Chapter Text
Every sunrise - nevermore tainted with the reaping - cheered for his Lenore Dove, though every sunset may well have been his last. For having kept his promise, what more was left?
Realistically, many things. The idea of a future, the kids he’d (not so) begrudgingly sworn to protect, to see Panem’s next glorious years, yeah, yeah. He often begged his Lenore Dove in his dreams to finally join her, but alas she spoke it was not yet time. He longed to meet her in the sweet old hereafter, her graying hair and ageless beauty, and yet any idea of ending his journey required far more energy than he had, so drinking his liver away had to do.
Every day since Peeta had returned had felt a little less like the end of the world, the slow lift of a frown on his sweetheart’s face slowly decreasing the white liquor drank that day. Every so often, he’d falter down the stairs to find Katniss staring into nothing on his couch, or Peeta baking fresh bread in his kitchen. Greasy Sae would bring him soup a few times a day, but most days saw him half asleep on the kitchen table, with a bottle in his hand.
After who knew how long, when the snow began to thaw, and flowers began shooting up, a sharp, orderly knocking came from the door. Obviously, Haymitch recognised that knocking from almost every reaping day since he’d won his games, and every godforsaken day afterwards spent in the Capitol, sending kids off into the area to die. Three knocks. Every time.
Some gentle words. Three more knocks. Muttered insults. Three more knocks. Quiet cursing. And the door would be pushed open.
Every time.
She knew he’d never answer the door. She knocked anyway. Some crap about common courtesy.
“Haymitch, darling?” echoed the ever-positive voice of Effie Trinket. Footsteps became louder until her shadow loomed over him. Her expression was audible.
He’d known Effie for twenty five years, ever since that god-awful interview day a few days after his 16th birthday. Those first few years, Haymitch had truly hated her and everything she stood for. Wyatt, Lou Lou, Maysilee… his Louella - all had lost their lives to the games and the Capitol. His Ma, Sid, Lenore Dove. Anyone he’d ever loved. Here this twenty-something princess with her garish clothes and garish words excitedly led children to their deaths.
After a while, it became clear how lost in propaganda she truly was. Effie really did think she was doing these kids a justice. Seven years of styling led to her eventual escort duties; ‘the youngest ever!’ he recalled her commenting approximately fifty times that year. Admittedly, for all her …quirks, she did grow on him - after all, she was the only ‘friend’ he allowed himself to have.
President Snow had made it abundantly clear that anyone he loved or showed any amount of affection for would be brutally murdered, probably (definitely) in front of him. Ma, Sid, and Lenore Dove had already been taken care of - courtesy of the Capitol - and some had figured it out soon enough. Blair had always had his wits about him, and he didn’t lose his head so easily within tricky situations. It only took so much pushing away for him to get the idea. Burdock was trickier, maybe because their bond was stronger, but that almost felt like a disservice to Blair. Really, Burdock Everdeen was blindsighted by love. For Asterid, yes, but for Haymitch himself, too. As in, there was almost nothing Haymitch could do that would cause him to leave the lonely, grieving victor alone. Apparently cutting Asterid’s head open was the limit.
So instead, Haymitch watched people's lives from the sidelines. Catch glimpses of Burdock’s little girl, the spitting image of Louella McCoy. He told him so, one drunken, glorious day in the Hob. It was a cold, miserable Sunday night, but here Burdock was, hand in hand with his girl, carrying squirrels shot in the eye. Because of course Burdock Everdeen wasn’t about to let down the Hob when they needed help the most.
Haymitch had been there to stock up on white liquor, and had already started on his new supply, when he caught the girl’s eye. She held up a squirrel, head tilted slightly, eyes questioning with a sharp edge. With a shrug, he furrowed through his pockets and produced a large pile of coins, worth far more than that squirrel, but he was practically drowning in money. Not even close to Capitol wealth, but far more than what was needed in District 12. The girl looked him up and down before nodding once. She held out her hand expectantly, so he sauntered towards her and deposited the pile of coins into her hand, taking the squirrel from her other. She turned to her father, pressing the coins into his hand with a successful grin. For the first time in years, Burdock met his eyes.
“You not finding other use for your piles of gold?” he asked, stiffly.
Haymitch took a swig of liquor. “Just helping out an old friend,” he murmured, “Sometimes I see ghosts, y’know. People who aren’t here anymore-”
“I know what a ghost is.”
“Geez, Everdeen. It’s not just Merrilee I gotta watch out for anymore, y’know. Now I see Louella McCoy every time I try to stock up my liquor - selling me squirrels, no less.” Haymitch laughed bitterly. “Snow killed my Ma and Sid. Then he killed my girl. He’ll kill anyone I love, ‘cause I fucked up his precious arena. But it’s like, every time someone dies, they just keep coming back, over and over. I can’t have a second chance, though, ‘cause then they’d be six feet under too. Shit, Everdeen, I don’t half miss you sometimes.”
Maybe he’d had more liquor than usual. Burdock had walked him back to the Victor’s Village and stayed for a drink. Haymitch came to his senses soon enough and kicked him out. Of course, Everdeen had been blown to bits the next day. Haymitch had screamed till his voice was gone, and then some. He’d gained his old friend back for a night, and gained his forgiveness, but for what?
The tiny, miniscule flaw in Snow’s plan was that every year for twenty five years, Haymitch spent a month with Effie Trinket. Effie knew him sober. Effie knew about his girl, and his Ma and Sid - the accident and the appendicitis, of course - but over the years she’d started to put two and two together.
Blair was killed in the bombings in 12. So was Merrilee. Asterid didn’t speak to him; neither did Clerk Carmine. Effie was the only one he had left, the only one that knew him sober. That meant something.
“You can’t sit here forever, my dear.”
With a sigh, Haymitch pulled his head up, meeting her eyes with a slight raise of an eyebrow. A simple brown pinafore was most unlike her, especially matched with a simple, curly, auburn wig. Despite her evident effort with her makeup, she was pale, and underneath her eyes, her skin was tinted purple - not artistically so. Her face had never looked more human.
Picking up the nearest bottle, Haymitch looked away. “To what do I owe the pleasure, princess?” he sarcastically slurred, groaning when he noticed the bottle was empty, throwing it aside.
“Katniss called me.” Effie responded, wrinkling her nose at the surroundings, “She said you were being uncooperative.”
Internally cursing Katniss, Haymitch pushed himself to stand, biting back the joint pain and closing his eyes as the stars hit. A soft hand touched his shoulder, steadying him, and the eyes that met him this time were full of sympathy. He shrugged the hand off, gesturing to the mess.
“Welcome to my humble abode, feel free to drop your bags anywhere you please. Or find a different house.” he added, with a harsh tone he hoped implied he didn’t particularly care. He did. It was nice to have her around.
Dropping her bags where she stood - a most un-Effie like move - she stared him down.
“Go take a bath, Haymitch. I’m going to pay Katniss and Peeta a visit.” Effie stated, gesturing him out of the room when he stood frozen. With that, she twirled around, daintily walking out.
In all honesty, Haymitch couldn’t remember the last time he’d washed. Probably at District 13. He very nearly picked up another bottle, but the scoffing face of Maysilee Donner wouldn’t quite leave him alone. The upstairs bathroom had gone long unused, but the taps miraculously still worked, allowing him just enough hot water to fill up his bath. After tiredly stripping down, he lowered himself into the steaming water, ignoring how it burned. He didn’t have any soap to wash himself, so sat, watching the water change colour from grime and blood. Some his own, some probably not.
The familiar, tough-loving voice in his head gave her approval, and Haymitch’s lips curled. Everyone had their ghosts - his happened to sound very real. Wyatt’s odds, Maysilee’s general disdain of his life choices, and Louella he saw in the girl on fire herself. Tributes spoke in his nightmares. The rarest voice, the image he longed for, was his angel Lenore Dove.
Minutes turned to hours, the water turned cold. The clock didn’t work, but the sky had turned dark. So had the bath. It amazed him how much time could pass whilst he stayed so unaware. A soft towel perched on the counter next to the sink; Effie must have been back. Another thing he hadn’t noticed.
Dressed in clean, simple pyjamas, Haymitch found himself downstairs again, aware of three things: the floor (something that’d gone unseen for a long time), a small, clean glass of white liquor and a large piece of bread on the kitchen table.
The next morning, he awoke with a start, after a familiar dream from the area. A hand on his shoulder. Grabbing the nearest thing - the small glass - Haymitch dug his nails into the wrist.
Effie let out a high-pitched yelp of surprise, bouncing back against the kitchen counter, knocking a bottle over. She winced as it smashed against the floor.
“Sorry,” Haymitch gruffed, rubbing his eyes awake. Effie, still frozen, nodded slightly. For a moment, they both stood there, staring into one another's eyes, two lost people finding one another.
With a start, Effie turned to pick up the plate besides her, holding it out towards him.
“Katniss passed this on a few minutes ago. Freshly cooked squirrel - she went out hunting this morning.” Effie explained, and a wave of nausea passed over him as he remembered his dream.
“I’ve had my fill of squirrels, darling,”
A knowing look passed her face. “Yes, I suppose so,” she murmured, placing it back carefully on the somewhat crowded counter. Her next move was to pass him a glass of clear liquid that clearly wasn’t white liquor, and a couple of pills.
“What’s this?” Haymitch asked, gruffly. Effie scoffed.
“Water. You might not be familiar with the-”
“I know what water is, Effie, I mean what are the pills for?” he rolled his eyes, taking a sip of water and throwing back the pills anyway. She began buttering a few slices of bread as she answered.
“One’s to reduce alcohol cravings, one’s to help reverse some of the liver damage, there’s one that I think basically puts you off alcohol, and the fourth is for depression- now, don’t give me that look, Haymitch, they were prescribed by Katniss’ mother! They’re here to help you! And so am I.” Effie explained, standing up a little straighter. “Your life has been filled with unimaginable horrors, and I helped cause other people that same pain. I must do something to correct my actions, but also, I care about you, Haymitch, and I will do everything in my power to help you.”
Haymitch scoffed. “I guess that means you’ll be sticking around, then?”. He tried to make his voice sound as unappealed to the situation as possible, but as the words came out of his mouth, it was as though they were someone else’s. The cracking desperation wasn’t exactly the angle he was going for, and he had an uncomfortable knowledge that, had he not been partially dehydrated ever since the ripe old age of sixteen, his eyes would have been damp. Effie Trinket was his lifeline.
He ate his bread and butter in silence.
Well, by silence, he meant that he didn’t speak. Effie seemed to have decided that this was the ideal time to update him on fucking everything. Paylor had been officially voted in as President - he’d missed his chance to vote because all of his post was in a pile in front of his door, but she probably would’ve had his vote anyway. The government was slowly being set back up into a peaceful, democratic- some mumbo jumbo. The seven remaining victors (the other 40 or 50 something had all been shot in their sleep by peacekeepers during the war by demand of Snow) would be paid their monthly earnings for the rest of their lives, for trauma and war effort. Plus some more, apparently. A minimum wage was already set in place Panem-wide, a wage slightly higher than what the higher earning merchants had been paid. For kids who’d lost their parents or guardians during the rebellion, kinder care homes had been set up, but if a family wanted to take them in, they could and would receive extra benefits to look after the extra child. They were in the process of setting up doctor’s offices in the Districts so that everyone could receive free healthcare (not including prescriptions).
Travel was now readily available between Districts and Capitol alike, although there was still mild reconstruction happening on some tracks. While the fence was still up around Twelve to protect against predators, it was no longer electrified, and it now featured doors so people could still hunt in the woods without crawling underneath. However, electricity was now readily available throughout the Districts, and the few lucky people who owned televisions could now watch a few shows from before the dark days.
Johanna and Enobaria had moved to District Four to help Annie, who had given birth to a delightful little boy called Marsh. Apparently he was the spitting image of his father, despite the fact that he was a baby.
Beetee was still sorting through dodgy Capitol networks or something. Effie didn’t really understand it, so waved her hands around trying to explain, but promised that he was doing good for all of Panem, and had her utmost respect. Haymitch vaguely wondered whether Beetee would ever really be able to settle in District Three, or if everything reminded him of little Ampert too much.
“-and everything is still quite a mess in the Capitol; most people don’t want any association to the Games anymore, but some people are still stuck in the past, and a lot of people I was familiar with have now been executed, and with Prosie gone-” Haymitch looked up at her in alarm just as she burst into tears. Effie slumped against the floor as she hyperventilated through her tears, back against the kitchen counter. He jumped up, suddenly surprisingly alert considering he was still sober, and sat down next to her, pulling her into a tight hug as she sobbed into his shoulder. Her wig was so lopsided that it couldn’t be comfortable, so he took out each pin carefully and threw it to the side, letting her strawberry blonde locks fall to her shoulders. It was only on rare occasions that even he was allowed to see her hair, so he slowly dragged his fingers through it, undoing the few knots he found. By the time Effie pulled her head up from the crook of his shoulder, her eyes were red and puffy, with black mascara dripping down her cheeks alongside a few cascading tears. Haymitch held her head up in his hands, leaning in slowly to kiss away a tear. For a moment, there was quiet, until he remembered a scene just like this but twenty five, twenty six years ago, and suddenly bile was rising through his throat and he leapt to his feet, running to the bathroom in time to throw up his bread and butter into the toilet, along with stomach acid that burned his throat and hurt his stomach. He coughed and spluttered until tears were spilling over, and punched the wall in anger and regret until his knuckles were bleeding.
“Haymitch, stop.”
Lenore Dove was older, dark auburn curly hair mixed with a few wispy greys, tied back in a messy bun with a red and white handkerchief. Despite growing up with him, every time she appeared she was wearing her mulberry coloured dress; the one she’d worn to the reaping. He remembered her telling him that it had been inherited from her Mama’s cousin, who used to perform in the dress.
She was perched on the bathroom counter top next to the sink.
“I did it,” Haymitch stated, knowing she’d know what he was talking about. No more sunrises on Reaping Day.
“I know,” Lenore Dove responded, voice melancholy.
“I love you.” He added.
“I know that,” she caught his eyes, “but you love her, too. Effie’s good for you, and I think she needs you as much as you need her.”
Haymitch’s eyes stung with tears, that he wiped at harshly with his bloody hands. “You’re my everything, Lenore Dove,” he spluttered, letting his head fall back against the wall with a bang.
Lenore Dove smiled kindly. “She’s your lifeline. That’s okay, you know.”
Pushing himself up suddenly, he launched himself towards the sink, reaching desperately for her hand. He smacked harshly into the counter.
‘So saying he reached forth with his hands, yet clasped him not; but the spirit like a vapour was gone beneath the earth.’
That evening, Effie reappeared. Her real, strawberry hair was curled neatly, and she was wearing a short, muted pink dress with a cropped but oversized white fluffy jacket, thin tights and big black boots. A positively casual look for Effie Trinket.
“Does that powder match your natural skin colour?” Haymitch remarked, hints of sarcasm not quite reaching his flat voice. He was swirling a small amount of white liquor in the bottom of an almost clean glass.
Effie rolled her eyes, but didn’t retort. “We’ve been invited to Katniss’ home for an evening meal - I’ve already made sure it isn’t squirrel. You should get dressed. I laid some of your, ahem, nicer clothes out on your bed. Give me the liquor and off you pop,” she explained, practically grabbing the drink from his hands.
“I wasn’t done with that,” he protested, as she poured it down the sink.
“How is Annie doing?” Peeta asked politely, taking a sip of the cordial Effie had brought back from the Capitol. It was a bit sweet for Haymitch’s taste, but the kind of thing he would’ve loved as a child. The group of four were sitting at Katniss’ dining room table - the same one where Gale had lay after the whipping - and eating a hearty meal of buttered bread, wild turkey and katniss roots, with a cake made by Peeta lined up for dessert alongside a big bowl of strawberries.
Effie covered her mouth while she finished chewing, before responding. “Both herself and the little darling Marsh seem to be settling in well - they returned to District Four about a month or so ago, along with Johanna Mason and Enobaria - oh, that reminds me!” she suddenly gasped, reaching into her jacket pocket and pulling out a slip of paper. “Johanna gave me their telephone number to pass along to you, with strict instructions not to call her. Admittedly, I wasn’t sure whether that was only aimed at me or you all.”
“Well, that’s Johanna for you,” Haymitch muttered through a mouthful of swamp potato. The namesake of said swamp potato stood up to go write the number in the phone book, and Haymitch could practically hear Effie’s disapproval, and thanked every deity he could think of that she’d finally decided to stop correcting such behaviours.
However, when Katniss returned, she was holding a big, homemade looking scrapbook. Unceremoniously flinging it down on the table, she quickly filled her mouth with her remaining turkey. Peeta smiled fondly (a sparkle in his eye having made its return generally speaking) while Effie peered at the book in interest. Haymitch raised an eyebrow, downing the last of his cordial with a grimace, while Katniss chewed loudly (with her mouth open).
After far too long with no explanation, Haymitch rolled his eyes. “So, sweetheart, what’s the book for? Decoration?”
Katniss scowled as if this was not information she wished to share, so Peeta elbowed her in the ribs and she begrudgingly pushed it in Haymitch’s general direction. Effie reached over to snatch up the book before he had a chance, however, and opened it.
“Oh, Katniss,” she gushed, eyes suddenly turning sorrowful. Haymitch pushed his chair closer to Effie’s, leaning over her shoulder to see a photograph of Primrose Everdeen grinning toothily, eyes sparkling. He vaguely remembered her in her pretty pink bridesmaids dress that she’d been given during Katniss’ wedding dress photoshoot. Effie herself had done her makeup, a kind of distraction from the stress Katniss was under. Haymitch’s memories of the day were hazy at best from the heavy drinking after seeing the seventeen year old being forced into wedding prep, but he did recall Effie surprising him with the gentle way in which she spoke to Prim, and the fact that she hadn’t turned the girl into a Capitol mess. Instead, she’d held out her eyeshadow palette to let her pick, and had carefully and sparsely applied the chosen white glitter across her eyelids and a shimmer of it on the tip of her nose and her cheeks. Katniss had then taken a photograph of her with an old, so-called polaroid camera that Effie had brought with her.
Surrounding the photograph, there were a few pressed primroses, detailed written explanations of her hobbies, her favourite colours, her pets, and doodles of her alongside her cow and Buttercup done by Peeta. The border seemed to be made up of scrappy bits of lace the same colour as her eyes.
Katniss cleared her throat. “My government mandated therapist told me it might help to make something to remember people by - as if I’m about to forget what my little sister looks like-”
“We made it together,” Peeta explained, not meeting anyone’s eyes, “I’ve found it’s forced me to remember details that I’d forgotten after the Capitol. We’re not very far into it yet, though; only made four pages.”
After a last, emotional look at Prim, Effie turned the page. He froze.
Maysilee.
Effie’s head whipped around to face him in concern as she slammed the book shut. Her lips were moving but he couldn’t hear what she was saying through the ringing in his ears. Haymitch felt the same nausea as earlier that day, rising painfully through his throat, causing him to jump up and yet again rush to the bathroom, leaving behind a bewildered Katniss and Peeta, both verging on tears from the sudden reaction, and Effie telling them something.
He wiped his sweaty hair from his face for the second time today, this time in a different bathroom with no dead girlfriend to comfort him. The poetry seemed to write itself that day, however, when Effie opened the door opposite where he was sitting, and without asking, sat down opposite him, holding out a hand bearing two more of her damned pills.
“Are you trying to poison me, Trinket?” Haymitch questioned, blowing his nose.
“These are anti-sickness tablets - they should settle your stomach. The next few days on your new medications will feel like hell, but it’ll be worth it.” she explained. He took the damn tablets.
“Katniss and Peeta are horrified that they upset you so deeply,” Effie mentioned, hesitantly, “The girl in the picture - her name is Madge Undersee. From what I’ve gathered, she was Katniss’ best friend, other than that Hawthorne boy, presumably, but we aren’t allowed to talk about him anymore. She does look remarkably like her, though.”
Haymitch nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Madge was Merrilee’s daughter - Maysilee’s twin. I haven’t spoken to her, hell, even looked at her since the funerals. I looked up, and I fucking thought Maysilee was with me again. I screamed for her, Effie. I openly, loudly mistook her for her dead twin sister at her funeral, and that was the last thing I ever said to her. And now she's dead. Her, her daughter, her husband, and every single last person related to Maysilee is dead and gone, and it’s my fault.” he spat, slamming his head back against the wall before letting it fall into his lap.
“Haymitch, that is not your fault,” Effie whispered, pulling his head up to lean her forehead against his. “It was all Snow, and we beat him, and he can’t hurt you anymore. I promise.”
“You don’t get it,” he sobbed, “After I blew the arena and didn’t fucking die, he showed me that anyone I ever loved would get killed, and it would always be my fault. I came home to Ma and Sid burning alive, and no one could help because I didn’t fill up the cistern before the Reaping. I fed Lenore Dove the gumdrops Snow poisoned for her because I didn’t bother enough to realise that they weren’t the ones I bought her. Eff, Katniss’ dad was killed because I was foolish enough to think that Snow wouldn’t notice us talking in the Hob. Do you really think it’s a coincidence that Snow targeted Merrilee and Madge?”
Effie pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. “You lost twenty four years of your life to alcohol and loneliness. You are a victim. Please don’t forget that. The best thing you can do now is to take care of yourself, and honour the memory of those you lost, however you can, whenever you feel it’s right to. I think right now what you need is a bath and a long sleep. Let’s get you home.”
The book wasn’t brought up for another few months, when the ground was blanketed in crunchy, orange leaves, and Katniss and Haymitch were sitting side-by-side, silently, on his couch.
“I want to help with the book. I know a few people who don’t want to be forgotten just yet.”