When Haymitch offered to walk Hazelle home, he hadn't considered the walk back. She lives farther into the Village than him so he passes several houses alone. Before, with Hazelle beside him, the other neighbors were peripheral strangers that she waved to. Now, Haymitch tries to ignore their cold stares as he trudges back to his house, his hands shoved in his coat pockets in a sorry attempt to hide his bandaged wrist.
It may be his old waxcoat drawing the attention, a relic from when he was still considered their own. He wore his father's mining jacket around the Seam since he was nine and fatherless. Hell, he still wore it after he won, even to the Capitol. But then the blood of colliers' sons and daughters that Haymitch couldn't save tainted his own Seam lineage, and he left the coat in a box in his cellar with the other old belongings. He disinterred it on the same rush of sentimentality that recovered the pictures. He's older than his father ever was, and he's filled out the coat like his father - and his younger self - hadn't quite been able to. That solemn revelation aside, Haymitch must look like a washed-up fool with his house full of old photos and this part of a uniform he never earned.
The stormy weather has held off, at least. The lingering clouds roll on their way out of the valley of District Twelve. It's about time; there's not enough vegetation near the site to withhold such a flooding.
In the twilight, Haymitch can see that Peeta's lights are on inside his house whereas Katniss' looks dark. He smirks at the implications there. Hopefully the girl will be too busy consoling the boy that they forget to come check on him.
There's no need anyway; he's walking around with fresh air in his lungs and what's now only a mild ache in his head, throat, and wrist. He's fine.
As he closes the front door behind him, Haymitch hears the beep of a voicemail ending its recording. He goes into the study to replay the message and groans when he sees the letters addressed to Annie and Johanna still lying on his desk. In his haste to walk Hazelle home, Haymitch didn't consider extending the trip to the train station as well. He listens to the brief message, then calls Beetee back.
"Haymitch, hello," Beetee says after the second ring. "I saw there was a bad storm in Twelve and wanted to know how your crew managed the blackout."
Glancing at the ceiling lights overhead, Haymitch replies, "Fine, considering we're talking right now." So his wasn't the only blackout last night. With all of his lights switched on, he wouldn't have noticed the power outage unless he awoke before it was reconnected.
"Excellent. I'm glad the new workers are doing well. Anyway, the blackout inspired me." Beetee either hasn't noticed or overlooks Haymitch's somewhat raspy voice, in favor of elaborating an invention that can store the electricity in a lightning bolt as energy. "For areas that would benefit more from storm power than solar power!" he explains in that twitchily giddy way he goes about technology. "The wire I made in the arena could withstand Gamemaker-generated lightning. I'm curious to see whether I can harness nature as well."
Haymitch shakes his head, impressed by Beetee's genius yet all too aware of the aftermath of his previous creation. Evidently, his ambition has not been stifled by any past atrocities. "Let's keep this on paper before you get too ahead of yourself there," he drawls. "Damn good idea, though."
"Ah, I knew you would appreciate it!"
"Yeah, but I'm a hayseed. Why are you sharing your bright ideas with the likes of me? Need some blind praise from the scientifically undereducated to motivate you?"
"It's only reasonable to propose its installment in Twelve to you, as the district's intermediary."
"You just thought up the thing last night," Haymitch reasons amid the face-slap sting of shame. He's not sure whether word got around about his relapse or, if it did, whether he still has work as - whatever he is. Nobody sane wants an unstable drunk involved in their district affairs.
"Well, perhaps I want to start running even mere ideas by trusted peers before pursuing them further out of impulse." Before the weighty pause overstays its welcome, Beetee says, "I'm glad you at least approve of the idea, Haymitch. Should I find a way to develop it, it'll be a worthy investment for districts like Twelve."
"Aw," Haymitch teases, "and here I was hoping we would get a discount for being your muse."
Laughing along, Beetee replies, "No, no, some of us need to support ourselves as well. We can't all be Thirteen."
"What's that now?"
"Surely, you've noticed how uncharacteristically generous they have been toward the districts, for a place that so strictly regulated and rationed everything?"
"I did," Haymitch admits, "but I didn't know whether anyone was going to comment. So that is a thing, huh? Trying to get into everyone's good graces after Coin?"
"From what I can see, they want to have a presence in every district. Then, nobody can said that they holed themselves away, seceded from Panem, and survived on their own when they could have. I'm not very keen on being involved in the country's politics anymore but I can't help keeping an eye on them."
"Yeah. They're probably draining a lot of resources, trying to help everyone. I'm sure the civilians there hate us." While Thirteen's foresight on its future political wellbeing is understandable enough, their lack of shortsightedness on themselves in favor of the rest of the country might take its toll soon.
Helping others at the expense of themselves - ain't that a pattern around here, Haymitch thinks with rare, albeit wry, introspection. But the thought is cast aside in his mind and replaced with a flurry of ideas to prevent Twelve's over-reliance. They're in the most vulnerable state, after all.
"Haymitch?" Beetee's voice strains a bit with forced casualness.
"What?"
"One last thing, just by the way: I'd appreciate hearing from Katniss and Peeta sometime, if you could pass that along."
"Oh... sure," he says, uncertain. While Beetee and the kids were allies in the Third Quarter Quell, Haymitch wouldn't go so far as to label them friends because of it. Beetee's efforts in Special Weaponry might've frayed any tie between them as well. But Haymitch will let the kids know and leave it up to them. He's trying not to make decisions for them anymore.
"Thank you. I haven't kept in touch with the others victors. With the upcoming anniversary and all... some more familiar voices would be welcome."
"Yeah," is all Haymitch says. He hasn't let himself really think about how the reaping day is in two weeks, and he doesn't want to now or else he'll be susceptible to repeating last night. But then he considers how the victor on the other end of the line must feel about the approaching date. Beetee doesn't have much family left from what Haymitch knows about him, which, granted, isn't much. He definitely doesn't have another victor to confide in; other than Wiress, Beetee kept to himself over the years in the Capitol unless it involved the rebellion.
"Well," Beetee says, "I appreciate the call back. Take care."
"Yeah, you too."
At his desk, Haymitch jots down some of the ideas sparked during the call. He'll have to catch up with the supervisors at the site tomorrow, and at least he'll have something new to offer after today's absence. He already sort of misses helping with Twelve's progress, albeit in his own detached way. He'll have to monitor his drinking again, though. Haymitch hasn't had a drink yet today, and he's afraid of what will happen when he inevitably does. Doctor Olsen's little treatment plan echoes in his mind hopelessly; any distraction, any redirection of energy ultimately won't matter unless Haymitch commits full-out.
While he's pacing the kitchen, contemplating whether or not to open a bottle, there's a short knock at the door as it opens. The boy comes in carrying his bread basket and the girl, a casserole dish that's sandwiched between the floral potholders in her hands, level to her ribcage.
"Mixed berry jam - your favorite," Peeta tries earnestly, holding up the basket so Haymitch can see the jar nestled with the fresh biscuits inside. Katniss tips the dish toward him as well, her lips pulled tight into a very resigned smile. At this pitiful show, Haymitch only rolls his eyes and invites them into his kitchen. Thanks to Hazelle, he can provide clean plates and cutlery.
"All right," Haymitch says as he hands out forks, "so now you know for sure that I'm fine, haven't killed myself tumbling down the stairs or anything."
Peeta glares at him. "Haymitch, we're not just going to act like this morning didn't happen. At least humor us and let us be a little concerned."
"Besides," Katniss adds, lower, her eyes flickering toward Peeta, "it helps us, too."
Haymitch can't in good faith argue with that so he sits down for dinner.
He starts into his large helping of wild turkey casserole with increasing relish, realizing just how hungry he is. He hasn't eaten today, and he doubts he ate much once he went on the bender. His stomach was roiling for most of the day but it's been replaced with the aching growls of hunger. His thirst can't be as easily sated. He's drinking water with his dinner, and he can feel his body growing impatient, threatening to throw a tantrum of tremors, spoiled after the overindulgence last night. That was the thing about drinking - even overdoing it isn't enough.
Haymitch suppresses that thought with bread. He's spreading jam on a third biscuit, absently listening to the conversational noise when there's a lull. He looks up at the kids' expectant expressions. "Excuse me?"
"I said," recounts Peeta, "Greasy Sae stopped us on the way over and asked about you. She told us that she saw Doctor Olsen leave your house but I convinced her you had a meeting with him since you hired him and all."
"Sorry, I'm all out of awards for common decency," says Haymitch. He knows the boy is only trying to ease the whole situation but he feels unappreciative nonetheless. "Mine's none of her business, anyway." Besides, she nearly fucked up the Hawthornes' reputation, should she have gossiped away like usual. Haymitch was a drunken idiot to trust her with something like that, and he should hope the kids have more wits about them.
He sees them deflate and his temper melts away. He rubs his temples, saying, "I still feel a little out of it. Not the liveliest company today, I bet."
"You never are," Katniss corrects him, and Haymitch mimics her so she'll rear up for another retort and the boy will smile affectionately, albeit a bit exasperatedly, and both of them will know everything is okay. This happens, and they're all still talking as they clear the table. Haymitch tells them about Beetee's new invention and his invitation to call, and they both agree to the latter.
"You'd be okay?" he asks the girl, none too subtly.
She shrugs weakly. "He voted no."
"More than we can say, right?" Haymitch winks at her, trying to relight the mood he just dimmed again, and while she doesn't smile, she doesn't look like she's about to slap him again, either.
Peeta cuts in, tells him that he should check in with Doctor Olsen tomorrow. Haymitch doesn't promise to or assure them that he was already planning on it; he's lied to them enough.
They take the leftover biscuits outside for the geese. As Peeta crumbles one over the feathered mass, he tells Haymitch about the bakery's progress, his enthusiasm over better refrigeration and proof boxes building with every nod and uh huh from Haymitch. Katniss stands astray from them, raining crumbs onto some fuzzy goslings. Haymitch notices her small smile and ducks his head to hide one himself.
They're doing better. Proud as he is, it makes him glad for them more than anything.
When Nisskat, the particularly ornery goose named after Katniss, honks impatiently and cranes her neck toward Peeta's hands, he startles and drops the remaining biscuits onto the ground, where they're immediately swarmed.
"My pigs were more patient than this," Peeta remarks. He claps and rubs his hands to shower the last of the crumbs over the geese.
"Nisskat needs her biscuit," Haymitch quips, and the boy groans around a laugh whereas the girl just groans. Smiling, Haymitch cants his head to the side in recollection as he watches the gaggle. "You know, my brother was bit by one of these things once."
This catches the boy's interest right away, as Haymitch's stories always seem to do. With a glance at Katniss, who's been invited into this private moment as well, Peeta prompts, "Oh?"
"Yeah," he continues, "on the way to school. It wanted his drop biscuits but that was our only lunch that week so Cory wasn't sharing. Have you noticed geese have teeth on their tongues? They leave the weirdest bite marks."
"I'm surprised you still let them in your yard after that," says Katniss.
"Nah, no blood drawn. It was just being an animal. There are worse things."
"Like mutts," Peeta chimes in, and Haymitch and Katniss share a look.
"I was thinking more along the lines of people." Haymitch means this to be tongue-in-cheek but Peeta only frowns deeper.
"That reminds me: the anniversary is coming up soon."
"Seventy-six years too late," replies Haymitch. That's all there is to say. He does feel desperately relieved for nothing bad to happen, for there to be a lack of a reaping this year and onward. But after thirty years of dreading a date, for all sorts of reasons, he just wants to get it over with as quietly as possible.
"I hope Plutarch doesn't try anything," mutters Katniss, as if reading his mind.
"Oh, you know there will be something." Haymitch crouches beside a gosling that appears to be limping. Just as he realizes it was merely shaking out its little webbed foot, Nisskat hisses at him and he spreads his hands indignantly, then stands. "But hopefully he steers all the attention toward Paylor's convention."
"Are you going to that?" asks Peeta, a hopeful note in his voice.
"Hell no. I've spent enough time in the Capitol for a lifetime." Haymitch heads back to the house, and the kids hesitate before following him.
Katniss asks, more flatly, "So you're going to stay with us, drink, and raise geese forever?"
"That's the plan, sweetheart." He ignores their disappointed silence. It irks him enough that he decides to open a bottle of liquor after all, his first since yesterday.
Except when he twists off the seal, Peeta lunges at him.
By the time Haymitch reaches for the knife in his pocket, Peeta has wrenched the bottle away. Haymitch and Katniss both watch, stunned, as the boy smashes it on the kitchen floor.
"What are you doing?!" bellows Haymitch. He stops short of tearing him apart in case this is another hijacking episode.
Heaving without exertion, Peeta's eyes are livid and unforgivingly lucid. "I can't believe you. After everything that happened this morning, you're going to drink again."
Haymitch guiltily understands this outburst, at least. He also thought he could wait longer out of fear and shame until the tremors came but maybe he takes smug pleasure in proving them wrong. He's dealt with himself a hell of a lot longer than they have.
"Still here, aren't I? No major harm done," he counters. "Besides, if I hadn't limited myself for weeks, the relapse wouldn't have amounted to that."
"That's bullshit and you know it! It was only a matter of time before something like that happened. You still endangered us both." Peeta shakes his head, and Haymitch feels himself shrinking back from his outraged expression. "You know, you don't need to stay with us if you're just going to hurt us."
That hits Haymitch hard in the stomach, and distantly he remembers what it felt like to have an ax slash into him with a wet thump.
"Peeta's right," Katniss says, looking very much like she wants to run away. There's the ax tearing sideways, spilling out his intestines.
"Doesn't exactly require a genius to figure it out." Peeta throws his hands up, exasperated. "Tell me, Haymitch: how can I reconcile the man who will listen to me talk about growing up with my mother with the one who will attack me if I dare interrupt his drinking?" He's glaring pointedly at the knife in Haymitch's fist, and Haymitch sheathes it in his pants pocket, his face reddening. "Or the one who puts all his energy into Katniss' trial with the one who abandons her once she gets home?"
There's a glib retort on Haymitch's tongue about how he wasn't quite sober during the Mockingjay Trial or during most of his and Peeta's talks but his throat is painfully constricted and his jaw is clenched, as if to cage his vicious words.
"Or the man who keeps doing good with the one who ruins it for himself? You're our wise-ass of a mentor - so what do you think is the problem here?" Peeta punctuates this with a shove to Haymitch's chest that he doesn't protest. Katniss doesn't intervene, either, even after an uncharacteristically desperate glance from Haymtich.
Now more than ever does he feel like a worthless drunk trying to earn back the soul he lost twenty-six years ago. Peeta and Katniss have finally noticed this failing endeavor as well. And, sure, they're probably doing everything wrong - but this is the first semblance of an intervention Haymitch has ever had, one that is implored of him rather than forced onto him by circumstance. The whole ordeal is so ridiculous and terrifying and new that it makes Haymitch want to laugh or fucking cry, and he's not up for either right now.
As Peeta goes for another push, Haymitch grabs his wrists, his own sprained wrist twinging, and halts him. Both of their hands are trembling, and neither of them can meet the other's eyes.
"You don't know what you're asking of me here, boy," he croaks. Frustration, despair, and betrayal ripple through him like heat waves, what with his sources of hope and love threatening his source of safety and alleviation - or perhaps it's vice versa. Either way, he doubts he could live without one of them.
The remaining victors have lost the majority of their kind. Beetee has to request for them to call him, and Annie and Johanna have been unresponsive so far, and who the hell knows how Enobaria is coping. Unlike them, Haymitch still has his two victors. They have him, too, but having him means finding him in various states of self-destruction and tolerating the neglect. Katniss and Peeta are all he has, and he fails them.
"There's going to be times where you can't help us," Peeta reminds him, "because you can't help yourself. At least consider that since you obviously can't take care for your own sake."
Haymitch shoves the kid off him. He asks the girl tersely, "Anything to add?"
Katniss shakes her head.
Haymitch nods and just stands there for a moment, tensed for a fight that isn't coming, before retreating upstairs. As he slams his bedroom door shut behind him, he tries not to ponder whether he forgot to bring a bottle or actively chose to distance himself from the kitchen full of bottles as well as kids who care way too much about him.