The Revolution Will Be Televised
A/N: AU in which Haymitch takes his place in the Quarter Quell, so that he can make sure Katniss is rescued and delivered to the rebellion.
...
Unfortunately, Haymitch could hear Snow's words with perfect clarity. The one time he should have been drunk out of his mind, and he was completely sober, rooted to his seat as the words sunk in.
It hit him in stages. His first thought wasn't even a thought – it was some innate reaction of his body to gag, lunging forward and dry heaving until his throat felt hoarse. A Quarter Quell. A fucking Quarter Quell. Not him, not again. Images tried to push into his mind of gaping wounds and charred bodies, people dead at his hands... the smell of blood and viscera, the screaming. Maysilee Donner always seemed to scream loudest in his head. He could picture her perfectly when he was sober.
Haymitch lurched to his feet and crashed about his living room, searching for a drink. There wasn't much around these days, but damn it, he'd drink toilet water right now if someone told him it had alcohol in it. He needed something to numb his brain, to block it all out.
His hand was shaking as he snatched a half-empty bottle of white liquor and threw the liquid down his neck. It burned, satisfying, and he kept going until he started to feel calmer.
Once his breathing had steadied a little, the second realisation hit him – there were only three victors in District 12. Haymitch, and his kids. Those damn kids who'd forced him to take a chance on them, to start caring again. He still couldn't believe his luck that not just one, but both of them had survived, and now the Capitol wanted to rip it away. He couldn't even do anything for Katniss, she was the only girl who'd survived in years. How she was reacting right now, he had no idea. Honestly, he couldn't do anything for either of them. He was a wreck, a mess, just like every other victor.
Haymitch took another gulp of alcohol. He tried to tell himself he shouldn't have started caring again, that he should have stayed blind drunk through their whole Game. Would they have chosen this specific type of Quell if both Katniss and Peeta were dead, never trying their trick with the berries? A selfish part of him was glad he wouldn't have to return to the arena alone, but the better part of him – the one those kids had forced him to acknowledge – wanted to scream in frustration and anger.
He didn't scream though. Instead he took another drink, and then another, until he could barely feel anything at all.
...
On top of the worries about the Quarter Quell, the last thing Haymitch really needed was to embarrass himself in front of the kids, but it seemed destined to happen anyway.
Peeta seemed to have turned into Thread's equally tyrannical little brother, with forced marches, constant press-ups, weight-lifting, knife-throwing, staff-sparring. Haymitch hadn't realised just how far his physical fitness had deteriorated until he was confronted with it like this. He could barely run without wheezing like an old man, and although he could still lift a decent amount of weight, it made his muscles tense and burn much sooner than it once would. As for knife throwing... the less said the better.
He was beginning to feel seriously concerned about his chances in the arena. He had experience and a hardened personality, but that only got a tribute so far. Even without his poor fitness, the shaking and weakness that came from lack of alcohol was draining both his energy and his good temper.
The boy kept pushing him though, forcing him to do more press-ups when Haymitch just wanted to lie on the floor and sleep. Maybe by the time the games arrived, he'd be able to beat a five year old in an arm wrestle. It'd be a long time until he was able to match up to Katniss and Peeta though. Trouble was, Haymitch had been thinking of himself in terms of how he had been as a tribute. Once a killer, always a killer, right? Well, unfortunately, he had to come to terms with the fact that right now he was more of a liability than Peeta.
"Come on, five more!" Peeta instructed, sounding far too authoritative for Haymitch's liking. If his arms would just stop shaking, he'd get up and throttle the boy.
"Lay off, Peeta," Katniss grumbled, resting on her haunches with a weary expression.
"We need to be strong enough for the Games," he argued. "Those other victors will have far more experience than us, existing alliances, and they'll have coached others through maybe a dozen other Games." He didn't add that Haymitch had probably slept through most of them. "We need any edge we can get."
"He's obviously not in any state to exercise, so we might as well just stop for the day."
"I know it's tiring," Peeta replied in a placating voice. "But we don't have much time. I think improving our endurance would be a priority. Maybe if I'd been stronger, Cato wouldn't have been able to wound me in our last Game. I can't let something like that happen again."
"You're strong enough to beat down a house, he was just more..."
"More experienced? More skilled?" he persisted. "Exactly, we need to level the field."
"In a few weeks? They've been doing this for years!"
"Shouldn't we at least try?"
"Will you two shut the hell up?" Haymitch snapped. Both faces whipped round in indignation. "Bad enough you steal my drink, now you're trying to give me a headache with your yammering." He turned to Peeta. "We get it, you want to prepare, that's great. Maybe when you take a look at the previous wins of the Games though, you'll see that isn't everything. You've got to use your brains in there, and right now mine just feels like mush." He looked at Katniss. "And why are you so quick to dose me up with drink again? And yourself too? Don't think getting yourself started on that is the best way to start the Games, sweetheart."
She gave him a scowl. "At least if I'm flat out drunk, I won't have to watch you faint after running three paces."
Katniss stomped off, leaving them alone. She had her own style of exercising, and it didn't include a wheezing drunk or an overbearing boyfriend.
Haymitch's gaze flicked to Peeta. "I know you're just trying to do your best, but I'm not cut out for this anymore."
"Hopefully you won't end up in the arena, and it won't matter," the boy replied carefully. He'd probably guessed that Katniss has come to see Haymitch to try and make a deal for Peeta's safety, just as he'd done for hers. "You need to be sober this time though, so you can help me out. I figure it's time for you to work with me since you favoured Katniss last time."
Haymitch smiled. "Don't worry boy, I'll pay you back for that one." But he had his own way of settling debts, and it wasn't by watching the other person die.
...
The reaping was a complete and utter joke, but they had to act out the farce as usual, right down to Effie scraping around the reaping ball with trembling fingers to catch Katniss' name slip. The girl didn't even react as her name was called out, she just moved automatically, staring dead ahead, seeing something they couldn't. The crowd was completely silent, the only sound was Katniss' little sister sobbing.
Now Effie was reaching into the ball for the male tribute. She drew a slender slip, and with a voice that broke on the last syllable, read "Haymitch Abernathy."
"I volunteer!" Peeta said immediately, and Katniss caved in on herself, as though receiving a mortal blow.
For a moment, Haymitch hesitated. Maybe, at one time, he would have jumped at the chance to volunteer for someone he loved, to spare them from the Games, like Katniss, or to protect them whilst trapped in it, like Peeta. He wasn't that person now though. Years of drowning himself in alcohol had made him weak in body and mind.
The funny thing was, part of him wanted to die – it had done since he'd killed his first tribute. Since he saw Maysilee die and did nothing to help. Since the nightmares, howling and screaming in the dark and him with nothing to protect himself. But he didn't want the Capitol to be what killed him, he didn't want them to have the satisfaction. He'd stopped fighting them years ago, but these kids had reignited that spark. He'd die in the arena if he had to, but it would be on his terms, not the Capitol's. It would be protecting Katniss and Peeta, and not because he was cattle to the slaughter. He looked at Peeta's defiant expression, Katniss' despair, even Effie, failing to fight back tears.
"So do I!" Haymitch declared, in that obstinate, infuriating way he excelled at.
Peeta looked thunderstruck. "You can't, I'm volunteering for you."
"I know, and I'm volunteering right back. I guess that means it cancels each other out, and I've got my one-way ticket to the Games."
"That's not how it works!"
"Really? How about we ask out resident expert on the games, hmm?" Haymitch turned to Effie with a sense of grim satisfaction. "Well, sweetheart? Can I refuse to let him take my place?"
She blinked for a moment, looking uncertain. Victors had never been sent back to the arena before, and there had only been two Quells before this.
"Don't do this Haymitch," Peeta said desperately, his voice barely above a whisper. Katniss was looking at him with eyes full of pleading, and it gave Haymitch the final push he needed.
"I'm doing it. I'll be District 12's male tribute."
"No!" Peeta exclaimed in despair, "I'm–!" Haymitch turned and slugged him across the face. He was rundown but still strong, and the kid was knocked out cold. He couldn't protest while he was asleep, and Haymitch gave Katniss a grim smile.
"Guess it's decided then."
Katniss clutched her face, relief and sorrow and fear warring for dominance. Eventually, she managed a weak smile, and Haymitch knew he'd made the right choice. One of them was safe, but that was the easy part. Now he had to ensure his girl on fire survived no matter what.
...