AN: I took a few liberties with the timeline laid out in the last few paragraphs of Mockingjay. So, you know, sorry. :)
. . . . . .
Day Nine
. . . . . .
Haymitch sleeps deep and dreamless all night and into the next day, not stirring until someone pounds on his door at eleven o'clock. He comes back into something like wakefulness with a terrible feeling of unease, as if something dreadful has happened that he cannot quite remember. That, plus his raging headache and the fact that his limbs feel like they're filled with sand, makes him inclined to bury his face deeper into the sofa and keep sleeping. But the insistent knocking on his door carries on for nearly five minutes, and finally he gives in and acknowledges that he's not going to get any more sleep until that knocking stops, so he forces himself off the sofa and stumbles to the door.
It's Peeta, and Haymitch hasn't seen the boy this angry in a long time. "What did you do?" he demands without preamble.
Haymitch shields his eyes from the bright sun. "What do you mean?"
"What did you do?" Peeta repeats. "To Effie."
Effie.
The memories of last night hit him like a train. Last night. Effie. The dance. The kiss. The alcohol. The fight. He'd told her she looked ridiculous, that she'd never get the Capitol taint off her. He'd told her that there was nothing she could do to make up for what she'd done. She'd run away. He'd regretted it.
He needs to talk to her. But what would he say? What could he say? He still not sure how much of it he meant.
"I know it was something," Peeta insists.
Haymitch shifts uncomfortably. "She didn't tell you?"
Peeta shakes his head. "I woke up this morning and she had her bags packed, but all she'd say is it's time to go home. But she told us last night she was staying for a few more days, and you're the last one who talked to her before she changed her mind. So I know it was something you did."
Haymitch hesitates, regret and indecision twisting at his insides. "I should . . . talk to her."
"Good luck," says Peeta, turning and gesturing toward the west. "Because she just caught the train out of town."
Haymitch stands very still. Then he shuts the door in Peeta's face, walks back to the sofa, and goes back to sleep.
. . . . . .
Day Ten
. . . . . .
On the morning of the next day he finally forces himself off the sofa. He's no longer hungover, but he still feels miserable, inside and out, and part of him would like to stay on that sofa forever. But he's ravenously hungry, and that's what finally gets him standing upright.
There's not much in the kitchen; he's eaten every meal at Peeta's for the past week and a half, so he hasn't bothered to keep anything in the house (or rather, since he doesn't obtain his own food, he's told Jo not to buy him any produce and Katniss hasn't brought him any game). But there's the remnants of some food parcels from the Capitol, so he opens a can of beans and eats them cold. The inside of his mouth tastes disgusting, and that flavor mixed with cold beans is just about the worst thing he's tasted in a wile, but he's hungry enough that he deals with it.
When he pours himself some water, the glass reminds him of the glasses of alcohol at the party, and he has a strange sensation as he looks at it. Part of him suddenly craves a drink—he often does; danger of being an alcoholic—but part of him, remembering what happened the last time he drank, is suddenly repelled by the thought of it. But no matter how he feels about drinking right now, there's no real risk of him doing it; there's nothing in the house, and even if there were any to be had elsewhere in the district, he is in no mood to go outside (possibly ever again).
The sunlight pouring through the windows is mildly warm, and he sits contentedly at his table for nearly an hour, clearing his mind, not letting himself think of anything. Maybe he can decide to never get up from this table. Maybe he can stay in this room, eating cold beans, for the rest of his life.
Around noon there's a knocking on his door. "Haymitch?" It's Katniss.
He doesn't respond.
"Open the door, Haymitch. Come on, we're worried about you."
If he's quiet long enough, she'll have to go away.
This carries on for a minute or two, and finally he hears her give an exasperated sigh. "Just do something so I know you're not dead. Please?"
He hesitates, and then he reaches out and raps his knuckles on the wooden table.
"All right," she says, "I guess that'll have to do."
She must leave after that, because he doesn't hear from her again. Part of him wishes he'd let her in.
. . . . . .
Day Twelve
. . . . . .
By the fourth day after the party, it feels like Effie's visit never happened. Her being there brought them all together, her and him and the kids, but now he hasn't seen them in days—not since Katniss's visit, and he didn't actually see her then. He's gone back to his usual routine: sleeping, lounging, trying not to think—he even pops outside to feed his geese once, though he waits until no one else is in sight. No drinking, though, and he's still not sure of his reasons for refusing to walk to the trading post and see if they have any alcohol for sale. He makes up for the lack of alcohol with his second favorite way to disconnect from the real world: more sleep.
He doesn't realize what a mess he is until Jo shows up for her weekly cleaning. The place is no worse than it has been for the last six months, but still it makes the normally stoic woman purse her lips disapprovingly. "Is that the same clothing you wore to the party?" she demands.
He looks down at him. "I guess so."
Then she glances at the kitchen, which is littered with half-eaten cans of beans and potatoes and stew. "How long have you been sitting in your kitchen, eating food straight from the can?
He starts to count on his fingers, but then he realizes what he's doing and shakes his head, annoyed. "I don't pay you to babysit me," he says. "Just to clean."
"What happened?" she says. "The past few times I've seen you, you've been . . . clean. Happy. Active. What happened?"
Effie happened. The thought comes to his mind, unbidden, and he covers his sudden discomfort by scowling at her. "What happened to my shy little housekeeper? I like you better quiet."
She draws back a little, surprised at the words or the harsh tone, but then she appears to come to a decision and folds her arms. "Mr. Abernathy, I know I just clean for you, but I worry about you, too. I was glad that you seemed so much better off last week. But now this—" she gestures at the pile of cans— "this not healthy."
He shrugs. "Welcome to my life."
And who would have known that little Jo has a backbone? "Fine," she says firmly. "If all you'll let me do is clean, then I'm cleaning you. Go upstairs and take off those clothes; they are filthy and I need to get them to the laundry and see if we can salvage your best jacket. And then you're going to shower. You smell like a mulch pile."
He stares at her a long time, and then he discreetly sniffs himself. She's right, he does smell like a mulch pile. "Fine," he grumbles, and he turns and stumbles up the stairs for the first time since the day of the party. In his room he strips off his clothes and notices for the first time how itchy they've become. "Clothes are on my floor!" he yells down at Jo, and clomps to the bathroom for a shower.
Goodness gracious, he loves hot showers. Why has he been putting this off so long?
A long time later, he steps out of his bedroom, thoroughly washed and dressed in clean clothes, and finds Jo dusting one of the spare rooms upstairs. She tenses when he walks in, and he can guess why. "I was a jerk earlier," he says by way of apology.
She looks surprised. "No, I was too pushy."
But he shakes his head. "I probably needed that."
They fall back into silence, Haymitch leaning against an empty dresser, Jo dusting the window sill. After a long time, she asks, not looking up, "Do you want to talk about . . . anything?"
And the thing is, weirdly, he does. He wants an outsider's opinion, and here's an outsider, offering to opine. So he hesitates, and then he asks, "You think you can ever forgive the Capitol?"
Her expression grows thoughtful, although her dusting doesn't flag. "Depends on what you mean by the Capitol," she says. "You mean President Snow? The people around him? No, I don't know if I ever will. But if you mean the city itself, all the people who live there? I used to hate them. But then, after the war I realized . . . the Hunger Games were designed to control them just as much as us."
Haymitch has never thought about it that way before.
"Of course, they lucked out—they got the carrot and we got the stick—but the point is . . ." She shrugs. "I'm not mad at them."
"Okay," says Haymitch, "but what about somewhere in between? What about someone who wasn't part of Snow's government but was still part of it all? Like a stylist, or . . ."
"Or an escort?" Jo says, and looks at him with a knowing smile.
So much for trying to be subtle. "Yeah, like an escort," he grumbles.
Jo turns back to her dusting. "That one's harder. Those people didn't just sit there and get force-fed the Hunger Games, they loved it. They sought it out. I don't think anyone could blame you if you decided that's something you can't forgive." She hesitates. "But if you can forgive the average people in the Capitol, because Snow manipulated them into thinking the Hunger Games was a good idea, is it that big a leap to forgive the people who got manipulated like that and then just took their love for the Games a little bit farther?"
And then her hand grows still, and she takes a breath, as though she's working her way up to saying something to him. Then she turns. "You smiled when she was around. You didn't smile before."
He sighs. "I know," he says. And they both fall silent.
. . . . . .
Jo heats up some stew for him before she leaves, and he picks at it but has no appetite. He's been spoiled by eating at Peeta's; even if there were only canned stew to eat there, the boy would know what herbs and spices to add to make it bearable, and he'd have delicious rolls to eat on the side. And then Haymitch could eat with someone other than the geese and the ghosts in his head for company. Peeta would carry the conversation, and Katniss would fight her natural reticence and talk back to him because she might not realize it yet but she loves that boy. And they'd both try to pull Haymitch into the conversation and if he was feeling willing he'd let them do it . . . He sighs. He does miss those kids.
Eventually he gives up on the stew and feeds the geese. The family from next door is walking by as he leaves the house, and the children watch the geese with delight in their eyes, and the parents smile at Haymitch. To his surprise, he smiles back.
It's one-thirty when he gets back inside, according to the clock in the kitchen, and he heaves a sigh as he sees it. He used to be good at doing nothing, at wiling away the hours and the days and the months, content to waste time until he's allowed to die. But after the last week, where something was always happening, he's lost the knack. He can't even think of what he used to do to waste the day. He wanders back into the living room, wondering if he's tired enough to take a nap (definitely not, he's done nothing but sleep lately), and that's when he notices something sitting on top of his video card player. It's a video card, and written across the top in careful, loopy writing is "Stories Across Panem." It's Effie's; she must have left it here when they watched it the other night. He stares at it a long time, and then he puts it in the player and turns the TV on.
They watched the first four episodes already, so he navigates to the fifth one and hits play. It turns out to be the one that Effie and Rowan were talking about in town that one day, the one about the little girl in 5 who went blind. And it's good. It's so, so good. He's not a man who cries much, but if he were, he thinks he might cry over this, which is a big deal for him. It's done with such sensitivity, such compassion for this little girl, that he feels certain that the crew who put this together felt the same way he does. And then he remembers Effie saying that it took them twice as long to put together because everyone was crying. Effie, who he accused of being part of his nightmare, who he said could never atone for what she'd done, crying over a little girl from the districts.
He finishes the other three episodes on the video card, and then he lies back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling for a long time. And then he gets up, leaves his house, and walks across the way to Peeta's.
Katniss answers his knock. "So you're not dead," she says, and her sarcasm can't hide the truth he reads in her eyes: she's glad to see him.
His answering smile is small and not entirely happy, but it's a smile. "Not yet."
"Haymitch?" Peeta comes out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. Haymitch can read his expression like a book—occupational hazard of being a mentor—and he can see Peeta's still not happy with him. But after a long moment, his expression softens. "Good to see you."
It occurs to Haymitch now that he has no reason to be over here—no invitation, no planned activity, just a sudden need to be with other people. To be with these two people, to be precise. So he asks awkwardly, "What are you two up to?"
"Baking," says Peeta. "I had some leftover chocolate after cooking for Unity Day, and there's a little girl across the way having a birthday. So we thought . . ."
"You thought," says Katniss. "I'm happy to help, but we all know you're the nice one here."
Peeta smiles at her.
Katniss eyes Haymitch. "You . . . want to give us a hand?"
He sighs. "You're being very polite."
She shrugs. "I know what it's like to not want to talk about things."
He hesitates. "Yeah, I'll help."
And so he does, as much as he ever helps in the kitchen. He watches while Peeta bakes and Katniss follows his instructions, and they very carefully only make small talk about the weather and how the cookies are turning out. When they've cooled a little, Peeta wraps the cookies up in a napkin and he and Katniss walk them over the neighbor's house. Haymitch elects to stay behind, but as soon as he's alone he regrets it because now that no one's distracting him, he can't think of anything except for how much this house makes him think of Effie. That's the apron she wore when they cooked. That's the counter she always left her gloves on. That's the chair she always took at the table. There's that unpleasant twisting in his stomach again, the one he's felt on and off ever since he found out she left. With a groan, he collapses on Peeta's sofa and throws his arm over his eyes, blocking out the world.
That's how Katniss and Peeta find him when they return fifteen minutes later. "Sorry we were so long," says Peeta. "They wanted us to come in and . . . are you all right?"
Haymitch says nothing.
"All right, stay on the sofa," says Katniss affably. "Are you staying for dinner? Because we'll need more—"
"I kissed her," says Haymitch from under the arm on his face.
"Oh," says Peeta, sounding surprised.
"I'm a little surprised too," says Haymitch. Both that he kissed her and that he's volunteering that information now—but sometimes you just need to talk about things.
"Oh, I'm not surprised you kissed her," Peeta corrects him. "I'm just surprised you're telling us."
"You're not surprised I kissed her?"
"Haymitch, are you kidding?" That's Katniss talking now. "You two were all over each other all week—holding hands, cuddling . . . we found you two curled up together sleeping on the sofa one day. It was . . ." She pauses. "Disgusting," she finishes, at the same time that Peeta reluctantly says, "Kind of adorable."
Haymitch lowers his arm from his eyes and stares at them. "Seriously?"
"Kind of adorable," Peeta confirms.
Katniss snorts. "I was surprised it took you that long to kiss her. I was expecting a special announcement from you two from about the third day she was here."
He has a vague memory of Effie saying something the night of the party, about how the way he'd been acting made her think he was interested. Apparently she wasn't the only one thinking that. He puts his hands on his face and groans. "I wasn't interested in her." Was he?
"Really?" Peeta sounds skeptical. "You sure acted like it."
And Peeta's right. He did act like it. He did hold her hand a lot. He did get sort of deliciously short of breath when she was near. He did find excuses to touch her and . . . and . . . he groans again.
"So you kissed her," Katniss says. "And then she left the next morning. That must have been a pretty crappy kiss."
"You're hilarious, kid."
"So what did you do?" she presses.
And he really doesn't want to talk about this . . . except that on some level he really does want to talk about this. "I yelled at her," he admits.
"You yelled at her at the beginning of her visit," Peeta points out. "She didn't leave then."
"Well, I might have . . . gotten pretty drunk, and I might have . . . told her she can never make up for her part in the Hunger Games and that I don't want to have anything to do with her."
"Haymitch!" Katniss sounds shocked. "I mean, I've thought that a couple times but I'd never say it to her face. What happened to 'they didn't know any better' and 'Effie always meant well'? Isn't that what we decided?"
"Did I mention I was pretty drunk?" He drags his hands down his face. "I know, I remember that conversation, Katniss, and I meant it when I said it, and I was fine being her friend, but kissing her . . . I was less fine with."
"Well, I'm glad," says Peeta, and his voice is so tight that Haymitch involuntarily lowers his hands and looks over at the boy. He looks as furious as he did when he announced that Effie had left. "I mean, I'm angry you made her so unhappy but it's better that she knows how you really feel about her so she doesn't waste any more time on you." He looks at Katniss. "I'm going to go start dinner," which Haymitch interprets to mean, I'm too angry to continue this conversation. And he leaves the room.
Katniss and Haymitch sit in silence a long time, listening to Peeta bang pots around in the kitchen. "He's pretty mad," says Haymitch eventually, still sprawled out on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.
"He likes Effie a lot," she responds quietly. "He told me a few days ago that he sympathizes with her now because the government told her what to believe until she willingly became their tool, which is basically exactly what happened to him."
"He was tortured, though," Haymitch points out. "She was just . . . indoctrinated."
Katniss shrugs. "You know Peeta. His first instinct is always to care for people."
"Whereas me and you, our first instinct is to mistrust them."
Katniss smiles wryly at that. "And in your case, to get drunk and blow up at them."
Haymitch is silent a while. "I didn't . . . necessarily mean what I said to her," he says.
"She seemed to think you did."
"Oh, I'm sure I was convincing at the time. I was just . . . I panicked. And I was drunk, so I panicked a lot."
"So maybe you don't hate her?"
He sighs. "I definitely don't hate her. But she's . . . do you know how many people I've known personally who've died in the Hunger Games?"
Katniss is silent a long time. "When Prim died, I was mad at everyone," she says finally. "I was mad at Snow and Coin most of all, but I was mad at Gale because he might have helped develop those bombs and I was mad at my mom for not keeping Prim out of the fighting and I was mad at myself for not protecting her and I was mad at Effie for drawing her name in the first place. If she hadn't, I wouldn't have volunteered and none of this would have happened, and Prim would still be alive."
"And?"
"And I'm still mad. Maybe I always will be. But what happened wasn't one person's fault. My mom didn't know Prim would die. Gale didn't know his bombs might be used on her. Most things don't have just one cause—it's a million different things that add up to make something happen a certain way. I can say that on principle, Effie should have refused to be part of the Hunger Games, but I can't say that it's completely her fault that Prim or anyone else is dead."
"Your point?"
"Even during the Games, none of us hated Effie. We might have gotten annoyed at her, but we didn't hate her. Because I think we all knew that in the grand scheme of the Hunger Games, she was just . . . a . . ."
"A cog in the machine," Haymitch finishes.
"Exactly. And also because she was doing the best she could with the information she had, and because she meant well."
"So you think I shouldn't have been so hard on her."
She shrugs. "It's up to you to decide how to respond. You have more history with her than we do. But here's what I do think: I think you think it's somehow immoral of you to get close to her, because you two used to be on different sides of the fight. But wasn't that the point of the war? That we're all on the same side now?"
He is silent.
"And here's the other thing I think," she says. "You obviously have feelings for her."
He blinks. "How do you figure?"
"If you really felt like she was a terrible person, you wouldn't feel so conflicted about her. But here you are, moping around, kicking yourself over what happened; I've never seen you regret anything until today. I think that you think you should hate her, which is giving you grief because you know deep down that you're in love with her."
And there was never any chance that he was going to react to that in any way except defensively. "Oh, suddenly Miss Everdeen, with the fake marriage and the fake pregnancy, is some kind of love expert?"
She snorts at that. "If you want to keep hating her and being miserable, fine; it's no skin off my nose. But do it somewhere else. You're kind of dragging down the mood here."
"Ah, there's the Katniss we know and love."
"But if you want to stop being an idiot . . . then stop. And also, learn how to control your drinking so you don't ruin things with her again. And so that Peeta and I don't have to babysit you anymore."
There are a lot of things in that statement that Haymitch is afraid to tackle, so instead he rolls his eyes. "If we're lecturing each other about relationships, am I allowed to tell you to just admit to Peeta that you're crazy about him?"
And to his surprise, Katniss looks flustered.
"Whoa," says Haymitch, finally sitting up. "You already did?"
"That's none of your business," she says firmly, but then a little smile plays over her lips. "So I'll just say, he and I are doing fine."
"Finally," says Haymitch. "You two were killing me."
Just then Peeta pops his head in the room. His expression is still stern, but his anger has lessened. "Are you staying for dinner?" he asks Haymitch.
Haymitch looks at him, and then he looks at Katniss. "Yeah, I am."
. . . . . .
Day Sixteen
. . . . . .
Now that he knows to look for it, Haymitch can definitely tell that things have changed between Katniss and Peeta. Peeta no longer looks, when he tries to hold Katniss's hand, like he's afraid she'll run away. Katniss gives him little half smiles when he's not looking, and she touches him often, not just when one of them is having a flashback. And Haymitch, though he'd never admit this out loud, thinks it's adorable: his kids have found happiness. He still thinks now what he thought the day that Peeta told him of his feelings, back before the 74th Hunger Games: that those two are strangely perfect for each other.
He's had time to observe them so much because he's spent a lot of the last few days at Peeta's house. They've settled into a comfortable routine there: eating, reading, walking, talking. Peeta cooks each meal; Katniss and Haymitch do the dishes. In the evening they play cards or they settle into various chairs to read or chat or daydream (or cuddle, in Peeta and Katniss's case). They keep their conversations light, although every now and then they find themselves straying into the gallows humor common to all victors, and Haymitch is surprised at how he's missed that camaraderie. Katniss and Peeta both seem to have forgiven him for the mess he made with Effie, or at least they never talk about her anymore. Sometimes he wishes they would. Sometimes he wishes they would force him to confront the feelings of shame and anger and longing that are his constant companions these days. But, probably in an attempt to be kind, they never do.
Yesterday they introduced Haymitch to something beautiful: a book they've been creating, where they record their memories of those killed by Snow's regime. With their permission, Haymitch leafed through it, stopping when he reached Chaff's page. He read it slowly, looked at the incredible sketch by Peeta, and then was shocked to find tears welling up in his eyes. He contributed several new memories for Chaff, and then he helped them create three new pages: his mother, his brother, and Lina. As he was recounting the story of the time his mother sold her only shoes to feed her family, he stopped, unable to fight the tears any longer, and when he looked up he was surprised to see that Katniss and Peeta were crying too. And he thought to himself, when did he start loving these two kids this much?
Today they're not working on the book. In the future he'll help them create pages for the forty-six tributes he mentored, but not just yet; he needs to prepare himself for that. So instead he's sitting on Peeta's porch, watching Katniss pluck the grouse she got this morning. Peeta is in town, placing an order at Leevy's shop for more paints; if he were here, he'd likely be talking—that's just how he is—but Haymitch and Katniss are as happy to sit in silence together as anything. So he's leaning against the railing, half watching Katniss and half daydreaming, when someone approaches the house.
It's Rowan, and he's got a bottle of liquor in his hands.
Haymitch finds himself perking up at the sight, sitting up straight before he's realized that he moved. Katniss sits up straighter too, and then she casts a worried look back at Haymitch, one he barely notices.
"Haymitch!" Rowan beams. "Just the man I wanted to see. I was given this as a gift from a friend, but you know I don't drink much. So then I remembered how disappointed you were at how dry our party was, and I thought I'd come give it to you, as a thank you for attending that night."
That night. The kiss. Effie crying as she ran into the darkness—so upset that she hasn't contacted any of them in a week. As he stares at the bottle, something happens that's never happened to him before: his brain tells him No, you don't want to drink that, have you seen what a mess you become when you drink? But as incredible as that is, it doesn't stop his hand from lifting of its own accord, reaching out to accept the precious bottle. Rowan, smiling, steps forward to hand it to him.
"No!" Katniss's interjection is so sudden and forceful that Haymitch jumps a little. "Sorry, I mean, Rowan, that's really thoughtful of you, but we have to decline. Don't we, Haymitch?"
"Do we?" Haymitch demands.
"Yes." Katniss drops the grouse and stands, leading Rowan away to murmur something quietly in his ear.
Rowan listens, then nods, and then smiles at Haymitch. "Sorry!" he says. "Can't argue with the Mockingjay." And he leaves the way he came, striding merrily along the road back toward town.
"What was that?" Haymitch erupts.
"That was me trying to help you," Katniss says sharply. "So you're welcome."
"Since when do you get to decide whether I drink?"
"Since the day I volunteered for the Hunger Games. Were you really going to take it? After what happened last time you got drunk?"
Honestly, he's still not sure. He hesitates, and in that silence, Katniss sits back down on the step and continues plucking the grouse.
"So, what? You're going to police my drinking forever? If I want a drink, it's not hard to find one."
"I know," she bites out, not looking at him. Then her hands slow, the half-featherless grouse seemingly forgotten, and she sits in silence a long moment. When she turns to him, her expression has changed. "This has been a good few weeks," she says. "Except for Effie running off. But this has been good, right?"
He examines her suspiciously, not sure where this is going. "Yeah, it has."
"It's probably the happiest I've been since . . . before the war, at least."
"I'm glad. Is there a point to this?"
"The point is, why would you want to ruin it?" She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. He knows this move of hers; she's working herself up to doing something that makes her feel uncomfortable or vulnerable. "It's been good for a lot of reasons, but one of them is that you've been here." She pauses, and her eyes soften. "You're pretty much the closest thing to family I have. You are definitely the closest thing to family that Peeta has. We want you around. But Haymitch, you are not here for us when you're drunk."
He shifts uncomfortably. "What? I'm still here."
"Really?" Katniss eyes him skeptically. "How about in the spring, when I was shipped back to 12 as a headcase and a murderer, and I'd lost everything in the world, and you were supposed to look after me. Where were you then?"
He hesitates.
"Passed out on your sofa," she finishes. "How about when you were supposed to mentor us through our Games? Drunk and puking all over the floor. You only started paying any attention to us when it turned out that I was a decent shot and Peeta was in love with me." She hesitates. "I know you're dealing with your own problems, but . . . you matter to us. We worry about you. We want you around, not drunk in a gutter or dead of liver failure."
"Probably too late to do anything about the liver failure," Haymitch says quietly, looking down at his knees because he suddenly can't make eye contact with her.
"And why would you want to drink anyway? The last time you got drunk you chased away the only woman who's meant anything to you in 30 years."
"Thanks for the reminder," he grumbles.
She hesitates, then takes a deep breath and turns to face him fully. He finally looks up and sees warmth and affection in her eyes (of course, on Katniss, "warmth and affection" looks a lot like "disregard and boredom"; it takes a trained eye to see the difference). "We can't make you stop; we're not even real family. But . . . what I'm saying is, you're right, I can't follow you around and make sure you stay sober." She looks him right in the eye. "All I can do is ask you to stop drinking."
Haymitch stares at her a long time, at the brave tribute who volunteered to save her sister, who was willing to die to save Peeta, who hanged Seneca Crane in effigy to defy the Gamemakers, who sparked a rebellion. He looks at the girl who could read his mind because she thought just like him, who hugged him first, of all people, after winning her Games, who looked to him to coach her through being the Mockingjay, who cried in his arms when Snow dropped roses over the bombed-out surface of 13. Then he remembers a hundred times she had to rouse him when he was passed out on his couch, surrounded by empty bottles. He remembers when she came to him for help in Snow's mansion and he drunkenly made a stupid joke about boy troubles and she left and never tried to confide in him again. He remembers moments during those first few months after they returned from the Capitol when he was clear-minded enough to think that he probably ought to go make sure Katniss hadn't harmed herself or gone completely over the edge, but he was too hungover to walk that far.
She's right: when he's drunk, he's not here for them.
He scoots over on the steps until he's next to Katniss, who looks curiously up at him. And then he hugs her.
. . . . . .