By noon, Haymitch has just now upped the buzz he had earlier, and he's been awake for hours. He planned to wait until after all of the phone calls but the follow-up with Plutarch frustrated him into drinking halfway through the conversation.
Haymitch was in the middle of decoding the contact information of an informant from Seven when Hazelle arrived for work. He can hear her clearing out the upstairs as he leaves the study with an empty bottle.
His head is becoming pretty clouded, and he can either drink to maintain that or get drunker. Since there's nothing left to do today, he decides the latter. But he doesn't want to stay in the study where all his notes, lists, and contacts are scattered about - too easy to soil them, and what would he tell Plutarch?
Rolling his eyes at himself, Haymitch wonders when he started to care about not disappointing Plutarch. Maybe it was their half-hour-long conversation over the phone about Haymitch's progress on the first day that had Plutarch practically planning their fucking wedding.
Joining the volunteers from the Capitol are workers from guilds in Three, Five, and Seven. Plutarch reminded Haymitch that the volunteers may not settle in Twelve and only intend to lend their services for the cause. They still need shelter during their time here, however, so tomorrow Haymitch has to ensure there is room for all these newcomers.
If the telephone call had ended there, everything would've been fine. But of course Plutarch went on about how the president wants to set up a conference next month for the Hunger Games anniversary, and that she needs representatives - great minds, he described with a knowing chortle - from each district. Picking up his bottle, at last, Haymitch deflected the subtle invitation with, "Hope Twelve finds some sorry bastard in time for that." The aftertaste of his first taste in hours was especially sharp.
He takes that same bottle into the kitchen and tosses it into the trashcan Hazelle replaced.
Since Hazelle cleaned it out yesterday, Haymitch is careful going about the kitchen for another bottle and some food. It seems insulting to soil anything after all her hard, albeit unsolicited, work. She's already mopped the kitchen floor, and the counters and cabinets look polished. There are dishes in the sink, the only sign of incompleteness. He considers just finishing those for her but then his stomach growls.
Stuffing a slice of bread into his mouth, Haymitch moves into the living room to survey Hazelle's work there so far. Just as he predicted, everything's near spotless - even the couch cushions.
It's kind of amusing how she went a bit overboard on the living room and the kitchen while the rest of the house still needs clearing out. He's not complaining, he just doesn't remember if she did this last time as well. Around that time, with Ripper in the stocks, Haymitch was struggling to conserve his liquor enough to hold off withdrawal. Whether Hazelle focused on one room at a time wasn't much of a concern to him then.
Hazelle walks into the kitchen, then, as if detecting a threat to her progress. She has a jacket that's too small and too teal to be his own. "I found this by the hamper. I assume it belongs to Katniss?" she asks.
Haymitch shakes his head. "Peeta's."
"Right," she snorts. "Well, you should give this back to her clean. I can throw it in the wash if you want."
He shrugs. "I don't care what happens to it; her fault for leaving it here."
The hand holding the jacket lifts with her shoulder as Hazelle shrugs. "I'll return it to her, then."
Recalling the girl's unease that morning, Haymitch decides it's not the best idea. "Actually, I'll... take that," he says as he reaches for the jacket. He hangs it on a kitchen chair by the hood.
"Guess she'll find it there eventually," remarks Hazelle.
"How'd you even notice it?" He thinks he remembers the day Katniss left it upstairs, slipping it off and complaining about his stuffy house before she told him about something Peeta said or did. It must have been pretty significant for her to come to him. Haymitch can't remember whether he was any help.
Hazelle's lips quirk into an oddly hesitant smile. "Only thing out of the ordinary - like all the pictures." She gestures to some that recline nearby.
"Or you're just nosey," says Haymitch.
"I'm either going to find them or they're lost." She looks him over. He's not outrageously drunk but there's something off-putting she must see besides. "Hard to believe Katniss comes over here."
That bothers Haymitch more than her fixation on the pictures because, yeah, he's him but he woke up and sat with Katniss and listened to her that day. Bristling, he retorts, "What, you know another mentor for her around here?"
Hazelle's face falls, and she shakes her head, apologetic. "I only meant the house ain't very welcoming at the moment, not that you - never mind," she mumbles, then leaves him in the kitchen to return upstairs.
Haymitch sits down at the table with a sigh. No more notes for now, no more distractions, no more people and their problems. He really needs a drink.
After a couple more hours and many more drinks, he hears a light tread down the steps, heading for the kitchen.
"Just a small break," Hazelle explains, as if he'd be mad otherwise. Maybe he was too harsh before. Going over to one of the cabinets, Hazelle takes out a glass to fill with water from the tap, and offhandedly offers him one as well. Haymitch takes a deliberate swig from his bottle in response. Hazelle looks away from him, holding her cup close.
They drink, not quite in sync with each other.
Standing by the sink, Hazelle studies the cabinets. "Ever consider repainting those? That color would still look nice, only needs a fresher coat." She must be ignoring his annoyed expression as she takes another sip and asks another question. "Are the pictures all you're going to do?"
Haymitch sets his bottle down firmly and falls back against the chair, casting her a withering look. "Haven't gotten around to anything else."
"I like them," she tries.
"That's great. Maybe we can decorate the whole house after you finish the upstairs?" he replies sardonically. He gives into his drunken temper; her barging into his house and then his personal life like this isn't doing her job resumption any favors, especially on the second day. He hired her again, sure, because she needs the money and he frankly doesn't but that doesn't give her free rein to talk about his family.
With a sigh he barely catches, she nods, acquiescing, and places her cup in the overcrowded sink. "I'll get to these soon," she says, of the dishes.
"No rush." He doesn't wait for her to leave before taking his longest, most needed drink of the day. But the aftertaste that follows burns like shame.
Hazelle decides it could have gone a lot worse. The second-second day of housekeeping for Haymitch went how she expected the second-first day would go.
He answered the door this time, at least, though Hazelle arrived a little later than she did yesterday. Also, thankfully, the small gaggle was wandering around his and Katniss' backyards and not inside the house.
Haymitch made phone calls in his office while she cleaned the upstairs hallway. With the other bedrooms unoccupied and undisturbed, the entire second level of his house wasn't as filthy as the kitchen alone, which meant less time to clear it out and clean yet also less time avoiding Haymitch. Hazelle has two plans, and she didn't want to keep hiding behind one.
Her stomach started growling while she peeled off the bed sheets in the master bedroom, and although it was due to hunger, she figured some water could tame it until after work. It was also an excuse to better herself with Haymitch but that didn't end up happening.
As Hazelle leaves for the day, she tries to be soundless making her way to the front door.
"Hey, wait."
Hand on the handle, she actually startles at his voice. And if that was elicited by fear of how liquor can unhinge a man's mouth or fist, she would've left. But she sighs and turns around instead.
Haymitch gestures to a pot on the stove. "Made coffee if you want some." Though his voice isn't slurring, his face is still somewhat flushed and his eyes are numb.
"Oh, thank you," Hazelle says as she walks into the kitchen. "I can make coffee whenever I'm here and you're drunk, though. Just ask." She feels too blunt, referring to his drinking aloud, even though it's not a secret. All of Panem knows of his addiction.
"I stopped after you left," he tells her, pouring each of them a mug of black coffee. The steam from the coffee curls around his hand as he pushes a mug across the table toward her. He looks around for a spoon a bit hopelessly after he takes a container of sugar from the pantry.
From the table, Hazelle says, "They're all dirty."
"I didn't want to handle the dishes-"
"So you brewed boiling-hot coffee instead?" At his sheepish expression, she swallows any other retorts with her coffee, cringes a little at the bitter taste, then carefully tips some sugar into her cup, hoping she doesn't ruin it. Ever since Verbena introduced her to coffee, they've only sweetened it with milk. Any milk in this kitchen is likely to be curdled. She takes another sip and decides the sugar will do just fine. She notices Haymitch doesn't add any to his own cup, and realizes he's offering it to her alone. "But again, thanks," she adds, earnest.
"There's bread, too." Haymitch takes his mug and leans against the counter.
Hazelle considers the somewhat eaten loaf on the counter. In her anger toward Alice earlier, Hazelle forgot to grab breakfast when she dropped off the clothes, and she didn't break again for lunch after things went sideways with Haymitch. But here he is offering, and she's hungry and doesn't know how long this will take - whatever this is.
Accepting a slice, Hazelle asks, "Is this Peeta's bread?" Haymitch nods and she says, "I placed an order from him today. Our food pack from Thirteen is all canned food so I'm looking forward to fresh bread."
Haymitch waves a hand. "You can take the rest of this. Most of it goes to the geese but they're getting fat."
He looks like he needs bread more than the geese do, Hazelle thinks as she eats. But he's not surly like he was mere hours ago, and they're having a normal conversation. Perhaps this is his way of apologizing for earlier. She pushes her luck. "I've been meaning to ask: why geese?"
"They nested back there where the ground's kind of marshy, and I wasn't about to evict them, so..." He half-shrugs to finish his sentence.
Hazelle covers her mouth a little until she's finished the bread, then says, "They seem to like your house, too."
"Ain't that bad of company, really."
"I prefer people."
"To each their own. At least I can expect the geese to leave in the fall, come back in the spring," he says with a wry smirk. "Harder to say for people. Though it tends to be at the worst of times, doesn't it?"
Hazelle blanches at his words. She looks away, unsure of how to reply, the aftertaste of bread lingering thick on her tongue like guilt.
The way his mouth twists, Haymitch seems to recognize that he went too far. He looks down into his coffee, quiet and fadingly drunk and not the sixteen-year-old boy she once knew but maybe not a completely different person either.
"People don't peck at my ankles, though. So maybe the jury's still out." Haymitch scratches his hair absently, shifts against the counter. "But, um - Well, I've been thinking," he starts, more bracingly, and Hazelle can only guess what he's about to say, wondering if it's something she's wanted to say herself, before he continues, "and I'd like to ask for your help."
While some part of her sinks in disappointment, she asks, "With what? Not just housekeeping?"
"No, a bit more important than that. How would you like to assist me with my work?"
"You have work?" she asks back and instantly regrets the incredulity in her voice. But she does have reason to be shocked; the only work Haymitch has ever willingly done as an adult, to her knowledge, was in the rebellion. Other than that, until Katniss and Peeta won, he mentored once a year for what seemed like a week or two at most.
His face impassive, Haymitch replies, "I have connections outside the district so I'm setting up for reconstruction, getting us back on the map."
Confused, Hazelle says haltingly, "There's been construction already." She saw it herself this morning.
"Amateur framework from our refugees," he says with a sort of frustrated, dismissive tone that she doesn't like. "We've got some supplies but no professional workers. There are construction workers, carpenters, electricians, and engineers coming - other volunteers, too. Most likely our friends from Seven will have to amend whatever's been done so far while the people from Three and Five wire up the district."
"Sounds like a good plan," Hazelle allows. "I didn't know you were so involved." Especially considering the state he was in when she returned - or even his state currently.
Haymitch shrugs. "I've been filled in on what I haven't seen for myself. Certainly going faster than I thought but that ain't saying much."
She raises a brow. "Did you think there'd still be nothing but ashes? The cleanup took all spring." Even in District Thirteen, she heard rumors and updates on Twelve.
He sighs, rubbing the nape of his neck. "Didn't want to check and be disappointed, I guess." A defensive look crosses his face when she doesn't reply. "Look, I doubt your world will be shattered when I tell you I drink, and as long as nothing prevents that, I don't think much."
Hazelle doesn't quite believe that. She's cleaned his house for two days and can tell he was thinking, he always is, but those kind of thoughts hold him in place. He must've assumed that District Twelve was held in place as well, neither improving nor regressing.
"But you've been thinking lately," she says in an attempt to retrieve the conversation. Haymitch seems to misread this, though; he huffs in frustration.
"I'm well aware of how ignorant I am at the moment, all right? That's why I need your help. You're more-" he borrows her word - "involved so you probably already have what I need after a day back. Peeta's more than willing to help out but the kid's got a bakery and his damn mind to rebuild. Sae's not subtle, and Katniss would do about as well as I would. You're already working for me so why not just inform me of what you know?"
"You want me to spy on our neighbors?"
Haymitch rolls his eyes. "For the greater good of District Twelve, sure. Do whatever you have to do to find out what I need to provide for them so they can make us an actual district again."
Hazelle frowns into her coffee. "I don't see why you can't go around."
"Hazelle, yes you do." It's the first time Haymitch has spoken her name in a very long time. Even with the sugary coffee, her mouth tastes bitter.
And she does understand - how Haymitch could negotiate with officials all he wanted but might not get far with his own district. She thinks of Nathaniel, put in charge because of his local experience and status. He's one of their own in a way that Haymitch isn't and hasn't been for years.
But here he is trying, and here Hazelle is to return a favor.
"All right," she says. "What's my first mission?"
"Well, the incoming workers need a place to stay. I've no idea who's living in the Village or how much room's left. Know anything about that?"
"Sort of. I went around this morning." Remembering Alice's disappointment in her, Hazelle feels heat rise to her cheeks in rekindled anger and self-consciousness. By accepting Haymitch's offer, she'll be doing something different now, which assures her some.
"If you could find out how many people are in each house, or how many rooms are left, I can assign the different teams to them and settle all that."
"Okay. I'll do that tomorrow before coming here, if that's all right?"
"Perfect," he says, sounding genuine. "Thanks, Hazelle."
Now Hazelle leaves for the day, and she's glad they ended it like this.
She returns home to the usual fare: Posy plays, stacking up couch cushions and jumping on them, and Vick reads while Rory takes on more chores by himself. She finds him banging around the kitchen, making soup.
"You didn't eat here," Rory remarks, taking a plate out of the refrigerator for her. Hazelle tells him to put it back and that she can finish the soup herself. It's meant to simmer for hours to deepen the flavor but she sets it up to boil for an early dinner instead.
Before long, there's a knock on the door that Rory answers. It's Greasy Sae. She sits herself down at the kitchen table. Vick moves his reading into the study and Rory retreats upstairs to his room whereas Posy suddenly wants to help stir the soup. Hazelle lifts her onto the counter to sit near the stovetop.
"Not too fast," she warns, and Posy nods and stirs the soup steadily, her eyes flickering toward the old woman with curiosity. As Hazelle supervises, she tells Sae, "Gale's in Two."
"Oh, I know; I see him on the television," Sae replies. "You must be very proud."
Hazelle nods graciously. Her son is changing the world for the better, and it's amazing enough that he finally has the opportunity. But she's not sure what else to say; she only knows Sae Crowley through Gale, and not very well at that.
"It's nice to see some more children around here," Sae says. "My Annalise has been lonely. She can't keep up with those Grant boys."
"Momma, it's bubbling." Posy lets go of the spoon and scoots away.
Hazelle takes the pot off the burner, then tells Posy to get her brothers. Remembering the loaf Haymitch let her take home, she retrieves a knife from a drawer. "Haven't seen Katniss around yet. Is she hunting again?"
Shaking her head slowly, wisps of hair silver beneath the kitchen lights, Sae lowers her voice. "As much as she can nowadays. Hasn't been the same since the Capitol, of course."
Hazelle presses her lips as she saws through the bread. The last time she saw Katniss was on the news coverage of her trial, where she looked ill, lost, not at all like the girl Hazelle knew. She hopes it won't be long before Katniss turns up for a cup of tea and a very deserved hug. Hazelle suspects she won't find Katniss before then; she's hard to catch - unless she wants to be found.
"Poor girl, what with her sister," continues Sae. "Such a loss for Verbena, too." Indeed, that brings a wave of grief over Hazelle, as both a mother and someone genuinely fond of Primrose.
"To sacrifice their own children to target our medics…" Hazelle clears her throat. "I mean, we were used to the Capitol using our children against us by then. I won't pretend to understand war but I thought even they knew when enough's enough."
"Apparently not." Something in Sae's tone bothers Hazelle, as if she is withholding a secret. "I don't suppose you've talked to Gale about this?"
Hazelle looks up from slicing the bread. "No, not really. Why?"
Sae rises from the chair, her creased eyes grim. As the children near the kitchen, she says, "Like you said, some folks don't know the line when they sacrifice innocent lives for their own gain. But I guess some know not to tell," and leaves in time for dinner.