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The early morning dew seeped into the seat of Katniss’ trousers as she sat in the garden, knees drawn up to her chin, and eyes fixed upon the flowers Peeta had planted along the pathways.
It was Primrose’s birthday today.
Yesterday, Katniss had run into the woods and screamed until her throat was raw and her body shook. Peeta had found her afterwards, curled against a tree at the edge of the meadow and sobbing. He hadn’t tried to say anything, just wrapped her in his arms and brought her home. He made ham hock soup for them both, encouraged Katniss to eat as much as she could, and took them to bed, whispering comforts until her eyes closed.
In the morning twilight, though, Peeta was still asleep, and Katniss was done with rage. She just wanted to sit here, in front of the primroses, and wait. Either for the ground to swallow her whole, or for the aching hole in her chest to stop feeling like it had cracked open wider with the spring flowers blooming.
“Thought I might find you out here.” A gruff voice came from the stairs of the house next door. “You’ll catch your death of cold, like that.” Steps came closer behind her, but she didn’t turn to look.
“What do you want, Haymitch?” There was no real heat behind the words - if Haymitch was here, he was here, and Katniss had long since given up chasing him away.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he told her, dismissively, “Thought I’d see how you were doing.”
A sharp, bitter laugh escaped Katniss’ mouth. “How do you think I’m doing?”
Haymitch let out a noise that was part hum of understanding, part irritated grunt. He invited himself to sit down next to her, sighing as his knees reminded him of his age. “Look, sweetheart, I know how hard this must be-”
Hot rage reared its head in Katniss’ chest, biting words leaping out of her, “No, you don’t, don’t even try-”
Haymitch talked straight through her protests. “My little brother would have been thirty-seven this fall.”
Katniss’ mouth fell closed again, the words getting stuck in her throat. She knew Haymitch had no family - everyone did - but it was a conversation pointedly unbreached in the time they had known each other, and she had always assumed it would stay that way. “Sorry,” she managed to force out. Silence fell for a moment, and they both turned to look at the primrose bushes once more. They weren’t good at this. But Peeta was sleeping. And Peeta’s brothers were older, and distant, and cruel, sometimes, too. So this had to be them.
“How old was he?” Katniss finally asked.
“Ten.”
Ten. Even younger than Prim. Not yet of Reaping age, young enough that he was supposed to be protected from the Capitol for a few more years, young enough that Haymitch shouldn’t have had to worry about what the Games would do to him. And yet.
She tried to think of Prim at ten. Hair tucked into pigtails, playing hopscotch with the Hawthornes in the schoolyard, small and fragile and innocent. She’d gotten Lady that year. Katniss could still see the delight on her face when they had brought the goat home on her birthday morning.
“How?” She asked the question before she could think twice about whether she should. Haymitch answered anyway.
“How d’you think?” He pulled out a hipflask and took a swig. “I fucked with Snow. He killed them.” He offered the drink to Katniss. She didn’t take it.
“That’s not really an answer.”
Haymitch paused, for long enough that Katniss thought she might have pushed too far. She was about to apologise when he spoke. “You remember the water pump on the edge of the Seam? The one next to the burnt up tree?” She nodded. “There used to be a house there. My house. Snow had them locked in and set it on fire. Burned to death while I watched.” He took another swig.
Images resurfaced in Katniss’ mind - the square outside Snow’s mansion, the flames engulfing her sister. It always seemed to be fire with them. “Guess that’s something else we have in common.” She put out a hand for the flask. Haymitch paused, looking at her knowingly. He handed it over. She drank. “What was his name?”
Haymitch hesitated for a moment.
“Sid.”
The name sounded unfamiliar in his mouth, like a word that hadn’t been said in a very long time. For a moment, they let it sit between them in the silence.
“You never told me.” It wasn’t quite a question, not quite an accusation.
“Never came up.”
“Yes it did. Don’t lie to me, I was always talking about how I wanted to protect her, and you never bothered to mention-”
“Well, sweetheart,” Haymitch cut her off bitterly, “Maybe I figured you didn’t want a reminder that sometimes protecting isn’t enough. Kids die anyway. Or, and I know this might be a shock, maybe not everything is about you, and I don’t like thinking about it either.”
“Fuck you.”
Haymitch just took a drink. “I’m going to let that slide. Since you’re having a bad day and all.”
Katniss glared. He sighed. “Look, honestly? I thought your Pa would have told you.”
She blinked in surprise. “My dad?”
Something sad flickered in Haymitch’s eyes. “He never talked about me, huh?”
“Why would he?”
“We used to be friends. Before.”
Katniss’ head snapped around to look at him. “What?”
He just shrugged. “District 12 was a small place. He was a hunter, I was a bootlegger. Used to get into trouble in the woods together. It was a long time ago.”
“What happened? Why did you stop talking?”
“I didn’t feel like getting my best friend killed as well.” He said it simply, like it was an easy choice. But the way his hand tightened around the flask meant Katniss knew better.
For a moment, she could hardly speak. “He knew, then. About Sid. About Snow.”
“He was there, the night it happened. Held me down to stop me running to die with them.” Even now, a note of bitterness tinged his words. Anger at being saved. “He was a smart guy, I’m sure he could put the pieces together.”
Katniss looked down at the flask between them.
Her father had held Haymitch back.
She thought of Peeta's arms around her in the woods yesterday, holding her against his chest while she screamed and fought and tried to tear herself apart. She had hated him for it, for a few terrible seconds.
Maybe Haymitch had felt the same.
“Did you want him to let you go?”
Haymitch was quiet.
“Yeah.”
The answer came so easily that Katniss almost wished he had lied.
She looked at the primroses again. “I wanted to go with her, too.”
For a long moment, neither of them said anything.
“She was my little sister,” Katniss whispered. “I was supposed to keep her safe.”
“I know.”
Haymitch looked at her then, really looked at her, and there was something in his face that made the words die before she could say them. Because maybe he did. Maybe that was the whole point.
Katniss swallowed hard. “What was he like?”
Haymitch frowned. “Who?”
“Sid.”
Something changed in his face.
“He was a pain in the ass.”
Katniss gave a wet, surprised laugh. “Yeah?”
“Terrible little thief. Always stealing things he had no business touching. Once took my good boots and traded them for a sack of apples.”
Katniss smiled despite herself. For the first time that morning, she could imagine him. Not a ten-year-old boy burning in a house. Just a boy. A boy with muddy boots and sticky fingers, getting into trouble in the Seam.
Katniss looked down at the primroses. “Prim was always a good kid. Mostly. She used to pinch coins from me to buy treats for her cat.”
A smile pulled at the corners of Haymitch’s mouth. “I know. Used to keep an eye on you two, running around the Hob like you owned the place.”
A memory lit up at the back of Katniss’ mind. “You used to buy milk from her.”
Haymitch grunted, as though annoyed at being found out. “I hate the stuff. But I had more money than I needed. Figured it was the least I could do for Burdock’s kids.”
Katniss looked at him incredulously. “You drink straight liquor, but you can’t handle milk? Seriously?”
He shifted in a way that was mildly uncomfortable. “Snow again. I’ll tell you some other time.”
She hummed in vague curiosity, eyes falling back on the primroses. “Did Sid have a favourite plant?”
Haymitch raised an eyebrow. “How many kids do you know with a favourite plant?”
“Humour me.”
He grunted a chuckle, but he paused. Considered it. “Well,” he said, more seriously, “He did like apples.”
She nodded. “Tell Peeta. We can plant an apple tree for him. He and Prim can share. I think they would have gotten along.”
Haymitch did his best to stifle his smile. “Yeah. I think they would’ve understood each other.”
It wasn't enough.
It would never be enough.
But for that morning, it was something.