Anonymous requested: "Could you do a drabble where Haymitch handles Olive for the first time and feels as though he's finally whole? Thanks so much and keep up the good work, your writing is perf!"
Everything just had happened so fast. One minute, Effie had been alone in the operating room. The next, this tiny person was lifted from her so quickly Haymitch hadn't even had a moment to blink before she disappeared from his sight. At first, he couldn't really comprehend what had happened. His mind was still racing, adrenaline pumping through his veins. They had been so stupid. So very stupid. The explosion. The Capitol prison. Effie could have been killed. She still could die. And if she did, it would be all his fault. Everything was always his fault. His fingers tingled. He needed a drink. This wasn't real. None of this was…
The clinic doors slid open and Haymitch lifted his head. There, dressed in uniform gray, stood a nurse. He looked at him intently, something tucked carefully in his arms. Haymitch could hear it whimpering. Her cries soft and cat-like from underneath the blanket she was bundled into. His heart frozen, his stomach knotting as the medical assistant approached him.
"It's a girl," they said, holding her out to him.
Numbly, Haymitch took the baby from the man's arms, still in a daze. He didn't look at her as he sat down against the wall of the hovercraft. His heartbeat thrummed violently in his temples as he carefully peeled back the blanket just ever so slightly. With a deep breath, his eyes lowered, the world suddenly freezing around him.
She was so small. So very, incredibly small. Her skin was the purest shade of peach he had ever seen underneath the few smears of creamy white vernix and blood. Her eyes, far larger proportionally in comparison to the rest of her face, were a strange dark shade he could not decide if it was truly brown or blue. His eyes fell on her hair that appeared wet and matted to the top of her head, but dark, nearly black. He could not help but wonder if later on, it would lighten up or perhaps become an entirely new color. It was then he noticed she was looking up at him-or, just gazing blankly in his general direction.
And in that moment, it hit him. Despite months of expecting this, the realization had finally found him. This tiny girl. This baby. She was his. His daughter. His flesh and blood. He made her. Something felt as if it rose in his throat and he swallowed thickly. For the first time in his life, he felt this swell of pride. Of love. Of absolutely, undiluted fear caused by a person he only now just met. Suddenly, he was willing to give his life for her. Kill for her. Die for her. Whatever called in order to protect her. His life had a new meaning now. A purpose. For the first time, he finally felt whole again.
"Do you have a name?"
The voice shattered the stillness and Haymitch looked up (slightly confused) at the male nurse still standing over him.
"For the baby," he repeated. "Does she have a name?"
"Olive," Haymitch answered softly, looking down at his daughter. "Her name is Olive."