/ While Effie Trinket is Hollywood's darling and all her dreams seem to be finally coming true, Haymitch Abernathy is drinking himself into an early grave and shuts the world out completely. However, Plutarch Heavensbee decides it's time for his comeback. The two main stars can't stand each other and tension builds up soon, but as they dive in deep into this project, somewhere between shooting love scenes, fighting on-set, fighting off-set, opening up hesitantly and helping their younger colleagues deal with everything this world brings, they grow closer and closer, until one day they realize they're not pretending anymore. | Hayffie Actors AU /
Author's note: Hey guys! I haven't been on for a solid month, I was busy with school and personal stuff, but it's holidays now and I'm back with this story of which I have posted the prologue sometime back in September and the feedback was nice, so I decided that I'm going to keep working on this - I've got some ideas stuck in my head and I just love this universe for them, sooo… that's it, enjoy! And merry Christmas/happy holidays! x
"A LITTLE PERSUATION"
i.
March, New York
Sheraton Hotel's beds were soft and Haymitch woke up aching all over, including the unmistakable pulsing in his temples accompanied by a pressure somewhere behind his forehead and tremors that wouldn't go away for the next few hours - sure signs of a hangover that he'd learned to face and cope with over the many years with the ease of a full-blown alcoholic after his transition from an occasional drinker to a legit durnk took significantly faster speed than expected. It started out innocently, later there would be withdrawals, something he'd probably have to go through very soon again, because he could imagine Chaff wouldn't be exactly happy about what happened yesterday.
Which brought him to the question, what happened yesterday? He opened his eyes. Creamy curtains, white walls, deep red carpets. It wasn't his bedroom and it definitely wasn't a hotel room he'd pick for himself, and then he wondered why he even needed one in the first place. It was probably his friend's doing, after he'd discovered him in that godforsaken pub somewhere on Manhattan, and then he remembered. New York. Plutarch. The unfortunate meeting.
He groaned into the pillow and closed his eyes again, but Chaff, who probably spent the entire night right next to him like a watchdog in case he started choking on his own vomit or something like that, seemed to have had already noticed and Haymitch heard his footsteps, muted by the fluffy carpets, getting closer. It startled him badly when something wet and cold landed on his bare back, and he quickly rose up on his forearms and looked up, right into Chaff's half-annoyed, half-amused dark eyes.
"Shit," Haymitch muttered, turned around and sat up. The wet and cold thing turned out to be a soaked towel, but he was more concerned with the fact that he was in nothing but his underwear, that also contained some unpleasantly-looking stains. He smelled pretty bad, too. "Is there something I should know?"
"That you shouldn't drink," Chaff deadpanned. "But we already know that."
Haymitch ran a palm down his face. "What happened last night?"
"What's the last thing you remember?"
"I don't know…" His brain wasn't cooperating. His last clear memory was walking into that pub and ordering a Jack Daniel's. As per usual. "You dragging me into a cab."
Chaff snorted. "I remember that too, and I think that driver won't forget it, either."
Haymitch glared at him, suddenly annoyed with his friend's demeanor. If Chaff could just take a fucking break and use some common sense, he wouldn't drag him to New York, lie to him the entire time, and he definitely wouldn't have pushed him straight into the shark tank in the form of having to politely send Plutarch Heavensbee to go screw himself. He had every right to storm out of there and then go get as shit-faced as he pleased. He was angry, and that anger he tried to drink away yesterday was the very same anger that turned him completely awake. What Chaff did smelled like betrayal to him, though he knew he meant well, because Chaff wasn't the kind of person to push you into things for his own benefit.
But it wasn't exactly fair of him, either.
"Where are my clothes?" he realized.
"Don't flatter yourself," Chaff said jokingly when he saw Haymitch's expression and handed him a clean shirt that was previously thrown over one of the chairs. "I won't even be exaggerating if I say that you literally covered every street on Manhattan in everything you ate and drank last week. But I think that shirt was past its prime anyway."
"Fuck you."
Haymitch got up carefully. It was a good sign that his head wasn't spinning nearly enough for him to need to lean onto any furniture for support. It was a bad sign that he apparently haven't left everything he had drank and eaten in the streets, so he got to the bathroom just in time. When he was finished and got back to his feet without much trouble, he turned on the faucet, rinsed his mouth thoroughly and splashed his face with ice cold water.
His bedroom was connected with the spacey living room with a slide door, where he found Chaff sitting in one of the big armchairs with a breakfast for two - scrambled eggs with vegetables, some pastry, a cup of coffee, orange juice in elegant slim glasses and a bowl of fresh fruits. He was tapping something into his phone and only looked up when he felt Haymitch's presence in the room. "Hey, put something on. We've got a lady over here."
"What?" Haymitch was so caught up in his own misery that he didn't even notice her, which was peculiar considering what a sight she was. Right next to the fireplace was standing a woman. She had her hair blowed in voluminous waves and her clothes, without a doubt expensive and probably designer, were screaming with colors - her suit consisted of a deep pink jacket with a matching skirt that was a bit too tight in all the right places and a silky blouse in a wild srping green hue. On top of all that, there were loubutins matching her blouse that were making up for what she lacked in height. When she saw him, her face went from excited to almost disappointed.
"You're Haymitch Abernathy," she said tonelessly.
"Got me," he replied carefully, only now realizing his rather urgent state of undress.
She loured and folded her arms on her chest which brought his attention to her cleavage.
"You shouldn't stare," she commented in a stentorian voice. "It's generally considered rude. So is walking around your guests half-naked."
"I don't remember inviting any guests here," he retorted and looked up to meet her eyes, really blue even from some distance.
She sighed and turned to Chaff who shrugged without much sympathy. "At least introduce yourself, doll. He's all yours then."
"I am invoking that nickname," she snarled, but held out her hand nevertheless. "Your ruffian of a friend is right, I was being impolite, I'm sorry. Effie Trinket. I am sure you've heard that name."
"Yeah, you guessed that," Haymitch chuckled and ignored her outstretched hand. "Not ringing any bells, sorry, sweetheart."
Effie Trinket raised one of her perfect eyebrows in what must have been the shock self-centred people feel when they realize the world doesn't revolve around them, but recovered quickly. She scowled even more than before and kept her hand in offer. "Are you going to shake my hand or not?"
Haymitch shrugged. "Probably not."
It was fun to watch the flames slash in her eyes. He had been in her presence for less than a minute and he was already convinced he had finally found the human version of a headache, but it was entertaining to rile her up and he decided to continue in it.
"Who are you, again?"
"Effie Trinket," she repeated, clearly vexed.
Haymitch rolled his eyes. "I caught that stupid name the first time, that's not what I'm asking. I wanna know what you're doing here, and what the hell makes you think you can boss me around."
"Do you always insult people when you first meet them?" She looked up and down at him in what was supposed to be a dismissive manner, but her eyes lingered on his chest for a little too long, and when she realized it, she quickly blinked and looked away, which prompted him to laugh again.
"Enjoying the view?" he smirked at her. "It's generally considered rude to stare, sweetheart."
Effie puffed and her hands curled into small fists that she placed on her hips. "I am asking you to not call me by your patronizing nicknames anymore, both of you."
Chaff, who had been watching the two in sheer amusement, chose this moment to mingle in. "This ain't my doing, buddy. Blame Plutarch."
"Plutarch?" Haymitch frowned in Effie's direction. "What does Plutarch have to do with this?"
"So that name does ring some bells?" she smiled coldly. "He said he asked you to think about accepting the role. And that there might be some convincing needed."
He snorted. "Well, if this is that convincing you're supposed to do here, trust me, it ain't working."
Her eyes widened comically in a sudden realization of something. "You really don't know me?"
"He only turns his TV on during elections," explained Chaff jokingly and waved it off. "Haymitch, this lady is the female lead."
Effie quickly humored. "Are you please going to put something on, so we can have a decent conversation? I find your lack of clothes quite improper."
Haymitch crossed his arms and shot her a glare. "Still bossy, I see. I like it just the way I am, to be honest, sweetheart. Both my lack of clothes and my lack of a reason to spend more time with you."
Effie moved closer to him which startled him at first - and he had no shame in that, she seemed a bit nuts, and he was practically naked -, but she just walked past him to one of the armchairs where her bright yellow handbag was rested. Seriously, who was dressing this woman? Not that he minded her choice of skirt, though, because the view she offered him when she bent over to go look for something in her handbag was quite pleasing. Unfortunately, she straightened up suddenly and turned around. She was handing him something - a thin volume of papers of a well-known format and shape.
"The script," she stated and when he didn't take it, she walked to him. She did keep her distance, but her sweet perfume still overwhelmed him. "Take it."
Haymitch raised his brows in amusement and his eyes fluttered between Effie and Chaff. "No."
"Take it," Effie repeated.
He whisked it out from her fingers and rolled his eyes at her. "See, I'm holding it. Happy?"
"Not yet," Effie said. "Open it and read it."
"You don't know anything," Chaff backed her up. "You haven't read the script, you don't even know what this whole thing is about. It's not fair to just decline without even knowing what you're declining."
Haymitch snorted dismissively. "I know exactly what I'm declining. I have my reasons."
Chaff sighed heavily and took a sip from his cup of coffee, a small china thing that seemed quirkily inappropriate in his huge hand and looked more like something people of Effie's sort drank their tea from with a pointed pinky. "I just think you should at least give it a chance. Read just a bit of the script. Take it home with you, take your time, but don't be like this."
"Like what?"
"A stubborn little shit. Don't do it for me, don't do it for Plutarch, do it for yourself."
"I'm leaving tomorrow," Haymitch shrugged. "Guess you're not coming along."
Chaff winced. "I'm staying 'til Tuesday. Plutarch needs help."
Haymitch gave him a side eye. "Don't try to make me feel guilty."
"And are you feeling guilty?"
"I don't know, should I?"
Chaff hesitated. "I still think you should get some time to make up your mind."
"I already have made up my mind, Chaff," Haymitch contended. "Are you done? I wanna take a shower."
He turned on his heel and headed for the bedroom, slammed the door behind him and turned the key.
"Come back!" Effie yelled at him through the door and knocked at it heavily.
"Don't think I won't just kick you out of here," he growled, but didn't take any action. This woman was so fucking annoying, but damn it if she wasn't admirable for the level of pure determination she was displaying. Or maybe she was just dumb and still didn't get it, but he thought he had never seen a woman so stubborn and sure about herself. She came here to get things done and she was going to get them done - and he was going to take a great pleasure in making it impossible for her and watching her lose that unshakable certainity that she was the one calling the shots here. Truth be told, he vaguely liked it. There was something about women who made life difficult for him that brought him to them, but this one was something else.
He wouldn't work with her even if they held a gun at his head.
Which, he realized, she might be capable of.
"We're not done yet," she informed him.
"Sure," Haymitch muttered.
He located the shirt Chaff had given him and pants that were still thrown over the chair and put them on. His wallet and phone weren't there, and he didn't have any hygiene supplies here, either. He supposed his belongings had been taken care of by Chaff, and opted for simply washing his face and rinsing his mouth again. When he walked out of the bathroom, he unlocked the door only to find her still standing there in front of it with folded arms and burrowed eyebrows.
"Chaff," he chose to ignore her and turned to the other man instead, "where's my stuff?"
"In your jacket," Chaff replied blankly. "You're going anywhere?"
"Yeah, I gotta get some fresh air." Haymitch moved past Effie who glared at him intensly and took the jacket of the hook next to the main door and slipped into it, then put on his shoes. "I don't know when I'll be back, so just go on as usual. It was awesome to meet you, sweetheart," he grunted towards Effie, threw the script at her which she to his disappointment managed to catch, and left the room, only to hear the clicking of her high heels resonating through the hallway.
"I said that we're not done yet," she hissed and followed him, though she had a lot of work with keeping up with his long strides. "You are acting like a child."
"And you are acting like a bitch," he retorted and nearly punched the elevator button. He turned to her, her furious face uncomfortably close to his. "Are you gonna wait with me or what?"
"I might," she cringed. "May I suggest a mint?"
He chuckled and turned away from her when the elevator came. He walked in first, prompting her to mutter something about him probably being raised in a barn, and then the door closed behind them, trapping them in the small space. The elevator ride was completely silent, because she was too busy giving him a death stare and he was too busy openly ignoring her while trying not to choke on her perfume. The scent was sweet, flowery and overwhelming, not in a pleasant way. It was freeing to flee the elevator, pass the reception and run out in the street, but she was still behind him.
"Look, lady," he lashed out, "I know what you want, and the answer is no, just like it was yesterday, just like it will be tomorrow. It's not my problem, alright?"
Effie looked like she might explode for a second, but then her eyes fell somewhere behind his shoulder and her expression changed. He looked back to find a photographer a few yards from them, pointing the lenses at them.
"The paparazzi," she stated calmly, but it was obvious it upset her. Suddenly, she grabbed his wrist and tugged, but Haymitch was a lot stronger than her and chose to firmly stand his ground. "Come on," she urged, "let's go."
"Where?" he raised his brows at her as if she was mad.
She frowned at him and pulled at his wrist again. "You skipped your breakfast because of me. I am inviting you for one."
If she just needed to get out from the street, he probably would have left her to her fate, but he did skip breakfast and his stomach was on water again. The idea of spending more time with her was frustrating, but maybe if he gave her at least something she wants, she'd leave him alone, so he looked over his shoulder again, and when he saw the guy coming closer, he just shrugged and let her drag him towards a big black SUV parked right in front of them.
Effie got in on the driver's side and he took the passenger's seat. He watched her discreetly and noticed her trembling fingers when she started the car.
"You're okay?" Haymitch asked, not sure why he cared.
"Of course I am," she responded absent-mindedly but looked into the rearview mirror with clear anxiety. Whatever it was that was making her so nervous, she wasn't eager to tell and he decided he didn't need to know. One might wonder, if she was so surprised that he didn't know her, she'd be famous enough to be used to people taking pictures of her on the streets, or to people reacting to her in general. "Fasten your seatbelt, please," she chimed in.
"People don't like bitchy chicks, sweetheart," he grunted, but did as she told him.
"Unfortunately, I don't have a driver right now," she told him glumly, "so I have to do this myself. I haven't driven in years, I'm still getting used to it, so I'm sorry if-"
She depressed the brake violently as she almost drove in the way of a cab.
"Well, if this happens," she giggled awkwardly.
Effie's driving style was anxious and headlong, and by the time she had found a place in a parking lot of some Manhattan restaurant a few minutes later, he felt like a mountain had fallen off his shoulders, happy to find himself whole and alive. She apparently headed here often, as the service knew her and he was almost sure she wasn't the kind of person to let just anyone come over and casually say HI to her. He was aware that people were staring at them, and he probably got even more attention than her. After all, people here were used to famous people, but not to hungover former stars with overgrown hair and three-day stubble, reeking like vomit and hotel soap.
It's been a long time since someone actually recognized him on the street or in a store as someone they knew from movie screens or magazine covers. His house was strategically placed in the loneliest and emptiest Richmond district, close to Seam, his hometown in the suburbs, where he used to come and visit his old friends. It was bittersweet to go back, because for some people, he was still the same and nobody gave his bank account status or juicy Hollywood gossip a thought, but the other half, now a majority, have become close-minded and disapproved of everything about him. Some people saw him as someone who took the easy way out of the small mining-based town, some saw him as a savory grinded up by the business and his visits grew unwelcomed, so they became less and less frequent, until one day, he decided he didn't have a reason nor a need to come back anymore.
They have been given a table on the terrace where they found themselves as the only guests, and were granted with a nice view of the city.
"I'll have a vegan omelette and a Viennese coffee," she gave her order to a young boy in a white shirt and tux pants.
"And you, sir?" the boy asked, watching him with some puzzlement.
"Scrambled eggs and black coffee. No milk, no sugar," Haymitch said and gave him the menu back.
When the boy left them alone, Effie sighed contently. "We should have some privacy here. This is my favorite place in New York. The view is beautiful. And the paparazzi won't be bothering us anymore."
"You could have at least told me we were going to the most snobbish place in all of East Coast," he muttered, glancing down at his shabby pants and dirty shoes.
She smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. However, I'm surprised you care what they think about you."
"I don't care what they think about me, but have you seen the prices here?"
"I invited you," she reminded him. "And while I think it's not the most proper thing in the world for a lady to pay for a man, I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures."
Haymitch chuckled in amusement. "So you buy me a breakfast and I do what you ask me to, right?"
"You know," Effie brought the script out of her handbag again and passed it to him over the table, "Plutarch has been thinking about you since the beginning. He really wanted you for this role, but knew you'd decline. Even your friend told him it was a waste of time. And I must say, the idea of working with you seemed appealing, but I was not surprised to hear that you might need a little persuation."
"So that guy's death was basically convenient, you're saying?"
"No," she narrowed her eyes, "I am definitely not implying that. It was… it was a tragedy, for everyone."
He shurgged. "But Plutarch recovered quicky."
"I was told you're a pragmatic," she kept glaring at him, "and so is he. He has a lot of responsibility. Cancelling the shooting would cost over a double of what is already invested in it, and that's not something he can afford if he wants Alma Coin and her studio to ever produce a movie for him again. You were his last hope, so to speak. Nobody is exactly thrilled, but if you think about it from a business point of view, he basically couldn't ask for anything better, really. A fallen star who has come back to save the day. After so many years, the publicity you and this project would get is-"
"Something I definitely don't want," Haymitch interruped her. "I'm not interested in that. It's just about the money, and I'm done being a milch-cow."
"It's not just about the money, Mr. Abernathy," she argued.
"Haymitch," he mumbled, "call me Haymitch."
"It should be the woman-" Effie sighed and waved it off. "My point is… you called yourself a milch-cow, but think about it differently."
"And that means?"
"That means," she tapped at the script importantly, "there is more to it than just publicity and gain."
Haymitch's eyes fell down on the script provokingly laid in front of him. "Wildest Dreams," he read the name out loud. Plutarch's name was right under it in smaller letters. "He wrote this himself?"
"Yes," she humored. "Take a look at it."
"What is it about?"
"Star-crossed lovers."
"You're shitting me?"
Effie clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Mind your language, please."
He rolled his eyes. "Sorry, sweetheart. Forgot your precious ears were that delicate."
"You are enjoying aggravating me, aren't you?" she inquired, but continued, decided to not give him the satisfaction of getting her off the track. "It is set in Italy during war. The main characters are a couple from Amercia who want to start a life there, but they happen to become the leaders of a revolt in their town. He gets abducted one day and she thinks that he is dead, but he comes back, twenty years later." She looked over the city panorama. "Plutarch has a keen sense of drama, you know?"
"I noticed," Haymitch affirmed. He was still eyeing the script between his fingers suspiciously, as if it would jump at his throat and try to bite him every second. Torn between opening it and throwing it away, he was glad then the young waiter came with their food and coffee.
They started eating in silence, but, to Haymitch's great disappointment, it didn't last long because Effie Trinket wasn't the type of person who could stay quiet for longer than a few minutes.
"You see," she started, "if it's the attention that comes along with it that bothers you, you can ask the production company for a contract that would not require you to attend the public events. You can even decline giving interviews. I mean, I'm not really sure if Coin would be too happy about it, and she has expressed her doubts, but I'm sure she would be willing to compromise."
"I haven't said yes," Haymitch reminded her gloomily.
Effie put her fork down and leant against the chair's back, obviously deciding what card to play next. "You don't know me, but does the name Katniss Everdeen say anything to you?"
He was about to say no, but then he realized that might not be completely true. Katniss Everdeen wasn't a name you'd hear on every corner and he had a vague feeling that he should know that name from somewhere, but he couldn't recall from where exactly.
"Maybe," he admitted.
"She's from Richmond, like you," Effie said.
Then he realized - there were some Everdeens in Seam. A long time ago, when he was still regularly coming back to visit Hazelle and the others, they were living just a few blocks from where his childhood house was, in the older part of the town close to the mines. They had two little girls and Jason Everdeen was a miner. He couldn't remember his wife's name, but he remembered her from the local health center. He also knew that Jason Everdeen died in a mine accident a few years ago - Haymitch knew that because his former classmate died there, too.
"Yeah, I know her," he confirmed. "What's with her?"
"She's one of the main protagonists. Actually, she plays the main role, split with me."
Haymitch had never seen Katniss, but he thought that if she started acting, he would know that. Seam was a small town where gossip spread quickly, and someone would surely tell him. Hazelle, maybe. She had a son in about Katniss' age. But maybe it was foolish of him to rely on that anymore. "Split with you?"
"You see," Effie explained, "she plays the younger version of my character."
"Did they have a lot of work uglying her up?" he taunted.
She left it without a comment. "Peeta Mellark plays opposite her. A talented boy."
Haymitch shrugged. "So?"
"Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to read a bit of the script," she suggested and took a sip of her coffee nonchalantly.
"What if I tell you I'm really not interested?"
"What if I tell you I don't take no for an answer?"
Haymitch left his food be and looked over the early morning New York. People were rushing to get somewhere, the driveways were flooded with taxis and the pavements were hidden under busy crowds who never stopped to take a break. The weather, still unusually hot for April, promised a nice spring day. Had he been at home, he probably would have spent the whole day inside. In the end, it didn't feel that bad to be sitting here on this terrace with a cup of coffee and a breakfast and watch the lives of other people like they used to watch him on a TV screen. This new confrontation with what he had almost definitely put behind him wasn't as scary as it should have been - it was worse in other ways. First, it shocked him, then it angered him, but today it only made him contemplate all the what ifs of the past years.
He didn't want to go back to this. He didn't want this life, because this life wasn't for him anymore. He's had enough of all the sham, of all the bullshit. It wasn't a job for him, and it wasn't what his heart desired, either. But what his heart desired was a worse faith than death, or at least that's how Chaff used to put it. Slow rotting in a dark and empty house, with just as dark and empty soul. That was the tax for solitude.
"The studio would, of course, pay you well," Effie brought up.
"You're not gonna lure me in with money, I've got more of it than I need."
"Really? You don't have a job."
"But I've got savings. Look, this is all nice… Effie," he tasted that name for the first time, "but it's not for me."
Effie sighed softly and finished her coffee. Their meals had already gotten cold. "I can't make you do anything against your will, Mr. Abernathy- Haymitch. Nobody can. But if you change your mind, you will be our first choice. Here," she brought a business card out of her purse, "this is Coin's phone number and email adress…" she handed him another one, "and these are mine. You have Plutarch's contact, so if-"
"Stop it," he interjected. "Stop trying. You're wasting everyone's time."
"I have already cracked you," she told him with more certainity than she was entitled to in her situation.
Haymitch snorted. "Sure." He pulled out a flask from his jacket - Chaff must have missed it, because he never would have let him take it along - and took a swig. "How about this?"
"You're an alcoholic, we all know that," Effie replied coldly. "And it will definitely be a subject of discussion."
"There will be no dicussion about this," he got up and she watched him with narrowed eyes. He didn't know why, but he picked up the script and glanced over it. Before he could change his own mind, he slid the chair back into the table and put the script back down. "Thanks for the breakfast."
Instead of getting angry, Effie's fork clinked against the plate as she started eating again. "You're welcome."
As he rushed from the terrace, this time, he truly ignored the stares and didn't even bother with saying goodbye to a waiter he walked past. Cracked him, his ass. She must have been completely delusional to think she had cracked him.
But, still, with Chaff's insistence and her systematic persuation, what seemed so decided just an hour ago was now seriously creeping into his mind and there was a lot of thinking ahead of him against his own will. What if what that crazy woman had said wasn't THAT insane on the long run, and what if Chaff had a point or two, too?
What if the old debt had finally come back to bite his ass?
ii
The first thing he did when he got back to the hotel was to order a bottle of whiskey into his room. The second thing was to Google Effie Trinket.
When he said he didn't know her, it wasn't exactly true. She was sort of all over the place - in magazines, in TV series, in commercials. He must have seen her face already, but didn't connect it with the woman he had met this morning. Her career was pretty fruitful - tons of awards and nominations, dozens of movies in the past fifteen years. She had started acting a few years before he stopped, started out as a model, then went to New York and starred in over ten plays on Broadway. According to her Wikipedia, she was 35, came from Denver, but lived in Los Angeles, had a sister in the modeling field, and was currently going through an ugly and media monitored break-up, though he from his own experience knew better than to take everything for a fact.
Haymitch quickly looked through her filmography and his stomach made a flip when he found the latest project, Wildest Dreams. He clicked at it and took a swing from the bottle. The status was pre-production, a state it might stay in for a long time. That brought him to Seneca Crane's page. According to the rumors, the reasons for his sudden suicide were everything from huge debts to a broken heart. Apparently, him and Effie had once been a thing. He chose to ignore it. He wasn't one to buy cheap gossip.
He went back and looked at the cast. Katniss Everdeen really was the Katniss he thought. She was from Seam, went to a high school in Richmond and started acting when she was eleven. That was the year her father had died. Since then, her mother had been battling depression and it was both a way of getting money and a part of Katniss' post-traumatic stress therapy. He took another gulp. It was uncomfortable how much it reminded him of himself.
He eyed the rest of the cast only briefly. Peeta Mellark was from Virginia, too, and this was his first bigger role. The other names weren't any more familiar to him, like Johanna Mason or Finnick Odair. This prompted an idea he probably shouldn't have followed - to find his own page.
Nothing has changed there for almost ten years. The picture was nearly thirteen years old - Haymitch stared at his younger self. It was from the Sundance Festival, his last public appearance. He had a blur and couldn't recall anything that happened there. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was a mess. It wasn't the most representative photograph of him ever taken, but he knew that no matter how hard you'd search, you still wouldn't find a better one from that era. It was the time of endless parties, scandals, and then, finally, the accident and following hard fall.
He felt sick all of a sudden.
The slamming of the door was almost welcome. Haymitch closed the page and looked over his shoulder from the desk in the living room.
"You're here," Chaff said with palable relief. "Where did you go?"
"We grabbed some breakfast," Haymitch replied without interest.
His friend's brows shot up and then he grinned wildely. "You and Trinket had a breakfast?"
Haymitch rolled his eyes and walked over to the couch, where he slumped down casually. "There was a pap and she wanted to make off, so we went to some fancy restaurant for snobs and she bought me scrambled eggs. End of story."
"Nice," Chaff evaluated and joined him on the couch. He lightly nudged the bottle with his elbow. "You alright?"
"Perfectly fine."
A silence fell on the room for a while, but the tension started to build up as the inevitable question popped up.
"So?" Chaff's voice had grown serious.
Haymitch chose to stare ahead, out of the partly curtained window. "Nothing."
"Mitch…"
"Chaff, what do I get from this?" he asked bluntly.
"People forget, that's our nature." Chaff rubbed the back of his neck. "But you need to do something. Not this… but it would be good start. Just do something. And stop acting like what I have to say don't mean shit to you."
Haymitch shook his head slowly. "If I… if I took this… everything would change. The past… decade or so, it would be in vain."
"But, buddy, the past decade wasn't life. It was just surviving. You hate life so much, you forgot what it's like to go out and do something. Just take a risk. It's been long. You need a distraction. You're killing yourself, Mitch. I ain't letting you spend your whole life like this."
"I don't think I can do it." It was a confession Haymitch didn't intend on sharing, but it was true. "I don't think I can go back to it. Sober. Do all these things… it's not for me anymore."
Chaff elbowed him. "Look, you know I'll support you. But not in this wasting of your time."
"I'll have to think."
"Then think."
Haymitch nodded to himself. One thing he knew, this wasn't going to leave his head anytime soon. He hated them all for this. He had his life. Chaff didn't consider it a life worth living, but it was enough for Haymitch. After the breakdown and the accident, he just needed to stay out of the limelight for a bit. It wasn't planned, but this break has stretched for twelve years and he wanted to keep it that way. No justifying, no obeying. He wasn't a slave of the public opinion anymore. He wasn't a slave of his management anymore. Instead, he had become a slave of his depressed mind, but he'd take it over having to get back to the business any time.
It hasn't always been that bad. That was the past few years. Even after he had stopped acting, he did try, he went to a therapist, he tried too many different hobbies to count, he had tried to keep up with his old friends, but they all either judged him or reminded him of everything that went wrong too much.
He had eventually figured out he'd be better off on his own.
His hatred for the world of the silver screen had died down in the past few years, that was true. It couldn't burn so fiercely forever. Sometimes, he caught himself thinking about all the what ifs. About what could have been. He had liked it at some point. It was the lifestyle he hated, not the job. They had succesfully put a bug in his head and he wouldn't get rid of it. It would be another what if.
Chaff had always claimed Haymitch was afraid of change.
Maybe it was time for one, but he wasn't ready.
"I can't stay sober."
"What?"
"You heard." He didn't look Chaff in the face. "I can't stay sober. Withdrawals and shit."
"Hell," Chaff let out a long sigh. "I didn't know it was that bad."
Haymitch played with the bottle absent-mindedly. "Hasn't always been."
"Get a shrink."
"Like hell."
"I mean it," Chaff insisted, "get help. There's no shame in that, buddy. Plutarch knows how it is. You can talk through stuff with him."
Haymitch closed his eyes and let his head fell back against one of the cusions. "If I wasn't a total dickhead, I would've just boarded the first plane I could yesterday and got the fuck out of here right away."
"But you couldn't," Chaff said. "I think you don't wanna be a coward anymore."
"You're calling me a coward?" Haymitch shot him a side eye.
"You keep running from things you can't hide from. Sounds like what cowards do."
Maybe he was right. Maybe Haymitch was being a coward. So what? He had a right to be one. His life may have not been the worst, but it was pretty far from a nice one. He had lost his family, he had lost his job. He was a drunk, he didn't have anyone except for Chaff, and he had no idea about the future. His idea of his future was him in his house with a bottle.
There was a lot of thinking to do and a lot of things to consider. He looked at the bottle in his hand, and decided that it could all wait. This wasn't a decision to make drunk, but damn it if he could make it sober.
"Sorry for bringing it up," Chaff said dimly. "With Plutarch, you were right, you don't owe anyone anything."
Haymitch waved his hand at it. "Screw that. I'm thinking about it, too. I do owe him one, but-"
"I know."
"Look," he breathed out slowly, "y'all want me to talk to Coin, so I'll talk to her. I might even listen to what she says. But that's it. I ain't promising anything."
Chaff smirked and elbowed his friend mischeviously. "Trinket must have really spoken to your soul, I see."
"She's a pain in the ass," he rolled his eyes.
Chaff laughed in his signature loud guffaw. "Don't act like you didn't enjoy your scrambled eggs with her."
"Fuck you, Chaff."
"Love you too, Mitch."
