Chapter One-Hundred-and-Five; Guilt
(Haymitch & Stephanie's POV)
When Haymitch arrived back at the penthouse it was well and truly night-time and he was exhausted.
The lift doors opened and Haymitch walked almost unseeing through the darkened main room towards the bedrooms.
He didn't think twice before he opened the door.
Stephanie looked up immediately and springing from Frenkin's bed side she had enveloped him in her warm arms with three quick strides.
He sighed, feeling some sense of normalcy return to his life as he pressed his face further into the familiar, brunette cascade of hair.
"Haymitch…" she breathed and pulling back a little from her, he saw the wide-eyed concern in her golden eyes, the tears filling them and the resolved line of her lips as she refused to cry in front of him to worry him.
Stephanie raised a trembling hand to one of the particularly nasty gashes across his left cheek; her hand hovering like a pale, fluttering bird over the result of the Capitol's violence.
Seneca's guard had only been more than willing to claim retribution for Seneca's bruised throat.
"What happened?" she asked softly.
He raised his bruised knuckles to brush away the tears beginning to fall down her cheeks. "It's nothing sweetheart," he assured her.
He saw the fire flare in her golden eyes. "Don't you nothing me Haymitch! We are in this together, remember?!" Her glare softened swiftly, as she took in his battered and bruised body as he leaned more to the left.
Stephanie glanced once over her shoulder at Frenkin slumbering peacefully before she resolutely lifted Haymitch's right arm around her shoulder, encouraging him to lean on her for support as she looped her other arm about his waist.
Haymitch hissed slightly, pressing a hand with a muttered curse to his ribs and Stephanie bit down on her bottom lip. "Come on," she whispered hoarsely.
She nudged the door open with her hip, directing Haymitch in where he collapsed gratefully with a pained grunt onto her bed. Without a moment's thought she raced back out of the bedroom towards the kitchen, flinging open every cupboard her hand came in contact with even as the tears threatened to spill down her cheeks.
She finally found the first aid kit and grabbing it and a bottle of alcohol from the fridge she sprinted back to her bedroom.
Haymitch gave her a rueful half-smirk that didn't quite manage to cover his pained expression, as she placed the bottle of alcohol down on the dresser with a thud.
"Sweetheart…" Haymitch began gently.
Stephanie ignored him, tearing open the first aid kit and cursing angrily when the contents spilled across the floor, white bandages racing in every direction.
She knelt abruptly, scrambling for everything at once.
"Sweetheart…Stephanie." Haymitch's hand grasped her shoulder tightly.
Her hands stilled suddenly, and with her head bowed low she raised a hand to her face, feeling the tears despite her best efforts race down her cheeks as she bit her bottom lip hard to stop from sobbing openly, clutching a white bandage in her hand desperately.
She sniffed the tears back, swiping at them viciously as she attempted to continue picking up the scattered, medical equipment.
"Stephanie," Haymitch called her more firmly this time and giving in she raised her head to meet his grey gaze that was watching her intently.
She felt the tears bubble to the surface as silently she rose and sat on the bed beside Haymitch who was slumped against the headboard.
He took her hand in his for a brief moment as he gave her a knowing half-smirk that was tinged with sadness.
"Tell me this wasn't because of me and I'll stop blubbering," she said quietly, an almost challenging glint in her eyes.
Haymitch frowned at her. "It wasn't like that…" he began but she had already turned away from him and was starting to unscrew the lid of the bottle of alcohol as she scooped up some absorbent looking, white material from the floor.
"It was – What on earth are you doing?" Haymitch asked, half-frowning as Stephanie refused to listen to him, and half-frowning in complete puzzlement.
She glared back at him, the cap of the alcohol held between her teeth as she soaked the white bandages in alcohol. "Sanitizing your cuts," she mumbled around the lid in her mouth.
Haymitch sighed exasperated as with a rueful expression he swiped the bandages from her hand, tossing them out of her reach and grabbed the bottle which he took a long swig from, wincing slightly as the alcohol burned against his bust lip.
"For a start sweetheart, you ain't a medic, and you only use alcohol as a last resort when there's no medical alternative – which there is." Haymitch nodded briefly to the first aid kit, lying unheeded at her feet.
Stephanie bending for a moment hauled the first aid kit onto her knees, keeping her gaze resolutely on what her hands were doing.
Haymitch watched her hands fumble with the small bottles as she chewed on her bottom lip, struggling to read the labels with her eyes misted over.
Sighing Haymitch reached out, tucking the curtain of her hair she had allowed to fall across her face as a shield, behind her ear.
"Stephanie," Haymitch called her softly and she looked up at him.
"Don't tell me not to be upset Haymitch," she grumbled at him with fierce eyes. "You come in beat to a pulp and…and…" Her voice trailed off as her eyes took in the purpling bruises beginning to bloom, visible through the tears in his shirt.
"I wasn't going to. I just want to make sure you're not upset over the wrong reasons," he told her.
She arched a brow at him. "And what are they?" she said testily.
"This isn't your fault," he told her, clutching her wrist when she made to get up from the bed.
She looked down morosely at his hand clutching hers, her eyes tracing with a deep sadness his torn up knuckles.
She raised a tentative hand to cradle his as beginning anew she soaked more of the white bandage in the correct stuff this time, before she gently applied it to his knuckles, gingerly wiping away the specks of dirt.
"What happened?" she asked softly, chancing a glimpse up at him.
He took a long drink as he considered carefully.
Tell Stephanie about Seneca? Impossible.
She wouldn't stop blaming herself.
But then what did he tell her?
"It doesn't matter," he finally said, cringing when she quite deliberately applied more pressure, throwing a glare at him.
"It does," she muttered.
Haymitch snickered slightly. "Are you going to go and beat up the bullies for me?" he teased lightly.
Her frown deepened. "This isn't funny Haymitch!"
"I know – I am the injured one remember!"
Stephanie winced at his words, her lips downturned as she stared distressed at his busted up hands. Haymitch sighed heavily.
"Stephanie, sweetheart…" Haymitch made to move his hand when she suddenly clutched it fiercely within her own. "Stop moving," she scolded as swiping up a bandage from the floor she began to wrap it carefully around his hand.
Haymitch let her and when she was done wrapping his hand in enough bandage that it resembled a boxing glove, he used his other hand to gently tug her closer.
Reluctantly she scooted further up the bed towards him and only when his breath was stirring her hair did she look up at him with guilt-ridden eyes.
Haymitch sighed…again. "Ah, what am I to do with you?" Haymitch breathed softly, nudging her chin upwards when she attempted to drop her gaze again. "This isn't your fault."
She looked up at him completely grief-stricken; her gaze darting about his face from his left grazed cheek, to his busted lip to the deeper gash above his right eye, until finally her golden gaze met his silver-grey one.
"You went to find out about Dan. Dan was here because of me," Stephanie argued resolutely.
"What if I told you I fell down a flight of stairs – drunk." He flashed her a quick smile.
There was a brief glimpse of amusement to her expression before it was wiped away just as swiftly and she rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't believe you."
Haymitch raised a hand to her cheek, only to frown as he realised it was the hand that Stephanie had wrapped up to the size of a football.
He arched a brow at it and Stephanie finally snickered, dropping her head into her hands as she gazed up at him; her face filled with a multitude of things.
Her worried eyes still swam with guilty tears, but her lips were tugged into a stubborn, sad smile as painfully earnest across her whole expression was her love.
She leaned up suddenly and gently placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth to avoid the tender gash.
"I love you," she murmured, rising slightly to place a kiss on his cheek.
He slid his arm around her waist, capturing her lips once more with his, ignoring the twinge of pain the friction caused as her lips glided against his.
Stephanie raised tentative hands to smooth across Haymitch's shoulders; her touch light as she feared to upset any tender bruises.
Her touches grew more daring as Haymitch showed no evident signs of distress and her hands slipped deftly from Haymitch's shoulders to the front of his ripped shirt where her fingers became to fumble with the first button.
Haymitch pulled back slightly, glancing down briefly as her hands moved on to the second button. "Sweetheart…?" Haymitch's voice was part questioning in light amusement and half husky, slipping further into something more.
"Your shirt's ruined," she murmured, her hands making quick and steady work of the buttons of Haymitch's shirt until it fell open with a quiet rustle and Stephanie inhaled sharply.
Stephanie's eyes traced the deep purpling welts that ran across Haymitch's chest and the deep red and indigo growing blotches along his ribs.
Stephanie remained frozen and Haymitch glanced down at his own torso. "Pipe I think," he explained in an almost carless tone.
Stephanie threw Haymitch a brief scowl that lacked its usual intensity as she swallowed thickly. "Don't be so damn casual," she muttered half-heartedly.
Haymitch sighed as he realised that attempting to get anywhere towards Stephanie not blaming herself tonight would be nigh on impossible.
Resolutely, and with many hissed curses – from both – Haymitch allowed Stephanie to attend to every scrape, gash and bruise on him. She even insisted on dabbing resolutely at a two day old healing scratch he had got from shaving on his chin.
By the end he could smell nothing but antiseptic and Stephanie had used so many bandages she was in danger of mummifying him.
However when she looked at him, she nodded with a small smile, feeling slightly better that she had been able to do something at least.
And so for the past hour or so, Stephanie had been lying beside Haymitch, curled against him but wary of actually putting any pressure on him as she dozed in and out of sleep; the sky gradually lightening outside.
As she slept fitfully, her fingers lightly linked with his, Haymitch's thoughts drifted to more pressing matters.
Concerning Seneca.
The only possible miniscule positive with his encounter with the Gamemaker, meant he could reluctantly concede to bringing Stephanie to training again.
When Seneca had turned up at Sterlin's apartment Haymitch had scrapped the idea of ever taking Stephanie back there.
But that wasn't the main problem by far. The main problem now was…
How could he possibly tell Stephanie that she had to trust Seneca?