Chapter Text
The door of her room clicks shut behind us. We’re in her room again, so different to last night.
Lenore Dove doesn’t move at first. She sets her bag down gently. I watch her stiffen, her jaw clenched, avoiding my eyes. I think about the conversation we’ve been avoiding since we left the clinic. I want to speak first, to say something, but I can’t. Anything I say risks tipping her, even slightly. The last thing I want is to overstep.
Finally, she lifts her eyes to me. “Haymitch,” she says softly, almost a whisper. Her voice carries the exhaustion I felt back at the clinic, but there’s something sharper now—something like determination underneath the fatigue. “We need to talk. About… everything.”
I nod, my throat tight. “Yeah. Yeah, we do.” I try to sound steady, but my hands clench involuntarily at my sides.
We sit on the edge of her bed, a few inches between us, and I feel the space like a fragile line. She doesn’t reach for me, and I don’t move closer.
“I keep thinking about it,” she starts, voice low, eyes fixed on the floor. “About… everything we could do. And about me. About us.” Her hands twist in her lap, fingers knotting the sleeve of her hoodie until the fabric is bunched tight. “I don’t want to be weak here. I can’t let anyone decide for me. I can’t.”
“I know,” I say quietly. My own chest feels tight. “You won’t have to. Not now, not ever.”
She finally looks at me, and I see the edge of panic there, the way her pupils are too wide, how her lips press together like she’s holding herself still. “But it’s so big, Haymitch. Everything… it’s too big. I’ve never… I’ve never been responsible for something like this.”
“You’re not alone,” I say carefully. “I’m here. I’ll be here. We’ll… we’ll handle it together. Whatever you choose, you won’t have to face it alone. But it has to be your choice.”
She nods, biting the inside of her cheek, jaw tight. “I know. I just… I keep thinking about all the… options.” Her voice falters slightly. “Keeping it. Adoption. Termination.”
I can feel my stomach twist, my heart rate picking up even though I know exactly where she’s leaning. I let her speak, let her weigh the words, let the silence hang between us while she processes. I don’t interrupt. I won’t interrupt. Not now.
“I… I don’t want to keep it,” she finally admits, voice low but firm. “I can’t. I don’t think I could. Not like this. Not with everything else. I… I don’t want this baby.” The words come out fast at first, then slower, almost as though she’s testing them against the walls of the room to see if they hold. “And I don’t want to give it up for adoption. That… that would just make me feel like I failed. Like I did it wrong. I just… I want it gone. I want it over.”
I don’t speak immediately. My mind runs through all the angles, all the feelings, but mostly I feel the pull of her honesty. That raw, unflinching honesty. I nod once, slow, deliberate. “Okay,” I say. “If that’s what you want. If that’s what you feel is right. I’m with you. I’ll… I’ll support you. I won’t… I won’t pressure you. I swear.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, searching, almost hesitant. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I swallow hard. My throat is tight, my chest heavy. But I’m relieved too. I couldn’t imagine keeping the baby, or even giving it up. “I'm sure. I won’t resent you. I won’t judge you. I’ll be here, Lenore Dove. That’s all I can be.”
The way she exhales, is like she’s letting a little bit of the tension escape, but her shoulders are still tight. She shifts to the bed, sitting at the edge, hands pressed to her knees. “I’ve been thinking about… telling them,” she says slowly, voice low. “My uncles. Your Ma”
“Do you want my opinion?” I ask carefully.
She nods slightly. “Soon, just wanna figure some stuff out first.”
I pause.The silence stretches, heavy with everything we’ve both been holding in. Finally, she murmurs, “I think… I think I should be the one to tell Clerk Carmine and Tam Amber. Alone. I can… I can handle it.”
“You think that’ll work?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she admits, shoulders slumping a little. “But I… I don’t want them deciding for me. Not this time. They’ll try. I can feel it.” Her voice cracks slightly. “Clerk Carmine especially. He thinks he has to control everything to keep me safe. He’ll… he’ll call people, schedule appointments, ask questions before I’ve even thought about them. He’ll turn it into his version of what’s best.”
“I get that,” I say softly. “And… Tam Amber?”
She shrugs, bitter and tired. “He’ll be calmer. He’ll listen more. But I still… I still want it to be my decision. Even with him, I want to own it.”
I nod, because I understand fully. I feel the tight coil of relief in my chest again—this is hers, hers alone, and she’s choosing to let me be here, silent but present. That’s enough. That’s all I get, and it’s more than enough.
“I’m… glad you want the abortion,” I say quietly, the words barely audible, almost to myself. I watch her flinch slightly at the honesty, but she doesn’t reject it. She’s not looking at me yet. I feel a sharp stab of guilt because I want her to be free of any weight from me, but this is part of the honesty. My relief isn’t for her, it’s mine too—but she can see that I’m not trying to manipulate it. I don’t want to manipulate it.
“I… know,” she says finally, voice small, still measured. “I thought… I thought I might feel differently. That maybe… I don’t know. But I can’t. I can’t imagine… carrying this. Not now.”
“You don’t have to,” I whisper. “You never have to. Not if you don’t want to.”
She lets out a long, trembling breath and finally looks at me. Her eyes are wet, but there’s a flicker of resolve there now, sharper than before. “We’ll figure out the logistics later. That’s… not the part I need to handle right now. I need to… I need to handle me. And you can… be here with me.”
I shift slightly on the bed, careful not to crowd her, but close enough that when she trembles, I can reach out. Her hands clench at her knees, knuckles white, then she suddenly flinches forward, face buried in her hands. I wait. My chest tightens watching her collapse, that fragile line between holding it together and breaking completely.
“Hey,” I murmur softly, leaning just enough to let her feel my presence without touching unless she wants. “It’s okay. You can… let it out.”
Her shoulders shake before the first small sob escapes. I swallow hard, trying not to let my own throat tighten too much, because I need to stay steady for her. She exhales a strangled laugh, sharp and bitter, like she’s punishing herself for feeling like this.
“I can’t… I can’t even think straight,” she whispers, voice trembling. “I just… I feel like I’m going to… I don’t know, implode or—” She breaks off, shuddering. I can see panic in the quick rise of her chest, hear it in the uneven rhythm of her breathing.
I reach slowly, almost imperceptibly, and place a hand over hers. She doesn’t pull away. Her fingers loosen just enough to let mine rest lightly against hers, and I feel the tiniest exhale of relief. “You’re not alone,” I say quietly. “I’m here. I’ll stay here. No one’s taking this from you. Not ever.”
A flash of frustration crosses her face. She jerks her hands back, then presses them to her temples. “But it’s so… unfair. I didn’t ask for any of this. I just… I can’t.” Her voice rises in a panicked burst, then cracks and falters. I don’t say anything, just keep my eyes on her.
After a few long moments, she slowly drops her hands into her lap, knuckles still pale but fingers unclenching. Her breathing is still ragged, but more deliberate now, more intentional. She looks up at me, eyes glistening, wide and vulnerable. “Haymitch… what if they hate me? What if they’re… disappointed? Or angry? What if Clerk Carmine… I can’t even—”
I shake my head gently. “No one gets to decide how you feel about this,” I say softly. “It’s yours, Lenore Dove. We’ll face them together, yeah, but you get to own this choice. They don’t get to make it for you, and I won’t either.”
Her lip trembles, then she lets out a shaky laugh, half sobbing, half bitter. “I feel… like I’ve ruined everything. Like I’m… I’m stupid.”
“You’re not stupid,” I insist.
Her lips press together, and I can see the muscles in her jaw clench as she fights down another wave of emotion. Then her hands twitch again, and before I realize it, she leans against my shoulder, almost collapsing into me. I hold her carefully, steady, letting her cry, letting her be angry, scared, frustrated—letting her feel it all.
“I hate this,” she whispers into my chest, voice muffled. “I hate feeling like I can’t… control anything. I hate being scared all the time.”
“I know,” I murmur. “And it’s okay to hate it. You’re allowed to feel all of it. I’m not going anywhere.”
She buries her face further, and her body trembles with a new wave of sobs. I just let her. Fingers brushing her back lightly, thumb rubbing small circles where I can reach.
After a long moment, her voice comes again, quieter, shaky but resolute. “I’ll… I’ll figure it out. And I… I need you here. Don’t leave me.”
“Never,” I reply. “I’ll be right here. Always. You won’t have to face any of this alone.”
She exhales, trembling but steadying. “Okay… okay.”
We stay like that, the room quiet except for her quiet sobs and ragged breaths. I let her settle against me, and slowly, over long minutes, the panic fades into exhaustion. She starts to lean into my presence rather than away, and I feel her trust, fragile but real.
Finally, she whispers, almost afraid to speak aloud, “Haymitch… I… I’m scared. But… I think I can do this. With you.”
I nod, brushing her hair back gently. “You can. I know you can. And I’ll be here the whole way.”
“I think I can… I can handle it with them. Clerk Carmine first, then Tam Amber. I’ll… I’ll tell them, own it myself.
I nod. “Okay. And… after them, we need to think about… my ma.” My chest tightens. I haven’t even started to imagine how she’s going to react. She’s gonna be furious, scared, disappointed maybe… and I can’t… I can’t let Lenore Dove feel that fallout on top of everything.
She glances at me, eyebrows tight. “We… can plan it. Maybe I say enough to explain… then you step in for the rest?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “I can do that.”
“Clerk Carmine will probably call her, right?” Lenore Dove says.
“Yeah,” I agree. “She’ll find out. I don’t want her to flip on me, but… I’ll tell her how I want to handle it first. Make it about keeping you safe, not anyone being mad at anyone. Probably use Sid as a shield.”
Lenore Dove watches me carefully.
Her hand finds mine, fingers brushing mine in a small, tentative grip. I squeeze gently. She leans closer, and I can feel the weight of everything—fear, relief, worry, and desire—all coiling in the space between us.
“I… I still don’t know how to… feel about all this,” she whispers, almost breathless, her voice trembling like the faintest thread. “How to be… everything I need to be.”
“You’re not alone,” I murmur, keeping my voice low. “You don’t have to do it alone. Not now, not ever.”
Her forehead tilts against mine. I can feel her breath on my lips, a quick, nervous rhythm that mirrors my own. I don’t pull back. I can’t. Not when she’s this close, fragile and raw, trusting me to stay.
Our lips brush once, light, hesitant, a test, a whisper of something more. My heart jumps, pounding so hard it hurts. Her eyes flutter shut, then open again, uncertain, searching for me in the half-light of her room.
I lean slightly closer, careful, letting her pull back if she wants, letting the tension hang thick between us. Every small movement feels amplified—the way her hair brushes against my shoulder, the faint warmth of her body pressed close, the slight tremor in her hand still resting in mine. She shifts, barely, and I feel the subtle, electric weight of expectation in the air, the kind that makes every heartbeat louder, every breath shallower.
Her eyes track mine, hesitant but unwavering, and I can see the mix of fear and desire mirrored there, the way she’s testing both herself and me. “You know, it’s not like I can get–”
Her words falter, and she doesn’t finish. The sudden break in her sentence leaves the room tense, hanging on an unspoken thought neither of us wants to voice yet. I just shift a fraction closer, careful not to crowd her, letting my presence be the anchor she’s still leaning on. Her hand tightens around mine again, subtle but deliberate, and I feel the weight of the moment deepen.
Her hands drift to my waist. “May I?” she breathes.
I exhale without thinking. “Yes.” Her body presses against mine, just enough to make me catch my breath. I’m reminded of how we got into it and a stirring deep in my stomach yearns me towards doing it again.
“God I missed this.” She laughs, slipping off her shirt.