Canon compliant (so not shippy - another time, maybe? - but still hayniss-centred). Set after the series, but before the epilogue.
Unbetaed.
Disclaimer: For some reason, I still don't own "Hunger Games".
"He expects me to be happy," she blurts after bursting into his messy, stale and quiet living-room like a God-damn mini-blizzard she is.
He cracks one of his eyes open and glances up at her with a grimace.
"You don't look happy, sweetheart," he states the obvious.
"Not now," she says impatiently, ignoring his sarcasm. "One day. Apparently, one day I'm going to be happy again and he's willing to wait for that as long as it takes. Until then, he's ready to just be there for me if I need him."
She grinds out the words but somehow still manages to emulate the Boy's mannerism well enough that Haymitch has to bite back the treacherous smile that threatens to slip on his face and destroy his sulky façade.
"Look, it's not the boy's fault that he's an optimist," he concedes, turning the last word in his mouth as if it was a name of a nasty disease. For a second their eyes meet in a shared look of distaste, "but it's not the end of the world. And while, judging by your sour face, not very likely at the moment, technically it's not entirely impossible that he might get his wish in some distant future. I know it's hard to believe when you look in the mirror, but who knows? Maybe the day will come when you'll wake up all sunny smiles and roses. I'm rooting for him, because that would mean that maybe you'd stop scowling and yelling at me too."
"You don't get it," she cuts in, increasingly irritated, but completely unperturbed by his predictable tirade. "He doesn't just want me to be happy. He expects me to be happy. Like it's something inevitable." She takes a momentarily break to push Haymitch's stretched legs off the edge of the old, cushy armchair and to claim the seat for herself. She doesn't as much as blink in apology before jumping right back into her rant. "How can he be so sure about that? I don't think it can be taken for granted. It makes me feel like it's some kind of… obligation. I don't know. Like it's a chore I have to fulfill. I don't want him to wait for anything. It's stressing me out."
"We're not talking about sex, are we?" he baits her, just because he can never pass on the opportunity to annoy her and because it amuses him that the mere sound of one short word can make her flush red. Also, it might just make her stomp her foot and leave before she has any chance to talk more about her feelings.
"Haymitch!"
"Just checking…" she shoots him a dirty look that does nothing to discourage him. "Because if he says he wants to wait with that until you're happy, you should probably look for a new boyfriend," he mutters under his breath. "Or invest in some anti-wrinkle cream."
"He wants to get married," she drops the bomb.
Haymitch groans inwardly. She just doesn't give up, does she ever?
"Well, do you want to marry him?" he asks without thinking, surprising them both with his quick question and Katniss realizes that this might actually be the first time someone thought to check what does she have to say on the matter, instead of just assuming. She bits her lip.
"I do?"
"You might want to practice saying that like it's not a question," he mocks.
Of course he does. He always mocks her.
"I love him," she says, a little defensive, and for some reason self-conscious, maybe because saying the words under Haymitch's unfairly-sharp-for-someone-almost-constantly-buzzed eyes is just awkward.
"That's not exactly what I asked about, though, is it?", he startles her again.
Isn't it? – she wonders, suddenly remembering why she went to him to talk about it in the first place: because, while everyone else would just reassure her that she is doing the right thing by going along with Peeta's wishes, since they all really wanted them to be together, Haymitch wouldn't bother to say anything other than what he thought was true – no matter how much he might like Peeta.
"Not that I would know anything about that, but I'd say, if you're not sure, don't do it," he says, inwardly asking himself with bewilderment how, oh, how on the earth did he get himself maneuvered into a position where he was giving her relationship advice? Didn't she know better than to ask him anyway?
She looks at him all wide eyes and uncomfortably un-Katniss like, forcing him to remember that while in some areas she has more experience than he would wish on his worst enemy, in others she is still very much a kid. Did she even have any other boyfriend before?
"I think I do want that," she says suddenly, but then furrows her eyebrows. "I'd just rather skip the whole wedding-rings-dresses-good wishes part. Don't ever tell Effie I said that!" she adds hastily, making him smirk. "It's not really what really worries me, though. It's what comes after -… still not talking about… that!" His smile finally widens into a shit-eating grin while her mood darkens again. "If we marry, he's going to want a baby. He never said that, but I just know. And I can't do that-"
This time Haymitch doesn't make any effort to stifle a loud groan that escapes him as he throws his head back and closes his eyes momentarily.
"Honey, not that I don't appreciate all the dead things you're occasionally leaving for me on my porch –"
"Dead things?"
"Dead animals. So, not that I don't appreciate that, but what I really don't get is why don't you go and talk about all that with a friend instead of bugging me?"
Seriously, he would be lying if he said that some part of him didn't think it might be not as bad thing as he had initially believed it to be that the two of them were still his closest neighbors (though he would never admit out loud that he kind of liked having them so close… just to keep an eye on them, so they don't do anything too stupid… no other reason whatsoever, of course…), but whatever possessed her to keep popping at his place and spew her worries at him, like he was some kind of… like he was her… as if she, God forbid…
"You're my friend," she says somewhat accusingly, deep scowl almost contradicting her statement.
He swallows around something clogging his throat (damn, he needs a drink) before simpering it down for her:
"Like: a female friend," he stresses.
He gets that she doesn't exactly have many people to talk to there, except of the Lover Boy, and this is clearly one of the instances when she wants to complain about her boyfriend rather than talk to him, but couldn't she just… like… make some new friends in town? On the market, or somewhere?
He amuses himself with conjuring in his mind an image of Katniss complimenting some woman's dress or attending tea parties…
…on the second thought…
…maybe not.
"A female friend?" Katniss repeats incredulously and he has a distinct feeling that she turned the tables on him and ended as the one mocking him. "Like who? Johanna?"
He actually laughs at that, forcing a genuine smile from her in return.
"We're a wild bunch, huh?"
"We're not the most likeable people on the planet, that's for sure."
"Peeta is likeable."
"Yeah, but he's…"
"Yeah."
They share another look and then they're both silent for a minute.
"I'm scared," she whispers suddenly, with frightening frankness, and for once, he doesn't taunt her. In fact, he wishes he could think of something to say that would help and that wouldn't be a lie, but he just can't. "No-one gets it why I'm scared now, but I know you do. You can say whatever you want, Haymitch, but I know you understand. That's why you never got close to anybody all these years, isn't it?"
"I thought we've just established that I'm not exactly a friendly person," he grumbles.
"That's crap and we both know it. Sure, you're an obnoxious, bitter ass-hole…"
"…why, thank you."
"…but I'm just as bad at socializing as you are, so I have few friends. You had no-one."
"In case you didn't notice, people tend to steer clear from my miserable, alcoholic ass," he retorts calmly choosing not to comment on her usage of the past tense. "And don't forget that victors are not as popular as advertised."
"I don't buy it. Do you know what I think?"
"Just dyyyyying to find out…"
"I think you were not just avoiding people. I think you were pushing them away. Surely, you must have had some friends before. Yet, you never tried to reclaim them, get married, have family…"
He snorts.
"What? Me? Married?"
"Well…" she hesitates. "You could have found someone, if you made an effort… you know, if only you washed and… held your breath so it wouldn't be so evident how much you had to drink…"
He glares at her skeptically.
"Be careful or I might believe you mean that."
"You could! I'm sure there would be someone who would like you… You're…" she looks him up and down searching for one redeeming quality, "tall… and… uh… well…"
He interrupts her with a laud bark of laughter. His eyes are sparkling with mirth.
"Really, Katniss? I'm tall? That's your idea of romance? Poor Peeta…"
"You used to be wealthy, too…" He only stares at her at that. "Okay, I'll stop now."
"Good. You really should."
"Well, that's not the point! The point is, that you don't let people in… you don't start a family and bring innocents into this whole mess… because you're afraid they're going to get hurt in the process."
His smile instantly drops.
"Don't," he warns quietly. Only she's not listening.
She really doesn't know when to quit. There is no way in hell he's going to talk about this. There isn't enough booze in his whole house for that conversation.
"You're afraid it won't, can't work," she lets the words flow quickly, like in a trance, and it's evident that she's no longer talking just about him. "That you're just painting targets on their backs. That it has to fall apart sooner or later. And you know what will happen when it does. That it's going to be them that would have to pay the price and you will be left with nothing but that burning hole in your heart and you just can't risk that. And you know how it would feel, because it's already-…"
"I said stop!"
She startles at the volume of his voice and blinks several times before her gaze focuses on him again.
"Don't. Go. There," he grinds out staring at her almost with hatred and she belatedly realises what she's doing to him.
She licks her lips, opens and closes them before finally letting out an almost inaudible: "Sorry…"
He keeps staring at her until she has to look down. Guilt is a very familiar feeling to her, but not one she's used to associate with Haymitch's presence. At the moment, it hits her hard.
This is why Peeta is the likeable one.
And then…
"You're not an easy person to love, sweetheart, you know that?"
She jerks her head up and her eyes fly back to his face. There is something startling in his voice as well as the look on his face that grabs her attention. The sentence is broken in half, starting angry and harsh, but then transforming into something altogether different, with an unexpected underlying softness that makes the offensive statement sound almost like a confession. His eyes, boring at her, are fierce and defiant, as if he was challenging her, yet there is something surprisingly vulnerable about them. She thinks for a second that he looks panicked, as if he had somehow revealed too much, and her suspicion is confirmed when he shifts uneasily and looks away.
Understanding dawns on her slowly, but with a certainty that settles deep in her bones. Blood rushes to her head and her heart skips a beat when her brain works through everything he said and everything he didn't say. It catches her off guard how absurdly shy yet undeniably pleased the new, precious knowledge makes her feel and – by God, is she blushing?
"I should probably go," she says when the silence stretches uncomfortably. His only response is a grunt. He still won't look at her and she thinks he's slightly embarrassed, but at the moment she can't help but find that unlikely reaction endearing – a word she once thought she would not link to Haymitch's name even in million years.
She quietly gets up, but it's only when she already has her back turned to him when it occurs to her that there is only one thing for her to say to that.
"Hey, Haymitch?" she calls out softly.
"Huh?"
"You're not so easy to love either."
Warmth that has nothing to do with the burn of alcohol spreads through his insides.
"Piss off," he tosses half-heartedly, but he can't stop the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
She shoots him a grin over her shoulder and he thinks somewhat proudly that, at least for a moment, however fleeting it might be, she looks pretty damn happy for someone who claims to be incapable of ever feeling that way.
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