Mia walked towards the couch and rested her cup of tea precariously on the stack of books covering her side table. His eyes couldn't help but follow her, observing how her hands trembled slightly, which told him she was cold.
She pushed her hair behind her ears, and their eyes met—just long enough for her to smile as if she knew he'd been watching. He quickly looked away, embarrassed, his gaze landing on the stack of books beneath her Adventures of Raising a Child,1000 Baby Names, andA Mother's Guide. She always appreciated research.
He remembered their first meeting when she tried to impress him with her knowledge of his time in the games. Then there was the first time she visited twelve and kept showing off the tidbits of information she'd learned about the historical sites in town. He had scoffed in her face and practically pushed her out of his way in favor of the closest liquor bottle.
"The pie's reheating in the oven," she said, bringing him back from the depths of his mind.
It was then that he noticed her crouching down by the fireplace. Her movements were slow, and he could tell she was struggling to sit comfortably on the floor. Her hands gently guarded her stomach.
"Here, let me do that." He grabbed the small log from her hands, ignoring the electricity he felt as his hand grazed hers. For a split second, he wondered if she'd felt it, too. Clearing his mind of such idiotic thoughts, he got all the logs together in a pile. He lit the kindling with a big match, tossing it underneath and watching the fire catch and grow. After he was confident the fire wasn't dying out, he brushed his hands off on his pants and stood up.
"Thank you!" Mia said, still sitting on the ground awkwardly.
"No problem. Did you want to sit on the couch?" he asked, noticing her cheeks blushing ever so slightly.
"Oh..I think I'm okay down here for now." she fiddled with a patch on the sleeve of her knit sweater that was coming undone.
Haymitch tightened his lips together to suppress a laugh when he realized why she wasn't getting up.
"You're stuck, aren't ya?" he smirked.
At first, she looked offended, but quickly, that facade dissipated, and she was left with an embarrassed smile.
"Yes, I am," she admitted with a chuckle.
With a smile, he extended his hands to help her. He forced himself to ignore any thoughts of the past that flashed in his mind as her hands were placed in his. Still, she looked up at him in a way he hadn't seen in a long time and suddenly felt like he was back with her on the train or in the penthouse. Her grip on his hands tightened, and they got her back up together.
She removed her hands from his to flatten out her dress.
Her eyes were fixated on the floorboards; he could tell she was still slightly embarrassed.
"I should go check on the pie," she said, quickly walking back towards the kitchen.
Haymitch couldn't help but look around the room. He felt as though he was looking for something, but he wasn't sure what.
He spotted a closed door at the end of a narrow hall tucked away in the back of the apartment. Before he could contemplate why, he was already walking towards it.
Arriving at the door, he reached for the handle; he hesitated for just a moment before turning the knob and stepping inside. The walls were a soft pink, and fluffy white clouds were painted on the powder-blue ceiling.
There was a dark brown wood rocking chair tucked in the corner, next to a beat-up-looking dresser matching in color. In the middle of the floor was a pile of wood on top of a small mattress.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps coming up behind him before a voice sweetly said:
"Oh! You found the nursery!"
He took another step into the room, the creak of the floorboards loud against the fragile stillness.
"Peeta's been helping me get it all ready for the little one's arrival. He hasn't had the chance to put the crib together, but he said he'd do it tomorrow when he stops by."
She gestured towards the pile of wood, which he now recognized as the parts of the crib.
With another look around the room he felt his throat tighten. He tried to force any words to form, but nothing made it past his lips. To speak in there, to even be in there, felt like an intrusion. He wasn't sure why he had ever opened the door.
On his way past her, he said a soft but gruff "It looks nice" before walking out the door and back into the living room. He heard her close the door and follow him.
"Well, I can't take any credit. I only picked the colors; Peeta really did all the work."
"He's a good kid," he muttered, unsure she could even hear him.
"Pie's ready." Mia made her way to the kitchen, and before Haymitch was even seated on the couch, she was handing him a plate and fork. The smell of butter, apples, and cinnamon filled the air around them.
Mia took a quick bite of her pie and began to talk.
"You know he never got around to telling me how the two of you knew each other," she said.
Shit, he thought to himself. He had to think quick.
"I was his mentor in a brutal game where children were forced to fight to the death for entertainment,"was probably not the best answer.
He wasn't sure how much Peeta had told her or what exactly he had said and so he needed to be careful.
"We're neighbors," he said, holding his breath. At least it wasn't a total lie.
"Oh, really. So you live in the victor's village too?" she asked innocently.
He was surprised to hear that she knew about the victor's village. Then again, it was probably smart so that she wasn't caught off guard hearing about it in town. She probably wasn't aware why it was called that or what the inhabitants of that village had to do to earn their title of victor.
"Yeah, I've lived there a while," he responded.
He took a bite of his pie and then a slow sip of his tea. The silence built upon an already uncomfortable tension. Of course she was the one to break it, being that she had a natural talent for finding some way to keep a conversation alive.
"I assume you grew up here in twelve, then?" she asked.
"Yeah, born and raised," he answered simply.
Mia paused and readjusted her seated position.
"So then we must have met before?" She asked the question in a way that said she already knew the answer.
He froze, unsure what to say and how to say it in a way that wouldn't bring up any memories for her.
"I've uhh, I've seen you around over the years," he stated.
She looked dissatisfied with his answer, but he chose to ignore it and take another sip from his mug.
"Really? We weren't friends or…somethingmore?"
There was a dangerous emphasis on the word "something". The truth was perched on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out like liquor from a bottle. But telling her would be selfish. She didn't need the burden of remembering.
His lack of answer caused Mia to grow uneasy.
"Forgive me, it's just…the way you looked at me yesterday. It seemed like there was more to our history than simply…seeing one another around over the years," her cheeks blushed slightly, and it was all the more noticeable without her capitol makeup.
He huffed and shook his head.
"I was sorta out of it yesterday. I don't remember much about what happened."
It was a poor excuse, and she knew it too.
He glanced outside to check if the rain had slowed, giving him an excuse to leave. However, it continued to pour, and the flash of lightening followed by rolling thunder told him he wasn't going anywhere soon.
Mia, reached over to brush her hand against his, bringing his attention back to their conversation.
"It's okay. We can talk about something else. Tell me about yourself. About your family."
Suddenly, he realized he'd rather go back to coming up with lies.
"They passed away a long time ago," he felt his mouth go dry.
Mia's smile fell slightly, and she reached out to cover his hand with hers.
"I'm sorry," she said.
He'd heard those words so many times he thought eventually they'd begin to lose their meaning.
"I lost people too," She added.
He realized that she had no clue who she had actually lost. A mother, father, and a younger sister who had all been living together in the capitol.
"Peeta's the only family I have left besides this peanut," she rubbed her stomach.
He never got a clear confirmation that her family was dead, but her childhood home was burnt to ashes after a bombing close by. There haven't been reports of anyone seeing them around the capitol, but he kept checking every few weeks.
After it was clear that neither of them wanted to talk about their losses, Mia quickly changed the subject.
"Well, what do you do for fun?"
"I have geese," He shrugged.
She chuckled.
"Geese?"
He smiled, and for the first time, it wasn't even a little forced.
"Yeah my younger brother…he always wanted geese growing up, but we could barely afford to feed ourselves let alone a bunch of birds. Once I had the space, time, and the money, I couldn't think of a reason not to get them."
She nodded and then slowly got up off the couch.
"That's sweet. The honking doesn't bother you?" she asked, reaching for his now emply plate and mug.
"No, you get used to it," he said.
"Can I help?" he asked.
"No, I'm just moving them to the kitchen, I'll wash them later, but thank you."
She walked to the other room and placed everything in her sink before coming back over and taking her original spot next to him on the couch.
"What about you? What do you do for fun?" he asked.
"Reading mostly," She gestured towards her stack of books.
"Right now all I have are baby books about how to raise them, what to name them, and every other choice I might be faced with in the next 18 years. Other than that, I've been trying to knit a baby blanket, but it's a slow process."
He looked over at the yarn sitting on the kitchen table.
"I thought it was a scarf," he stated dryly.
She laughed, and his heart jumped.
"Well if I give up soon it will be!" she said, still chuckling.
"I'm sure it will turn out great," he said.
The silence had crept back in and for whatever reason he wasn't able to stop himself from asking. He had to know what Peeta and Plutarch had told her.
"Can I ask you a personal question?" he said hesitantly.
"I suppose," she said with a curious smile.
"Who's the…" he paused, but his eyes were fixated on her stomach.
"The father?" she finished.
He looked back up at her, half expecting her to be offended or upset, but she looked calm, unreadable.
"Yeah," he replied, regretting even asking her. He was a stranger to her, and strangers weren't supposed to pry.
"I'm not sure if Peeta's told you or not but I apparently had a bad accident a few months ago, and ever since then I haven't been able to remember a thing. Peeta told me I was with someone before the rebellion and that he passed away in the bombings on twelve. I'm ashamed to say I haven't really asked for much detail. I don't even have a picture of him to show…" she stopped, her voice cracking slightly.
"I'm sorry," his words felt hollow.
"It's okay," she offered.
She laid her head on the top of the couch and crossed her arms over her chest.
"Could you…could you tell me about growing up here? I don't remember what it was like," she blinked the tears from her eyes.
He paused. It had been a long time since he'd talked about anything before the games.
With a deep breath, he began detailing life in twelve when he was a young boy. He told stories of pranking his friends in school, racing his brother home from Graesy sae's, and how his mother would scold him for tracking mud through the house.
Mia laughed until tears ran down both cheeks, and she was red in the face. He'd never seen her laugh like that in over ten years of knowing her. This wasn't the polite chuckle she'd offer in high society, or even the genuine laughter that would rarely grace his ears in the privacy of his bedroom. This was an ungraceful, loud, belly laugh. There had never been a sound so beautiful.
Haymitch continued telling her stories about his family dinners as the warmth of the fire and the sound of the rain slowing down outside made both of them feel at ease. He could tell that she was tired, her blinks were slower and slower until eventually her eyes failed to reopen. Her breathing slowed to a comfortable pace, and he knew she'd be out for a while.
When Mia next opened her eyes, she realized a blanket had been placed over her after she'd dozed off. The fire was now only embers. She stood up and looked around for any sign of Haymitch, but he was nowhere to be found.
Walking to the kitchen, she noticed that all of her dishes had been washed, dried, and placed on the counter.
She smiled, put the clean dishes away and got herself a glass of water. As she walked towards her bedroom, a light caught her eyes and she walked over to the source.
As she opened the door to the nursery, her breath caught in her throat. There, nestled in the far corner of the room stood the crib fully assembled. The mattress had been placed inside, a small gesture that somehow made the empty crib feel whole.
As she walked over to get a better look, she noticed a piece of paper that had been laid gently inside, and she picked it up.
I knew my stories were boring, but this is the first time I've put someone to sleep. I'll be back tomorrow night to return the clothes. Don't tell Peeta I washere, I'll never hear the end of it.
-Haymitch
She brushed her fingers over the note, a strange but familiar warmth spreading through her. He'd be back tomorrow. The thought made her heart quicken, though she tried to ignore the reason why.
Turning off the light, she stepped toward the doorway but stopped, glancing back at the crib. The room felt different now—less like a project in progress and more like a promise of what was to come.
Her hand lingered on the doorframe as her thoughts drifted. "Who are you, really, Haymitch Abernathy?" she murmured softly to the empty room.