fic: sunspots
sunspots
thg, katiss/haymitch. minor spoilers for mockingjay. 700 words. pg-13
she makes no effort to rationalise what happens next.
She’s sitting in her new favourite spot, in the dappled light under a tree, the bark pushing odd patterns into the raw skin of her back. There’s comfort in the pain. She knows he’s there, of course, but she’s still refusing to acknowledge him.
After all this time, she still can’t look him in the eye. They are familiar eyes, her father’s eyes, they belong in the Seam, the hob, burned and buried with the rest of them. Instead he is here, and she can hear him shift his feet in the fallen leaves. Her voice is weary. ‘I know you’re there, Haymitch.’
Haymitch grunts an ascent, deems it safe to approach. The last of the sunlight scatters in the liquor bottle hanging from his hand, casting a rainbow out across her skin as she reaches out to take it. ‘My how you’ve changed,’ he says, a wry smile.
‘My how you haven’t,’ she retorts, and it’s true. The one unyielding, unflinching constant in this whole sorry tale has been Haymitch. Not dependable, not by a long shot, but reliable in his own inimitable way.
‘I did my changing before you were even thought of, sweetheart.’ He says, quirking an eyebrow, and she moves over slightly, so he can sit beside her. Even now, he still unnerves her, the depths she has yet to uncover.
Her lips curve as she swigs straight from the bottle. She can hold her drink better now, but she’s still beginning to feel pleasantly dizzy.
She feels him stiffen, opens her mouth to say something when he speaks. ‘We all change, in our own way.’ He says, and her cheeks burn under his gaze when he turns to look at her. ‘You met the others,’ the catch in his voice does not go unnoticed by her, and he knows it, ‘you saw what the games did to them.’
‘Yeah,’ she sighs, ‘yeah I did.’
They sit in silence for a while, watching the sun dip lower over the horizon. Buttercup appears, settles between Haymitch’s legs in the last ray of sunlight. The sight of him, curled into a mangy, purring ball brings a lump to her throat she can’t explain. ‘He found his way back, then.’ Haymitch says. ‘Clever cat.’
She hushes him, ‘It’ll go to his head,’ she says, and Haymitch barks a laugh. She’s laughing to, and he shifts closer, almost imperceptibly. She swallows, ‘The sunset’s really beautiful tonight.’
‘Like fire.’ He says, turns to face her, closing the distance between them.
She makes no effort to rationalise what happens next.
katniss, he mouths when her hand meets his cheek, makes a small noise when she begins to undo his shirt, fingers slipping on the cotton. ‘This won’t help, you know.’ He says, voice hoarse.
‘I know.’ She says, and her eyes meet his and his lips meet hers. The thing she likes most about kissing Haymitch, she decides, is how unlike Gale and Peeta he tastes. She’s not sure if it’s a function of age or alcohol or what, he’s just pleasantly unfamiliar against her lips.
She doesn’t have a lot of time to mull this over, though, when he positions himself awkwardly between her legs and she gasps. She’s not entirely sure what to do next, so she follows his lead. It’s easy enough to find her rhythm, and before long his forehead rests against hers. katniss, he breathes again, and she swallows the sound whole. The muscles in her neck tense, her nails scrape for purchase across his back, catching on scars old and new. sweetheart, she hears him say, and he sounds miles away. She doesn’t try to stifle her cry. There are no cameras here.
Her head rests on his shoulder, afterwards. ‘Sometimes,’ he whispers into her hair, ‘I think it would’ve been better if I’d died. In the arena.’
‘Me too.’ She twitches when his hand ghosts the grafts on her back. ‘Me too.’
‘Pity you ended up with a mentor as good as me, then, eh, sweetheart?’ He says, and she laughs into the setting sun, knots her fingers in his. It’s only then she realises how safe she feels. It’s pleasantly unfamiliar.
fin.
thg, katiss/haymitch. minor spoilers for mockingjay. 700 words. pg-13
she makes no effort to rationalise what happens next.
She’s sitting in her new favourite spot, in the dappled light under a tree, the bark pushing odd patterns into the raw skin of her back. There’s comfort in the pain. She knows he’s there, of course, but she’s still refusing to acknowledge him.
After all this time, she still can’t look him in the eye. They are familiar eyes, her father’s eyes, they belong in the Seam, the hob, burned and buried with the rest of them. Instead he is here, and she can hear him shift his feet in the fallen leaves. Her voice is weary. ‘I know you’re there, Haymitch.’
Haymitch grunts an ascent, deems it safe to approach. The last of the sunlight scatters in the liquor bottle hanging from his hand, casting a rainbow out across her skin as she reaches out to take it. ‘My how you’ve changed,’ he says, a wry smile.
‘My how you haven’t,’ she retorts, and it’s true. The one unyielding, unflinching constant in this whole sorry tale has been Haymitch. Not dependable, not by a long shot, but reliable in his own inimitable way.
‘I did my changing before you were even thought of, sweetheart.’ He says, quirking an eyebrow, and she moves over slightly, so he can sit beside her. Even now, he still unnerves her, the depths she has yet to uncover.
Her lips curve as she swigs straight from the bottle. She can hold her drink better now, but she’s still beginning to feel pleasantly dizzy.
She feels him stiffen, opens her mouth to say something when he speaks. ‘We all change, in our own way.’ He says, and her cheeks burn under his gaze when he turns to look at her. ‘You met the others,’ the catch in his voice does not go unnoticed by her, and he knows it, ‘you saw what the games did to them.’
‘Yeah,’ she sighs, ‘yeah I did.’
They sit in silence for a while, watching the sun dip lower over the horizon. Buttercup appears, settles between Haymitch’s legs in the last ray of sunlight. The sight of him, curled into a mangy, purring ball brings a lump to her throat she can’t explain. ‘He found his way back, then.’ Haymitch says. ‘Clever cat.’
She hushes him, ‘It’ll go to his head,’ she says, and Haymitch barks a laugh. She’s laughing to, and he shifts closer, almost imperceptibly. She swallows, ‘The sunset’s really beautiful tonight.’
‘Like fire.’ He says, turns to face her, closing the distance between them.
She makes no effort to rationalise what happens next.
katniss, he mouths when her hand meets his cheek, makes a small noise when she begins to undo his shirt, fingers slipping on the cotton. ‘This won’t help, you know.’ He says, voice hoarse.
‘I know.’ She says, and her eyes meet his and his lips meet hers. The thing she likes most about kissing Haymitch, she decides, is how unlike Gale and Peeta he tastes. She’s not sure if it’s a function of age or alcohol or what, he’s just pleasantly unfamiliar against her lips.
She doesn’t have a lot of time to mull this over, though, when he positions himself awkwardly between her legs and she gasps. She’s not entirely sure what to do next, so she follows his lead. It’s easy enough to find her rhythm, and before long his forehead rests against hers. katniss, he breathes again, and she swallows the sound whole. The muscles in her neck tense, her nails scrape for purchase across his back, catching on scars old and new. sweetheart, she hears him say, and he sounds miles away. She doesn’t try to stifle her cry. There are no cameras here.
Her head rests on his shoulder, afterwards. ‘Sometimes,’ he whispers into her hair, ‘I think it would’ve been better if I’d died. In the arena.’
‘Me too.’ She twitches when his hand ghosts the grafts on her back. ‘Me too.’
‘Pity you ended up with a mentor as good as me, then, eh, sweetheart?’ He says, and she laughs into the setting sun, knots her fingers in his. It’s only then she realises how safe she feels. It’s pleasantly unfamiliar.
fin.