Title/song is, of course, the brilliant Sam Smith's Stay with Me.
STAY WITH ME
Rated T
Guess it's true, I'm not good at a one-night stand
But I still need love 'cause I'm just a man
These nights never seem to go to plan
I don't want you to leave, will you hold my hand?
The first time he slipped inside of her had been in the heat of the moment. They were arguing, both of them drunker than they should have been, words were exchanged, insults hurled, and then she slapped him.
He'd grabbed her, mostly in shock, when she'd raised her hand to slap him again, and then she was pinned against the wall.
How it went from slapping to angry kisses and lifted skirts and unbuckled pants he'll never know.
Afterwards she pushed him away. She didn't look angry. Nor did she look hurt. She just smoothed down her skirt, while he stood there, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.
"Not bad," she had said, walking towards the door. "Not bad at all for an insufferable drunk. It'll never happen again, of course. Not even in your dreams, Haymitch." The warning was quite clear: keep his mouth shut.
But he couldn't help but think she wasn't so bad either, for a Capitol bitch.
And he couldn't understand the small, minute sense of loneliness he felt when he went to bed that night.
Oh, won't you stay with me?
'Cause you're all I need
This ain't love, it's clear to see
But darling, stay with me
So much for a one night stand.
It happened again. A couple of years later. The tenth year anniversary of his Games. Another drunken night, but without the fight.
They thought there was no way it'd ever happen again, because after the first time he was crueler and meaner, and nastier, and it hurt more than she cared to admit, until he'd screamed that he hated her.
He'd meant it.
There was nothing more than a quiet disdain radiating from her after that, and then his anniversary came up, and there they were, in the Penthouse, highlights of his Games flashing across the screen out of nowhere, and she'd turned the television off so fast that Haymitch that thought he'd gone blind with rage.
And then the bottle of wine was across the room, and he turned to find Effie grabbing another bottle. He barely ducked in time for it to miss him.
That still wasn't as shocking as seeing the anger in her eyes, and when the third bottle flew through the air, this time smashing against the wall, he walked up to her, intent on shaking some sense into her, only it didn't exactly turn out that way.
Afterwards, their bodies flushed with sweat, sticking to the couch, Haymitch buried his face in her neck.
"Tell them I made the mess. They'll believe that," Haymitch said.
He pretended not to feel it, the soft caress on his back, because acknowledging it was disaster in the making. This wasn't love, or a fairytale, and it never would be. No happily ever after for the Escort and the Mentor.
After a minute she shifted, and he took that as his cue. He sat up and they got dressed, never looking at each other.
When she walked out, he had to bite his tongue to keep from asking her to stay.
Why am I so emotional?
No, it's not a good look, gain some self-control
And deep down I know this never works
But you can lay with me so it doesn't hurt
There was really no turning back after that night. Not when he swallowed his pride and made his way to her room. She seemed so eager, so ready for him, and if he thought about it for too long all of these feelings and emotions started swimming their way around his mind.
He thought being away from her for a year would help his self-control, except as the years passed, he found himself anxious for Reaping Day. And how fucking sick was that, to actually be waiting for Reaping Day, just so he could get his rocks off and feel alive by the very bitch who controlled death.
That's why it'd never work. And those days he saw her looking at him, with that look, he always made sure he was extra cruel.
Aside from the days when he was too drunk, and he held her close. Those nights he could make believe, like they lived in a world where who they are and what they felt was okay.
He was hurting her, he knew it, but he couldn't fucking stop.
He was hurting himself, too though.
Some days he didn't know what numbed the pain more, his best bottle of whiskey, or Effie.
Oh, won't you stay with me?
'Cause you're all I need
This ain't love, it's clear to see
But darling, stay with me
They'd never work. Of course they wouldn't. Not with so many years of confusion and bitterness and mistrust. But when she showed up on his doorstep, who was he to turn her away? Not him, the one that had gotten her taken in the first place.
They weren't themselves around each other. He didn't know how to act, afraid to be cruel, but too used to being anything but kind. They wanted to comfort each other, heal each other, but how, when they were disaster in the making, and always had been?
Would probably always would be too.
Which is why when she packed her bags one day he wasn't surprised. What did surprise him was how much the thought of being without her scared him, so as she approached the door, arm outstretched to turn the knob, he blurted out the words he'd wanted to say to her for fifteen years.
"Stay with me."
She stopped, slowly turned, and stared at him. They had a silent argument without ever opening their mouths.
She dropped her bag, sighing.
They'd probably kill each other.
But damn it, she was staying, and that's really all that mattered.
SOOOOOOO I've decided to another Ash story, and figuring it's October, I thought I'd write a story where 12 celebrates their first Halloween. So with that said… I really want to dress up Haymitch as something utterly ridiculous because Ash is his son and he's spoiled rotten blah, blah, blah, so I need ideas/suggestions for what hilarious costumes you want to see Haymitch in. I'm taking ideas for the next few days, so please leave your suggestions in a REVIEW. I was thinking like Peter Pan or something really embarrassing that Haymitch doesn't want to do, but he can't tell Ash or Effie no? Looking forward to your ideas!
-thamockingjayandpeeta
