He's dead, he's dead, he's dead, I think and his lifeless form fills my eyes. I am faintly aware of my hands shaking and a scream sounding out from somewhere. I think it's coming from me. My fingers still shaking, I prod his chest, trying to find a familiar thud. It's not there. "Oh no, oh no," I say, panic threatening to take over. "You can't leave me. You can't leave me alone again. No, no, no, no, no."
I look at the bottle in his hand and my mind goes into overdrive. He's had so much too much to drink; he's stopped his heart.
My breath hitches and I don't try to contain a sob. He said he would stay with me. He said he would protect me. He can't lie. He can't go away. "No, no, no," I whisper, rocking backing and forth next to his body. "No, no, no." He can't be gone. I desperately grab his empty hand, looking for some kind of life. It's clammy and a little warm. Right before I got here he probably... I can't bring myself to finish the thought.
He's dead and gone just like Prim, just like Peeta.
Like Peeta? Something prickles the back of my memory. Yes! That thing! What was that thing that Finnick did to Peeta back in the arena? I go back to that moment, trying to visualize what Finnick did. I gather my resolve and still my shaking hands, pinching Haymitch's nose and tilting his chin slightly. I gulp down any hesitation and place my lips on his.
I breathe deeply once, twice, three times and release his mouth. It's much nicer to kiss him when he's awake. I find the place on his chest where his heart should be. I lock my hands together and with the heel of my hand I pump, urging his heart to do the same. I repeat the process for several more minutes, growing tired by each repetition. He's not coming back, a voice in my head says, but I push it out of the way. I need to save Haymitch. "Finnick, help me," I plead to no one, willing Haymitch's heart to start. He can't leave me.
As I'm breathing into him for the umpteenth time, I feel a tiny thud where my hand lies on his chest. His eyes open wide and I pull back, stunned. He coughs and sits up, trying to regain his breath. My hands begin to shake again and I can't stop the tears that spill over onto his chest. "You're alive," I choke out and launch myself at him, sending him flying back to the floor. He clutches me to him and I feel the pounding of his heart through his shirt.
He runs his shaking hands through my hair and I sob harder. I can't believe he's breathing again. I extract myself from his grasp and hit him on the arm. "You idiot!" I yell through my tears. "You died and I had to save you and I thought I was on my own! Don't you ever, ever scare me like that again! Damn you!" I let the sobs run through me as he brings me back down to his chest.
"I'm sorry I scared you," he says weakly, and this just makes me cry harder. "I don't know what happened. I just started coughing and I felt dizzy and then you were here," he says, and I clutch him closer. "Why are you crying?"
"Because I'm happy you're alive, idiot," I say and urge my body to stop shaking. It doesn't. So consumed by trying to stop my convulsions, I say without thinking, "I need you." The horror of this statement sets in after I say it.
Love is one thing, but need? Need is for water, for shelter, for food. Need is a matter of survival. My thoughts immediately recall the conversation Peeta and Gale shared when Gale said I would pick the one person I couldn't survive without. I can't survive without Haymitch. I haven't been able to survive without him for a long time now. I hold him even tighter, realizing how close I was to losing him forever.
"Do you care about me, Haymitch?" I ask before I can stop myself. His arms hold me closer still.
"Of course," he says in a hoarse voice. I pull back a little to look him in the eyes. Although still wide and shocked from his near-death experience, I can see traces of that thing from before. Love. I think that's what's reflected in my eyes as well. This is how my father used to look at my mother. The realization, while surprising, fills me with a warmth I haven't felt in a long time.
"Do you love me?" I ask, holding my breath, waiting for his answer. He looks into my eyes for a long time and I begin to fidget from his intense stare. What if he doesn't love me back? I ask myself, but ignore it. Love is not a sudden thing, it's gradual. But it sure hits me suddenly when I find out. I know I love him, and that is so much more than I thought I would ever be able to do.
He lifts his hands and cups my face tenderly, tilting it gently to the side. "Always the last to know, aren't you?" he says before leaning in and brushing his lips against mine. This time, I'm ready for it, and I lean in hungrily, wanting to experience what he deprived me before. His lips are still slightly cold, but I plan on remedying that immediately.
I'm consumed with the realness of his kiss. This is not a ploy for television, or a reunion between friends that were doomed to die. This kiss is real, in the moment, and something we both want. Slowly, I feel that tingling sensation build inside of me again and something akin to a fire consumes my insides. He devours my mouth hungrily, trying to get to that fire.
When his tongue grazes my bottom lip, I gasp, and he takes the opportunity to delve into my mouth. His tongue traces his signature circles and I do the same, both of us vying for dominance in this game. I know he won't give up and I won't either. We're much too stubborn.
His mouth tastes a bit like liquor, but also like some sweet spice that I can't identify. I like it and want more.
We pull apart, though, both of us needing air. I laugh at his bedraggled look from where I ran my fingers through his hair. He must have made me look similar, because he started laughing at my appearance, too.
"You better watch out, sweetheart, you might stop my heart again if you keep that up," he teases and I hit him playfully. He kisses me chastely on the cheek and stands up and falters a bit. Standing up quickly to assist him, I put his arm around my neck like I did a couple of nights ago and lead him up the stairs. I figure putting him on bed rest is the best thing for his current condition.
As we stumble up the stairs, I kick various bottles out of my way to clear a path. Haymitch has the decency to appear slightly embarrassed by this. His room, however, is mildly clean. I can see the floor at least. I guide him to the bed, where he flops unceremoniously onto it, and pulls me down onto him, laughing.
"Stay with me tonight?" He whispers in my ear and I smile. I crawl under the covers next to him, consumed by his signature smell, and go into his open arms. Together and finally at peace, I think, grinning at the thought. I feel his breaths evening out and slowing, as our mine, but I realize something.
"Haymitch?" I whisper, wondering if he's asleep. A hum vibrates through his chest, signaling he can hear me. "I love you, too," I whisper again and I see him smile. He brings me closer to him and I lay my head over his beating heart, so, so happy he's alive.
So? Yeah? Like it? The romance is finally here! I hope it met your expectations and that you enjoyed it! Let me know...
BTW, drinking can cause high blood pressure, which leads to heart failure, so Haymitch's episode would have been accurate, especially if he had passed out moments before Katniss found him.
Honestly, you guys are the greatest. Thank you so much for all of your support; this story is so much fun to write and I hope you're having as much fun reading it. I'm currently in between writing and planning a couple of different Hayniss/Haymiss/Aberdeen stories right now, so I hope you'll check them out when I finally upload them!