Work Text:
ones I loved tried to help, so I ran them off
and here I sit alone, behind walls of regret
falling down like promises I never kept
Castles Crumbling ~ Taylor Swift ft. Hayley Williams
☀🏹
If there’s one day in the year Haymitch has come to hate even more than his own birthday, it’s today. December 14th.
Lenore Dove’s birthday.
She’d be turning twenty-nine today.
Sometimes, when his mind is clouded enough by the sickening, sweet haze of alcohol, Haymitch can almost delude himself into imaging a reality in which she’s still alive.
In this different, better reality, he married his love and they’re living happily in a house only a short walk away from his Ma, who's also still alive. His brother, Sid, moved out as well and is living right next to him and Lenore Dove, maybe with a sweetheart of his own.
He can never decide on whether him and Lenore Dove have kids in this different reality.
In an ideal world, they’d have two litte girls chasing around their geese, their protective older brother watching over his sisters.
But even his different, better reality is not an ideal world, and so he’s always unsure about that point. Back in the real world, they only touched on the subject briefly, both of them agreeing that aside from them being far too young to be thinking about such things already, that this isn’t exactly a world welcoming to anyone born in the Districts.
Still, he only has to think about the fleeting moments he spotted Burdock proudly showing his little girl, Katniss, around the Hob, for doubts to creep in. Wouldn’t all the pain and suffering still be worth it in the end, if he got to hold his own little girl in his arms?
Not that there’s actually a point in him pondering about all this. Happiness like Burdock is experiencing with Asterid and their little girl - another one on the way as well, if what he’s heard is correct - will never be in the cards for him. President Snow is the one who first made the decision, and yet it’s Haymitch himself that makes sure of that every day over and over and over again.
Happiness will never be in the cards for him - never again. And he’ll make sure of that. If he’ll never love anyone else again, there’s nothing President Snow could still do to hurt him, right?
Still, he allows himself one small, single exception every year.
Every year, on Lenore Dove’s birthday, he sneaks out into the woods beyond the fence surrounding District Twelve, wandering through the woods towards the meadow - the meadow that still, after all these years holds so many terrifying, painful memories for him - , beyond the meadow, until he reaches the Covey graveyard Burdock showed him all these years ago.
Every year on December 14th the endless, painful cycle he's living in, consisting only of nightmares, alcohol and more nightmares that he tries to drown in even more alcohol, is disrupted by his visit to the graveyard. He’s come to love and loathe it at the same time.
Some years, like this year, making it through December 14th is harder than making it through any other day, including his birthday on Reaping Day and inevitably watching the kids he has to mentor die, again and again and again.
Some years, December 14th is the worst day of the whole year for him.
It’s a reminder of all that he’s lost, everything that was cruelly taken away from him, due to his own misguided, foolish attempts at bravery.
And yet, there’s still some spark of fire left in him. Most days it that doesn’t feel like much, but still, it won’t burn out, no matter how hard he tries to distinguish it.
But then again, he made a promise to Lenore Dove. And keeping the promises he’s made to his love has always been more important than anything else. Nothing has changed about that.
And so, Haymitch finds himself once again sneaking behind the fence, and walking through the forest, trudging through the heaps of snow on the ground, a bottle of clean liquor clutched in one hand, a packet of gumdrops clutched in the other. The gumdrops are another cruel, bittersweet reminder of his past, a tradition he started during that wretched year of the Quarter Quell and that he now can’t bring himself to give up on.
Some years, his pain and desperation are so overwhelming and insurmountable, he can delude himself into thinking that Lenore Dove’s walking right next to him.
She’d take the packet of gumdrops out of his hand with a sweet smile, opening the packet and popping a gumdrop into her mouth before Haymitch even has the chance to say anything.
„You shouldn’t spoil me like that, always bringing me these“, she’d say, stopping in her tracks and leaning over to place a chaste kiss on his cheek.
Haymitch would feel the blood rushing to his cheek - because no matter how much time passes and how old he might be now, his love will always have that effect on him - as he’d turn, so he’d be facing Lenore Dove, placing one hand on her waist, the other on her cheek.
„I want to, though“, he’d say, grinning at her. „I love you like all-fire, and if you’ll let me, I’ll spoil you for every single day of our lives.“
She’d smile up at him, before reaching up with one hand to brush a stray curl of hair from his forehead. „I love you like all-fire Haymitch“, she’d say, her hand now coming to rest on his cheek, before their lips would finally meet in a kiss that would taste like gumdrops and Lenore Dove.
I love you like all-fire.
It’s been over thirteen years since Haymitch has last heard his love speaking these words to him. He wonders how many more he’ll have to suffer through before he’ll finally be reunited with her.
At that notion, his lips twist into a bitter smile. He knows how much Lenore Dove would hate that particular train of thought. But then again, she’s not here anymore to tell him that.
She’s not here anymore. Everything that ever made his life worth living has been taken from him, and now all that’s left of his life is this: the shallow, bitter shell of a man, living a half-life in the shadows, trying to drown every thought and feeling in the terrifying bittersweetness of alcohol, whilst still desperately clinging to the laughable little spark of fire that’s left in him.
What would she say, if she could see him now, hastily stuffing the packet of gumdrops into the pocket of his coat, whilst he tries to open the bottle of liquor with shaking hands?
These last few years, he’s tried has damnest to hold on, to safe the liquor for the moment of when he’d finally reach the graveyard, but this year, he simply can’t take it anymore.
He starts to unscrew the cork of the bottle, when, suddenly, impossibly, he hears footsteps, followed by voices.
At first he thinks that maybe he’s so far gone that he’s actually started to imagine things. It wouldn’t be the first time, sadly.
But then he halts, his fingers still gripping the cork, and listens.
He can hear footsteps. It sounds like someone carelessly running through the woods, not caring that they’re so loud that they’re alerting anyone and anything to their presence.
Peacekeepers is the first, chilling thought he has.
But the steps, accompanied by panting and suppressed, giddy laughter, doesn’t really sound like they’re belonging to Peacekeepers.
Then, he sees her.
And it doesn’t matter that so far, he’s only seen her from afar a few times, with him safely tucked away in the shrinking light of the shadows - where he belongs now -, and the only memories he can recall of seeing her involve her bundled up in a bunch of blankets in Burdock’s arms.
One look at her, and her dark hair, her bright, defiant eyes, and he knows that he’s looking at Burdock’s little daughter.
Katniss.
Burdock and his penchant for all the wild and unruly plants down by the lake, Haymitch thinks, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. But then, the little girl suddenly stops running and she looks around herself wildly, calling out for Burdock, and Haymitch knows that he’s got only a few remaining seconds, until her gaze will inevitably land on him.
He should turn away and keep on walking, now.
But he doesn’t.
He feels frozen in place, rooted to the ground, his gaze never once leaving Burdock’s little daughter.
She turns, looking towards the group of trees just in front of him-
„Katniss?“
Burdock’s voice. Haymitch screws his eyes shut, fighting against the sudden pressure building behind his eyes. It’s been years since his best friend - well, former best friend would probably be more accurate - last talked to him. It’s been years, and yet hearing Burdock calling out for his little daughter, Haymitch suddenly feels as if no time at all has passed, as if, once he opens his eyes again, he’ll find that he’s opened a window to the past and stepped right through it, Lenore Dove and his Ma and Sid still alive, everyone alive and well and happy. Or at least as happy as they can be, living in the poorest district of Panem.
It’s been years, and yet Burdock’s voice has lost none of its magic.
Just like listening to Lenore Dove’s singing had never lost its wonderfulness to him.
„Katniss, you promised your mother not to run off again-“
„The snare!“, she interrupts him, and Haymitch can hear her breathless laughter, „the snare! Look, there’s a big rabbit!“
Hearing the barely contained excitement in her voice, Haymitch can feel his heart - or at least what’s left of it - break. Of course. He’s lived in the Victor’s Village for so long now, sometimes he starts to forget what life in the Seam could be like. Days filled with hard work and a constant sense of gnawing hunger that never seemed to go away, not really.
Haymitch’s been living off of Capitol money, not wanting for anything - at least as far as as food and drinks and clothes are concerned - for so long now, sometimes it’s easy to forget what life used to be like for him.
Still, if he could exchange the life he’s living now with that of his past self, struggling to make ends meet in the Seam, he’d do it in heartbeat. He wouldn’t even have to think about it. But that’s not his decision to make - it never was, and it never will be.
„Right you are! Oh, your Ma’s going to be so happy - just think of the fine dinner we’ll have tonight!“, Burdock says, laughing, and the sound is like yet another painful punch to Haymitch’s gut. It’s yet another reminder of everything he’s lost, everything that will never be in the cards for him, ever again.
Because that’s exactly what his self-imposed imprisonment comes down to, isn’t it?
He doesn’t deserve good things, like love and happiness and lifting a little daughter of his own up in his arms, spinning her around, reveling in the sounds of her giddy, breathless laughter.
He doesn’t deserve good things, not anymore. Not after he killed the three people he cared most about. He might not have set the fire himself and he might not have poisoned those forsaken gumdrops himself, but for all it’s worth, he might as well have.
It was his flint-striker that sent out a spark, stoking the flames of revolution.
And it were his hands that fed Lenore Dove those poisoned gumdrops.
Oh, what a cruel, twisted joke he’s been playing at these last years, bringing a new packet of gumdrops to her grave every year. Doesn’t that make him just as bad as Snow, if not even worse?
Suddenly, all Haymitch wants to do is grab that damned packet of gumdrops and fling them as far aways as possible from where he's standing, so that he’ll never have to see it again, never, ever be reminded of its existence again. But he can’t. At least, not yet.
It’s a miracle that Burdock’s little daughter hasn’t noticed him earlier, and he’s not about to draw attention to himself now.
No, he’ll wait for Burdock and his little daughter to leave, because that’s all he’ll ever get in life - watching from afar, seeing people be happy and lucky and in love. Seeing it, but not experiencing it. Never again. He can’t risk it ever happening again.
He’s already got the blood of the three most important people in his life on his hands.
It’s a painful, living reminder everyday.
And so, Haymitch stays covered in the shadows, hidden behind a copse of trees, listening to Burdock explaining to his little girl about snares and wild animals and how best to hunt them in this cold, unforgiving weather.
Finally, finally, they leave. Haymitch wants to laugh and to rage all at once.
They couldn’t have been there for more than a few minutes, maybe the quarter of an hour, at most. Still, to Haymitch it felt like a cruel, twisted eternity.
Once he’s finally sure that they’re so far away that they won’t be able to hear his footsteps, he finally walks on towards the graveyard, but not without finally twisting the cork off the bottle, and taking a big swig of the liquor.
By the time he’s finally reached the graveyard, the bottle’s already half empty and snow has begun to fall. Haymitch doesn’t care.
He doesn’t care about anything anymore. He just wants to make things right with his love.
And so, he falls down on his knees in front of Lenore Dove’s gravestone, sobbing uncontrollably.
I’m so, so sorry, is what he wants to say, wants to scream out for all the world to hear.
I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you, any of you. I tried, I really did, but in the end I failed.
I’m so, so sorry.
But he doesn’t say anything, just continues sobbing, and there’s no one there to comfort him, no vision of Lenore Dove laying a hand on his shoulder and promising him that somehow, everything will be alright.
Because no amount of alcohol clouding his thoughts could ever possibly be enough to fill the black hole in his heart, to heal the venomous poison in his mind and to soothe the terrifying ache in his bones.
But maybe that’s for the best, he thinks, his hands gripping the gravestone desperately.
Because surely someone as twisted and despicable as him could never deserve that kind of absolution.