Rating: T
Warnings: Character death.
Summary: Haymitch's final moments, a confession, and a secret revealed.
Other: Short. Drabble- lenght, possible slight OOC-ness.
A/N: This drabble is based somewhat on the song Enough For Now by The Fray. I recommend listening to it while reading, It's a beautiful piece :)
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.
I sit cuddled up to Peeta as close as I can, sucking up his warmth, which is even warmer than the flames glowing softly in the fireplace. He brushes the hair off my forehead.
"Are you cold?" He asks.
"No." I say stubbornly, not wanting to admit it.
"Is the baby cold?" He asks, fingers brushing my flat stomach gently. Ever since we found out we were expecting, this has become a favorite tactic of his of his. He knows I won't admit to anything, so he uses the baby card. I have to admit, though, I do rather enjoy it. Seeing his face when I talk about our child is like watching a little boy on Christmas morning. He's still sworn to secrecy however, I don't want anybody knowing about this, not even Haymitch or my mother.
"A little." I say. He reaches to grab the blanket on the back of the couch just as the front door opens with a bang! and Greasy Sea hobbles in as fast as her old bones can carry her.
"It's Haymitch." She says.
In an instant Peeta and I are out the door, forgoing coats despite the chilly January air that's sprinkled with snowflakes. I rush up the stairs to Haymitch's room, not even noticing the ever present stench. Haymitch lies on the bed, looking pale. I silently creep over to the bed, pulling up a chair.
Haymitch looks at me. "Hey, Sweetheart. Come to see me off, did you?" He croaks.
I hear Peeta's uneven footsteps climb the stairs, having gotten left behind me, his prosthetic slowing him down considerably. I can't seem to find my voice. I open my mouth to reply just as Peeta enters the room but all that comes out is a strangled sob.
"Don't cry, Sweetheart. Theirs nothing to cry about. I've lived long enough and I've done my duty."
"What do you want me to do?" I ask, voice cracking.
"I don't know, any secrets you've kept from me?" He jokes with a weak laugh.
Peeta sits on the other side of him and I speak. "Actually, yes. We're expecting."
Haymitch gives a hacking cough and then smiles at Peeta. "Finally knocked her up, did you?" he says.
I scowl at Haymitch. Even on his deathbed, he cracks crude jokes at my expense. He looks amused before sobering up again. "Your father and I were friends." He says. "Before my games, that is. Grew up next door to each other. When you were born, he came over and showed you off to me despite the fact that we hadn't spoken in nearly a decade. He said 'This is Katniss, my little fighter.' And he made me promise that if you were reaped, that I wouldn't give up on you. I was pretty stoned at the time, so I said 'Sure, whatever to get you to leave, Everdeen.'" Haymitch stops and wheezes a few times before continuing. "So when found out that you were my female tribute, I was very upset that I had to stop drinking for a month." He smirks.
I breathe out through my mouth. "You're like a father to me." I admit. "I don't know what else to say."
"I remember the time I walked in on you and Effie.'' Peeta thinks out loud. "I think I'm scarred for life after that."
"Remind me to put a quarter in your therapy jar, then." Haymitch grumbles, starting to fade significantly.
I feel tears pool in my eyes as a grab his hand. "Thank you." I speak for Peeta and I. "For keeping us alive and being a parent to us."
He scoffs with the little energy he has left. "Babysitter, more like it."
Peeta and I's eyes meet and we reach an unspoken agreement. At the exact same time, we lift the three fingers of our left hands up in front of our mentor's face.
Thanks.
Admiration.
A final good-bye to someone you love.
Peeta and I watch as our old mentor dies a peaceful death.
A/N: How was it? Were they all too OOC? Critiques would be appreciated! Any requests for the next installment? Should I do a poem? Please, tell me what you think!