Sorry about lateness! Mental block :(

allons-y!

Haymitch

Why is it always my junk that suffers from combat? After a hectic and gruelling six hours, Haymitch was finally hobbling towards his home, injuries preventing him to walk any faster than the pace of a snail.

A trail of blood followed his trek through the Victor's Village; the source was most likely from the deep gash at back of his skull.Never eating another god damn mango in my life. Bouts of pain shot through his calves, his nose was broken for the 4th time in two years, his "package" felt as though it had been stoned to death and blood was drenching his clothes. What disturbed him most was that the blood wasn't just his own.

For some odd reason however, this particular episode lasted far longer than usual. His punches were harder, screams louder, grips stronger and kicks powerful. Despite this, there was a strange intensity to Peeta's rage which chilled him to the bone. Haymitch came to the instant conclusion that this was directly connected to Effie's presence in their lives once again. She is literally a wrecking ball that one. Not satisfied until we're crumbled to the ground.This theory mixed with fatigue resulted in unconditional hatred in the woman that was, unknowingly to Haymitch, currently in his house.

Out of the three of them, Haymitch copped the most physical damage whilst the psychological trauma would've disintegrated Katniss's already fragile wall of mental stability. But it was almost 9:00 a night and he would normally have been in a drunken, pre-unconscious daze by now. There wasn't enough energy left in him to care about others. He left Katniss and Peeta asleep on the lounge together. Peeta would be far too exhausted now to even bat an eyelid. Katniss should be more than safe.

If it wasn't such a peaceful evening, Haymitch would've verbally complained about his injuries, or almost total consciousness or even just life in general. But with the breeze of the night drying his blood for him, the moon guiding him home and the stars watching from above, the night seemed almost worth being awake for, even romantic in a way. Geez Peeta must have hit me harder than I thought.

As Haymitch failed to notice, his front gate was already opened as he made his way up the path. His geese were also a little rowdier than usual, but the ringing in his ears prevented him from hearing much else. Haymitch fumbled for his keys as he reached the mahogany door. He searched his entire body, trying to ignore the excruciating pain as he did so. Knowing his luck, they're probably dangling off one of Peeta's Primrose bushes. Without any consideration for his throbbing headache, Haymitch slammed his head against the door. To his surprise, he fell forward onto the threshold as the door swung open. What the fuck?

Even through a bloody nose, Haymitch could still detect the profuse cloud of alcoholic fumes in the air. This was no different from usual though. Unwillingly, he pushed himself off the floor and hobbled to the bathroom, slamming the front door behind him. These injuries were actually too severe to ignore for the sake of alcohol.

Haymitch usually had a routine for mending injuries. Normally they were simple ailments like a shard of glass in his foot or a bruise here and there; but he had no idea where to begin on his current form. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to determine where he could feel the most pain. Back of the head probably, but the groin is a close second.

It took 20 tissues, a small vile of disinfectant, an herb remedy and a fair portion of his bandage roll to clean the gash on his head to a substantial level of cleanliness. It was unclear whether he would have much left to treat the other cuts scattered across his body. This led Haymitch to create a new little routine; the deeper the cut, the more priority it has over shallow ones. He winced in pain as the disinfectant attacked his wounds, but resilience soon kicked in. He was merely whimpering by the last few cuts. Within an hour, a fair amount of his body had been tended to.

This left his 'Private area' to be attended to. Now managing a slight hop, he made his way over to the freezer. To his delight, the bag of two year old frozen peas was still sitting abandoned in the icy compartment. Within seconds the relieving coolness of the peas began its healing through his pants. Haymitch let out a huge sigh of relief. This relief was enough to allow Haymitch to ignore the rest of his body and search for the bottle of absinthe he had been craving all day long.

As he approached the living room, Haymitch again didn't notice the breathing lump of flesh sprawled across his lounge. His eyes were too busy scanning for the absinthe which he could've sworn he had left on the coffee table.

His eyes hastily searched the bookshelf. His photos were a little askew but there was no sign of the elegant, crystal bottle of hope. The fire place, TV ensemble, armchair and immediate floor around him all had no sign of the bottle. Furiously, he stormed over to the lounge and sat down in defeat. What his backside was met with caused him to instantly jump from the 'lounge'. What he turned to see made him scared, angry and relieved all at once. He had just sat on a motionless Effie Trinket. "What the actual…." He muttered. Despite what all his instincts told him to do, Haymitch let out a loud "EFFIE!" Despite the wrath in his voice, Effie didn't stir at all.

Haymitch decided on a more physical approach. Roughly, he began to shake her body from her frail shoulders, her body simply moved limply along with his shakes. The pain in his arms became overwhelming and he seated himself on the coffee table.

As he regained a normal breathing pattern, Haymitch watched Effie as she dangled dangerously over the edge of the lounge. Never thought she was the heavy sleeper type, the stress-head. Her hair was scattered untidily across her pale shoulders, her scarredshoulders. Haymitch bent down to take a closer look. Gently he brushed away her golden locks to reveal shoulders covered in burn and cut scars. Haymitch slid the back of her top down a little further to see the same scenario on her back as well. Was this the result of the war? Did the Capitol really do this to her? One of their own citizens?

Haymitch jumped back in surprise as Effie released a loud sigh. He chuckled slightly as the movement meant more hair covered her face. She actually looked peaceful. Not the neat freak, organised asshole of the Capitol Effie. He watched as her hand fell to the floor. Haymitch was feeling rather humble until he saw what was on the floor beside her; the bottle of absinthe lying in a small pool of its own contents.

"No, no, NO!" He cried as he hurriedly brought the empty bottle to his bleeding lips. That bitch! That rotten, bloody, bitchy bitch! I can't believe it! She fucking deserves the hangover tomorrow 'cause she's a bitch!

To say he was furious was a huge understatement. He was now the oncoming storm. Snatching two bottles of cheap wine, he stomped up the stairs to his room. The wine was from his emergency stash but this was, to him at least, an emergency. By 1:23am, the bottles were gone and Haymitch was still awake. Despite how much he protested against himself, he could see why Effie did what she did, because it's what he does every day. He still hated her for it, but he understood.

In the end, it was this understanding that got him out of bed at 2:42am and to his linen closet. Grabbing a District 8 cotton blanket, he tiptoed, to the best of his ability, downstairs. Even from a distance he could see Effie shaking rather violently. She was exposed completely to the cold of a District 12 winter with nothing to protect her.

He silently approached the lounge and draped the blanket over her pale body. Within seconds her body had begun to calm as the warmth of the blanket blocked the harsh winter. Haymitch had no idea why he performed this good deed. He relied on his drunken demure for the explanation of his goodness towards her. It was this meagre hope that allowed him to climb the stairs and collapse onto his bed once again to drift off into a restless sleep. In the morning, hopefully it will be forgotten.

R&R would be appreciated lovelies! :) xx