Chapter Text
Haymitch walks to the kitchen of his house—a victor's house. His ma comes running in after hearing the tap water run, laundry basket in hand, "Come have breakfast, Haymitch." He looks around in search for young Sid. Mostly at this hour he'd come crashing his weight onto Haymitch—his own way of greeting good morning.
"Ma, where's Sid?"
A plate of meat and bread gets offered to his front, a pair of utensils as well—reminding him of Maysilee Donner in some way. "He's out playing, the usual for that boy" she fills his glass with juice, fresh squeezed orange pulp that fills half. "Where is he playing?" Haymitch always worried about where Sid flies towards. He doesn't want him to get in trouble by being close to peacemakers—or even walk around their old house. Ever since Haymitch came back and gave his family the leisure of moving in the victor's mansion, accompanied by groceries that doesn't run out, money to replenish all his Ma's hardwork, and an abode that saves them from the cold—things have worked differently.
A lot of things have been different from the get go anyways.
Haymitch would still have occurring nightmares about the arena, Louella McCoy in the chariot, Wyatt Callow's odds, Maysilee Donner and her final poster, Lou Lou's body shutting down, Ampert's clean white bones, Silka and her hold on Wellie's fate, and the most recent—Lenore Dove.
The gumdrops. The meadow. And the events that followed.
She was near death and it was all because of him. All gratitude came to Asterid March who rushes with her own antidote. What comes after was a long run of suffering that couldn't qualify to the horrors of the arena—but the pain was too overwhelming that it did more damage anyways.
Clerk Carmine said he was cursed. He said that everyone who had come flocking to him—geese or human—would be condemned to life. Haymitch thought that it was exception to the arena, his tributes and friends, but it unknowingly followed him home.
They forbade Haymitch from seeing Lenore Dove, saying that she's better off this way than die at the hands of an unlucky man. How could he be unlucky, Haymitch thought. He had won the 50th games.
But how could he be lucky at all. He has won indeed—but it never gave him the satisfaction of a winner.
Lenore Dove went healing from days to weeks. All those while Haymitch would sneak in at night, lying below her window. When his coast was clear, he'd actually come up and tap on the glass—hoping to stir her awake and reunite once more. But Lenore Dove was too sick, malnourished and tired, that her eyes wouldn't open—yet her lips move, as if calling out to Haymitch's name.
He did this since the day she was poisoned to the day Tam Amber had caught him outside. Clerk Carmine chased him round District 12 all the way to his mansion where his Ma came to his defense. "Stay away from Lenore Dove! Let her live by leaving her alone!" Haymitch remembered how terrifying Clerk Carmine's voice was. So terrifying Sid had come hugging him while their mother held them both.
His Ma said the same thing: "Maybe it's time to forget about Lenore Dove. For the better of it all." Haymitch could never and would never. There wasn't a reality where he wouldn't choose to be beside her and love her all day long. No matter how dangerous it comes. Lenore Dove wouldn't mind, Haymitch thought. She had always come braver than him.
Haymitch made a promise to not listen to the elder's advice. Their love is their choice. He waited for Lenore Dove to wake up alright, and then she would come looking for him. Haymitch always waited for that day. And when it came, it wasn't as expected.
Burdock had come along one evening, bearing the good news. "She's awake. She told me to come get you. Lenore Dove's waiting in the meadow."
Haymitch has never felt more alive. His days that weren't spent under her window was in the cascade of his own mind—spiraling and remembering the old days. The arena. The interviews. The train ride home. His lonely homecoming. And Lenore Dove falling ill due to the gumdrops he so happily fed to her.
He comes running out the mansion, stumbling towards the outskirts of the seam. Lenore Dove stays perched in her favorite rock—her geese honking like how he remembered. She wears her red dress, the same one she wore when he got reaped. Yet he pays no mind. She looked exactly the same as the day he left.
"You're alright!" he exclaims and wraps his arms around her, sweeping her up her feet and spins around. His lips latches onto hers quick. And when he doesn't taste poison, Haymitch doesn't hesitate to make it longer.
But when Lenore Dove pulls back and pushes him away, a terrible feeling comes rushing to him. Lenore Dove sits back down, anxiously playing with the skin of her fingers. "What's wrong?" he'd ask, coming to sit next to her.
"Clerk Carmine said it was poison. On my gumdrops." she said, looking beyond the horizon. Haymitch was familiar and knows it was the president's attempt to ruin his life. Luckily, despite the odds, Lenore Dove stays alive. "Lenore Dove, I'm sorry" he takes her palm and plants soft kisses, feeling the warmth of gold.
"I don't want to die, Haymitch. My family's next and I can feel it." she says. "They won't be. It's my fault Lenore Dove. But I promise I will keep you safe—I just have to obey them from now on." Haymitch rattles.
"Safe? You couldn't even do that the first time, Haymitch." he's taken aback with the flame of her voice, punishing him. "Lenore Dove?" Haymitch whispers.
"Clerk Carmine said we shouldn't be together anymore." the girl shifts in her seat, seemingly away from him. But Haymitch follows, closing the stretching gap between them as he caresses her palms in his own—pleading. "And? You don't agree, don't you?"
"I do, Haymitch." insists Lenore Dove, an etched worry on her face. He was almost as certain that this is against her will—a decision she didn't intend to take. Yet here it is laid out in front of him.
"Lenore Dove" he mumbles, heart breaking into tiny pieces that comes unrepairable.
"It's safer this way."
Haymitch hadn't remembered when he started drinking. His ma would come in his room and he would be at the foot of his bed, downing booze gifted to him from the merchants. Sid had seen him too—when he realized Haymitch wasn't home. Then the young boy would see his brother out in the garden, face on the ground with a bottle in his hand.
It was scary.
Haymitch had never drank nor have thought about it even before. Burdock had concluded this was the outcome of the arena—perhaps his grief was too overwhelming that the only way to console him was by forgetting. He had come out partially wrong. For every drop of burning liquor in Haymitch's mouth was the hope of Lenore Dove coming back all along.
Maybe to see her in his sleep or when he's a drunken state of mind. Or maybe he had hoped she'd be concerned enough to check on him turn into a different person.
But that day never came.
Months had passed, Haymitch was dragged along to do his victor duties. And after he's stripped off his dignities and gets thrown out the train, he reaches for more bottle and drifts to sleep.
His family never succeeded in persuading Haymitch to stop his habits. They think they'll never understand what he's going through and that he'll never let them in. The best Willamae Abernathy could do was wash his clothes, keep him fed, and make sure he wakes up. The best Sid could do was be there by his side, wipe the wretch off his bedroom floor and drag him fully to bed.
Burdock would come from time to time. A gift for his friend. But each moment he arrives, Haymitch is different than the last time. He has grown to be more dirty and wrecked in the head. Burdock wanted to know how he was doing, how his mentor business is so far. But all Haymitch could babble about was Lenore Dove—her state, her geese, if she was unhappy or ever thinking of him, and if she ever mentioned his name.
When he doesn't seem satisfied with Burdock's answer, he throws him out and slams the door. Naked in his own desire and pain. All the pins that could stick punctures every inch of his skin.
Lenore Dove doesn't think so though.
She is doing better. Gotten better at playing and more comfortable with performing. Her geese were growing, dying, then meets more. She helps around with Tam Amber now—his assistant in the shop. As expected, Lenore Dove avoids the Donner's and their gumdrops. She says it can never be trusted.
It had been long since they've last seen each other. District 12 was packed but their fates never aligned. For Haymitch, he would sometimes cross the boundaries and idle around Lenore Dove's house—seeing her bouncing gleefully with her geese. Often times he would come along when Lenore Dove is at the meadow. In a distance, Haymitch would get behind a tree and lay there—listening to her music from far away. This was as close as he can get.
In some days, he would see her at the Hob. Haymitch would try to follow her around, keeping mere feet between them. When Lenore Dove tries to spin around, he would find the closest stall to hide on.
Lenore Dove never noticed anything suspicious. She really did miss him a lot—but it was better this way. Haymitch can go fight a war that protects him while she protects herself and the people she loves. Like a new turned leaf.
Burdock would sometimes try to invite them both, to relive life as friends, but Lenore Dove always refuses. Haymitch too in that matter. But in a heartbeat, if she decided to come—he would do so gracefully.
Haymitch thinks if Lenore Dove saw him on tv. If she ever saw him and his fresh pair of tributes. Does she know he's still plotting on keeping the sun from rising? Or does she only see him as an accessory now.
It was still early. It has only been two years since then.
And every time, in the reaping—Sid comes to him. How long till they choose Sid as a tribute as his punishment. But it wasn't his birthday greeting that gets him up his feet. Lenore Dove left him with one gift that he'll treasure for eternity—the last touch of her love. The flint striker. Now worn and olden.
"Happy Birthday Haymitch!" Sid would come in.