Author's note: One final chapter before the end of 2022! Sorry about the long wait. I had a nervous breakdown back in May. Complete burnout, depression, the whole shebang.

The last 7+ months have been a slow and excruciating painful road to recovery and I wasn't able to write until November.

But I'm feeling much better now and looking forward to a more healthy 2023. I hope you enjoy the chapter. Leave a comment if you wanna make my day!

Chapter 29
Ball and chain

The wax paper rustled when Haymitch sank his teeth into the grilled sandwich. His mouth flooded with saliva from the spicy salami, jalapeno peppers, sliced tomatoes and lip-burning cheese, soft as marshmallows roasted over the fire.

Damn, he could live off this Capitol crap for whatever was left of his dull existence. And it tasted nothing like Peeta's stuff so that's a bonus.

"Honestly, Haymitch," Effie once told him outside one of the many food trucks of the Capitol, the air thick with the smell of bacon, burnt black. "It's not that I don't like your love handles but you should really think about what this does to your arteries. Goodness, I cannot stand fast food!"

"Yeah?" he retorted. "And fries are… what? Some kind of vegetable?"

He helped himself with another huge bite. Elbows against the glass railing he chewed with his mouth open, cheeks full to bursting. Just the type of table manners Effie loathed.

He peered at the round opening in the floor. Used to be a magnificent fountain down below, when Effie was a little girl. Then during Plutarch's academy years he and a score of friends dared his cousin to climb the railing and jump right in. The idiot was lucky to escape with just a broken collarbone.

All the Heavensbees were ultra rich and later that same day the boy's father made a very angry phone call and demanded the fountain be removed.

In its place came this massive golden oak. Twirled and twisted branches with emerald green leaves and hung with large wasp creatures - also golden. Looked a lot like tracker jackers to him. Big as cats. What else to expect in a city like this?

Surrounding the base was a round green bench for the tired shopper. A purple-haired lady sat in a sea of shopping bags with a panting dog on her lap. The rat got eyes like ping pong balls. Next to her was a group of noisy teenagers dressed in their school uniforms. Thirteen-fourteen at the most. They laughed and enjoyed cans of energy drinks and strawberry laces so long you could hang yourself with it.

Further right, in the shadow of the large tree – if a place like this had had any shadows – was a… he wasn't even sure what to call it. A playground, perhaps? Some sort of daycare? A plastic matt of fake grass had been rolled out, printed with pink and blue and yellow smiley faces and surrounded by a white wooden fence, not so unlike the ones he'd seen in District 10.

It had a miniature seesaw, a miniature slide, even a miniature swing set. And the whole place was crowded with toddlers, parked there by their mummies and daddies. Supervising them all was a couple of nannies or nursemaids, dressed in the Forum's typical red and white. Bored to tears by the look of it.

One little boy with fire trunk red trousers over his big diaper butt just pulled himself to his feet, holding on to the fence. Not too steadily he lifted his round marble eyes and looked straight at Haymitch standing there above him. Such a serious little gaze under a head of stylish blonde curls. Then his face broke into a huge grin, revealing four rice teeth.

The next instant one of the nannies were there. She flashed Haymitch the blackest of looks and pulled the kid away.

Funny, he thought as he pushed himself off the railing. That was the first smile he'd gotten in months. Outside the house anyway.

Not that it mattered. Just an observation.

It was time he got going. He stuffed the last bite into his mouth and tossed the wax paper in the nearest litter bin.

The rebuilding of the Forum Magnum – or the Forum if you were born here – had gone in record time thanks to generous donations. Prominent Capitol citizens who didn't know what to do with all their wealth.

He wouldn't be surprised if Mrs. Bitch's husband was one of them. A post-war effort to "get Panem back on its feet as soon as possible." Buildings anyway. Why waste resources on something like clothes or food or shelter for people who didn't have a home to return to? Not district people at any rate. Wouldn't want anything like that. People like Effie or June and Annabel were the exception, he was sure of it.

The Forum was the center of day-to-day life, according to Effie. A city within the city where people met up for news and the latest gossip. Every place had one, he supposed. In Twelve it was the bakery.

Being one of the largest buildings in the Capitol and close to the Capitolium, the shopping mall was hard to miss. Within these walls, that's where you got lost. They had screen maps to help you find your way around but where was the map to find the maps? He'd have an easier time trekking the wilderness of District 12.

When he came here with Effie he only carried the bags. No need to pay attention. Only Effie knew how to navigate these waters. She knew what kids liked. What they needed. All he could do was hold on to her like a life raft and hope not to drown.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and stalked on. Arched his head for something familiar. Anything to ground him. Point him in the right direction. How did Effie manage to buy so much shit when there were no baby stores? Was he even on the right floor?

Capitolians flurried past him, like streams around boulders. The roof, almost 15 meters above his head, twinkled with lights. Like man-made stars. He half-registered the curved marble pillars adorned with fake ivy. The faceless mannequins dressed in naughty lingerie that not even Effie could put a sexy spin on.

"If hell exists," he recalled from one of their first visits here. "I bet it looks something like this."

They had stopped by one of the ice cream parlors situated like an island in the middle of the walkway. Effie was mounted on a counter stool enjoying a sundae studded with chocolate wafers while Haymitch was just fine counting the minutes.

She smiled at his verdict and had herself a lick of whipped cream.

"I suppose the Forum can be a bit overwhelming if you're not used to it."

"Ya think?"

"Especially for an outsider. But I was one of those girls once," she said and nodded to the group of five year olds up ahead. They giggled and blew on pinwheels sticking out of a plastic flower bush. "Can't do anything about that."

At least the place was air-conditioned.

He walked on, turned a corner and his tired gaze registered an old fashioned iron street lamp, of all things. It belonged to a peculiar little store that stood out from all the rest. It looked more like the ones he was used to. The kind where the owners lived above their business.

Unlike the rest of the mall's walkways that were painfully bright, checkered and smooth as a ballroom floor this section imitated cobble stones. Like you were actually on a real pedestrian street. It even had a sewer grate.

Yeah. He was definitely on the wrong floor.

Seated at a metal garden table underneath the lamp post was an old man. A round gentleman with a flaking bald head and lemon-tinted spectacles. The tufts of hair left behind his ears were dyed a hot pink.

He held a thin hose in his hand with a mouthpiece shaped like a dragon's head. The hose connected to something on the table that looked like an oil lamp. Absinth green. He nodded hello when he saw Haymitch looking and brought the dragon's head to his mouth. A bubbling sound emerged from the lamp and white smoke billowed out the man's nostrils.

A waterpipe, that's right.

He turned his attention to the store.

"Boa Bells" it said in gold letters. The door by the large window was propped open by a rock, painted into a fat, white cat. He saw the bell. A brass bell that tinkled when you ventured inside. Just like in the Henderson's old book store.

But that's where the similarities ended.

A store going for district. What they viewed as district anyway. If not Twelve, then One or Three or Four. But in the same way that a force field couldn't quite imitate real air they couldn't get this store right. There was a shimmering. A clean and polished look that wouldn't fool anyone born outside these borders. It would always be Capitol with just an air of district.

The nerve of them. And they got away with it. Like district ruins in architecture or a homeless cardboard shelter printed on expensive bed sheets.

He almost kept walking. But as he passed the large window his feet slowed to a stop. Almost on their own account. It wasn't the suited up mannequin playing the sax, the well-loved violin or even the piano sheet music spread out in a fan.

The old man at the table leaned back in his chair, foot rested against his knee.

"Seeing something you like, Mr. Abernathy?"

Haymitch looked his way and gave a slight shake of his head.

"Nah."

The man smiled.

"She's a marvel," he said. "Your kid. The mockingjay indeed. I'd invite her to come and sing at my uncle's nightclub if it hadn't been reduced to dust."

He rose, joined him at the window.

"Paulus Bell, at your service," he said with the slight bow that was custom around here.

Haymitch nodded toward the window.

"Those aren't real goslings, are they?"

"Ah," said the owner. "They are very true to life, aren't they? Birch wood mostly."

He reached inside the window through the door. Three goslings sitting on a patch of grass. He'd recognize that bird anywhere. Everything from the custard down to the puffy cheeks and black bead eyes. So life-like he expected them to start when Paulus picked them up.

"I'll give you a good price for this, if you want it."

"No," Haymitch said. "I don't waste money on pointless stuff… no offense."

"Oh, but it's not pointless, Mr. Abernathy. Music never is." And his gnarled old hand went to the bottom of the thing to the hidden key Haymitch hadn't even noticed. He gave it three swift twists and put the goslings in Haymitch's hands.

A tinkle came from within. Slow, merry tunes and he strained his ears, searched through the liquor haze that was his life. But no, this must be a lullaby from around here. At least not Gem of Panem.

There was something else too. A faint glow coming from within those baby birds. Sprinkled light, like glitter on fabric. But it was almost impossible to see in a place like this.

He knew next to nothing about toys. Small wonder. His favorite play things had been a pile of rocks. When Amadeus was a baby he had this old patch doll that ma sewed him from scraps of fabric. It got loved to literal pieces. He couldn't sleep without it.

Maysilee and Leonore had toys. A room full of stuffed bears and doll houses but they never seemed all that interested in them. They were too busy running around the Seam with him, causing a racket.

And then there'd been this rocking horse at the bootmaker's. Simple and second hand with a read seat and so old and wore-down you could hardly even see the paint anymore. For several weeks he pressed his face to that window but he never told his parents because even at the tender age of seven he knew they couldn't afford it.

But that's as far as his knowledge went, really. In his book, toys were overrated anyway.

And yet here was something. Not much and not really a toy but as the music played he knew with every molecule of his body that he wanted to have it. To give it to them. Even if it was expensive. It'd be the first gift he spent money on since Effie's porcelain goose, the night he got her pregnant. They could put it on the window sill by the crib. Play it for Amy and Ian when they were sad or anxious.

"They need a good home," Paulus said. "I'll give you a generous discount. If nothing else than for helping to put an end to that blood-reeking, back-stabbing, child-murdering cancer cell of a bastard: Coryo Snow."

Haymitch looked up but the shop owner just smiled at him. A tired old man's smile. The lullaby was still playing, slower now.

"How much?"

He gave him a price but before money could change hands a voice boomed over the din of the mall, making them both look up.

"Abernathy! Hey, Abernathy!"

Haymitch stared in the direction of the voice. All he saw was a bar. Across the way. Packed with people. Then an arm waved. Waved so hard the man almost fell from his stool.

Haymitch's brow furrowed.

It wouldn't be the first time a stranger called his name. Mostly men and women who wanted to sleep with him.

But it wasn't the unwanted attention that tugged on him. He knew that voice. Knew it well from a hundred times before. Only… from where? Certainly not the districts. But he had no friends in the Capitol, did he?

"Oh, come one, Abernathy! For ol' time's sake."

"Here." He handed Paulus the music box. The wallet back in his pocket. "I'll come back later."

The din of the mall drowned out the goslings as he crossed the floor and elbowed his way through the pub. If nothing else it was good to be in a place where the lights were down-low. Deep beat soul music blared from invisible speakers. None he recognized but not unpleasant at all.

The man who waved sat perched on a bar stool made from some expensive wood he had no name for. Not mahogany.

"In the flesh!" He slapped Haymitch's back. "Feels like it's been a hundred years or more." He raised his glass in salute and downed half. "You've been busy, I hear. Knocked up your escort, they say. I know, I know," he added, hands up at the look on Haymitch's face. "She's not your escort anymore."

The man let out a hacking cough of a laugh and the sour booze breath that Haymitch knew all too well hit him in the face.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later," the man said. "You always had a soft spot for her."

He knocked back his drink in one go.

"Mitch Abernathy, a pop. Too bad there are no cigars. Hey Leon!" he called. The bar keeper looked up from the far end of the counter. A large man with a shaved head and tattoos from head to toe. A living landscape of bare-breasted ladies and dragons and human skulls with bombs between their teeth. "Pour me and my good friend Abernathy here a glass of your finest scotch."

"Nuthin' for me," Haymitch said quickly. "I'm not staying."

"Oh, come on, old man. Have a seat. For ol' time's sake."

What old times? he thought but didn't say. Still, he pulled out a chair for himself. To hide the tremors he intertwined his hands against the counter. Not a metal one like in Sae's diner but some kind of smooth gray stone, sort of like the steps of the Roman Stairs.

He counted eight brass taps for beer. The walls behind the counter were lined with shelves full of red and white wine and champagne bottles with a mirror in the middle. Crystal clear glasses hung from the top and underneath it: a three step stair filled with rows upon rows of hard liquor. From deep green to amber to the trusty all clear. They shone from some hidden glow in the twilight of the pub.

The stranger with the familiar voice elbowed him in the ribs.

"We had some good times, didn't we? You, me, Chaff, Three-card Monte."

Haymitch wasn't easily thrown. Maybe it was the lack of liquor in his system but those words hit him squarely in the chest. Like a dam had been broken and all the memories flooded in.

"Raoul?"

Without a doubt. It was the old peacekeeper. Raoul Matheson. But not the Raoul he remembered. Raoul from just a couple of years ago with his lush dark curls and fine skin and even a few healthy pounds to spare. Always good for a joke. Not bad company at all. His supposed job was to keep Haymitch and Chaff from drinking too much but most of the time he just loitered with them at the bar, talking garbage.

"Mark my words," Effie said. "If it was all up to him he would drink himself senseless with the two of you."

His shoulders were sprinkled with dandruff. His gums blood red from inflammation with a bad case of dental tartar the color of pancake batter. The black leather jacket, cracked in places and even shabbier than Haymitch's just added to his shrunken, haggard look. They were around the same age but as Effie could tell you: Raoul looked a decade older.

Only his eyes held a shrivel of his old self.

"Not a pretty sight, ain't it?" Raoul said with a little half-smile.

Haymitch shrugged.

"I'm not exactly a beauty queen m'self," he said. "Good seeing you, Raoul."

The bar keeper returned with a bottle of scotch and poured a few inches into Raoul's glass.

"No," said Haymitch, his voice sharper than he intended when the man reached for a second glass. "None for me."

"Aaw, she's changing you already." Raoul flashed his bad teeth in another smile and sipped his own drink. "So, Haymitch Abernathy's living the family life now, huh?"

Haymitch gave a non-committal shrug.

"Well, I'm happy for you." The amber liquid caught the soft lights as he rolled the glass between his hands. "Family. There's nothing like it. Here, I'll show you something."

He reached inside his jacket and got out the oldest, most worn-out wallet you ever saw. It was falling to pieces, kept together with a rubber band. Raoul flipped it open and a faint smell of worn leather, copper coins and barf curled into Haymitch's nostrils.

"The loves of my life," he said and got out two well-thumbed photos. He held them right under Haymitch's nose so he had to take them. He looked at the grimy little pictures, dog-eared and full of fingerprints.

The first one showed a heavily pregnant woman. She had such fair blonde hair she could almost be a towner from Twelve. Except for the green eyes. A bright red hibiscus flower was tucked behind one ear. She smiled into the camera.

Raoul smiled back.

"Prettiest gal in these parts." He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, leaving a trail of snot through the dark hair. "Guys were all mad for her. But I got her. Married her after the war ended and my peacekeeping days were over. We always had a thing going on. For years. I gave her my mother's old ring. No honeymoon to speak of, I'm afraid. She wanted to see District 4. We always said we'd go there once things were better. And that's Sidney." He tapped the second picture. A professional photo of a chubby baby with long dark eyelashes lying on a sheepskin rug.

"Only a couple months old there," Raoul said, bursting with pride. "Sweetest kid you ever met. And smart! You don't know how smart he is. It's like she made him all by herself."

He retrieved the pictures from Haymitch with the greatest care.

"Yeah," he said. "Those were the days. Buying little kiddie stuff, talking baby names, going downtown at three in the morning because of some wacky pregnancy craving."

A pearl of snot hung from the tip of his nose. He smiled at their faces, frozen in time.

"And then holding him for the first time. Nothing beats that. Best day of my life. He was this tiny little thing. He didn't even have a name and yet I knew I'd do anything for him. Anything at all. Take a fucking bullet if I had too. It was like I got a new chance, man. You hold them and you think they can… I don't know, be a fresh start for you or something. A reason."

He gave him a quick smile, there and gone again. As if embarrassed over his next words.

"I still go there sometimes. Just… looking through the window, watching him sleep. They don't know it."

He knocked back his drink. Tapped the glass against the counter.

"Fill her up, won't you, Leon?"

"No, Raoul," the barkeeper said. "Enough's enough."

"Damned man, he likes me too much," Raoul chuckled under his breath. "Oh, well, maybe I should get going."

He paid for his drinks and climbed down with the slow, meticulous movements of a hollow leg finally filled up.

"They're gonna be OK," he said. "It's better this way. All the shit I've done… Kinda owes it to them to stay away, you know. But lemme tell you something," he said with a finger in the air. "Sidney's gonna go on to doing some great stuff. I know it. Even if I'm not there to see it."

He returned the pictures to his wallet and snapped the rubber band around it.

"It was really good seeing you again, Abernathy. Too bad we didn't rendez-vous earlier. Won't be around much longer. The rents around here are a fucking spit in the eye for us mortals. But I've got this buddy back in District 2. He says I can crash on his couch whenever."

He clapped Haymitch's shoulder.

"Take real good care of that family o' yours, you hear."

And he was off. Hunch-backed and unsteady he disappeared in the din of the mall.

Haymitch remained where he was. Didn't move for a long time. He stared into his own unsmiling reflection, half-hidden by the bottles, face paper white. Only the shadows under his eyes were just as dark.

The barkeeper set a glass down in front of a lady. The sound made him start. Jolted him back to reality. He swallowed thickly.

"Hey." The word was little more than a croak. "Hey!" The barkeeper looked up. His eyes were impossibly white surrounded by those black and blue hell flames and moons and sea creatures from the deep.

"Yes, sir? What can I get you?"

Haymitch found his wallet, hands shaking. Coins rolled across the counter – money he meant to spend on the music box. He caught them before they fell.

"Don't care," he said. "Something strong."

xXx

Haymitch's lips against her tummy curled into Effie's dreams. His lips and his words. Tender and soft as always when he talked to the twins. She tried to reach out and touch his cheek but her hand wouldn't cooperate. He kissed them again and rose to his full length, her empty cup in his hands.

Wait, she tried to say. Stay a while.

But he turned away, the door opened and closed and he was gone.

She fought against the sleep-haze keeping her under and little by little reality returned. The pregnancy pillow underneath her, the distant mockingjay song. Disoriented, her eyes still half-shut, she peered at the window. The sun was all gone. Her room full of shadows.

How long was I asleep?

Felt like hours. Even with the discomfort of Amy and Ian pressing into her bladder she felt more rested than she had in days. All thanks to Haymitch. His lovely music.

She rubbed the remnants of sleep from her eyes and squinted at the alarm clock. It was well after dinner.

Why didn't he wake me? Oh, goodness. I really have to pee.

She struggled with the pregnancy pillow.

"Haymitch?" she called, despite better judgment. "Would you be so kind and give me a hand up before I embarrass myself?"

She turned the lights on and swung her swollen legs over the edge of the bed.

So quiet.

A calm had settled over the house. The piano silent.

"Haymitch?" Louder this time even though he was sure to scold her again for crying wolf. She waited for the thunder down the stairs.

Nothing.

Maybe he's asleep too.

It was unusual for him – this time of day, in the dark – but not unheard of.

Didn't he come to her just now? She had this faint memory of him by her bedside. Talking to the twins. Kissing them. Or was that all a dream?

With the night table for assistance she pulled herself up, toes buried in the soft, fluffy carpet she'd brought with her from home.

And that's when she felt it. The moment she rose from the bed.

A crease appeared between Effie's eyebrows and she looked down. Touched her inner thigh.

Oh, God. Did I just wet myself?

Then more trickles of fluid ran down her legs and she sucked in a breath.

"Haymitch!"

She couldn't stop the cry. Heart pounding, she struggled with the nightstand drawer and got out a handkerchief.

The hallway was just as dark. She leaked all the way to the bathroom where she dug out the thickest pads she could find. After taking care of business she headed for the living room.

"Haymitch," she said, half there. "My damned water just broke!"

But she silenced. The room was empty.

She pushed inside the kitchen next, hoping to find Haymitch there with a slice of Peeta's bread in each hand.

Empty.

He is asleep. He looked exhausted.

She turned for Haymitch's bedroom. Even knocked before she pushed inside. She turned the lights on and her eyes went straight to the bay window. Expected to see him there with a bottle in his hand.

But no.

The bed was a mess, his duffle bag thrown carelessly in the arm chair and Haymitch: nowhere to be found.

She searched the house. Twice. Even places they had no business going into like June and Annabel's bedroom.

As he gone out?

She looked out the window toward the tree, the wishing pond, the small lawn where she and Haymitch spent that odd night after they made love.

If he was out then where was the note? Haymitch always left a note.

He came to my bedroom. He said something to them. He kissed them.

Was that goodbye?

No, no. He couldn't. He wouldn't. She refused to believe it. That moment in her bedroom, it was all just a dream.

Then how do you explain the door?

Her bedroom door was ajar when she lay down to rest. She left it that way so she'd hear Haymitch's music. But when she woke, it was closed shut.

The hospital bag stood under her nightstand. She carried it into the hallway and reached for her purse to check there was an ID in there.

She opened it and her hands stilled.

The money. Last time she looked she had plenty of it. Now, every last coin was gone.

But why would Haymitch take her money? He had money himself.

Unless he needed something expensive.

Like a train ticket.

Haymitch would never,
she thought but her vision blurred together just the same.

He wouldn't abandon his children. Even if he was in a bad place and needed time away he would have told her as much. He wouldn't just take off!

But he did tell her, didn't he? Maybe not in so many words. But the way he acted. These past couple of days. His silence. The way he isolated himself. Those excruciating nightmares.

This is why I shouldn't become a father. That's what he said. You're better off without me. He said that too.

"No, no. Ow." Effie winced and her hand went to her tummy. The sensation lasted less than a minute. More like period cramps than actual pain but it rattled her harder than the Braxton Hicks ever did. Cause it was fast. So much faster than with Alex. Her water just broke.

Calm down," she told herself. Time the contractions. You have far to go yet. And Haymitch he will be here any minute. He will. He promised.

xXx

*ring ring*

Capitol Cab, how can I help you?

Hello. Yes, I… I need a taxi.

Name, please.

Trinket.

Hello?

"Effie Trinket?"

Yes, that's right. The address is… hello?

Sorry, ma'am. All our cabs are busy.

All of them?

You deaf or something?

But I need one! It doesn't have to be right away but at least as soon as possible.

Sorry, little lady. Can't help you.

Are you telling me there's not a single cab available in all of the Capitol for the rest of the day?

That's right! So why don't you stop wasting my time.

This is completely unacceptable! I need a cab. My babies are coming!

Well, that's your fucking problem. Not mine. Why don't you ask that traitor of yours to cart you back to District 12? Or jump into a rocket ship for all I care. Good luck to you.

*toot toot*

Author's note: And the birth is one chapter away! How do you think it will go? Tell me in the comments! Two new characters introduced. At least one of them will make more appearances later in ToS.

Did you make the connection between Paulus Bell and a certain "The ballad of Songbirds and Snakes" character? ;) See you in the next chapter!