This wasn't my fastest update, BUT the chapter is LONG!
I wanted to thank my Beta, Gonsalsy, for all her help. She's great.
The only thing I own is how I choose to play with this awesome universe that had been created by one Suzanne Collins.
Previously:
He kept holding her hand as she died and he closed her eyes after she did. He kneeled there for a while, looking at his bloodied hands. He didn't cry, but the look on his face was one Katniss never wanted to see again.
He slowly uncurled his fingers. Katniss knew what she'd see laying on his palm even before he fully opened his fist.
The mockingjay pin.
Despite having already anticipated the outcome, Katniss felt herself getting light-headed when her guess proved to be correct. She stared at the small object in Haymitch's hand that had the power to cause a storm in her mind.
There was no question whether or not Haymitch had recognised the pin when he'd seen it on her. He had to. You simply don't forget something like that. He had likely been the one who had returned it to Maysilee's family after the Games.
What must it have been like for Haymitch to see it after so many years? A wake up call? Or just a punch in the gut?
Had it been part of the reason for the way he'd been treating her: like he'd been angry at her most of the time, yet eventually protecting her the best way he could?
Maysilee had been both Haymitch's Peeta and Rue: someone from home and an ally whom he couldn't save. Katniss knew the pain and guilt that came from arriving too late to do anything else than watch your companion die. It didn't matter if you'd known them only for a short time. The ties forged under extreme circumstances were strong.
The difference was, when Katniss had got home, she hadn't been alone. She'd failed to save Rue, but she'd had Peeta by her side. She still had Prim, her mom, and Gale to return to. She'd been able to finally rest. She had people – family and friends, and even Haymitch himself – to help her. True, he hadn't been much help once they had returned to Twelve, but he'd guided her through the final interviews at the Capitol after she'd won and he'd picked up the ball again during their victory tour, not to mention the time when he had stepped up and talked down the peacekeepers after Gale's whipping.
She remembered how happy she'd been to see Haymitch when they'd let her meet with her team for the first time after she'd got back from the arena. How good it had felt to finally relax in the presence of someone familiar and whom she'd learned she could trust.
What had Haymitch got when he'd come back from his Games? None of the things he'd hoped to get back to, that was for sure. She could only imagine that – considering his family tragedy – no one in Twelve felt like celebrating his return, maybe with the exception of the obligatory official party at the Mayor's House. People had likely avoided him for some time, before he'd turned that particular state into a norm. He'd probably done his best to deter everyone from seeking any contact with him, with the aid of his sunny personality, in some form of voluntary exile.
Katniss forced herself to focus on the younger Haymitch on the screen and watched him return to his post at the edge of the arena and simply stay there. She couldn't tell if there was some plan to that, or if he was simply too tired to come up with anything else.
The Games were thankfully finally leaning toward the end. Katniss saw one of the few remaining tributes die in a similar fashion to Maysilee from an attack of the pack of golden squirrels, like the ones Haymitch had successfully fought off in the early days of the Games. The deadly duel between two other tributes ended with the victory of the girl from One. That made the girl the last living participant of the Games beside Haymitch. She was clearly determined to win, so instead of avoiding confrontation, she tracked him down like a huntress following her prey.
The last minutes of the recording were something out of a nightmare.
The girl was tall, strong and well trained. She was also older than Haymitch, probably having volunteered at her last reaping year, like most of the Careers, which would have made her eighteen.
Haymitch had a decent view of the area around him, so he saw her coming. He didn't try to run. He was ready for her.
He had a knife. She had an axe.
At first it seemed to Katniss that this was going to be exactly the kind of fight the Capitolites were counting on: ruthless, bloody and nerve-wrecking for the viewer rooting for one of the opponents to win. It was a kill-or-be-killed confrontation and both sides were doing everything in their power to stay alive, inflicting wounds that would most likely turn out to be fatal if not treated correctly.
In short, it was utterly horrible.
Katniss had to cover her mouth to keep herself from making a sound when she saw Haymitch receive a blow into his stomach. He managed to respond with a well-aimed knife throw that would have probably killed the girl if the blade had lodged itself any deeper. She screamed as she got hit in her eye, which gave Haymitch enough time to stumble away, but he was now weaponless. Katniss grit her teeth as she realised that he had to hold his own intestines in as he staggered even closer toward the edge of the arena. The female tribute threw her axe at him with an angry cry, but Haymitch ducked at the last moment sending it flying into the abyss. He collapsed then, and shuddered. It looked like he wasn't able to stand up, and the girl just stayed where she was, holding her hand to her empty eye-socket. She had lost her weapon as well and perhaps she decided that in his current state Haymitch wasn't much of a threat and it would be wiser to wait and simply outlive him than engage in a wrestling match next to the edge of the cliff.
He was starting to convulse, but there was something that he knew and his opponent didn't: that the axe would fly back. It sprang over the ledge too quickly for the girl to react and buried itself into her skull, resulting in her instant death.
The cannon sounded, and then the trumpet was announcing Haymitch a victor.
He rolled onto his back and looked up at the sky – and conveniently point blank at one of the cameras. There was absolutely no joy on his face.
The screen cleared of any image leaving Katniss sitting in stunned silence.
She stared at the empty space where the video had played for a few seconds, before snapping out of her trance and springing back into action. She sat up straighter, grabbed the remote and pointed it at the device, trying to get it running again. She expected there to be something more on the tape – some shots from the crowning or the galas, the closing comment from Caesar, anything – but her attempts at fast-forwarding the video or restarting it turned futile, no matter how many times she hit play. There was no more footage.
This was unusual. There should be, at the very least, some recording from the final interview with the victor. The Capitol always did these, they were a part of the Game's normal routine. Katniss was sure they had conducted one with Haymitch. The question was, why would they not include it with the rest of the video? She could think of only one reason: to delete it.
What did you say to them, Haymitch? - she thought once again feeling queasy.
He'd been young, defiant and hurt. He'd been grieving, angry and reeling from everything that had happened to him, probably still in shock and looking for someone to blame; the identity of the ones responsible for the horrors he'd been forced to live through probably all too clear in his mind. He had had a sharp tongue, dangerously quick wit, and no-one to guide him.
It had been bad enough that he'd clearly outsmarted the Gamemakers by using a part of the arena for his own means and turning it into a weapon. He'd probably angered them by making them look stupid. It had been almost as bad as her own stunt with the berries. If he'd topped that by saying something politically incorrect afterwards… moreover, if he – as she suspected – had made a good point while doing that and struck a sore spot…
Suddenly, she remembered Haymitch's frantically whispered warning moments before she had entered the stage to face Caesar again.
The one thing they can't stand is being laughed at.
His family's violent deaths. The timing. The urgency of his last second instructions to her and the glint in his eye when he had given them to her – all tense seriousness and not a hint of the good-natured humour he had shown when she had shot the arrow at the Gamemakers at her scoring.
"God, Haymitch," Katniss breathed.
She felt the dread turning her stomach. She wasn't naive. She realised both she and her family were in danger, especially since President Snow had made that painfully clear to her, but the stark reality of Haymitch's story transformed the ominous, but rather abstract, threat hanging over her head into something terrifyingly tangible. She had to work really hard to keep herself from succumbing to panic. She forced herself to think about the fact that nothing had really changed since a few minutes ago and her realisation. Maybe she wasn't quite out of the woods and the Capitol wasn't done with her yet, but she was still home, with her mother and sister a few meters away, at least for now safe and sound. She'd played along after her Games and while president Snow had let her know that he wasn't quite satisfied with her performance, it proved to be enough to spare her family. They were a target, a bargaining chip, but they hadn't been swiftly killed off like Haymitch's family. The eyes of the whole Panem were on them and that gave them some protection.
Katniss calmed down gradually and thought about the man who was now her neighbour. She had an unpleasant feeling that she should tell him that she'd watched his Games. With the upcoming Quarter Quell and the fact that she was one of the two freshly appointed mentors for the new district Twelve tributes, it wasn't an as surprising or inexcusable thing to do as it might have been otherwise, but she was in no way looking forward to confessing the deed to Haymitch. Somehow, she very much doubted that he would have wanted her to see the tape.
She realised that the next Hunger Games were going to be hard on Haymitch, perhaps almost as much as they were going to be hard on Peeta and herself. For years now, Haymitch had been left on the margins of the Capitol's spotlights, able to somewhat hide behind the tributes and the mentors from the more successful districts. This year, though, they were going to drag his story out, not only because he'd been the last Quarter Quell victor, but also because he was now the first mentor in history who had managed to bring home two victors in one year. He was going to get a lot of attention from the media and he was going to absolutely hate it. They might even make him answer questions about his own Games or show some chosen fragments from the reruns on TV.
She never cared much for how Haymitch felt during various functions they had to attend as the District Twelve team, be it right after the Games or at the Victory Tour – it didn't seem to matter that much in grand scheme of things. There had been much more important things to focus on and he hadn't exactly made it easy to feel for him with his attitude – but now that she thought of that, he probably preferred it that way. He didn't like to be fussed about, clearly despising the idea of anyone feeling sorry for him, and therefore much preferring the comfort of the distance easily created by his rudeness and (admittedly unbecoming after days-long periods of drinking and neglect) appearance. There was something more to it, though. Katniss couldn't help but think that a lot about Haymitch – the disgusting state he kept himself in most of the time, the miserable living conditions he subjected himself to despite clearly having the means to rectify the problem, his habit of pushing people away – was, to some degree, just an odd form of self-inflicted punishment, that perhaps started as a choice, but became a normal state of things at some point.
All in all, though, he was one of the good ones – she realised. Terribly fractured, but still retaining his own mind, despite his thorough attempts to drown it in alcohol. There was one thing she had to give Haymitch – he was nobody's puppet.
Still, it bothered her: the raging gap between the young boy she'd seen on the recording, brave and fierce, if a bit jaded, and the disillusioned, defeated man next door. There was so much missing – the unyielding, dry sense of humour, the will to live, the spark – she'd seen it, and could recognise the traces of it now that she knew what to look for, but it was almost gone.
Maybe if they'd left him something to fight for – someone to care for – things would have been different and he wouldn't have let himself fall so low. But of course, that was the whole point of breaking him.
Naturally, she knew what filled the gap, what would make him change so much. The loss of everyone he had loved and the lonely, hopeless years that had followed, were enough of a reason to bring down anyone, even someone as strong as a Hunger Games victor.
Nevertheless, Katniss found herself wishing she knew more about the years in between. An idea – an awful one – wormed its way from the back of her head, but she quickly banished it where it came from.
Turned out, neither the 50th Hunger Games, nor Haymitch were as easily erasable from her mind as she would have imagined. They were supposed to evaporate from her thoughts as soon as she was done watching the recording from Madge, but unfortunately, its contents made a more lasting impression on Katniss than she would have wished. The images she saw and the implications of them were not something she could just forget overnight, more so since peaceful sleep continued to elude her. And so the next day found Katniss still mulling over the second Quarter Quell events and what everything she'd learned meant for her.
Later in town, when Ripper caught her eye, she was surprised by her own feelings. Katniss knew the signal meant that Ripper was back in business and had something for her – the black market would always find a way. Since Ripper would no longer risk selling in front of the peacekeepers, though, the only way she could move her product was to give her regular (and trusted) clients heads-up and for them to come to her and pick up the package, one person at a time. Apparently, as Haymitch's protégée, Katniss fitted the category.
There would be no withdrawal-medicine for Haymitch, then – Katniss thought with a curious pang of disappointment – but she bought two bottles of white liquor without batting an eyelash (he needed it).
Up to that moment, she wasn't even aware she cared one way or another.
The weight of the bottles in her bag was an unpleasant reminder of the awaiting task of visiting Haymitch – something she felt leery about not only because of her sudden reluctance to provide him with his poison of choice, but because of the nagging voice in her head whispering that sooner or later, she'd have to come clean. She was due to check on him, anyway, since she had yet to find out how the arrangement with Hazelle was working out, but she couldn't deny her reluctance to meet him face to face for the first time since finishing the video.
Perhaps it was that desire to stall that made the idea return to the front of Katniss' mind and pushed her toward the city archives instead of back to the Victors Village. After all, if she was going to bear the weight of Haymitch's outrage over poking around the past, she might as well take a better look. She was sure he was going to make her pay for watching and expected the price to be steep, so why stop at a peek?
Ten minutes later her bag was heavier by several tapes now tucked snugly next to Ripper's bottles. Her stride was quick and angry, and she was silently seething from the well-meaning comment of the man who had handed her the recordings and expressed his hope that this year the kids from their district would finally stand a decent chance in the Games with her and Peeta taking over training the tributes. Thankfully, he had had the good sense to stop talking after she had glared at him.
After she got home, she went straight to her room and fired up the recorder. She picked the tape from the year after the second Quarter Quell. She didn't intend to watch the Games itself, just the Reapings. She wasn't sure what she hoped to see there, but she wanted to check it out anyway.
She skipped the part from the other districts, fast-forwarding directly to the scene from Twelve.
She paused the recording on the image of the stage in front of the Hall of Justice building.
There he was, wearing all black and looking considerably thinner than the year before, despite obviously not having to be concerned with the spectre of hunger any more. There were two others on the stage – the mayor and the escort whom Katniss recognised from the previous recording, but all she could see was the lack of people around Haymitch. There was no fellow victor or older mentor next to him. For all the crowd gathered on the square, he was all alone.
There was, however, something else about him that struck her even more: while he was visibly pale and the expression on his face was grim, his spine was straight and there was an edge in his eyes she didn't expect – they were alight with a pained, but also slightly angry gleam, instead of being dull like she'd imagined.
He was split open, like a bleeding wound, but he wasn't broken. Not yet.
When? Katniss thought astounded. If not then, then when? When had it happened?
She let the video play and watched the beginning of yet another tragic story unfold itself before her eyes. She saw a weary look cross Haymitch's face when a gentle-looking girl stepped out of the section of fourteen-years-olds. Haymitch only gave her a solemn nod, at contrast with the girl's young appearance, yet oddly appropriate, when she took her place on the stage. Her shoulders were squared, but her whole body was shivering. She chose to stand close to Haymitch.
Katniss realised that for all the hopelessness of the girl, he must have evoked the most trust out of the bunch, standing next to the two adults – one of them a strict authority figure and the other a stranger from the Capitol. Back then, Haymitch had still been, first and foremost, a boy from the Seam. Somehow, Katniss had no doubt that he had given everything he had into helping his tributes that year, though he probably hadn't had the slightest clue what he'd been doing. She doubted it had even mattered in the end. Everyone, including the girl herself, had known she stood no chance.
It was what happened next, though, when a male tribute was called that really grabbed Katniss' attention.
Haymitch's eyes widened before the boy even stepped out of his row, the moment his name was read. One of the seventeen-years-olds, Haymitch's peer – Katniss noticed. They knew each other. Really knew each other – she realised stunned.
The boy managed to overcome his shock and walked toward the stage, making a beeline for Haymitch. Unlike with the girl, there had been a spark of hope mixed with desperation in his eyes, when he shot his mentor a look. Katniss couldn't be sure, but she thought there was some kind of a pat, or maybe a curt arm-squeeze exchanged between the two.
Of course they knew each other. They had probably been classmates.
She wasn't sure why she was so surprised. The thought had never occurred to her – though it should have – that the new mentors stood a very good chance of encountering their friends and colleagues as their charge for the first few years.
She turned off the video and took off the headphones.
For the first time, it came to her mind that the problem she would be facing in a few brief months might be even bigger than she had thought. Her thoughts flickered back to the conversation she had recently had with President Snow in this very same house and the subtle, but very clear threats that had been made if she didn't fulfill her role to his wishes. Her mind kept playing the memory of the ball in the Capitol, last night of her Victory Tour, and the slight shake of the white-bearded man's head.
Wouldn't that be just a perfect opportunity? To punish her by sending her loved ones into the arena and make her watch, while she failed to save them? Wouldn't that be perfectly in line with the Capitol style of sorting things out? How many victor's children had she seen being reaped over the years?
Whose name would she have to hear read in Effie's cheery voice this year? Madge's? Gale was too old, but what about Rory? Who else did she have to worry about?
She felt her heart stop when she heard the voice from downstairs:
"Katniss, dinner's ready!" Prim called.
This story is almost over already. There will be at least one more chapter (or, less likely, two shorter ones - I'm not sure, since I haven't written it yet).
I'm still trying to decide what to write next. I know I have long promised to try and write something shippy for these two - please let me know if that's something you'd be interested in reading.
Also, as always, I'm eager to hear your thoughts on the chapter.