First off, I'd like to take a moment to thank HB rules, YvelissaBlossom, nekkuu, AsTheClockStrikes12, Greco-Roman-Minerva, shesetfiretothegames, Savysnape7, Lollipop Child, Firing Rockets on Dragons, Blinkandyoullmissit, American Fantasy, asha74, 2B-ingus4once, catsdogs232, OliviaMellark, alyssa7, grumpirah, Minerva-Amantine, June Bell, daxcat79, anon, lioness58, thepotionmaster7, revanha, LanieLu, DrawingAddict, Hey, BritlovesReid, and HogwartsDreamer113 for the lovely feedback you gave me for last chapter (or previous chapters before that you reviewed in the same time frame as my latest update). Anywho, as promised, here is chapter twenty. Warning, there's a bit of explicit language in this chapter.-Jen
Chapter twenty: The Legitimacy of Illegality
It's the dull ache that seems to surface from every muscle in my body that rouses me from my sleep. My eyes open, squinting momentarily from the bright light that gleams in from a window. It takes me a moment to come to my senses. To realize that I am not in my bed upstairs but sitting at the kitchen table with my fingers intertwined with those belonging to the unconscious figure slumped over beside me. Haymitch's fingers. I find myself gazing down at our hands with the utmost curiosity. When had I fallen asleep? How long had I been out for? As if to answer my own question, my stomach starts to growl with hunger followed not long after by the uncomfortable feeling of my full bladder. However long it had been, it was too long.
Carefully, I begin to pry my fingers away from Haymitch's. A few times I stop when he lets out a grunt, only to begin again when I see I have not waken him. I can't help but look at him for a moment when I finally undo our fingers. The graying stubble. The lines around his mouth and eyes that make him look far older than he really is. Even in his sleep, he still looks troubled. A strange urge overtakes me. I reach forward, wishing to touch his face for a brief second when a loud clatter that comes from behind interrupts me.
"Dammit!" hisses a voice.
My breath hitches in my throat. Immediately, I retract my hand and whip around to face the entrance that leads into the living room. Without a weapon or means of escape, whoever may be behind me, I am nothing but trapped. My heart pounds violently as I prepare myself for the oncoming attack. Though, when my eyes land on the blond figure standing but a few feet away from me, his hands holding a large box of liquor bottles, a new feeling triumphs over the fear I felt previously. Confusion.
"Peeta?" I ask, my voice full of surprise.
An apologetic look washes over Peeta's face. "I'm sorry," he says, "Did I wake you? I accidently dropped a bottle back there," he nods behinds him, "Didn't break too badly though. But don't worry, I promise to clean up the mess."
"Mess?" My eyes fix on the box of liquor bottles he is holding. At first I wonder if Hazelle had sent him over to clean for her today when I notice that almost every bottle he has is completely untouched, the liquor inside still full to the brim. Why in Panem would he be taking away perfectly good bottles? What were his intentions for them?
He gives a nod of his head, "Not a big mess," he assures me, "Just a bit of glass that won't take long to pick up. I'll do it after I dispose of these properly." The box gives a clank as he readjusts it in his arms.
"Wait," I say after pushing aside my current daze, "what do you mean you're disposing those bottles?" Though I have many questions for as to why Peeta is here in the first place, this seemed like the one that was top priority. "Those haven't been drank yet."
Peeta nods again, "I know," he says, "And it's going to stay that way. I'm getting rid of them. All of them. And not just the alcohol here. I've already cleared my house of it and Katniss's will be next."
Had he just said what I think he did? Throwing away alcohol? Haymitch's alcohol? Granted, I despised Haymitch's drinking but never had I considered trashing his supply. No, that was a very dangerous road to travel down. But here Peeta is talking so nonchalantly about clearing out the stash of it, I'm nearly convinced that he himself is drunk. My eyes focus on him, still trying to make sense of his reason and logic behind his actions.
"Why in Panem are you doing that?" The shrill words come out louder than I had anticipated but I do not correct my tone. "It is not your's to dispose of and anyway," my eyes flicker over to Haymitch, who still is surprisingly fast asleep, "if Haymitch were to find out what you did, I don't think I'd very much like the outcome of that."
Peeta's brow furrows, "I'll just have to risk the consequences of when he finds out," he shifts the box again, trying to get a better hold of it, "We can't risk having a drunkard on our team when it comes time for the Quarter Quell. We all need to be in the best mindset possible and alcohol definitely deters from that."
Before I have time to come up with a response, my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Not even seconds later, Katniss emerges from the doorway, in her hands three steaming mugs. The corners of my mouth twitch into a frown. Doesn't anyone knock anymore? Her eyes, that now that she's close enough, I can see are bloodshot, focus on Peeta, a look of confusion springing onto her face.
"Peeta?" she asks hoarsely, "What are you doing here?"
"I'm doing some spring cleaning," he says, a frown forming on his face, "I didn't think you'd be up this early after last night. Prim said you were out cold when I came by earlier to check on you."
"I'm up now." she mumbles quietly, "and I brought broth over from my mother for myself, Haymitch, and Effie. If I had known you'd be here, I'd brought one over for you too." I watch as her eyes lock on the box in Peeta's arms, "What's that?"
"Garbage." Peeta says simply, "I was just on my way to throw it out."
"Doesn't look like garbage," Katniss says, her eyes narrowing as she studies the box.
"It isn't," I tell her firmly, not bothering to say hello, "It's Haymitch's liquor. He entered the house without permission and decided upon taking it all. Now, you know I'm not one who is a fan of alcohol but-"
"And you're throwing it out?" Katniss interrupts, her voice raised, "Peeta, what business is it of your's what Haymitch does and doesn't do? None!"
"It became my business when you stumbled home drunk last night and put your hand through a window." Peeta says sternly, "We can't afford any drunkards when we go into the arena. Especially not you, Katniss."
Katniss's eyes grow large, "First of all, you are not responsible for my actions or what I do! And secondly, I am far from a drunk! I had a drink last night, that does not immediately make me someone who has a drinking probably!"
"I never said you did," Peeta says, "All I said was we can't risk it."
"That's not what it sounded like," Katniss shoots back.
I'm about to intervene when a loud grunt comes from the dining room table. "For the love of god," Haymitch groans, "can't I get some goddamn sleep in my own fucking house? My head already hurts enough as it is."
"Oh good," Katniss exhales, "You're awake just in time to see Peeta throw away all of your alcohol."
This seems to snap Haymitch out of any drunken stupor he's in. "He's going to do what?" He stands up so suddenly that his knees give way and he falls, catching himself on the table before hitting the ground.
Peeta nods, no sign of fear or worry in his expression, "And I've already informed the Ripper that if she were to sell either of you alcohol, I'd turn her into the Peacekeepers immediately. I paid her off handsomely too, just for good measure. I doubt she'll be eager to be back in the Peacekeepers' custody."
I shift uncomfortably where I stand, the baby nudging my full bladder rather strongly. Though the desire to go to the restroom increases, I fear if I leave the kitchen with all that is happening right now, a fight may ensue. So, using all of my willpower, I stay put and watch as Haymitch straightens up again, his eyes fixed on Peeta.
"What's the point of this," he growls, "of all the times for me to be sobering up, you sure picked the worst, boy."
"On the contrary," Peeta says, "The point is, two of us are coming home from the Capitol. One mentor and one victor. I already took the liberty of phoning Portia. She and Cinna are sending me the recordings of all of the living victors. We're going to watch their Games and learn everything we can about how they fight. We're going to put on weight and get strong. We're going to start acting like Careers."
"But training for the Games is against the rules," I interrupt, finding that politeness is not an important asset at this time, "if the Capitol were to find out-"
"The Capitol knows kids train for the Games, Princess," Haymitch mutters, "They're not that stupid. Quite frankly, don't think anybody really gives a rat's ass about it one way or another."
"No matter the case," Peeta says firmly, his arms gripping the boxes as he heads for the door, "One of us is going to be victor whether you two," his eyes flash to me, "-three, like it or not!" Somehow, even with his hands full, Peeta manages to open the door and slam it so loud that Katniss and Haymitch aren't the only ones to wince at the sound.
"Well," I breath, "that was quite rude."
"I don't like self-righteous people," Katniss mutters.
"What's there to like," agrees Haymitch as he attempts to suck whatever liquid remains in the surely empty bottle Peeta forgot on the table.
"You and me," Katniss says quietly, "That's who he plans on coming home."
"Well, then the jokes on him," says Haymitch.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask turning to Haymitch.
"You heard Katniss and me talking last night," he mumbles, "Interpret it how you want, Princess, but we both agreed that if anyone is going to make it out alive from this, it's going to be Peeta."
My stomach twists at his words. The thoughts of losing Haymitch flood back to my mind once more. Swallowing hard, I inhale deeply, I try to keep my voice as calm as I can. I do not want Haymitch to see me getting upset. Nor do I want Katniss to see it either. Right now, for whatever reason, the last thing I want them to think of me is weak.
"I need to go to the restroom," I tell them, "My bladder is not what it used to be."
Without another word, I hurry off to the bathroom. It's the only relief I've felt this morning. The relief of my now empty bladder. As I flush the toilet and go to wash my hands, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. I stop for a moment, examining my outward appearance. My thin frame that distorts outward at my midsection. How different I look. How unlike myself I feel.
When I finally return from the bathroom, I find that Katniss has left and only Haymitch remains in the kitchen. He looks at me as I walk over, the two cups of broth Katniss had brought for us sitting on the table. Probably, by now, lukewarm.
"She left," he mumbles, lifting is mug from the table, "took her mug with her. Said she wanted to be alone right now. Needed time to think." he takes a sip, "Can't say I blame her."
I lift my mug from the table, taking a sip myself. The broth is chicken, warm and filling. Though it's not something I really hoped for, for breakfast, it tastes much more delightful than I imagined.
"Are you going to do it then?" I ask, "The training?"
"Don't think I've got much of a choice," he replies as he takes another sip, "The boy's mind about all of this seems set in stone. Didn't ever think he'd be as stubborn as the girl. Guess that's the way all kids are."
"Do you really think so?" I ask, my hand that isn't holding the mug, finding its way to my stomach. His words made me wonder if that one day, it'd be our child who'd be acting in such a way. Though, not in the current circumstance that was occurring.
"Think what," he says, his eyes landing on my stomach, "That Half Pint there'll have an attitude?" With a single gulp, he finishes off the rest of the broth, "Wouldn't doubt it for a second."
"Half Pint?" I ask with confusion, "Who in Panem is Half Pint?" And at that moment, I realize who he has nicknamed that. "Oh no, Haymitch," I suck in a deep breath, "I will not allow you to use such a nickname as that for our child! It is not at all fitting nor appropriate! To give a child a pet name that could be associated with liquor, the thought of it's appalling!"
My displeasure in his name choice only seems to bring him amusement. "I don't see the issue,'' he shrugs, "Kid doesn't even have a name yet," he lets out a snort, "It's easier than just calling her 'the baby'. I'm sure it's some big thing in the Capitol to give your unborn children nicknames. I'm just going along with the fad. Thought you of all people would appreciate that."
"Not in that sense!" I gasp, "Not when you make a mockery of it!"
"Who said anything about me making a mockery of it?" And I swear he's smirking now. "I'm just trying to support your Capitol's sense of trends."
"And that's why trends die," I add tersely, "because people like you have to go about ruining them for your own gain!"
"You've found me out, Princess," he smirks, "Suppose you'll turn me into the Peacekeepers then?"
And I can't help but crack a small smile, "Unfortunately, I do not currently have that written into my schedule. Perhaps will schedule that for another time?"
He gives a small smile in return, "Perhaps we will."
And though there was that small spark of fun between Haymitch and me for a few seconds, any thought of the possibility of it happening again quickly fades when within just a short time frame, he and Katniss agree to the training Peeta has suggested. Not even Atala, the head trainer at the Capitol's, training courses are as rigorous, as time consuming, as what Peeta has in mind.
Everyday at the crack of dawn do they all get up, Haymitch with quite some effort, and begin their various exercises. It's strange to watch them, especially Haymitch. No one was ever allowed to watch the tributes train for the Games with the exception the Gamemakers so being able to observer the Victors of Twelve do it brings an entirely different insight into what goes on before the Games.
They don't seem to mind me looking on though. Or rather, are far too busy to even notice. Between hand-to-hand combat to scaling trees, of which took Haymitch quite sometime to master due to the abuse his body has put up with for all of these years, it seems as if they don't even take a moment to rest. And night time is not much different. Though, it's at this time that old film reels of the games are shown and Haymitch offers and information about each Victor he can.
Tonight, after many days of going through films, we've made it all the way up to the District Nine Victor videos. I sit beside Haymitch on the couch while Peeta and Katniss take up seats near by. Today's showing, Cotton Panski, victor of the 53th Hunger Games. I can't help but wince as the young seventeen year old raises a sickle and decapitates the District Three female tribute who didn't even realize he had snuck up behind her.
"And that," Haymitch concludes as the cannon sounds, "is why you never let your guard down. That was Cotton's strong suit. Stealth."
"The poor girl didn't even see it coming," I breath, my eyes fixed on the screen as they show Cotton rummaging through her supplies.
"It's better that way," Haymitch mumbles, "Makes death quick. Virtually painless. If, of course, you're lucky."
"Is there anything else we need to know about Cotton?" Peeta asks, a notebook open in his lap that he has been using to right down the facts about Victors.
Haymitch merely shakes his head, "Nothing that you already don't know. Man tends to keep to himself."
Peeta nods just as another cannon goes off. The boy from District Twelve, Birch Steele, met his demise by a muttation plant that's vines suffocated him to death. Katniss turns her head and looks at Haymitch.
"Did you know him?" she nods towards the screen. "Birch Steele."
Haymitch shrugs, "Lived a few houses down from mine. His mother came over once to ask my mother if she had any sugar to spare. Funny thing to ask since there never really is anything to spare."
Everyone is silent as the film drags on, kills shown almost every other ten minutes. Finally, after a good hour, the last two tributes, Cotton, and the male tribute from Four, are fighting it out. Cotton wins after slitting the boy's throat only minutes into the fight. The final cannon fires and Haymitch flips the television off just as Claudius Templesmith's voice begins to boom "The Victor of the 53th Annual Hunger Games is..."
"That's enough for tonight." Haymitch mutters, tossing the remote aside, "We can finish up District Nine tomorrow."
"I agree," Peeta says shutting his notebook, "It's gotten pretty late."
He and Katniss both stand up and after bidding Haymitch and I both a farewell, leave out of the front door. I lean back on the couch, my hands resting on my stomach as I watch Haymitch stand up and make his way over to the television.
"What are you doing?" I ask tiredly, not really wanting to sit up.
"Taking out the tape," he says, ejecting it from the player near the television. "One less thing to do tomorrow." He places it back in its rightfully case before setting it on a nearby table and walking back over to the couch. "And you are doing?"
"Yawning," I say from behind my hand, "I'm rather tired."
"Really? I couldn't tell." Haymitch says sarcastically, taking a sit beside me, "Go to bed then."
"I will in a minute." I mumble, shifting a little to get more comfortable. "I'm currently resting."
Haymitch snorts, "You resting? It's not like you've been running around all day throwing knives."
I inhale deeply, rolling my eyes at his comment. "It's not like you've been carrying a baby inside of you for almost a good six months. That is far more difficult then simple exercises."
"Too tired to argue with that," he mumbles, slouching down deep into the couch.
We're both silent for a few minutes. Neither of us really feeling the energy to get up. As I lean against the couch cushions, I feel the baby pressing against my bladder once more. Like her father, I believe she finds pleasure in causing me great discomfort.
"I don't appreciate it when she kicks my bladder," I murmur, sitting up more on the couch. "It's rather inconsiderate."
"Who? Half Pint?" he asks as I frown at the name.
"I told you not to refer to her as that but yes," I exhale, "right against my bladder as if I wasn't uncomfortable enough as it is. Like you, she seems to prefer to sleep in the morning rather than at night. Even when I'm sure she must be tired. Once she is old enough to understand, I will be going over the properness of manners needed not to keep other people up."
"You have fun doing that, Princess." he mumbles quietly.
There is silence between us once more. I close my eyes for a minute, trying to relax and ignore the fact that I'm not at all comfortable. As the baby nudges my side, I suddenly realize something. I have never offered Haymitch the chance to feel her kick. At least, since he is the father, I should give him the option.
"Can I see your hand please?" I ask, looking over at him.
"Afraid of the dark, Princess?" he muses, turning his head a little to look at me,
"No." I say pursing my lips, "I want you to feel the baby kick. I mean, if you want to that is. As her father, I should allow you to do such. It is only fair. But this does not allow you to have my permission to always to my stomach, mind you."
He pauses for a moment and I watch as he looks down towards my stomach. "Alright," he says after a minute, "Not like I have anything else exciting to do."
Ignoring his comment, I take his hand and place it over the spot of my stomach where I felt the last kick. "Just wait a moment..." I murmur, "She just kicked previously. Oh, if she decided to stop kicking at this moment, I truly will be... Oh there!" It is unmistakable bump that I feel so often now, "There, did you feel it?"
Haymitch's eyebrows raise and I know he must've felt it. Though, he says nothing for a few minutes, only keeps his hand against the apex of my stomach. Finally, he lifts his eyes to meet me, a small smile on his face that for some strange reason causes my heart to flutter.
"Well?" I ask softly, "May I ask your opinion?"
"Well," he says after a moment, "all of this damn training Peeta's been making me do has shown me one thing,'' he glances down at my stomach once more, his hand still resting on it gentle. "I have a hell of a lot more to do if I'm going to be able to keep up with Half Pint's energy."
Even though he called her Half Pint, I can't help but smile at his words.
I promised I'd make this chapter longer. I made sure to add a good bit of baby talk since some of you requested that. And no, Half Pint isn't the baby's real name, it's just a nickname. I wanted to clarify that just in case someone misconstrued that bit of information. Next chapter is the one before the reaping and let me tell you, I have much planned. Next chapter contains the answers to many things such as what Haymitch was talking to Portia about and a long while back, I mentioned something about Snow? Well, that will be addressed next chapter! Anyway, feedback is greatly loved and appreciated (It's like an author's most important nutrition). I'm curious to know what you thought and maybe somethings you'd like to see. More baby talk? Hayffie fluff? Bring in more Portia and Cinna? Thanks for reading and keep an eye out for the next chapter!-Jen