Work Text:
The coming months were measured in moments like that. Moments of monotony sprinkled with specks of lucidity and clarity. Some days she was able to surface up to a few hours if the conditions were right. But even then it was still cloudy. She would say something then trail off but she would always find her way back until the fog grew too thick. Other days she didn’t come to at all.
The subtle tremble that wracked her frame still continued albeit more muted. The twitching, the flickering expressed itself now in more overall timidness..
She still drank her meals but didn’t need the same level of assistance that she required in the early days. Beetee called it procedural memory - the way she could still undertake those tasks despite the fog in her mind that hindered everything else.
Things still triggered her - the usual. It would garner the same floaty faraway response but she started to accept small touch in that state. The texture of someone else’s hand her in hers or the grounding presence the warm touch would give.
Even though the progress she made was commendable considering the way she was discharged from the Capitol it was still painful to be reminded that parts of her seemed to stay there when she was released. They didn’t destroy her, but she was now broken into fragments. Sometimes her old personality would show for a moment, but it usually just lay dormant, overshadowed by the trauma that was ready to be activated again by the fire of the Capitol, threatening to send her back to where she was.
Activity was ramping up, the Victory Tour was now slowly simmering. Even Wiress in her usual absence felt it - she was coming through less and less. And there wasn’t much to begin with,
As if she could sense something was brewing in the air.
Given her… souvenirs from the last time she was in their company, the Capitol found it best to send a couple of Capitol officials to her house to assess her mental status in the lead up to the Tour.
It was customary for a Victor to be accompanied by their Mentor on this tour but they didn’t want another Lou-Lou situation where she was shrieking in her interview. It was… unsettling. The Capitol knew deep down that no one would really question Wiress’... odd state. She came across as airy enough in her own interviews and said weird things, her new… unsettled state wasn’t far from it.
But the Victory Tour had no space to be unsettled, given the way the last Games ended. It had to be perfect. They had to see if she was ready. If not, they’ll make an excuse for it, give her some time out of the limelight before she was brought right back into it once she reached a better baseline
Haymitch had another mentor, perks of having double the mentors and double the tributes.
Mags was already cleared to join the tour after having a near full recovery.
They just had to assess Wiress.
But today was not a good day for her.
Wiress was sitting at the kitchen table, chair pulled too close, hunched over shoulders, fingers twitching in a small flickering way she never quite lost when the two flamboyantly dressed individuals waltzed in. Beetee left out the back in the direction of his own house when he heard they were coming but her mum and Byte hovered around. Byte rested on top of the couch in the adjacent living room, pretending to read the newspaper while their mum busied herself with preparing an assortment of dishes as an excuse to stay in the room.
“Ah there she is!” An obnoxiously high-pitched voice announced as she made her way further into the room, trailed by another attendant and Peacekeeper close by.
They stared at Wiress for a beat too long before breaking into some general pleasantries.
“Where are my manners?” The same voice remarked. “I’m Estrella,” she declared with a bright voice and polished diction. “This lady over here is Magdolna,” she said, gesturing to her shadow. “We are here to ask you some questions.”
Wiress didn’t seem to catch any of that, her still being faraway from the rest of them in the back of her mind. She was humming something softly that was more droning than singsongy.
But that was usual these days.
The other woman stepped forward, kneeling in front of her. Invasive and careful all at once. “Wiress,” Magdolna said gently, as if her tone could coax Wiress out of wherever she was. “Do you know why we’re here?”
One set of uncooperating eyes blinked back at them. That could have been considered a response if the swaying and the mutterings didn’t cause them to second guess themselves.
Wiress didn’t look at her. Her gaze drifted past the woman’s shoulder, to the doorway that had the door taken off months ago, to the open hall beyond.
Her mother’s hands curled into the fabric of her skirt as she finished stirring whatever she was making in her pot. Byte who was sitting in the other room froze against the chair as he stared straight ahead at the wall, like if he looked at her too hard she might fracture further.
“That’s okay,” Magdolna replied, scribbling something down anyway. “Can you tell us what year it is, Wiress?”
Wiress blinked at that. But it was different than before. For a second her eyes seemed to sharpen. “After,” she responded. “It’s after.”
They were expecting her to elaborate on that but she was gone again. She pressed her fingers to her ears, rocking slightly now, breath quickening.
“No, no, no,” she whispered. “Not again. Not again. Not again.”
Estrella straightened, exchanging a glance with her colleague. Their smiles faltered, just a little before they tried other questions. Names. District 3. The Hunger Games.
They weren’t having a lot of success.
Between her mutterings and her drifting, nothing stuck. Apart from expressions of distress, there was no indicator they could see that she was still there
When Magdolna mentioned the Capitol directly, Wiress flinched so hard her chair scraped the floor. She slid down until she was crouched under the table, arms wrapped tight around herself, eyes squeezed shut.
Her mum stepped forward at that, but a Peacekeeper shifted too, subtle and warning.
“We just need to assess your pupil function,” Estrella said after having no luck with any coherent responses. Estrella and Magdolna had the Capitol’s confidential report of what exactly was done to her and her responses to said treatment. They didn’t mention anything about a potential brain injury though.
Although she was awake, she wasn’t there - checking if her pupils were reactive was a way to see if she was still perceiving any sort of stimuli. If they didn’t react, well something would be wrong there.
What they didn’t warn her was that pupillary function was best measured in dim settings, where the light shone into your eyes best show how you react in its most dilated state.
Estrella had the pen torch in hand while Magdolna moved into the direction of the nearest light switch. Her mum watched in silence, still feeling the Peacekeeper’s gaze on her, bracing herself for the fallout as she stood there powerless.
Byte on the other hand clocked what they were going to do immediately.
Rising from the couch, newspaper be damned, he moved toward her, trying to get to the switch first so she couldn’t turn it off. “You don’t want to do that. You don’t under…” he started.
He didn’t get to finish until the room went dark.
The scream tore out of her, raw and sudden. Hands flew to her head, clamping over her ears as she folded in on herself, rocking violently. Words dissolved into sound - pleading, fractured syllables, a bird-sharp panic that filled the room.
Byte brushed against the two colourful Capitol folk who was tormenting his sister and dropped to the floor beside her, shielding her without thinking.
That was rebellious in itself.
The Peacekeeper was about to make his way over until the Capitol officials exchanged a quick look. It was final.
“I believe we have seen everything we needed,” Magdolna started closing her folder with a soft, final click, Wiress’ frantic pleas still flying out of her mouth. “She’s unfit for public engagement.”
“Severe psychological deterioration,” Estrella added calmly, inching further toward the front door that stayed open in the daytime. “Given her condition, we’ll be marking her as exempt from the Tour. District 12 will proceed with a single mentor.”
The Peacekeeper escorted them out as if they didn't just drop this bombshell on them without warning, expecting them to sort it out.
Standing in the doorway, Magdolna added. “We'll be back in a few months.”
A few months.
The 51st Games.
They really couldn’t give her a moment of peace.
Wiress’ screams eventually burnt themselves out into hoarse sobs, then into a thin, broken hum. Byte stayed with her on the floor, rocking slightly in time with her. He didn’t know if it did anything but at least she wasn’t alone. They stayed like that long after the assessment was over. Her mum went to grab Beetee once the coast was clear.
She may have been written off.
Left behind.
But at least these people around her knew the truth.
—--
They dressed him in lies.
Clean jacket. Clean hands. Clean words fed through an earpiece like rations. The Capitol loved a survivor, especially when they can pretend survival looks neat.
They needed to do a lot of damage control with him.
And they needed a new puppet.
He thought once he got off that train, he would get to live uninterrupted for a while until the Tour ramped up. Yes, his methods were a little… unorthodox but he still won.
How wrong he was.
He didn’t win anything.
In a losing game disguised as a winner, he lost everything.
Haymitch stood beside a wall in District 12 facing the camera that was about to go live and counted his breaths because if he didn’t, he'd count the dead instead.
Maysilee, Louella, Lou-Lou, Wyatt. And those were the only people who was presented alongside him to represent District 12.
He lost all the Newcomers.
And that was the only loss he experienced in the arena.
Nothing could prepare him for what his Homecoming would continue to torment him with.
Family? Gone. Burned out of District Twelve like a warning flare. Lenore Dove? Gone. He wasn’t fast enough. Wiress and Mags were tortured because of him - they couldn’t touch the Victor but the Capitol never forgave being embarrassed.
Someone always had to pay.
He couldn’t get Wiress’ bird-like twitch and frantic mutterings out of his head. She was only a year or two older than him, he could recall. Or the way Mags who was so strong and caring looked absolutely fragile in the chair they pushed her around in. He hadn’t seen them since but he knew he probably lost them too.
Take everyone out in one fell-swoop leaving him with nothing.
The cue light blinked. He couldn’t even focus on Caesar - just the look of him causing him to go into fight or flight.
He had no fight left.
And running would make things worse.
Sure, they had nothing left to take - he had nothing left to lose but he didn't want to see anyone else be on the receiving end of a punishment that was reserved for him.
He was reading the lines on auto-pilot.
Something about gratitude and resilience he wasn’t quite sure - his mouth was doing the work while his mind floated just above his body, detached enough to survive the moment. He talked about unity. About honour. About the Games shaping him. They wanted to smooth out his rascal persona with this script but it still came out in the roughness of his voice.
It ended in him announcing for the date of the start of the tour, having him start in District 11 going all the way down until it ended in 12.
—--
The kitchen smelled like warm soup and metal.
The radio was off. The lights were still on. The television murmured from the living room, its glow painting colours in the carpet below. Wiress sat at the table with her feet tucked under the chair, pencil hovering over a scrap of paper. She was drawing something but it was hard to tell - the lines trailed off mid-shape.
Beetee leant against the counter, arms folded, watching the screen without really watching it. Her mother stood by the stove, stirring something she’s already stirred smooth. Byte was at the sink, pretending to wash a mug that had been clean for minutes.
They all knew what was coming, having seen and lived the routine the year before.
Haymitch suddenly appeared on the television. He looked way worse for wear the last time they had seen him. He was in a polished jacket and clean clothes but that didn’t mask the dark eyebags that spread down to his cheeks or the hardness he wore in his eyes that made him appear both haunting and haunted.
They hadn’t been kind to him either.
Wiress’s pencil stopped, her head lifting slowly at the sound of his voice, like a wire catching a current.
“Bad news,” she said out into the open - to no one in particular.
No one moved at that.
Bad news being how he looked? Bad news him being there? Bad news being the start of the tour? Was she just saying bad news for the sake of it?
Or was she acknowledging him in earnest - calling him just what he called himself in their mentoring sessions before his interview?
But no one in this room was there to see that exchange.
Beetee’s breath catched, Byte dropped the mug - it echoing with a sharp clash in the sink, her mum forgot about what she was cooking.
Wiress leant closer to the screen, eyes narrowing with effort. “He learned the angles,” she squinted, thoughtful. “Doing what they want.”
Byte turned, heart pounding. “Wires?”
She didn’t look at him. She was fixed on the screen, watching Haymitch’s mouth, the cadence of his speech, the places where he hesitated.
“Doesn’t believe that,” she said after hearing him say something about wanting to smooth things out. “Rough around...”
“The edges,” Byte answered, finishing the sentence for her as she seemed to have dropped off again, picking up the dropped mugs before scrubbing it again.
Beetee crossed the room slowly, like approaching a skittish animal. This was her first time seeing him since. It was an unspoken rule in the Beam household to not bring him up when she was around.
No one knew how she was going to take it.
“Wiress,” he murmured gently. “Do you know who that is?”
She nodded once, facing him with an incredulous expression that had the words “are you serious” written across her face before going back to the screen. How could she forget? He was her tribute after all.
“Who?” Beetee asked once more, wanting to hear her understanding of the situation so they knew the best way to go about speaking about him.
Wiress seemed to consider it for a while, staring hard at the tv screen. Maybe she was going to respond once his speech was over. Or maybe the attention required to participate in the conversation completely eluded her.
Eventually her eyes started to get the faraway look that they had grown very accustomed to seeing these past few months. Beetee cleared his throat quietly causing Wiress to startle and blink quickly as she broke from her trance.
“Do you know his name?” Byte asked, trying to tactfully remind Wiress of their previous conversation without highlighting her lack of focus.
“Haymitch,” she answered, softly.
“He’s tired,” she added wistfully. “They took too much.”
Byte was about to open his mouth to respond until he saw her turn back to her page, sketching crooked circles, entirely disinterested in them once more.
Haymitch disappeared from the screen, replaced by Capitol logos and music. Wiress hummed under her breath, a thin, wandering tune.
Although there wasn’t much of an exchange surrounding him, they hardly thought she harboured any bad blood towards him based on the way she spoke about him.
Somewhere even amidst the fog, they knew she didn't blame him for the hand she was dealt.
—--
He reunited with her in the carriage of a train that was clearly polished and all too bright.
Brought in with Peacekeeper’s on both sides of him, he spotted her before he was meant to.
There she was, seated pleasantly on one of the leather seats that faced forwards. She once told him it was okay to cry around her - but that was before he caused her to bear the brunt of the Capitol’s anger. He had a lot of grudges, he didn’t know if she did too.
Going closer, Haymitch paused for a second.
“Hey,” Haymitch eventually said, uselessly.
The Peacekeepers chose to linger close, boots planted wide with rifles in hand. They were always watching. Through the cameras that analysed every exchange in the carriages to their physical presence sitting by the back.
Mags’ face softened at his voice, giving him a small smile and warm look that said she never blamed him. She gestured for him to take the seat next to her, she didn’t hug him - the Peacekeepers would break that up but her steady presence was enough to make him feel less alone.
Giving him a knowing look, she broke the silence. “You’ve been better.”
He huffed a dry laugh. “Victory’s never looked this good,” he responded, bitterness laced in his tone, looking around for the familiar face of his second mentor. “Where’s Wiress?” he asked. “She’s meant to be here too.”
Mags exhaled slowly, trying to figure out how to explain it with the Capitol’s watchful gaze on them while bracing for the fallout of Haymitch’s reaction. “Not here.”
Something sharp twisted under his ribs. He couldn’t lose someone else. Sure, they weren’t close but she still made an impact on him. So far, everyone who had made a significant impact on Haymitch’s life ended up dead - except for Mags. He didn’t know what happened to Beetee “... Where?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t say what he thought she was going to say.
She lifted her eyes to his, meeting his face straight on. “District 3.”
Oh.
That’s better than what he was thinking. Until he was reminded of the last time he saw her.
The Capitol usually didn’t hand out exemptions that easily.
It must have been bad.
Haymitch exhaled, realisation clicking into place. If they didn’t want her in the public eye, paraded for everyone to see, it only meant one thing.
She was too broken for the Capitol.
He caused that.
At least the Capitol’s cruelty came with a sliver of mercy - she didn’t have to play into their propaganda anymore.
Or at least right now.
Mags risked a glance at the Peacekeepers, then back at him. “It’s quieter there,” she commented. “Less… spectacle.”
A silence stretched over them. How Haymitch wished they would stop messing with everyone who seemed to care about him or if they would just take him out of his misery already.
Eventually the Peacekeepers in the carriage finally seemed to lose interest - two unspeaking Victors didn’t seem very worthy of their attention. But that didn’t stop the buzz of the cameras nearby.
“You’re carrying a lot,” she said gently after a while.
Haymitch snorted a biting sound. “That obvious?”
“Remember what I said,” Mags responded with quiet sincerity, patting him softly on the knee.
It's okay to cry around Mags.
“Come on, they’ll be serving supper soon,” Mags said after a while, getting up to go to the compartment that held the food.
Nodding, Haymitch got up and followed her into the room, Peacekeepers trailing quietly behind.
The set up was more lavish than he expected, they clearly upgraded it from the last time he was there.
The whole interior was decked with modern looking furniture painted all too white for Haymitch’s liking. It reminded him of what they were all forced to wear in the arena. The walls were covered with a bright green wallpaper and tables were covered with vases that had all sorts of wildflowers peeking through. The floor was covered in vibrant blue hues that made it crystal clear what they were trying to recreate.
It would look rather nice if it weren’t so sickening.
He just got out of the arena but somehow, the arena always seemed to haunt him.
Haymitch sat across Mags at the biggest table in the centre of the compartment, the Capitol attendants would arrive shortly with their plates covered in sleek cloches and crystal domes. The Peacekeepers had their own table in the corner to keep watch
The extra footsteps caught his attention, followed by the smell of a hearty savoury meal that made his stomach churn with hunger. Finally. Something filling.
The Capitol attendants set the plates down with practiced smiles, like they’re delivering a gift. When they lifted the lids, Haymitch was assaulted with the memories that kept haunting him, no matter how hard he tried to forget.
It smelled like a stew of some sort, that wasn’t the issue.
The issue was the way the stew was heavily shaped to resemble the thing he was too slow stop.
Mushed and moulded to resemble a small dome with a narrowed top.
Gumdrops.
Haymitch’s vision narrowed, breathing stuttering like he’d just been winded. He curled his fists under the table, careful to make sure that was out of the camera’s line of sight. Mags didn't know the whole story yet thanks to them never being able to have time alone but by judging the way her former-tribute paled immediately, she didn’t need the whole story to fill in the gaps.
It was a warning.
Step out of line… and well he already knew the rest.
Suddenly Haymitch wasn’t very hungry anymore.
There was no way he was staying sober for this tour.
“I don’t know about you but I don’t really have a hankering for stew,” Mags started, fingers wrapping around the lids of the cloches the Capitol attendants left behind. “I might just wait for dessert,” she said, discreetly covering the plates with a quiet whisper.
“If that's supper I don't want to see dessert,” Haymitch huffed bitterly, hands wrapped tightly around a glass he hadn’t touched. Outside the window, the dark blurred past, endless and directionless. They would reach District 11 in the early morning.
Mags just gave him a knowing look, she had somewhat of an idea of what they did to his loved ones back home.
“They want a reaction,” she said quietly. “Don’t give it to them.”
“I should have just let the arena take me,” Haymitch let out, dragging a hand down his face.
“That would have been… easier,” Mags eventually responded after a moment, trying to figure out what to say when their eyes were still on them. “But you’re not alone.”
“They’re going to keep doing this,” he murmured brokenly, not loud enough for the Peacekeepers in the corner to make out what he was saying. It was good they were actually busily eating their own meals without a fuss. “Every stop. Every camera. Every… Games.”
“Yes,” Mags agreed. “They will.”
Completely downcast, he gave her a hollow look. “How did you survive this?”
He didn’t know anything about her Games, but he knew she would have been forced to undertake all the Victor’s events he was now being forced to smile and perform for. Regardless of how she won, being paraded for the Capitol would have been just as despicable as they were making it for him.
She stayed quiet for a moment, clearly thinking. “I learned to do what they wanted to see,” she answered eventually. “And when to let it all out in private.”
Reaching across the table, she leant and placed her hand over his. “And when to hold someone’s hand instead.”
“Let’s get some air,” Mags added, rising to move to the back compartment that had a small open platform.
The Peacekeepers didn’t seem interested in the the latest tribute and one of his mentors standing out in the rear of the passenger train - more interested in the meals in front of them that got more extravagant with each course
The cold night air wrapped around him like a second skin as he stood on the rear platform of the moving train, the world rushing away behind in a blur of silver rails and shadowed countryside. Mags stood slightly behind him in the doorway, giving him the space to process his thoughts in a semi secluded area. Privacy was hard to come by now that he’d been promoted to Victor.
Haymich exhaled a heavy breath he’d been holding in this whole time, breath blooming into the air as a pale, ghostly cloud. It hung for a moment, suspended in the slipstream, before being torn apart by the wind.
That seemed fitting.
He now lives to serve the Capitol.
And by the time he wasn’t useful or interesting anymore.
He’d finally get peace.
Holding onto the rails, the darkness stretched into the distance as far as he could see, broken only by the occasional flicker of stars drifting between clouds, showing the faint echo of places he’d already left behind.
“I don’t think I can do this,” Haymitch said suddenly, still fixed on the whirring landscape ahead.
That was a broad statement, but she supposed it seemed fitting considering the weight he’d been under.
“You think your life is ruined,” Mags said at last, looking ahead at the boy who had to grow into a man’s body in a matter of months.
Haymitch didn’t answer. It was true.
“You’re not wrong,” she added, causing Haymitch to look back at her, startled by her bluntness. “They used you. They punished you for outsmarting them. They’ll try to break you for the rest of your days.”
“Great pep talk,” Haymitch scoffed.
“But,” she continued, leaning forward, stretching her hand to place on his back “you’re still here. And that means something.”
Haymitch looked away, jaw tightening. “I don’t know what to do with any of this.”
“You adapt,” Mags answered. “You stay alive out of spite if you have to.”
Haymitch let out a shaky breath, memories of all his loss coming at him at full throttle. “I don’t think I can.”
“You can,” she said, and her voice softened. “Because you already did.”
They let the silence drag on for a moment before Mags eventually went inside, laying on an outstretched couch. Haymitch joined her after a few more minutes to himself on a nearby recliner courtesy of the Capitol’s lavish expenditure.
“I’m going to have to look like I’m mentoring you again,” Mags said after a while, silence only being broken by the constant clacking of the train against the rails. “They want to see that.”
“Now?” Haymitch asked,
“In a few hours. We’d reach 11 at dawn.”
Haymtich brokenly agreed to that. He thought of it as harm reduction, the more he could comply, the less people they’d hurt.
The air in 11 was different.
As soon as the doors opened, Haymitch was assaulted with the heavier and humid atmosphere that decided to press against his chest instead of filling his lungs. It wasn’t the smell that got to him - that was just earth and sweat - but more so the feeling of hopelessness that seemed amplified ten-fold in this spread out field of various wheats and grasses broken by the sky-high watch towers and metal fences that meant to escape.
A congregation of Peacekeepers swarmed the platform, them being armed with various batons and rifles that made the lax treatment in 12 look like child’s play. After spending the dawn appearing to mentor Haymitch for the surveillance cameras in the Capitol, Mag’s was swiftly whisked away in the crowd, getting her own space to watch his tour. She gave him a brief rundown of what to expect, he would be forced to give a scripted speech that went against every fibre of his being and be forced to face the families of the fallen and the rest of the district. Afterwards, there’d be somewhat of a celebration hosted by District 11 where folks from the Capitol get their opportunity to go on a getaway and party with the latest Victor, completely oblivious to the mistreatment of those in the Districts. Mags explained that the closer they got to the Capitol, the more lavish the celebrations would get.
After leaving him alone on the platform for short moment, inevitably broadcasting the arrival of the latest Victor on the first stop of the tour, the cameras cut and the Peacekeepers closed in on him immediately, guiding him away from the platform to what seemed to be the back-stage of a shaded verandah which would be where he would be standing to give his manufactured speech. He didn’t have the energy to resist, he had no more distance left to run.
A Capitol attendant gushed and handed Haymitch a stack of cue cards while another mic’ed him up with a small gadget that was clipped onto his chest. Being a male with a more. rough persona the beauty team didn’t need to spend much time with him, he was already perfect as he was.
He barely skimmed the first sentence on the first card before he promptly placed the stack in one of his pockets. It was all bull anyways, he didn’t have to read it twice. He stood there in the blazing sun until another attendant announced it was go time.
Stepping onto the verandah facing the hard-worked and tired crowd that made the population of 12 look as unimpressive as the rest of the District seemed to be in the eyes of others, Haymitch cleared his throat and began.
“It is an honor to stand before the brave people of District Eleven…”
He heard himself speaking, but it felt like someone else was moving his mouth, he was sick of being a puppet. He kept his gaze fixed above the crowd, refusing to meet the eyes of the families in the front row - they were in his alliance too.
“…your tributes fought with courage and dignity…”
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
“…and their sacrifice will never be forgotten.”
He finally stopped there, he said he wouldn’t do this anymore, but he couldn’t help it.
It was despicable.
In the heat of the moment, fuelled with indignation, he let it out.
He didn’t want anyone else getting hurt but he had nothing left to lose.
The silence stretched, Peacekeepers clutching their weapons with an iron-fisted grip - sensing the tension in the arm. The Capitol officials were just as oblivious as their fans, leaning forward, waiting for him to continue.
Letting out a sharp humourless scoff, “sacrifice,” Haymich repeated, voice hardening enough to make the hairs on the necks of the crowd perk up. All they needed was a spark. “That’s what we’re calling it now.”
A ripple moved through the crowd as they sensed what he was alluding to.
They were getting ready.
“It’s not noble to go out like that. They were kids,” Haymitch stated, tone cutting through the air like a blade as he dropped the cards in protest. “Kids don’t deserve that. They. Don’t. Deserve. That,” Haymitch repeated vehemently, enunciating each word with clear diction, pointing his index finger as he stared straight into the cameras he was sure was already turned off.
Mag’s watching from afar sucked in a harsh breath as she watched the scene unfold. They weren’t very forgiving the first time - she still had the scars. Her bases were covered this time though, giving the cameras on the train hours of footage appearing to media-train him.
She would be safe this time.
But she would happily bear the brunt of the Capitol's fury if it meant no one had to go through what she had to go through.
Whatever happened next, she still judged her tribute’s judgment. No matter the fallout.
Haymitch didn’t stop, he always felt more comfortable with the gaze of the cameras. “They weren’t honoured. They weren’t remembered. They were entertainment.”
A few people in the crowd saluted that while a few temporary guests from the Capitol gasped in shock.
It was a reckoning.
Until the Peacekeepers pulled the trigger into the crowd.
A hand swiftly clamped down on his arm as he registered the echoing of footsteps too late. Jerking once, instinctively, Haymitch quickly realised that his effort was futile, he was easily outnumbered, dragging him away with forceful precision.
The mic stand might be standing alone on the stage but he still had a voice, calling out into the crowd one more time.
“THEY DESERVED BETTER!” He yelled as he was quickly thrown to the side before being pulled up to his feet, dragged into District 11’s Justice Building that was more sleek than the one in 12 could ever be.
They all still had a hold of him, leading him further into the building before ascending a curved marble staircase with newly fitted carpet on the top floor.
“I’ll take him from here,” a venomous voice grit out at the very top. Snow always cools the fire.
Watching the Peacekeepers obediently trail down the stairs, he faced Hayitch with his all too piercing eyes. “My, my. Mr Abernathy. Whatever shall we do with you,” he tutted, voice smooth as polished marble.
“Come on walk with me,” Snow continued, leading him further through the labyrinth of the top floor that led to more twisting staircases and narrow halls until he was led into a room with a trapdoor. “What an… eventful morning.”
It was just as ominous as it seemed.
Following Snow through the trapdoor, he just waited for Snow to have it out at him, despite the odd stench that caused his eyes to flash red. He took a seat on a rickety armchair Snow gestured for him to take.
“I must say,” Snow continued, “your speech was… memorable.”
Haymitch swallowed. “Wasn’t a speech.”
“No,” Snow agreed calmly. “It wasn’t.”
Circling the room, he stopped behind Haymitch’s chair. Haymitch couldn't see him, but he could feel the man’s presence like a cold hand on the back of his neck.
“You deviated from the script,” Snow said lightly. “Quite boldly.”
Haymitch’s fingers curled into fists as he turned his body to face him front on “I told the truth.”
Snow lets out a soft, amused breath at that. “Truth,” he repeated, as if tasting the word. “A dangerous indulgence. Often times better thought than executed”
He stepped around, giving Haymich the courtesy of him not having to contort his body to face Snow front on, leaning forward just enough that the rose’s scent became overwhelming. Haymitch tried not to flinch.
“You see,” Snow continued, “the Capitol provides you with a narrative. A comfortable one. A useful one. And in return, we expect our victors to… cooperate.”
His blood red eyes sharpened.
“You did not cooperate.”
Haymitch’s pulse thudded heavily in his ears. “What are you going to do,” he muttered, “kill my family? Kill me? Be my guest,” spitting out the last words.
Snow’s smile widened - usually Victors were not this… fiery.
It was quite commendable really.
But it had to be stopped.
“Oh, no,” Snow responded. “Killing you would be wasteful. You’re far more valuable alive.” Straightening, he smoothed an invisible wrinkle from his sleeve before continuing.
“But understand this, Mr. Abernathy: your value is conditional. Your survival is conditional. As you saw, there are many ways for you to… suffer. And your… behaviour” - he gestured vaguely, - “must improve.”
Haymitch felt something cold settle in his stomach as he could feel his breakfast slowly coming up. He forced himself to hold it down
Snow stepped closer, lowering his voice dangerously.
“You will give the speeches we write. You will smile when we tell you to smile. You will give the crowd what they want and join in on the celebrations. And if you don’t…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Leave it up for interpretation.
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
Finally, Snow patted Haymitch’s shoulder - lightly, almost affectionately if you ignored the previous conversation.
“I’m glad we understand each other.”
Turning to descend through the trap door, Snow glanced at Haymitch one more time.”
“Oh, and Mr. Abernathy?”
Haymitch held his head up in indignation, waiting for Snow to proceed.
“I hope you enjoy your party. You’re the star of the show.”
The door closed behind him with the same soft click as Snow descended with a quiet ease that left Haymitch unsettled, the scent of roses still clinging to the air like poison.
“God I need a drink,” Haymitch muttered through the air as he let his hands drag down his face.
His drinking had definitely increased in the aftermath of his own Games but he was still able to stay sober for most of the day.
He suspected that was going to change soon.
Haymitch eventually went down and walked back into the celebration hosted just for him.
It was loud, festivities being spread all across the rolling fields of 11 - filled with music, foods, clinking glasses - but it all felt muffled to him, like he was underwater. District 11’s officials swarmed him immediately, bright smiles plastered on, eager to parade their visiting victor, like they had forgotten Haymitch’s earlier outburst. There was no sign of Mags, that left him of on edge.
“There he is!” one of the decorated people called out. “Here to settle your… spark,” they said eventually, clearly searching for the word before forcing a glass into Haymitch’s hand.
Haymitch just stared at the cup that wafted a sharp and pungent odour that made his nose turn up. “Don’t mind if I do,” he huffed eventually, he wanted to forget this day entirely.
The Capitol fans gushed at that while hardened eyes from District 11 watched with quiet concern as he seemed to down another drink after another.
“Oh he’s a partier!” someone else squealed, eagerly waiting for more rounds as Haymitch staggered and slurred throughout the main square.
Another flamboyant figure grabbed his shoulder and spun him into a toast. Haymitch raised his glass because that’s what they want. He drank because it was the only thing that dulled the panic clawing at his ribs. Kill two bids with one stone as they say.
The space tilted, the lights smeared and the pressure seemed to be lifted slightly.
Haymitch felt himself slipping - detaching, drifting, floating somewhere above his own body. The alcohol ran warm in his veins, but everything else was cold. Snow’s words echoed in the back of his mind, quiet and poisonous. He wanted to forget. So he accepted another shiny glass with colourful liquid.
He was maybe 7 drinks in until he saw her.
“Maagggss,” Haymitch slurred on unsteady feet. “I was so wo-w-worried,” he managed to stutter out.
Mags grimaced before facing him with kind eyes. “Haymitch dear, how many have you had?”
“Not enough,” Haymitch grit out, smelling like an ungodly concoction of spirits and whiskeys that made Mags’ heart break in two. No one was the same after their Games, but they kept singling out Haymitch. “Need to… forget.”
He didn’t recall much after that, the next thing he knew he was in the back of the train, feeling like raw agony on a platter, skull pounding like someone wedged an anvil behind his eyes. The lights were too bright.
The train’s motion didn’t help. Every sway felt like a punch with every rattle of the tracks sending a spike of pain through his temples and sense of unease at the nagging sound. If only he could make it go quiet.
Groaning and rolling to his side, his stomach lurched as he immediately got up, scanning the room for the nearest… thing that would hold substance that he felt coming up again. Haymitch spotted a pot plant in the corner of the compartment. That would do.
His mouth that was already dry and parched was now mixed with an unpleasant feeling of stomach acid. Clutching the pot plant with fear seconds would recirculate, Haymitch tried to pierce together the night before.
It all blended, faces, flashes, glasses. He physically recoiled at the thought of Snow from the day before but that didn’t explain how he ended up here right now.
This was by far the worst hangover of his life.
Haymitch was broken from his unsuccessful piecing of the day before and self pity when he was interrupted by a knock at the door. Peacekeepers didn’t knock and there was only one other person on this train that was on his side. They should’ve been two - but he didn’t think about that.
Mags.
She stood in the doorway with a concerned look that would have made Haymitch quiver under her gaze but between his pounding headache and overall… shitty feeling, he didn’t have the energy to protest.
“You need water,” she said at last, handing him a small jug of water. “And food. Something with salt.”
“Can’t eat,” he bit out, the thought of eating threatening to cause whatever was left in him to resurface.
“You have to,” she replied, patting him softly on the back with one hand as she tried to move his sweat-streaked strands out of his face. “They-” Mags started, clearly alluding to the Capitol. “-Won’t care how you feel in District 10. They would want to… party hard with you like they saw the night before.
Haymitch lets out a humourless breath. “District Ten won’t care if I drop dead onstage.”
“So don’t,” she said, agreeing.
Apart from his hatred fuelled vitriol directed at the Capitol on the first day, the rest of the stops seemed to blend into the other. Fighting a pounding headache, achy body and eyes that were all too sensitive to the glitz and glamour of the Capitol, Haymitch would reluctantly read the cards, be ushered away until the later celebrations and get completely shitfaced - trying to cope with the dumpster fire of his life that seemed to roar harder with every waking minute he stayed alive.
He didn’t remember much of the other Districts.
They all blended together.
But District 3 hit him differently.
By the time the train screeched into the station, Haymitch was already awake, already nauseous, already fighting through the last hangover that was a result of his rowdiness in 4. His head felt like it’s been split with a blunt axe. His stomach churned with every shift of the carriage but he held it down this time. His tongue tasted like stale liquor and poor decisions that he had no plan on trying to fit in his current state. Mags was ushered away with her own team of Peacekeepers, leaving Haymitch alone as per the usual routine.
Somehow, despite his tumultuous state that tortured him constantly, he was strangely more coherent than in the other Districts. He couldn’t tell you what District 6 looked like or what District 9 specialised in despite visiting those in the past week but he could tell you what 3 looked like in vivid detail.
District 3’s air was nothing like 11’s humid sweetness or 12’s ashiness. It was cold, sterile and oddly metallic. It smelled faintly of ozone and machinery - fitting for the workshop district that never slept. Even the wind felt artificial, like it had been filtered through vents before touching skin even though he was standing out in the open
The architecture was brutalistic and gray, all sharp angles and concrete blocks stacked like puzzles. It was almost like District 8 with its high rises. Towers stood tall like monoliths, windows glowing with pale blue light. Screens flickered on every corner, broadcasting Capitol-approved messages in loops. Wires snaked along buildings like vines. Everything hummed and buzzed faintly, as if the entire district was one giant machine. There was no nature, no greenery, nothing that stood out against the concreted monstrosity he was now standing in.
It was a nightmare but this was Ampert’s home. Wiress’ home.
The person he initially underestimated. The one who taught him how to think like the arena was a machine he could manipulate and to look for things no one else would notice. The one who taught him to treat it like a system instead of a scene.
He couldn’t think about her for too long, the familiar queasy feeling would relentlessly torture him and he knew there was only liquor for the night parties.
He was completely hollowed out, feeling the weight of every flickering light on him.
He stood there like an intruder in a place that should have been hers to safely return to.
Despite the eye-sore of a District, the Peacekeepers seemed to be more.. lenient than other districts. It was weird, he thought the smartest district would have the strongest military presence but it was clear the Capitol wasn’t very smart - thinking brawn to be more of a threat than brain. Probably wrote the whole district off as too nerdy or weird to engage in rebellion, despite the brewing tension that was shared amongst its residents. He supposed the lack of Peacekeepers made sense considering the Capitol’s thought process, there was no space to run in a labyrinth that echoed every footstep and broadcasted every move on buzzing cameras. Still, they whisked him away from the platform as he reluctantly complied, catching more of the district in fragments.
Haymitch saw Wiress everywhere.
In the blinking lights.
In the humming circuits.
In the children tinkering in the square with scraps of metal.
And then he sees the other version of her too - the one the Capitol made after the stunt he pulled.
The bird-like twitch of her head.
The frantic muttering.
The way her eyes that were all knowing darted like she was wading through a fog that didn’t make sense
As if the Victory Tour was punishment enough, he could barely get through this District without the gnawing feeling of dread causing the hairs on his neck to ride up. It was weird, he experienced losses in every other District from those that passed in the Games but her… changed state hit him differently.
She wasn’t even meant to be affected this time round - she did her part.
And he hadn’t seen her since.
She should’ve accompanied him on this tour in addition to Mags.
But he seemed to be at fault for that.
Stepping up onto the stage District 3 provided, he planned to give the speech the way the Capitol wrote it this time, no remixing or freestyling - just straight up verbatim in a rough, hoarse voice that barely carried over the speakers. His head was throbbing and the lights assaulted his worn out retinas to no end.
The crowd looked fairly… peculiar - like they seemed to know too much despite the quiet energy they emitted. Haymitch stared into the crowd for a beat too long before accidentally making eye-contact with the man himself. Beetee.
He was dressed in a plain black jacket and pants. Funeral attire that could be considered as classic or chic. That had to be his form of quiet rebellion considering the way his recent plans had… failed.
As if seeing Beetee wasn’t enough, Haymitch noticed the tall male figure standing next to him that resembled the face of the girl he desperately wanted to forget.
“At least they didn’t kill her off her family,” Haymitch bitterly thought for a moment before being quickly sobered at the treatment she received instead. The resemblance was uncanny though - they were almost carbon copies of each other.
He quickly blinked off that shock and started the speech.
“It is an honour to stand before the innovative people of District Three…”
The microphone echoed with an unsettling dissonance as he took a breath.
“…your tributes showed intelligence and bravery…”
“…and their sacrifice will be remembered.”
He finished the speech mechanically, each line delivered with the flat detachment of someone reciting a eulogy for people he failed.
No one truly applauded at that, only reluctant claps being given once they were prompted by the screens to do so.
He didn’t know why, but as soon as his speech ended, he made a beeline for Beetee once the crowd cleared.
It wasn’t that hard to do, he already knew the routine by now. There was always a little bit of downtime before the evening’s festivities ramped up again. Sure, he was meant to stay in Capitol approved locations but this was only for a moment.
Seeing him up close for the first time since it all went down, he didn’t know what to say at first. He felt the watchful gaze of who he assumed to be Wiress' brother looking him up and down. He supposed he couldn’t blame him for being cautious. Haymitch was bad news after all.
“Haymitch,” Beetee started. “I should have never put you in that position. There’s so much I could say but it won’t mean anything. I am truly sorry.”
Haymitch paused for a moment. For some reason he wasn’t expecting this interaction to go in the direction it seemed to be going. But at the same time, he wasn’t planning on reuniting with Beetee this soon.
Breaking the silence, Haymitch blurted. “How is she?”
Beetee didn't answer for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak - but he had nothing to say. His eyes dimmed, like the voltage had been turned down.
“Still the cleverest person I’ve ever met,” he answered finally, looking all too interested in the concrete below.
Haymitch exhaled through his nose. “That’s not the whole answer.”
Beetee looked at him then. Really looked. And in the moment Haymitch knew without a shadow of a doubt, that whatever the Capitol did - whatever they broke - they did it thoroughly.
“She’s… here,” Beetee answered eventually.
“Some days,” the guy standing next to Beetee added. “Byte,” Byte said, introducing himself with a small nod towards Haymitch. He didn’t extend a hand to shake or any similar pleasantry. Haymitch couldn’t fault him for that, he was the antecedent that led to his sister being trapped in the land of make-believe despite it not being his fault. “I’m her brother.”
Haymitch just nodded at that, not much more needing to be said.
“She remembers you,” Beetee said. Haymitch didn’t think that would have needed to be said, after all, he could remember her.
Beetee’s eyebrows turned up before he asked the next thing, “do you want to see her?”
Haymitch’s eyes snapped open, he didn’t think that was an option. His first instinct was to say no - make an excuse that the Peacekeepers would chase him down even though he knew that wasn’t likely considering their relaxed state and small numbers or to drown himself in another drink until he couldn’t feel anything at all.
But the word that came out of his mouth before he could stop it was:
“Yes.”
Byte studied him for a moment, as if trying to decide whether Haymitch was being genuine or not. Eventually, he gave him a small, tight nod.
“Come on then, we don’t have much time.”
The three of them made their walk back to Victor’s Village that looked so different to his new dwelling back home. The houses were larger, grayer and a lot more high tech. It was a good thing the village wasn’t particularly far from the main square that would be decorated with his night party - no one would notice he was gone for a few moments. He could just make an excuse he was throwing up from all the “fun” he had the night before. They wouldn’t question that considering his Victory Tour so far had proven he was a sloppy drunk and a hard partier.
Beetee and Byte didn't make much conversation on the way there.
“Is this a good idea?” Haymitche eventually asked once his brain caught up with his body. “I mean, there’s cameras and Peacekeepers,” he hissed out.
Beetee gave him a knowing look. “The cameras are switched off in the Village. They decided the lack of action was rather… uninteresting.”
“The Peacekeepers rarely go out this way,” Byte added. “Even if they come, we’ll just say it's a part of the Victory Tour. You know, how like you lot get to tour each Victor’s Village in each District.”
“I didn’t get to do that,” Haymitch answered. “I haven’t seen much of everything.”
Byte hummed at that before pausing at a house that had its shutters closed but lights still spilling out of the corners - highlighting the true brightness within. It looked to be a single story house but judging by the angle, Haymitch wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a basement underneath. It was painted a smooth silver alongside the rest of the houses on that block with steel pillars peaking through. Haymitch could just make out a generator humming in the garden as they stepped onto the porch that led to the front door that was completely open.
“That’s weird. They gave Wiress a tour,” Byte eventually verbalised, gesturing for Haymich to step inside. “She said District 5 had the nicest one.”
“Wiress didn’t blow up her own arena and go on verbal rampage in District 11,” Haymitch considered.
Haymitch was hit with the immediate stench of metal and crisp linens as he entered the home that shouldn’t welcome him so kindly. That was shortly followed by the harsh beaming of every lit up surface. It was weird. He could briefly recall Wiress not wanting to die at night but this was next level. He was still in the hallway but from there he could notice that the windows were tightly shut from the inside and sheets were spread across random patches of wall.
Beetee noticed Haymitch’s confusion and clarified. “Those,” he said, gesturing to the sheets. “Cover the mirrors.”
“Oh right, mirror maze,” Haymitch thought to himself, feeling a strange feeling of kinship with her. He could barely handle the food compartment on his train mimicking his own arena and taunting him with its objectively pleasant visuals - if it weren’t for the fact it was so taxing. He couldn’t imagine seeing actual reflections of his own arena everywhere in passing life.
Thinking for a moment, he did seem to recall Wiress being a little uneasy at being backstage when he was about to go have his own interview. He thought it was just because she was a little… weird. Maybe it was actually because of all the mirrors the beauty attendants used to perform last minute makeup touches.
Like most houses, it had a closed layout by design but all the doorways were completely open. Someone had taken each door off the hinges, there was no privacy here.
That was weird, if it were up to him, he would have every door firmly shut, protecting him from the brunt of the Capitol and everyone else that tried to get too close.
Haymitch still hadn’t seen her yet but remembering the version of her did know despite his pounding headache he supposed there were a few… cracks that could have opened between now and then. He did write-off her off too early as a useless mentor but that was before he realised how clever she was despite her… odd externa. He recalled her giving frantic last minute pointers before he was sent into his own arena before appearing to shut off and disassociate. She never initiated physical touch, always leaving it to Mags but he just wrote it off as not wanting to get too attached. They were from District 12 after all. And the random singing she would do absent-mindedly even before.
He could hear a faint humming coming not too far from where he was. It wasn’t melodic or soft like he remembered. This was dissonant and rather unsettling.
They walked further into the house. It was different from what he was used to, shelves covered with books decorated every inch of free wall, picture frames hung remarkably straight on the walls with small ticking clocks placed in every room. It was certainly more high-tech than his house back home, with all the lights and all. The carpet was soft but worn and a music box was faintly playing a song he couldn’t recognise in the background.
He found her in the kitchen.
There she was, sitting on the benchtop covered in warm layers that seemed disproportionate to the mild weather outside, legs drawn up awkwardly, barefoot. Her face was scrunched tight, eyes squeezed shut hard enough to look painful. Both hands were pressed flat over her ears, fingers digging in like she was trying to hold her head together. She was humming an unnerving tune.
For a moment, Haymitch couldn’t reconcile this was the girl who talked in half-phrases and patterns. The one who could see through an arena like it was transparent.
This wasn’t her being quirky.
This was her being completely absent.
Haymitch suddenly regretted saying yes so easily to visiting her.
“Hey Wires,” Byte said casually as went to fetch something from the nearby pantry. “Brought you a friend.”
She didn’t react when they entered. Didn’t look up. Didn’t startle.
Why were they so nonchalant about her vacant behaviour?
They were acting as if this was normal.
This was anything but normal.
Beetee turned to Haymitch. “She has good days and bad days. This is one of the worst ones recently.”
Seeing her on a bad day, Haymitch didn’t know what to think.
“Can’t imagine why with all of them in town,” Byte scoffed, taking a handful of grains before chomping down on them hard in echoing crunches.
“Too…” Wiress murmured towards the source of the sound in her shut-eyed state. “... loud.”
Was that her way of telling Haymitch to piss off? Saying that he already caused too much damage?
“Can’t eat anything here,” Byte remarked before moving further into the house, but Haymitch caught the lack of bitterness in that comment, he was clearly happy she was responsive.
“I’ll be with mum if you need anything," Byte called out to Beetee before disappearing into a room.
“Not what you expected?” Beetee asked Haymitch as he caught him paling more by the second at the sight of him.
“Not sure what I expected,” Haymitch eventually responded, dragging a hand to the back of her neck, rubbing it in a soothing manner.
Beetee closed his hands together as he leant against one side of the kitchen bench that currently held his former mentor on. “What do you remember from Wiress’ interviews last year?”
That was weird.
Why was he asking that?
Haymitch quirked his eyebrow for a moment, trying to calibrate. “Uhh, she said weird things - something about following lightbeams… I have no idea where you’re going with this.”
“Correct,” Beetee responded, ignoring Haymitch’s last statement. “She also mentioned going where something felt right,” he said, looking at Haymitch trying to see if was getting it.
“Right now, everything feels wrong… distorted. Like static. Sometimes there’s a break and the signal comes through as clear as it was but most of the time, the connection… fluctuates.”
He must have sensed Haymitch shuffling the weight on his legs, shifting guilty side to side. “This wasn’t your fault,” Beetee said firmly with a sense of clarity that almost made Haymitch believe that. “None of us here blame you. Not even her.”
“Doesn’t feel like that,” Haymitch eventually responded.
Beetee gave him a shared look of understanding at that.
There was nothing more to be said.
Makes sense, his plans executed by Haymitch also had a role to play in her current state.
“You can talk to her,” Beetee murmured, softly tapping his fists on the counter causing her to subtly startle unintentionally. “She may not respond coherently, but she can hear you.”
“Wiress,” Haymitch said gently, still looking at Beetee as he said it. Stepping closer he spoke again. “It’s me,” he whispered. “Haymitch.”
Her hands were still pressed over her ears but Haymitch noticed the subtle shift in her posture. It was still incredibly tense but she seemed to loosen up just the slightest.
Beetee gave him a small look that Haymitch translated into “keep talking.”
So he did, about anything random and light. He didn’t bring up the fact that he now had no one to come home to or the fact Snow was furious at him. He spoke of coal and the steam train. Mags and how her Victor’s Village looks a lot different than his. She still wasn’t completely relaxed but the grip on her ears eased and she was starting to blink her confused eyes open. Haymitch forgot how blue her eyes were.
Eventually he mentioned the tour he was on right now and the media.
“…they made me smile a lot,” Haymitch continued, voice low but steady. “Couldn’t even do that properly. You know me-” a breath, almost a scoff, “- I’m bad news.”
That got her frantic eyes to land on him.
She just looked at him for a bit, Haymitch stopped speaking as he wasn’t sure if she was there or not.
“Apparently,” she murmured with unglazed eyes, giving him the smallest smile she could manage.
Haymitch's chest tightened so hard it was almost painful. That was her, recognising how he referred himself as that before in his interview. Her recall that only seemed to make sense to her.
Looking at her front on, he could see that despite the layers she drowned in, she lost a lot of weight. Her hair that he usually saw twisted into plaits was wild and mussed - probably from all the times she kept bringing her hands to her head. Her eyes kept flickering between being glazed and focused and he could tell she was fighting to stay lucid.
“Yeah,” Haymitch managed, offering her a smile back. “That’s me. Bad news apparently,” he added, voice cracking slightly.
She studied his face like she was reading something written faintly underneath it. Her brows perked up, slightly confused - probably at the fact her former tribute was in her house - but she was present.
“You’re not doing…” she trailed off, eyes growing hazy. Haymitch waited for her to come to again, it took a few moments. “...Too well.”
Haymitch let out a broken half-laugh. Understatement of the year. She wasn’t doing too well herself. 2 peas in a cursed pod they were. “Correct.”
Silence stretched in the tense atmosphere.
Haymitch spoke suddenly, like he wanted to get something off his chest before she drifted off again. “I’m sorry.”
Her head tipped back the other way momentarily - the same birdlike twitch Haymitch saw when she was still in the Capitol - confusion clouding her expression.
“For what?” Wiress whispered blankly. Haymitch didn’t know if she was genuinely confused or if somewhere deep down she truly didn’t blame him for a thing. Or maybe she just wanted to see him struggle to find a response.
Haymitch swallowed. What does one even say to that?
“For… this,” he eventually got out, gesturing to her with wild arms. “For what happened because of me.”
Wiress watched him intently with a gaze that had been clearer than normal. Her fingers twitched with a quiet frustration at everything she wasn’t able to truly articulate at the moment.
She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault.
She wanted to tell she still would have mentored him even knowing how it would have turned out.
She wanted to tell him she knew the Capitol would punish someone, and she’d rather it be her than the boy she mentored.
But the fog was already creeping back in, the clarity was slipping. She managed only one more whisper before the static swallowed her again, “not… you.”
Then her gaze drifted off again. Her hands came back up, slower this time, but inevitable. Her eyes slipped away from his, unfocusing, the moment dissolving as quietly as it came. Fingers rustled throughout her hair as she appeared entirely disinterested in his presence once more.
Haymitch was left standing there, trembling slightly.
Beetee exhaled behind him, causing him to startle as if temporarily forgot he was there. “That was… longer than usual. Especially considering how she was at the start of the day.”
“Come on, I’ll walk you back to Mags,” Beetee added as Haymitch followed him out of the house. “I told you, no one blames you. Not even her.”
Haymitch straightened slowly, turning to face him as they walked along the concreted paths of the District 3 Victor’s Village. “Yeah. Well. I didn’t think I’d - ” He stopped, scoffing for a moment. “I didn’t think what they did would be that bad. Affect her like that.”
“They broke her,” Haymitch whispered softly.
Beetee flinched slightly at that. “They damaged her,” he quietly corrected. “You saw right now, she’s still in there. Although… faraway”
“What the hell did they do to her?” Haymitch demanded, anger rising as his headache from his latest hangover increased tenfold.
“Too much,” Beetee eventually responded.
The walk from the Victor’s Village wasn’t too far from the main square that would hold the District 3 party as part of his Victory tour. The whole interaction didn’t take longer than 10 minutes, no one noticed he was even gone.
Beetee stopped as he saw Mags in the distance, giving her a small smile before turning to Haymitch. “I’ll let you get back to your… duties,” Beetee said, not wanting to refer to this tour as a party. He knew it wasn’t. “I’ll see you in a few months.”
Oh right.
The 51st Games.
Haymitch was sucked into this nightmare for life.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Beetee added, shaking his hand as he bid him well. “It was good seeing you again and seeing you was good for her. I guess the closure would be good for you as well. Take care of yourself.”
Haymitch just gave him a tiny genuine grin at that before being dragged into more Victor duties like posing for cameras.
At least he still had a few people on his side.
A silver lining in the hellhole that was now his life.
Mags was going to softly remind him of the importance of not splitting on this tour. The Capitol was already livid with him from his past actions and Snow had made it abundantly clear that he couldn’t afford anymore roughness.
But she stopped when she saw his expression
His face was pale with misty eyes as his lip slightly quivered, His shoulders were tight with a heaviness and tension that made her eyes soften.
Like all things initiated by the Capitol, this tour wasn’t kind to him either
Mags recognised it instantly - grief, guilt, and the kind of shock that didn’t show up in the body so much as around it, like a cold aura.
“Haymitch,” she murmured in a low, careful voice. She didn’t think there were any cameras on them right now but she couldn’t risk it. “You’re late,” she mentioned with no real disdain behind her voice, just wanting to keep him in the loop at most. “They were going to start a search.”
Haymitch scoffed a sound that almost sounded like a laugh, almost like a sob. “Yeah. Got… held up.”
Mags didn’t push, he had so much taken from him. The least she could do was give him the chance to share whatever had been bothering him in his own time. Tilting her head and she stretched out her arms for a hug, she silently implored him to continue.
Haymitch accepted the embrace without any hesitation. “I saw her.”
Mags let out a breath. “Wiress.”
“She’s… she’s not-” Haymitch tried to get out, voice breaking as tears threatened to cloud his vision. He paused before trying again, releasing himself from her grounding hug. “She’s not the same,” he said with red rimmed eyes.
Mags just watched, tears of her own brewing beneath the surface. She walked toward a nearby bench that was just as silver and gray as everything else in the District, taking a seat, gesturing for Haymitch to sit beside her. “Tell me.”
Haymitch dragged a hand through his hair, trembling slightly. “She didn’t even notice we were there at first. Just completely out of it.” He swallowed. “Like she’s stuck somewhere she can’t get out of.”
“Her brother and Beetee didn’t even seem put off from that. They were carrying on like it was normal. That’s not normal. They ruined her.”
Mags’s breath catched, but she stayed steady, placing a hand on his shoulder while giving him space to keep talking.
Haymitch shut his eyes trying to recall the encounter between all the emotions it brought up. “Beetee just said to talk. So I did. About… whatever.”
Haymitch gave out a half-laugh at what he was going to say next. “I called myself ‘bad news’ and then she finally responded with ‘apparently’.”
Mags’s hand that still rested on his shoulder twitched subtly at that, “that’s something.”
“She was there for a second,” Haymitch whispered. “And then she wasn’t, she keeps drifting in and out. We barely got to talk at all.”
“I told her I was sorry,” Haymitch said after a moment.
Mags nodded slowly. “Of course you did.”
“And she asked… ‘for what,” he answered, getting up from the bench to start pacing. “What the hell do you even say to that?”
“What did you say?”
“That I was sorry for what they did to her. For what happened because of me.” Haymitch said between measured steps. “And she… she said ‘not you.’ Like she was reassuring me. And then she was gone again.”
Mags closed her eyes for a moment, grief flickering across her face. “She always was gentle.”
Haymitch laughed, but it was a broken symphony. “She shouldn’t have had to be gentle. She shouldn’t have had to protect me.”
“None of this should have happened at all,” Mags finally answered. “All of it.”
Haymitch huffed a humourless laugh. “I’m going to drink myself sick tonight.”
“I know,” Mags replied gently. There wasn’t much more to be said.
“Stay with me until then?”
Mags nodded. “Of course.”