Okay folks, so I'm in need of a distraction. My mom spoke with the vet about our cat today, and she won't tell me what was said. I asked if it was good, she said no. I asked if it was bad, she said we'll talk later. Sometimes I think she doesn't know me at all.
Haymitch understood.
He was drunk. He was smelly. He was hostile. But Haymitch understood.
On the days Peeta went to the bakery, Katniss divided her time between hunting in illegal woods and visiting their former mentor. He was hardly lucid, but she continued to go daily. He would drink, she would attempt to straighten up, he would tell her to leave until eventually she did.
Then, one day, the routine changed.
When she arrived at his house, letting herself in through the front door without bothering to knock, Haymitch stood by the living room windows. "Coming down awfully hard out there," he commented, staring at the falling snow. "I guess it's safe to assume there's no fresh game for dinner tonight."
"Would you have eaten if I cooked something?" she asked, not quite believing him when he nodded his head. "Anyhow, the fence was on, so I came back."
The older man nodded. "Heard you fell out of a tree trying to get back over that electrified fence," he mused. "Also heard the boy brought you to your mother. Things fixed between the two of you yet?"
She winced when she put too much pressure on her sore ankle as she moved further into the messy house. "No, but she's coming around," she replied.
He turned away from the window and cleared off a chair for her to sit. Then, he gave the sofa the same treatment and sat down. Awkward silence pervaded the room, which smelled of stale liquor and body odor. "You and the boy doing okay?" he asked when he could no longer take the quiet.
"The Quarter Quell is coming up," she said in lieu of an answer. "We're gonna have to mentor, aren't we?"
Haymitch nodded, stringy blond hair draped over his face that he didn't bother to move. "Yep, which means going back to the Capitol," he replied.
She closed her eyes and could feel her body begin to shake. "What if I can't?" she wondered, staring at the front door so he couldn't see her ashen face or the tears that welled in her eyes.
"I was a lot like you as a Tribute," Haymitch told her, sighing as he recalled a lifetime ago. "In the Arena, all I thought about was getting back home. I was desperate to see my family again. Like yours, my win angered the Capitol because I showed them up, used their flaw to my advantage. Unlike you, I wasn't given a chance to protect my family. Weeks after I came home, my mother, my brother, and my girl were dead. I don't blame you for taking that deal. If I'd known what would happen to the people I loved, I'd probably take it too."
"How did you go back?" she wondered, attempting and failing to force back her tears.
He shrugged and held up a bottle of white liquor. "It was in a rare moment of sobriety that I remembered it would be my job to save the lives of the Tributes who came after me," he replied. "The first year, the 51st Games, one was killed in the bloodbath and the other died of starvation when I couldn't figure out how to convince sponsors to send her food. I spent 22 years watching children die, feeling helpless that I couldn't save them.
"And then the two of you came along. I know I gave you both a hard time, and I know Peeta thinks I didn't care about him enough to save him. His alliance with the Careers kept him alive until you were able to find him."
"He was dying when I found him," she interjected, suddenly filled with anger as she recalled the deep gash, the fever, and blood poisoning.
"But you saved him," Haymitch pressed, leaning forward. "Because that's what you do. You save the people you love. To hell with the consequences and sacrifices you're forced to make. You do it to protect them."
She didn't care now that the tears fell. It didn't bother her that she might look weak. Haymitch's words made her feel loved in a way entirely different than Peeta's love. It was a parental kind of love, one she hadn't felt since her father died. Without giving it a thought, Katniss rose from her chair and embraced her old mentor, wrapping her arms as tightly around him as she could. "Thank you," she whispered before pressing a gentle kiss to his stubbled cheek.
"If anyone can handle going back to the Capitol, it's you, sweetheart," he assured her. "And this time you'll have Peeta and me there."
A smile, tentative though it was, quirked up the corners of her lips. Haymitch was right. Going back to the Capitol this time meant having a support system. She would go back with a husband who loved her and mentor who would protect and support her. It would be difficult to return to the place where her nightmares had begun, but she wouldn't be alone.
"Will you come for dinner tonight?" she asked, returning to her chair and bit of normalcy.
"Depends," he replied. "Who's cooking?"
A small laugh bubbled up in her throat as she considered his question. While she was skilled with a bow and arrow and could skin and clean anything she caught, her abilities in the kitchen were still lacking. And while Peeta was a master baker, he often had trouble cooking anything that didn't require flour, sugar, and a hint of vanilla. "I'll ask Greasy Sae to come by," she decided. The old woman was often found in the Hob, and had bought her kills weekly. She fed customers, sellers, and Peacekeepers alike with her tasty concoctions. And she was one of the few people, Merchant or Seam, who continued to look her in the eye.
"Six o'clock okay?" he asked.
Katniss rose from her seat and crossed to the door. "We'll see you then," she replied before she left.
When she returned home, Peeta was waiting with lunch already on the table. She smiled, kissed him tenderly, and thanked him for the spread. Breads, pastries, and jams, along with a pitcher of fresh milk, were set out and ready to be consumed. Taking a seat beside him, she took a roll, buttered it, and began to eat while holding his hand. He asked about her day, and she about his. Gone were the awkward, stilted conversations they had shared when they first married. She was happy to feel him touch her, even if it was a mere brushing of fingers. It was still her Peeta. He had helped to heal her, helped her to see that she was more than Capitol property.
As Peeta finished his lunch, he let go of her hand and took his plate to the sink. She mimicked his actions, and now standing beside him, she placed her hand on his arm. "I love you," she told him, kissing him before he could reply.
Long after Katniss had gone to bed, Peeta left the house as quietly as he could. She had always teased him for his heavy gait, but his loud plodding hadn't seemed to rouse her. He breathed a sigh of relief when the front door closed. Looking up at the house, the lights remained off in their bedroom. The house across from theirs was a different story though.
The first floor was brightly lit, and he knew Haymitch would still be awake though likely intoxicated. He'd had dinner with the couple, and while his trusty bottle was on hand, he hardly drank from it. Perhaps it was a sign of turning tides. With two living Victors to his name, maybe it was possible that some of Haymitch's demons had been laid to rest.
He entered the house to find Haymitch seated on his dirty sofa. His eyes were glazed over, but not from the alcohol. The shutting of the door snapped him from his stupor, and he turned to find he now had company. "You and the missus get in a fight?" he inquired.
Taking a seat in the only clean chair in the room, Peeta glared tiredly and shook his head. "She told me she talked to you earlier today," he said. The older man nodded his confirmation. "She seemed really happy when she came home."
"Glad to hear it." Peeta nodded uneasily. "I didn't get her drunk, if that's what you're worried about," Haymitch added.
"I know. She didn't smell like you when she got back," came the blond's retort. "No, it's just...she's been different since she came home."
His mentor sat up straighter. "You mean came home from my house or from the Capitol?" he inquired, arching an eyebrow.
And suddenly Peeta felt stupid for bringing it up. "The Capitol," he mumbled, covering his mouth as he spoke the words.
Haymitch nearly howled. "You honestly think you're getting back the same girl after what she's been through?" he asked disbelievingly. "First, they toss her into a 'game' designed to kill her. Then, they prostitute her, forcing her to do only God knows what. That girl is more broken than either of us, and I personally think she's handling it well."
Elbows resting on his thighs, Peeta's hands roughly rubbed his face. "I understand that," he replied. "I know what happened to her, I know what she's been through, and I'll never love her any less because of it. I just sometimes miss the old Katniss. The one who'd threaten to shoot me for touching her bow, or assess everything I said with that calculating, suspicious look. Don't get me wrong, I like not being threatened, but I liked it better when she had a little fire in her."
"It'll come back," Haymitch promised. "Just give her time. She's still adjusting."
Sighing, Peeta rose. "I hope you're right."