"You have to talk to him," I said as soon as the door opened. His shoulders were already so hunched that he couldn't drop them any further at the displeasure of seeing me on his doorstep. To give him credit, I swear he tried. With a deep sigh that rumbled through him, he pushed the door open a fraction further. Not waiting for me to accept this small invitation, he stepped back into the darkness, knowing I would follow.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, sweetheart, but I could have sworn I saw you helping him lug wood back not an hour ago." His surly words told me that he wasn't happy with me. His somewhat rational words, however, told me he'd recently received a delivery from the Capitol that kept him off the edge. I wondered if he would ever find he way out from under the influence of a bottle, but I wasn't going to hold my breath.

"So he told you what he's planning." It didn't surprise me, but it stung a little that Peeta had mentioned it to Haymitch and yet said nothing to me. Though we owed our lives to Haymitch several times over, it didn't mean he was a respectable confident with sound judgment.

"Don't look at me like that," Haymitch grunted as he walked through the archway into the living room and sunk onto the dusty armchair. With a half-hearted gesture, he motioned me to the couch.

Though the smell in his house had been worse, it had certainly been better as well. I questioned how long it had been since he had last bathed, but didn't dare ask aloud. Holding my breath, I lowered myself slowly onto the couch, trying to unsettle the least amount of dust possible. Only once I'd completely settled did I dare to take a breath and try to speak. "He won't be able to handle it," I said, voicing the fear I hadn't had the heart to say directly to Peeta. "You know he won't," I pressed, sure Haymitch would argue regardless.

He didn't disappoint. "That's not for you to decide. That boy has been through hell, and if this will bring him peace, then he ought to have it." Groping for the tumbler on the end table, Haymitch frowned when his hand found purchase only to reveal an empty glass.

"And what if it doesn't? What if it drives him back to madness? We have no idea if his deconditioning will hold. And if he relapses..."

"Then he might decide he deserves better than you," Haymitch finished, though his words were hardly the sentiment I had in mind.

I bit my lip, trying not to lash out in frustration. Spitting words back at him would only sour his mood further and accomplish nothing. It was hard, this constant clash between our personalities. Neither one of us wanted to be the one to concede on any point, but I knew I had to take these jabs from Haymitch and swallow them whole. Instead of defending myself, I told the truth, "I just can't bear to see anything happen to him. He's been through enough."

"That he has," Haymitch agreed, staggering from his chair. He made it to the mantel of the large fireplace. The half empty bottle swung by his side on his return to his chair. After he refilled his glass he extended the bottle to me.

I had a snide remark on the tip of my tongue. We had hoped that Haymitch's drinking problem would alleviate itself once the war was over, but that didn't seem likely to happen. I was just about to break my previous vow of silence and tell him he'd had enough for one day when I surprised not just him but myself by accepting the bottle. Without hesitation, I raised the bottle to my lips and took a quick, burning swig.

With a sharp grimace, I set the bottle down on the littered coffee table. "That tastes like piss," I told him.

"Then don't drink it," was his only reply.

"Just promise me you'll talk to him about it. If you see anything that looks out of the ordinary with him, you'll let me know. If I can't stop him from rebuilding the bakery, I can at least keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't overdue it."

"Well I'll be damned," Haymitch muttered, staring at me through the amber liquid in his glass as he swirled it in his hand.

"What?" I asked, exasperated at the thought of what he would possibly throw at me next.

"Don't get me wrong," he started with another sip of his drink, "because you'll still never deserve that boy. But at least you're trying now." He finished off the remainder of the glass with amazing speed.

He didn't have to say a word for me to know I was being dismissed. As I rose carefully from the couch, I grabbed the bottle and took one more swallow before heading out. "Don't forget your geese," I shouted as I left.