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Chapter Text

“She’s as friendly as a wheat thresher,” Chaff laughs around a bottle of wine before passing it back to Haymitch, his eyes trained on the monitor raised high above their heads of Katniss and Peeta addressing District Eleven. “And as pure as a sapling.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Haymitch drawls taking an elongated pull from the bottle. “It’s so pathetic it’s almost funny."

“Is that a challenge, Mitchie?”

Haymitch throws Chaff a look, “For me not to kill you, maybe."

Chaff gives him a half smile before yanking the bottle out from around Haymitch's dry, cracked hands. "Bet you would, if I gave you the chance."

Haymitch grumbles,“Think Brutus would like a stab at you first.”

"Me too," Chaff drapes his bad arm over his friend’s shoulder. “Now, how about we find a way to ruffle your girl’s feathers.”

Chapter Text

“She’s trying way too hard,” Johanna huffs, crossing her arms over her chest subtly pulling the bust of her strapless dress up. “Makes kissing Lover Boy look like a chore. Worse yet, like he’s a diseased Maple.”

Haymitch guffaws from his place at the end of long dining table set out in the event hall of the District 7 Justice Building.

Half way through the Victory Tour and the ceremonies have been as subdue as a Sunday morning in District 12; not that a re-enactment in Eleven is desired but something that has nothing to do with Katniss devouring Peeta’s face would be nice. Thank Panem for Johanna Mason.

“You should show her how it’s done,” Blight goads over the rim of his champagne flute, his eyes glassy in inebriation.

Johanna’s eyes fall to her plate as she prods at her spinach salad, “Don’t think she’d be happy if I took her practice dummy away from her.”

Haymitch raises a brow at her, plucking her silverware out from between her fingers, “And when’s that stopped you before, sweetheart?”

Johanna’s glare rivals the warmth of a heavy hail storm in the middle of January. “If this is about last summer--”

“No. It’s not,” Haymitch shoves her fork back at her, his patience growing thin.

“What’s your point then?”

“You set examples, Hanna,” he says barely above a whisper. “Letting something like a make believe love story get in your way of proving someone wrong isn’t you.”

Johanna blinks those big brown eyes of her, words dry on her tongue. “So, you want me to just go over there and plant a big wet one on Lover Boy?”

“Kiss him, strip down in front of them whatever will have you walking away feeling like you’ve thoroughly made Katniss less of a lost cause,” Haymitch’s smile reflects that of Johanna’s as his words sink in.

“If you insist, old man,” she shrugs. “Just don’t get pissy with me if I’ve made her uncomfortable.”

“Don’t think either of us would feel satisfied if you didn’t,” he smirks. 

Chapter Text

On his own Victory Tour, Haymitch remembers Mags tell him that until you feel the sand burn layers of skin off your soles, you haven't felt it.

At the time, he flared with anger at the thought of Mags patronizing him. Having spent months thrashing in the aftershocks of the arena, Haymitch knew exactly what it was like to feel.

Now, he pays no mind to his prior misgivings because sometimes his inebriated haze clouds it all too well.  

Removing his socks and shoes, Haymitch ignores Effie’s shrill of disgust with walking on sand in bare feet. Discouraging Katniss and Peeta sharply from following suit.

They appear to ignore her too as they slip from their sandals and follow the Mayor down to the shore to watch the ebbing tide.

Where he used to pride himself on his sharp senses, Haymitch no longer can with the alcohol swimming through his veins. With his senses as dull as the lip of spiel, Haymitch doesn't feel the presence beside him until a puff of breath gets caught in the shell of his ear.

Effie strictly prohibited the possession of knives and other items on hand after the incident on the train during the 61st Games, which saves Finnick Odair from being gutted like a fish, but not from being punched in the kidney.

Luckily, they both seemed to maintain their reflexes over the years.

Haymitch’s body shakes in fright as his wild gray eyes fixate on Finnick’s tight grasp around his wrist. A little more pressure and he's sure his rustic bones would have snapped.

“Remind me next time not to try and have some harmless fun with you,” Finnick releases Haymitch with a shove.

"You know better than to sneak up on people."

“Can’t help it, I have light tread,” Finnick takes a deep breath as he steadies himself.  His sea green eyes flicker to that happening beyond Haymitch's head; Katniss with her hand weaved securely in Peeta’s is a more picturesque than desired.

"She's like a baby turtle," Finnick says, flatly. "Gonna get eaten alive if she doesn't make it to the ocean fast enough."

"The boy's no better," Haymitch chimes, watching as Katniss and Peeta dip their toes in the cool water.

Scooping up a handful of the ocean, Peeta squirts it through the slots of his fingers at Katniss while she’s preoccupied with the novelty of sea glass wedged between her toes. The initial scowl on her face dissolves once he sprays her again and the two end up in their own little world, sealing the precious moment with a kiss.

No one mentions the paparazzi crouched behind the bush.

"Think they could use a lesson in sexuality," Haymitch hums absentmindedly.

"And how do you go about giving that lesson?" Finnick raises a brow in intrigue. “You’re...a little out of practice.”

"I was hoping you’d give it a shot,” he shrugs.

Finnick narrows his gaze at Haymitch, darkly, "Watch where you're treading, Abernathy."

"I’m not here to exploit you," Haymitch says, curtly. "The kids obviously don't have half a clue what they're in for. I can only pass so much of the torch."

The waves crash over rocks in the distance.

"I think Cashmere will have a thing or two to say about the whole package deal thing," Finnick suggests.

"Don't know how likely it'll be that she do me a favour.”

“Who knows, she might do it on her own. If Katniss is as hopeless as she seems,” Finnick smirks while crossing her arms over her chest.

“We’ll see…” Haymitch mumbles. This time, he catches the crunch of sand and rocks beneath Finnick’s feet as he retreats back onto grassy terrain. But he has a feeling Finnick’s doing it on purpose.

“I wonder what the girl on fire looks like before she’s ignited,” Finnick calls over his shoulder loud enough only for Haymitch’s ears. His feet carrying him beyond where the sand meets soils towards the humble peninsula District Four Victors call home. “Causing a little friction could be fun.”

Haymitch smirks, following him toe to heel yet stopping short of the rot iron gate. With the sun falling behind the horizon, the inklings of light begin to glow in the lamp posts as the tinsel on the New Year’s trimmings sparkle.

“No one’s gonna bite you if you come inside,” Finnick’s voice breaks Haymitch from his awe. “I’m sure Mags and Annie would love for you to stay for dinner.”

All the while, one by one, the extravagant Capitol designed homes blossom like tulips in the spring, bringing the serene village to life. Even with Katniss and Peeta now inhabitants in District 12’s Victor’s Village, the view of warmth and movement is still foreign to him.

“Love to,  but Effie would have my head if I played hooky while on cock blocking duties.”  

“Alright,” Finnick clicks his tongue. “Well, if you change your mind…”

“I really wasn’t trying to exploit you,” Haymitch says, not realizing how much the thought had weighed on his heart. 


“I know, I get it,” Finnick smiles. “You can do this.They’ll make it to the ocean, I’m sure of it.”

“Have you’ve always been such a sap, Odair,” Haymitch scowls, peeling his friend’s fingers off his shoulder.

Finnick doesn’t so much as waver as he holds the gaze of Haymitch’s eyes drenched in doubt, “I mean it.”

“I know,” he scowl slips a little further. “Doesn’t mean I understand your blind faith.”

“Not just mine.”

A deep sigh relinquishes from the confines of his pulsating chest. How could his friends be so ignorant as to put faith in him, especially with his track record. And those kids…they’re going to resent him, reject him, just like everyone else when it hits them. Then what? Back to zero? Back to zero.

Haymitch turns tail and trudges back to the beach, Finnick’s words lost in the gusty winds that whip his hair and clothes around making him look as battered and beat as he feels. Some rubbing alcohol mixed with some bleach would really curb his fix.

He owes it to his friends, he owes it to her father, he owes it to Katniss and Peeta themselves. Why couldn't he find that faith they have within himself?