Disclaimer is attached to the first chapter.
Capitol Nights, chapter 38
It's Sunday, the only day of the week that the mines are closed, and beautiful, sunny weather to top it off. Everything is green and bedecked with flowers (in the Village, at least) and the sky is a perfect gemstone blue. At almost 6pm, the temperature has dropped down into the mid sixties. The small park in the Village Commons seems to beckon hopefully, urging the residents to come forth and sit on ornate carved benches where no one has sat in decades, or walk similarly derelict (but perfectly maintained) paths.
Katniss pointedly draws the curtains, daring Peeta to say something about it. He doesn't, of course, and that only makes her more irritable. At seven months pregnant she's huge for the first time in her life and feels as ungainly as a toddler. And everything is so friggin' uncomfortable. Walking is uncomfortable. Lying down is uncomfortable. She can't even sit for more than a few minutes at a time without feeling like the sheer mass of her belly is pressing her into the chair and making it hard to breathe.
She drops moodily into an over-stuffed armchair, envisioning the wood slowly splintering beneath her. This is just so stupid. A baby weighs nine pounds, right? No way is this only nine pounds. Her luck, it'll be twins. That'll be the next thing.
"Can I get you anything?" Peeta asks mildly, prepared for any reply from 'ice water' all the way down to 'go to hell.' Finally, Katniss is getting a bit difficult and temperamental. Secretly, Peeta feels relieved.
Seven months in, and he has yet to see Katniss break down for no good reason. She eats whatever he prepares and doesn't make impossible demands for things like pineapple or shrimp. And during that month when she threw up every morning she invariably locked herself in the bathroom and shouted at him to go away when he knocked. It's not at all what his mother had led him to expect. Make no mistake: he's glad that his beautiful, strong Katniss hasn't dissolved into a hormonal basket-case. But sometimes he finds himself watching her and wishing she would do something just a little off-kilter, if only to ease the tension he feels. Very occasionally, he wonders if she's still pregnant at all. What if she's just, well, fat? He knows that's crazy, the kind of immature thought he can't afford to entertain anymore… isn't it?
"No. Well… can you bring me some walnut bread?"
"Yes, of course," Peeta says, getting up. Walnut bread is what he baked this morning, and he can't help wondering if it's what she really wants. "I can make you something else…"
The door opens out in the hall, and Peeta turns quickly to the doorway as Katniss heaves herself to her feet.
"Anyone home?" a familiar, slightly drunken voice calls.
"We're in here, Haymitch," Peeta replies, casting a puzzled look over at Katniss. She shrugs, as surprised as he is. Haymitch has never visited their house before. Visiting isn't really his thing.
Haymitch appears in the doorway, his gray eyes sweeping the room with a grim, tense watchfulness that belies his otherwise laid-back demeanor. He's barefoot, his toes awkwardly spread and half-curled under his feet. His gaze lingers on Katniss's swollen belly, acknowledging the damage he's done and his failure to protect her from Snow's machinations. He silently confirms to himself that there's no other obvious damage, and that Peeta seems to be okay. A sigh, quiet enough that you wouldn't notice it if you weren't accustomed to listening. When he speaks his voice is the old familiar drawl, edged with teasing good humor.
"You two look… tense. Did I interrupt something?"
"You could knock next time," Katniss huffs. "What are you doing here?"
"Sit down. I was just going to get us some walnut bread," Peeta says invitingly.
"No, don't feed him! He'll just keep coming back," Katniss snarks.
"It's a beautiful day," Haymitch says uncharacteristically. "The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the… beetles are dancing?" Peeta tilts his head curiously. Katniss rolls her eyes. "I don't know, a bunch of cheery crap, okay? Point is- let's eat out."
"Okay," Peeta says slowly. "So… you want to go to the Hob?"
"You're a big boy. Go by yourself," Katniss smirks. "If you get lost ask one of the nice Peacekeepers to help you."
"Don't your parents run some kind of restaurant?" Haymitch asks Peeta.
"No. They don't. They run a bakery. It's a whole different thing," Peeta says emphatically, not at all liking where this is going.
"Whatever. There's food there." A slanted smile crosses his face. "Unless you think your parents wouldn't allow my kind in their fine establishment."
"Don't be an ass," Katniss snaps. She's had enough of this, too. Haymitch is an expert at playing the angles. She shakes her head. That's putting it too kindly. What he really is, is a manipulative bastard with a mile-wide mean streak and a nose for weakness that would do credit to any wolf. Now he's going to guilt Peeta into going along with whatever sociopathic idea he's got stuck in his head this time. Well, what else is new?
"We don't necessarily have to bring preggers," Haymitch says.
"Haymitch," Peeta says, suddenly feeling very tired. Here they go. But for once Haymitch surprises him by abandoning the nascent fight.
"Look, if I'm going to be the kid's 'uncle', it just seems like I should meet the other set of proud grandparents." He grimaces. "Grandparents. Hell, I'm old."
"Don't worry, you've still got your looks," Katniss intones sarcastically.
"Katniss…", Peeta says, almost pleadingly.
"Come on, your parents can't possibly be worse than Katniss's mother," Haymitch says.
"Ungrateful swine," Katniss says off-handedly. "Let's do it. This could be fun."
"Promise me you'll behave," Peeta orders, attempting to sound stern even as the two of them metaphorically back him into a corner.
"I always behave," Haymitch calls cheerfully up to him from the depths of pathos.
"I'm serious! You don't know my mother."
"His mother's a mean old cow," Katniss supplies in a stage whisper.
"She's not!" Peeta insists defensively. "She's just strict. She had to be. Raising three boys is more trouble than any woman should have to endure in one lifetime." She's told him so often enough.
"Ooh, think she'll spank me if I'm not good?" Haymitch teases. By this point he's actually curious to meet the old bat. The more irredeemable someone is, the more stubbornly Peeta defends them. He should know.
Peeta blushes bright red. Katniss laughs. "Now we have to go," she says, her eyes sparkling at the thought.
"I'd just like to have it on record that I was against this," Peeta mutters, giving in.
"Noted," Haymitch says agreeably. "Up and at 'em, honey. We're going to get food!"
"I'm pregnant, not fat, you surly old drunk," Katniss gripes.
"You're going to have to put on shoes," Peeta reminds Haymitch.
Haymitch looks down at his misshapen feet as though only just now noticing that he's barefoot. "Knew I'd forgotten something…"
Here Peeta would ask him if his feet still hurt, or if he'd been given any treatment for them at all during his most recent week in the Capitol. Except that he can't ask. He can't bring up anything about the events of the final night of the Victory Tour. With everything that's happened to Haymitch, that's the one topic Peeta knows of that's guaranteed to send him into a rage or make him withdraw and barricade himself in his den for a couple of days.
"Would you rather just wear socks?" he asks instead.
"Yeah," Haymitch says without looking up.
"Sit down. I'll get you a pair of socks," Peeta instructs.
Haymitch watches Peeta out of the room, one hand braced on the doorframe in a deceptively casual grip. Only once he's gone does Haymitch steel himself and begin the walk to the nearest chair. He limps heavily, swaying from the outside of one foot to the outside of the other, never letting his misshapen toes touch the floor. For all that, he's not slow and careful anymore. Haymitch has made this painful-looking movement into a regular, unhesitating rhythm. He's gotten used to not being able to walk normally. Katniss watches, thinking that she herself cannot get used to one more thing.
"You need a cane," she remarks, lowering herself slowly back into her chair.
"The hell I do," Haymitch says stubbornly. "It's my toes that got broke, not my goddamn leg." He's not disabled. He just can't run, or walk very fast. Stairs aren't fun either.
Katniss shrugs. "Fall, then."
"Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you?" He reaches the chair and lays a heavy hand on it, gripping tightly.
"Don't fall!" Peeta reappears in the doorway with the unnerving suddenness of a spring-loaded puppet. Maybe he was waiting in the hall, monitoring their conversation, waiting for the inevitable cue to swoop in and save the day. Katniss feels a weary self-disgust even as her lips curve in a tiny, mocking smile. It's horrible of her, but she can't seem to stop caricaturing Peeta these days. She really ought to love him. It would be so much better if she could just love him.
Peeta drops two thick pairs of socks into Haymitch's lap and then stands over him frowning like a grim sentinel. "You're getting blisters."
Haymitch looks up at him edgily. "They were blisters a month ago. I'm getting calluses." He drags one ankle up onto his knee and bunches up a sock before pulling it over the end of his foot with a quick tug. "Shit," he hisses quietly, closing his eyes.
"Haymitch-" Peeta starts.
"What? What, Peeta? What the fuck do you want?"
Peeta shakes his head. "I'm sorry." This is because of him. Him and Katniss. Ultimately, though, it's his fault alone. He's Katniss's husband. He's supposed to be her champion, her protector. Haymitch should never have had to save her by himself. He, Peeta, couldn't protect her, and now they're destroying Haymitch piece by piece.
By the look of his feet, he'll be permanently crippled. The bones are knitting back together at angles. Forming spurs, according to Elsabet. Sharp little protrusions where one part of the bone tries to keep growing straight while the other part cants sideways. Those spurs will be the major source of pain by this point. They'll always hurt, for the rest of his life.
He won't let Elsabet set the broken bones. If he lets her treat them Balthamos will see. And Balthamos will break them again and again and again. The lesson is meant to be a permanent one.
"Give me the socks so we can get going before your little brood mare starts eating the draperies," Haymitch growls, brushing the apology aside.
"This is such a terrible idea," Peeta says to himself, surrendering the socks.
"Women were made to bear, and so were you," Katniss retorts icily. Well, thank goodness they're in the den. If they were in the kitchen dishes would be flying back and forth across the room by now.
Haymitch tugs on the other sock with quick, angry motions, wincing as he pulls the thick fabric over his toes. "The second pair, too," Peeta insists. Haymitch obeys without even looking away from Katniss, like Peeta is just annoying background noise.
"Let's get going," he says, propelling himself onto his feet and swaying terrifyingly for a moment before getting his balance.