
"Only telling the truth," he says sweetly.
Her smile fades a little and she drifts for a moment. "You usually do," she says, raising her eyebrows. "Tell the truth, I mean."
They're both thinking of the promise he didn't keep—he didn't get Peeta out of the arena. He picked her over Peeta, and of course he would. He would pick her over anything. Hopefully. Part of her wanted to hear him say it, but he never would. Katniss tugs on his blonde hair.
"Lying is easier," he says finally. "And I seem to always do things the hard way."
"Just say it," Peeta says tiredly. "Please. Just say it."
She doesn't look at him.
"I know, Katniss. I know already."
She didn't think it would hurt this much.
(Maybe she didn't love Peeta, but she sure as hell needed him.)
"I'm so sorry," Katniss whispers finally.
There's tension in his jaw, in his shoulders, anger in his eyes. Not at her. "It's not your fault," he says finally, and kisses the crown of her head.
She sees him haul Haymitch out of his house, seize him bodily and throw him on the ground. Before she knows what's happening she's running, because no no no, Haymitch loves Peeta more than anything in the world and why are they fighting? Peeta crouches and says something low and snarled and angry, and before she can stop him Haymitch punches him right in the face.
Peeta is faster but Haymitch is bigger and stronger, pinning him down with one arm twisted behind his back.
"Don't you ever call me that again," Haymitch hisses, and Katniss is screaming, trying to pull the two apart.
"You don't think I know what you're doing?" Peeta grunts. "You're just using her, you son of a bitch, you're using her like you used me-!"
Haymitch drags him up by the scruff of the neck and shakes him, like an old dog with a rabbit. "Your girl is crazy," he snarls, and Katniss hears your girl. Haymitch knows Peeta loved her first, branded her with love when they were both still children. "She's crazy, and do you know why? Because she's with me and not you."
She notices then that both of them are full of tears.
He drops Peeta, and the two of them stand there, breathing heavily. "We're using each other," he admits finally. "And I am a bastard. But I give as good as I get."
Peeta turns up the collar of his jacket and leaves, his cheek cut and bleeding from where Haymitch struck him. Katniss realizes that Haymitch's we're using each other may be much closer than her I'm falling in love with you.
They weren't falling in love. They were falling in addiction.
He was honest with her.
"You should leave."
"I'm not going to the Capitol."
"I don't care where you go, sweetheart, but you shouldn't be here."
She sits next to him and kisses his temple.
"I'm not going anywhere."
He closes his eyes and exhales.
"This shouldn't have happened."
"Can't you just be happy for once, sweetheart?"
"Why? Why should I be happy, when this is…happening?"
He reaches around her, smoothing his palms over her belly which is only just beginning to curve outwards. "Be happy," he says, and kisses her hair. "We're safe here. I'm not going to let anything happen to us."
She closes her eyes and exhales.
Back with a little smidgen of Aberdeen. Not my best but I liked writing it. - fyrelark