Last Time in Damaged, Broken, and Unhinged:

I knock again, louder this time, putting my shoulder into each thump on the door. Once again I wait, but this time I hear the unmistakable sounds of someone trying to wade through the mess of glass and who knows what.

Eventually Haymitch opens the door, a fetid stench almost knocking me off my feet. I'm so bowled over by the smell, I almost don't register Haymitch's shouted, "Go away!"

I do register, however, the slam of the door in my face.

I stand out in the cold, a half-smile forming on my lips. "You'll have to make me."

oOo

Damaged, Broken, and Unhinged
by RoseFyre & FanficAllergy

oOo

Chapter Fifteen: Win a Little More

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"Victory is won not in miles but in inches. Win a little now, hold your ground, and later, win a little more."
― Louis L'Amour

oOo

The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that Haymitch is the answer. I need a job; he needs a housekeeper. Ergo, it's a perfect match.

I just need to inform him of that.

I also need to make sure when I do this informing he isn't three sheets to the wind. Which means finding him early in the day, before his first bottle of Ripper's white liquor.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I get up early and fabricate a reason to go to the Hob. I could use the squirrel Prim shot to trade with the baker, or even eat it myself, but it'd be suspicious if I went to the Hob without a reason to be there. The last thing I want is for people to think I'm stalking Haymitch, even if that is exactly what I intend on doing.

It's early. The Hob is nearly deserted, the thin walls doing little to keep out the early spring cold. The busiest time is later, after the mines close and school lets out. The few people that are here are the deal hunters, the regulars, and the traders setting up their booths for the day. Thom's mother looks up from a stack of boxes, a little frown of concern on her face. I haven't told Thom what I'm doing, but I know I need to do so soon. He has opinions about the Victor, unflattering opinions, and I know he'll be upset if he finds out I'm working for Haymitch from someone else.

Later. I need to find Haymitch and bully him into giving me a job first.

I'm unsurprised to see Darius seated at Sae's stall. I shoot him a quick smile before sidling over to Ripper's establishment. As I suspected, Haymitch is there, hands shaking as he sips at a glass of white liquor. Next to him sits Cray, a white flask cradled in his hands. Everyone knows he drinks too, but the flask helps maintain the fiction that the Head Peacekeeper is completely sober.

I'd rather do this without an audience, but it can't be helped. I stand there, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for Haymitch to look up.

When he finally does, he croaks out, "What're you lookin' at?"

"I want to talk to you."

An eyebrow goes up. "Ain't that what you're doin' right now?"

He's got me there. "I need a job," I blurt out.

He blinks and takes a sip from his glass. "What's that got to do with me?"

"Well, you have money."

"Yeah…"

"And you can't spend it all on alcohol."

"Not for lack of tryin'." He holds his glass up as if it's a souvenir.

I soldier on, refusing to let his flippant attitude dissuade me. "And your house is a mess."

Another gulp. "So Effie tells me."

"I want to be your housekeeper."

There's a moment of silence while Haymitch digests that.

Finally he asks, "You insane?"

"No."

"Stupid?"

"No." I cross my arms over my chest and try to stare him down. It's the same trick I use on Aven when he's doing something he knows he shouldn't.

Seemingly unable to hold my gaze, he turns to Cray. "You know her. She lying?"

"She filled in for Mavis when she was taking care of her granddaughter." The Peacekeeper's voice is carefully neutral.

"Oh yeah?" He takes another sip. "She do a good job?"

Cray meets my eyes. There's a hint of approval in them. "I'd say so. Actually made the canned food that the Capitol sends me edible."

Haymitch nods slowly. "Good to know."

"So what do you say?" I ask. I need an answer, a real answer.

Haymitch grunts into his glass, finishing it off. Tossing off a sardonic salute, he stands, grabs two bottles of Ripper's supply, and flips several coins at her. Without even a parting glance, he leaves.

I stare after him in annoyance-filled shock. I don't dare chase after him to demand he repeat what he said. I don't think it's a yes, but I'm damned sure it wasn't a no. Fine; if he wants to play it that way, we can play it that way. I'm not going to give up until he says yes or calls the Peacekeepers on me.

No one messes with Katniss Everdeen.

oOo

At lunch, Peeta joines Delly, Thom, and me, something he hasn't done in a while.

"Where's Nata?" Delly asks, looking up from her sandwich.

"She's out sick, so I decided that I'd eat with friends. Assuming I'm still welcome."

"Of course you are! Sit!" Delly takes the opportunity to scooch closer to Thom, as well as allow Peeta more room.

"So how are things going?" I ask once Peeta sits down and takes out his lunch.

He raises his eyebrow, asking a question. Is it okay if he shares what he's doing in front of the group?

I shrug. It's up to him.

I see Peeta glance at Delly and Thom, then make a decision. "I don't have good news, I'm afraid. Nobody's hiring except for the bakery and well…" he trails off.

"No apprenticeships?" I clarify.

"No. Although there are some coming up, I hear, in the fall. Just nothing now." He opens his lunch, a crust of stale bread and a rind of cheese, less than his usual fare. "It's a lean time for everyone."

Delly nods her head emphatically. "Yeah, Dad was just saying that if things don't start to look up soon, one of us kids might have to look into taking out tesserae." As the oldest who's still of Reaping age, Delly would likely be the one encouraged to take out tesserae. I can tell the thought scares her. Extra slips in the bowl. Unconsciously, she folds her arms over her chest and rubs them up and down. There isn't much comfort we can offer; all the rest of us here at the table have extra slips in the bowl. Extra chances to be Reaped. She's lucky she's made it as long as she has without having to take that step.

But none of us say that. Instead, Thom slips an arm around her, drawing her close, and murmurs, "I'm sure business will pick up soon. Kids grow like weeds in the spring and summer. There's bound to be lots of people needin' new shoes. Why, my mom always gets flooded with kids' shoes come this time of year." What he doesn't say is that most of them come from Seam kids who've died from the spate of spring illnesses or starvation.

But the empty platitudes seem to work and Delly perks right back up. "See! This is why I love you! You always know the right thing to say to make me smile."

My eyes widen at Delly's off-the-cuff declaration of love, and my eyes immediately steal to Thom. Underneath his dark olive skin, there's a reddish blush trickling up his cheeks, darkening them. But I know it's not from embarrassment, and if it is, it's tempered by happiness. There's a crinkle at the corners of his eyes that he can't hide. I know Thom too well. I know just how much those words have affected him.

I tear my eyes away to meet Peeta's. There's a hint of amusement in his gaze, as if to say, "Aren't they adorable?"

I nod. Yes. Yes they are.

oOo

After school, I try Haymitch's house again. I swung by the Hob on my way over to make sure he wasn't there, and there really isn't anyplace else he'd be. He never goes to the saloon, the same saloon the rumors state my uncle spends much of his time at. I have a guess as to why. The Capitol doesn't want its miners to drink; it would affect their ability to work. They don't care about their merchants. And Haymitch, for all of his money, for all of his fame, for all of the laws he's exempt from as a Victor, is Seam through and through. He wouldn't feel comfortable at the town bar.

Or at least, I know I wouldn't, if I were him.

Unlike my first visit, the lights are on inside. In fact, if I had to guess, every single light is on. I'm envious of his electricity.

But when I knock on the door, I don't hear a peep inside. Not a thump or a clink or a clank. Nothing.

I try again. Louder.

Still nothing.

Haymitch is probably asleep. Or passed out, which amounts to the same thing.

I circle the house, looking in the windows, assessing the damage. It's even worse than I thought. Haymitch needs a housekeeper, and I'm not going to stop until he hires me.

oOo

The following day, I pick Aven up from Hazelle earlier than I want, immediately after school.

This morning when I dropped him off I got my first warning that Hazelle might be on to us. It's a simple offhand comment of "Your mom must be really busy. I never see her anymore." But it's enough to get the alarm bells ringing.

We can't afford to have her follow that thought to its logical conclusion. That my mother's incapacitated, or worse, dead.

I should start looking for another place to drop Aven off. Someplace I can switch off with Hazelle. But that's going to cost money. More money than I have. And worse, anyone I tried to hire would wonder why I'm the one doing the bargaining, not my mother. Prim and I are barely keeping Hazelle from finding out. Someone new would be impossible.

I wish that Thom's older sister was able to take care of Aven; she knows me well enough and wouldn't ask questions. But she's pregnant and has a one-year-old, and watching her youngest sister and her neighbor's two kids is about all she can handle right now. So I'm stuck.

To throw the scent off, I need a job. To get a job, I need to have someone watch my brother. It's a vicious circle.

Aven struggles to keep up with me along the walk to Haymitch's house. He's not used to walking this far. And he's definitely not used to walking this far in the snow. It's actually not that long of a walk, maybe a mile and a half, from Hazelle's to Haymitch's, but Aven starts faltering after less than a mile.

I'm proud he's made it this far, so without slowing down, I pick him up and carry him the rest of the way, singing to him as I do. That was a trick of our father's. When he sensed a meltdown was imminent, he'd head it off with a story or a song.

I miss his cool collected nature and calm under fire so much. I miss my dad. Things would be so much different if he'd lived, even just a month or two longer.

Pushing the thoughts away, I stride determinedly into Victor's Village and to Haymitch's house. I am not going to stop until I get an answer.

He can't ignore me forever.

The lights are still on when I get there, which is actually a good sign. It means it's unlikely that he's gotten started on his first bender of the day. Since he wasn't at the Hob - a quick peek in on my way to get Aven told me that - he's probably here.

I pound on the door with no answer.

Undaunted, I pound on it again.

Still no answer.

With a little grin, I put Aven down and let him pound on it. It's not as loud as my knocks, but he enjoys himself.

Unfortunately, again, no answer.

We both pound on the door, calling out, "Haymitch, Haymitch," over and over again, like some kind of nursery rhyme. We're lucky no one else is around, we probably sound like a bunch of lunatics. But I don't care. If it gets the Victor out where I can talk with him, I can handle a little bit of lunacy.

Finally the door wrenches open and a disheveled and bleary-eyed Haymitch stands before me. "Why are you here?!" he screams half in frustration, half in exasperation. "Can't you let a guy pass out in peace?"

I take a step back, crossing my arms over my chest. "I need a job."

Aven nods once and then wanders into the house.

Haymitch watches him go, before turning back to me. "You've said that."

"You need a housekeeper," I say, holding up the dirty spoon my brother just brought me.

"You've said that too."

I toss the spoon back inside the house, not caring where it lands. "Give me a job."

"Why?"

"Other than this place is a mess and not fit to live in?" Aven hands me a messy towel and I brandish it at Haymitch.

The drunk doesn't even have the decency to blink. "Yes. Other than that."

"Because this place is a mess and not fit to live in," I throw the towel in his face, " and clearly you can't handle it. Also, you probably haven't had anything healthy to eat in close to twenty-five years, and I'm a good cook." Aven brings a broken bottle out to me. "Plus, I figure I'd be doing our district a favor," I say, reaching down to take Aven's hand before he wanders off and brings back something worse, like a knife.

"Oh?" Haymitch asks, scrubbing at his face with the filthy towel.

"Yeah. I figure the reason all our tributes die is because you're so drunk that you can't even get a single sponsor."

The towel falls from his face. "Hey!"

"Prove me wrong." I spread my arm expansively toward the eleven empty houses. "Show me all the Victors you have."

"Now that's fightin' dirty." He pauses, a glimmer of respect shining in his eyes. "You've got spunk. I like that."

"Yeah, so you like my spunk? Give me a job."

He tosses the towel behind him and crosses his arms. "I don't need a housekeeper. I'm fine."

"You are not fine."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not."

"Am."

"Not."

"Am."

"N-" I cut the word short when I realize what we're doing. "What are we, three?"

"I'm three," Aven pipes up.

Haymitch spares him a pat on the head. "That's nice, kid." He looks back at me. "Why are you being so pushy about this?"

Suddenly the dam breaks free and the words pour out of me. "Because if I don't get a job, then that's the end. There's three of us, and I'm already taking out tesserae, and if I don't get this job, my sister will have to take out tesserae, or we'll end up in the Community Home, or I'll have to keep selling myself to Peacekeepers, and I can't do that." I force back the tears; they won't help right now. They're a weakness. Haymitch doesn't like weakness. So I need to be strong. Determined. "So please, give me this job. Do something useful for once. I know you can't save the tributes in the Games. Well, save us."

Haymitch scratches his chin and frowns. "Why would you end up in the Community Home?"

Crap. I've said too much. "My dad died and my mom's really sick," I half-lie. It's the truth, sort of. If you count near-catatonic from grief as really sick.

Haymitch's eyes narrow but he doesn't push. "I'll think about it." He turns away and slams the door in my face.

I let out a deep breath and sag against the walls of Haymitch's house, emotionally drained.

"He's mean," Aven says.

I scoop my brother up and give him a hug. "Yes, he is mean." I pause, a little smile tickling the corners of my mouth. "But he didn't say no."

oOo

AN:
Written: 7/30/18
Revised: 9/4/18

Before you all correct us, we know it's a vicious cycle. Katniss doesn't have the education and the book learning to know the difference. We do. It's a deliberate mistake.

So now you see a bit more of where we were going with the title of the story - Damaged, Broken, and Unhinged - and why we didn't take the exact wording of the quote: "You are damaged and broken and unhinged. But so are shooting stars and comets."― Nikita Gill

Each word describes one of our main characters. Damaged: Peeta. Broken: Katniss. Unhinged: Haymitch.

Raise your hands, those of you who guessed Haymitch would be an important character in this fic. Congratulations! Give yourselves a cookie.

You can get more information about our original writing here:

Website: RoseLarkPublishing

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Until next time! Thanks for reading!