The Discipline of Comfort.

It was dinnertime, and then the sun set, and Haymitch was again in that house, it was too big, it didn't feel right, it didn't belong to her. He never referred to it as her house, or her home, because it simply wasn't:

Months ago, when Katniss was revived and Haymitch had to drag her limp body back to District 12, he found himself incapable of getting her to move, speak or even eat. He caught himself listening to her breathing, and panicking when her chest stopped moving for a little bit too long. He didn't want to leave her alone in her house, so for a few months, Katniss stayed at his house, she joined him in his own solitary confinement, except she was being treated as a coma patient, under a 24 hour surveillance carried out by Greasy Sae during the day, and Haymitch himself during the night, where she seemed to come out her deep self-imposed slumber for a few minutes at a time.

Haymitch had to watch her eyes become alert and increasingly panicked, until she made something akin to a drowning sound, until sweat started to pour out her skin rapidly and her hands would clench violently, and he had to learn how to comfort someone.

He realised it was the hardest thing he's ever had to learn– he thought it was enough just to embrace her and whisper some reassuring words, but it did nothing but cage her, it was like throwing a fire blanket over a blazing inferno. The first time he attempted to comfort her this way; she lashed out at him, grabbed a hidden knife under her pillow, took it while Greasy Sae wasn't looking, and slashed it blindly in the dark until she cut Haymitch deep across his bicep, and Haymitch, bleeding and drunk in the dark, thought only to laugh. "You're turning into me, sweetheart, all you need now is to replace your blood stream with a nice old scotch."

In return, Haymitch got up extra early the next night, he got drunk enough to convince himself it would be a good idea, that some shock therapy would 'snap her out of it', so he filled a bucket of ice cold water and dumped it on her.

What he thought would be payback became a tactless act, Katniss sprung out of bed and screamed on top of her lungs, her breathing became violent, erratic – she looked like she was choking. Haymitch reached out to settle her and she ran blindly into the dark night– they found her in the woods– scared and shivering like a deer. Her grey wide eyes, filled with tears as he approached her–he couldn't touch her, couldn't come near her, he hated himself. Shame overcame him every time he glanced at her, he felt like a monster–rotten and old, selfish and useless.

So he clenched his jaw and stayed away, he started to feel even more confined in his own house than before. He could not bring himself to face her for two weeks, but then she started screaming again. Haymitch didn't want to touch her, in case she broke like glass, but he didn't want to stand-by and watch her suffer again, he may pretend he doesn't care what she thinks of him in his way, but deep down Haymitch knows he is rotting and much deeper he knows she is watching, silently calling for help and his hand. He sighed, took a swig of lukewarm gin, and sat himself carefully on the bed, very conscious of his proximity. "Hey, kid. Shut it will you? You're going to wake everyone within 3 miles…" Haymitch winced at his own tone, already knowing that humour was his last defence when he's this low, that and coupled with drinking, he turned to his old harsh and irascible habits, but Katniss always knew that, and she could see that.

Haymitch hated treating her like a caged animal, like something frightened, abused and desolate; he was never one for treading on eggshells around Katniss, he said what he wanted to her, and vice versa–there were no emotional boundaries between them–of secrets there were many, but that's a whole different matter.

Comforting Katniss, he realised, would take discipline, he needed to forget his discomfort or lack of experience, and try. No one in the world has gotten anywhere without trying, he could not be punished for trying.

Haymitch started off slow, trying to think of what used to comfort him when he was a child, and his mother was alive and well. So he held Katniss' hands– something he used to do before to spark reassurance 'you can do this' 'you are strong' 'you will be fine' , but his hands couldn't stop shaking long enough, and her hands were ice cold, and Katniss would never be fine again, the hope of being fine someday had been chipped away rapidly with each passing year since she entered the games. Her hand had trembled between his, and her eyes widened as the full moon above them illuminated their faces through the bay window. She will never be fine, but she will be okay, she will cope one day, and he had to get her to that day, he just had to, he owed it to her.

So he tried harder, he thought of how he used to comfort his girlfriend, when she sneaked into his room, stumbling over his window and marred with grief, shaking with sobs, always worried– so worried, that his name will be picked, that she will never see him again. He didn't realise how right she was for her tears, not back then. She was best when he stroked her back, when the tip of his finger ran along the ridges of her spine, her breathing most calm when his hands stroked her shoulder and ran along her neck to play with her hair. The same seemed to solace Katniss, her fists would unclench and in the morning she would wake up and whisper a quick murmur of gratitude, he'd dismiss it with a wave of his hand and throw himself into the nearest couch.

He hadn't provided comfort to anyone in so long, he thought he was incapable of ever doing it again, but once Haymitch started trying, he realised it was like muscle memory; unused for many years, but ultimately, ingrained in his bone marrow.

He reminisced, to what it was like having someone rely on him emotionally again, a kinetic friction sparked between the palm of his hand and her bare skin. Emotionally, he felt needed, and useful, but it drained him. And every night he would wake up, crawl into his room and lean heavily against a wall with a drink, and watch her slowly bloom during the night, and catch her every time she faltered. He was there, he was needed.

It took him two months to learn how to comfort Katniss, he never thought that at 42, he would learn something new. Haymitch realised how shallow he'd been at first; that an embrace doesn't constitute an understanding, that a generic 'you will be fine, its' okay' does not induct a sense of warmth. That he had to delve deeper, kickstart something inside himself to start actually giving a shit; give something up, to complete someone else.

Greasy Sae's one-eyed smile told Haymitch that he was doing something right.


One day, Haymitch got a knock on his door. No one ever knocked. Haymitch slowly got up and rubbed his face, made sure Katniss was fast asleep and closed her bedroom door.

When he swung open the front door, he wasn't surprised to see a uniformed correspondent of the Capitol with a league of triumphant builders behind her.

''Good morning, Mr Abernathy! I hope we didn't wake you.'' Hilaree Parks, a fairly attractive and successful architect from the Capitol, clearly aware she disturbed Haymitch, reached out her manicured hand ''It's an honour to finally meet you.'' Haymitch, slightly perturbed but not forgetting his manners, shook her hand in greeting. ''And you.''

Hilaree Parks, had always been one to outdo herself, every project she spent more and planned longer, every year, before the rebellion, she would have redesigned the apartments for the tributes lavishly, right before they were sent for slaughter, but now that the Hunger Games were over, she had taken on a new venture; to tear down and re-built every Victors house that remained with a living winner of the Hunger Games. Her proposition was ultimately approved, since it provided employment for a vast number of mechanics, labourers and retailers, additionally, each district wanted to participate and give a gift to the few remaining Victors of the hunger games, especially Katniss Everdeen.

Parks was now staring at a particularly dark stain on Haymitch's shirt. "How is Miss Everdeen? Can I see her? I'd like to deliver her the good news; after much hard work, I am proud to say that I have completed re-building the whole house, I think you two are going to fall in love with it! I know I have." Haymitch's fingers twitched, the sun was glaring into his eyes, and this woman seemed to forget that the actual people who gutted and replaced the innards of the house, were standing right behind her. These past few months he's heard and witnessed the collapse and development of this mini-mansion built for two, Haymitch had no intention of living in it, but he couldn't reject it and once again, he was part of a motion he didn't want to be another vain cog in.

Haymitch told Parks that Katniss was busy at the moment, but they will both meet her and the builders in five minutes in front of the house.

Katniss was difficult, she didn't want to see her new house, she didn't want to get up, her tone was whiny, her attitude was sour, and Haymitch didn't like that she was making him nag like an impatient, fed-up parent. "If you don't get up, she wont leave, and she if doesn't leave I will kill myself." Haymitch said, and threw a pile of clothes at her limp form. "Not my problem." Katniss barked out.

Haymitch couldn't stand it, he felt as tired as he looked, he had a pounding headache, his muscles were aching and he felt as old as father time."No, you see, you're my problem sweetheart, you're making me treat you like a child, don't make me clothe you like a one too." Haymitch slammed the doors as he left the house behind, and walked slowly over to Parks, not far behind, an apathetic and stumbling Katniss followed. Parks seemed to jumping with excitement as she gave a tour of the new edifice; it was a handsome, uniform building, composed of a centre of four stories, and two wings of two stories, made of quality stone, and decked with an intriguing portico, resting on two sweeping flights of stairs: many rooms, splendidly furnished. Parks had wanted to display the riches and luxury in the reflection of the golden days of the Capitol; on particular occasions, the house could have been superbly brilliant and dazzling. Its corridors adorned with the most costly works of art, its surfaces and tabletops presented with a gorgeous combination of gold, silver, precious metals, and precious stones, arranged and worked by the most tasteful artists and artisans from Panem. Added to this grandeur, these glamorous objects; multiplied by large dear mirrors, was a vast, choice, and precious library. Its roof was arched, and supported by large stone piers.

But something was horrifically wrong, something wasn't right, and Haymitch and Katniss wanted nothing more, but to set it ablaze.