Hi again, here is another sort of Haymitch/Katniss one-shot. It is set after Mockingjay, but lets pretend that Peeta never came back to District 12 and instead it fell to Haymitch to care for Katniss. This story is set in Haymitch's house back in Victor's Village. Thank you to all those who have reviewed so far, I am also considering updating one of my other stories so please review this one to let me know what you think! Hope you enjoy it!
Fires
I place my palm against the frozen glass of the window pane, watching as the warmth from my fingers heat the icy glass. When I remove my hand the prints of my fingertips still remain, gradually fading to spots the size of pinpricks - the only evidence my touch was ever there. The night is black and fierce, snowflakes lash against the window in the strong winds which shriek hauntingly through Victors Village. I can hear the branches of trees creaking ominously in the cold outside, and study a single snowflake as it is splayed across the glass.
The fire is crackling gently in the grate, decreased from its wild roar to a soft warm glow. It creates shadows which dance across the pale walls in the orange light and a slight shiver runs through me. I feel uneasy, my emotions on edge -probably because of the storm outside, as the floorboards shift beneath my bare feet. I think of Katniss alone upstairs, I told her to settle into bed, but I have no doubt that she is sitting up waiting for me as she always does. We have reached a point now where she will generally do as I ask, partly because it scares her when we fight and she may have finally realised that perhaps I do deserve a little respect.
The house is dark, the fire the only source of light, so I brush my fingertips along the walls as tread carefully towards the kitchen. A glimmer of silvery moonlight peaks through a high window, the light bouncing of the marble counter. The moon is partly obscured by a swirling cloud, it's light barely penetrating the clouds almost black centre. Katniss will have trouble sleeping tonight.
Our kitchen is generally untidy, we are not particularly organised people and there is no order to our storage. I kneel down in front of a small wooden cupboard below the counter and hook my fingers through the handle. The hinges resist a little as I pry the door open and plunge my hands into the cupboards depths.
It takes a few minutes of rummaging for me to locate what I was searching for. I bring out my hands and in my palm lays a small sphere of white cotton fabric. The shape is stuffed with dried lavender and various other herbs I don't have the expertise to recognise, but the scent it releases is truly beautiful. It reminds me of spring and freedom, fresh mornings and sunsets, all at the same time.
I travel slowly back to the lounge and place the little sack in an empty copper pot which hangs above the fire. I sink onto my worn out armchair, softened and smoothed with age, and stare into the flickering firelight, easily becoming entranced. Katniss makes a small whimper from upstairs as a particularly brutal flurry of snow slaps the window and I blink, only just becoming aware of the fact that my eyes had been closed.
The chair groans under my weight as I hoist myself up, heading towards the fire. I hover my hand warily over the top of the pan, testing the heat, and conclude that it is safe to remove my little cotton sphere. It is hot in my palms, emitting a steady flush of heat as I toss it between my fingers. I survey the darkened room, studying the vague silhouettes of familiar furniture, before heading up the stairs to find Katniss.
She sits on the bed, her back to the door and rocks slightly, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her hands anxiously braid and unbraid her hair, seemingly unconsciously, and she mutters occasionally to herself in the silent room. "Katniss," I murmur as I step through the door and her movements stop. I walk gently but quickly towards her, my arms encircling her from behind, carefully shifting her legs out of the way. She releases a small, almost desperate, animalistic noise from my touch and I pull her closer, her back curving against my chest and I whisper" It's okay, sweetheart," circling my fingertips lightly over the flesh on her back.
"I brought you something," I say soothingly. I move to sit on the bed facing her an take her hands gently. Her beautiful, ruined Seam eyes regard me, and I think I see a ghost trust within her tortured gaze. A small smile spreads across my lips as I make her hold out her hands, palms up, and place my little gift onto her bony palms. She continues to stare at me for a moment, her senses drinking in my features, before her fingers wrap tightly around the ball.
Now it is my turn to watch Katniss, she ducks her head a little, bringing the pouch to her nose and inhales deeply. I reach out and brush my fingers through her hair which now runs smooth beneath my fingers. "Thank you," Katniss whispers, her voice husky and tight and I see her fighting to swallow her emotions. Her eyes meet mine again, in the deepest, most wretched and yet most loving stare I have ever encountered.
"Sweetheart," I croak - my own voice cracking as I draw her into my embrace and feel her own arms wrap tight around my shoulders. This is the first time she has chosen to show any affection for me in months. We curl up together in the bed and I pull the duvet up high around our shoulders. She nestles her head on my bare chest and I run my fingers through her hair again. I gently caress her face and neck, back and shoulders as the smell of lavender floats in the air.
I lie there, eyes staring blankly at the plain ceiling, as the sound of Katniss' gentle breathing fills the air, calm and peaceful. I realise that tonight, even in the midst of the darkest of storms, she has trusted me, we have communicated in a way we have not for months and I know that despite the storm, there will be not nightmares tonight. So I close my eyes, and sleep.