Haymitch

Before

Haymitch opens his eyes to the bedroom ceiling of the rundown shack of a house he shares with his mother and brother. He wants to be in a bad mood – to hate the shack he's in, the lumpy mattress against his skinny back, the dark ceiling, looking like it could cave in at any moment – because that is who he is. He is always in a bad mood, and the fact that a certain holiday is approaching, all too fast for his liking, only permits him more reason to hate the world he lives in. However, as much as he wants to revert to his trademark sarcastic smirk, he can't because she won't let him. She, with her own sarcastic smirk and her smooth, olive Seam skin, will unintentionally will away his mocking sneers in exchange for legitimate smiles – yes, actual smiles from Haymitch Abernathy. He is still surprised he could express, let alone feel, joy after his father's leave.

At the realization that she is still in his arms, he looks toward her and discovers she has her eyes open, already watching him. They give each other willing smiles – he doesn't have trouble getting her to open up either. After a few minutes of enjoying the other's company with the occasional caress of the cheek or smoothing of the hair, Haymitch and Sage wordlessly untangle each other from the other's limbs and get up to dress and prepare for the day ahead.

"I won't be able to come over tonight – what with Reaping and all. You know," Sage says quietly, so as not to wake the others through these too-thin walls. Haymitch understands. Although his father has neglected to pay attention to him for the past five years, his mother would surely want to spend this night with Abraham and him. With that and one more kiss, she turns and makes her way through the Seam.

The rest of the day goes as they always do, besides the added tension due to the following day. Haymitch has a small serving of grain and tea for breakfast, walks his brother to school, returns home with him, and helps him with his homework while waiting for their mother to return from the mines. Each day, each excruciating day, is only bearable because of the three reminders in the form of his family. They make it more than bearable, they made it good. But good can't fully compensate for the troubles tomorrow would bring, and even the rest of his life would undoubtedly be stressful, what with the looming threat of starvation and relatives' names in Reaping bowls. No, he isn't going to focus on that right now. Not now, when worries will do him no good. Because if his name is chosen, there is nothing he can do. And that very well could happen, considering the fact that there is twice as likely a chance one of his nineteen named slips will be chosen.

Haymitch sighs, but refuses to let his stoic face falter. His brother needs his support after all. Abraham doesn't need to worry about himself, but he manages to worry enough about Haymitch. Really, what would he do without his brother/father-figure around to make him laugh, advise him about girls, protect him? Thankfully, their mother walks through the door, so Haymitch can focus on something other than the next day.

Later in bed that night, Haymitch feels another weight added to his bed and hears a tentative, "Haymitch?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you scared?"

Haymitch opens his eyes. A foot away, his brother's gray eyes stare at him through the darkness. "No."

"You don't think you'll get picked?"

"No."

After a slight pause, "Do you think Sage will get picked?"

"No. Abe. Where's this coming from?" He knew where this was coming from, so he didn't wait for an answer. "Look, Abe, you don't need to worry about a thing. I won't get picked. I promise." He feels like he is testing the fates with his pledge, so he quickly changes the subject. "Besides, I can't leave you by yourself. Without me, you'd fail school for sure." His attempt at teasing, a rarity for Haymitch, only speaks of his own worries. At least it earns him a small smile from his brother, partially reassured.

"You promise you won't leave?"

"I promise."

xXx

It disgusts him. The satin covered cushions, the crystal chandelier, the decorative fruit, it all disgusts him. This is the only thing he can comprehend as he sits, waiting for his family to come visit him. First, it is his mother and brother.

They rush to his side, both already in tears. It kills him to see them like this – to know that with everything his mother has done to protect them, to care for them, she is defenseless – to know that as much as his brother needs him, as much as he loves him, Haymitch cannot keep his promise. Or at least he doesn't think he can. But he sure as hell will try.

But for now, they are not sure he will live, so he lets them cry against him, he gives them whatever is left he can give them. Abraham's choked sobs start to make sense, and Haymitch can make out the words, "You promised. You promised." Haymitch is a realist, damn it, not an optimist, but he will always do everything in his power to help this boy.

"I know I promised. I know. But the Games aren't over yet, Abe. I won't break my promise." He holds eye contact. Gray on gray. "I'll come back. I promise I won't leave." Haymitch knows that by saying this he will have to try. To really try. So he will.

Then the peacekeepers are there and his brother and mother - usually so strong, but sobbing now - are gone. Then, it is his girl.

Immediately she is in his arms, and they are kissing, grabbing, holding, cherishing every last bit of one another. He can't let this girl go, he just can't. Their lips are hard, tongues are fierce, and so many words are spoken with these long-ago perfected actions. His hands grasp her back while hers latch onto his dark curls, forcing their kiss to continue despite the lack of air. Only when the peacekeepers come again do they break apart. Sage's eyes burn deep into his own as the peacekeeper pulls her away with an iron laden grip. No, damn it, just five more minutes, please! Only they wouldn't listen.

"I love you, Sage!"

"Stay alive!" She demands. "I –"

But then she's done. Then, it is the train.

xXx

After

Haymitch sits in the dining car, waiting. He doesn't know what he is waiting for, but he is waiting. Each second that passes is like another jab as his heart, another taunt to his mind, another plead to his ears, crying, crying, crying. She cried for him. She screamed, then she choked, then she died. They all died. Not twenty-three. Forty-seven. Forty-seven dead. But that is the price he paid.

Now he remembers what he is waiting for. His escort, the yellow-haired freak, ushers him out of the train, and then he is before a crowd being interviewed. His replies are even more short-tempered and sarcastic than usual. But then he sees them, the three of them at the front of the crowd, waiting for him. They are the reasons there are not forty-eight dead.

He leaps across the platform – who gives a damn about the interview anyway? – and grabs them in his arms. He's never loved them more. Never loved this coal-covered district more. Hell, he'd even be happy to relax on that lumpy old mattress of his, as long as he can have Sage in his arms and his mother and Abraham just a room away. The crowd cheers for them, but they are in their own little world with kisses and tears and 'I love you's and kept promises and this is why he fought.

xXx

Until two weeks later.

Two weeks later when he leaves for some errands. He wasn't supposed to leave.

When he steps foot back inside his ostentatiously large victor's house, he senses it. Maybe it was the paranoia that accompanied every victor of the Hunger Games. Maybe it was the lingering smell of blood and roses. But Haymitch sprinted down the hallway to be met with the sight of his family. Or what was once his family. Three bodies are scattered on the floor of the living room, fresh blood staining the white carpet, their pale skin, and Haymitch's hands. Along with the bodies lay white roses, doused in the blood as well. Snow should be proud of his work.

Haymitch, so overcome he is in shock, just stands in the doorway and starts a chant. "No. No. No. No…." Finally, the realization surges on him and he lets out a cry and kneels to hug them – just one last time – his family. His sobs, the smell, the sight – their eyes are still open – are all he needs to lose it. His screams do nothing to quell the pain, so he keeps doing it – screaming, crying, hugging, none of it works, he just hurts. It's his fault, all Haymitch's fault. He should have kept his promise, he made a promise, and he was supposed to keep it. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…" Young Abraham, barely eleven years old, just stares at him, unforgiving. They won't forgive him. He's not worth it. He gave them this. He was supposed to keep his promises. But instead, he left them. And now they are dead.

Haymitch whimpers and cries for the first time since his dad left. And he does it for hours. Until his mentor, the district drunk, stumbles in to the sight of Haymitch cuddling up to his family, covered in their blood. The mentor cleans him up, helping strip the sixteen year old of his past life. There are funerals. Haymitch specifically asks for no roses at the funerals. The next four days are spent in a stupor. Why he doesn't kill himself, he doesn't know. Maybe because he's too tired to. Then his mentor comes. The man is worse at comforting others than he is. But then he slaps down a bottle of clear liquid and makes a toast to the Capitol. And Haymitch takes a sip. Then another sip.

The next two weeks are drowned in the white liquor. Haymitch Abernathy rivals his mentor for the title of district drunk. He plans to commit suicide in the next few weeks; He's getting ready for the event. He tries to think of a way to do it whilst mocking the Capitol, but nothing comes to mind. Nothing comes to mind at all anymore in his inebriated state. And then comes the invitation. Damn, Snow should've been a designer, with all this prettiness and fanciness… The invitation. It takes Haymitch a while to understand. But then he does. A party? For specifically Haymitch Abernathy? The invitation reeks of an awfully familiar smell. His mentor teaches him things. Things that victors must do. And then his suicide mission is shot to hell because, damn it, no one else will die for him! His few friends, not even friends. Acquaintances, people he's spoken two words to in passing. Anybody even distantly related to him. The Capitol doesn't give a damn about who they have to kill, but Haymitch Abernathy will be used in a different set of games, and they will last for the rest of his life… or at least until the Capitol citizens bore of him.

And now he wishes for the drag of his days before. Because now his days are full of drinking, mentoring, trips to the Capitol, sex with freaks, and death. And broken promises. Along with all of his tributes, Haymitch Abernathy doesn't stay alive. He just waits.

xXx

Hello, my beautiful readers :) I just wanted to say that if any of you didn't like what I did with Haymitch's family and girlfriend, you should look at pg. 172 of Mockingjay. Andddd, do you guys really believe he was telling Katniss the truth about not being a Capitol whore? Reasons he was a whore: 1) He's just trying to protect Katniss because she already has plenty on her plate. 2) Johanna was sold and she clearly stated in Catching Fire that everyone she loved was dead. 3) The Capitol is not going to give up that easily – I mean, I'm sure Haymitch cared for more than three people, and I don't know about you, but I would feel horrible even if the people the Capitol kills to convince me are ones I do not care much about. Anyways, thanks for reading and please leave a lovely review for me to find when I get home :)