FIC: To the Victor, the Spoil (Hunger Games, Katniss/Haymitch, NC-17), post 1
For the record, in my head Haymitch is played by a Jeffrey Dean Morgan/Gregory House/Lewis Nixon type, but you should pick whatever sarcastic (alcoholic) 40-ish dude you want to imagine. Also the image of Katniss as party-girl is no doubt influenced by fanmade trailers on youtube that cast Effy from Skins as Katniss (which is so perfect that I am inevitably going to be really disappointed at the actual casting), so there's that.
Title: To the Victor, the Spoil
Fandom: The Hunger Games trilogy
Pairing: Katniss/Haymitch (plus references to Haymitch/Finnick, Katniss/Johanna, Katniss/Finnick)
Rating: NC-17
Length: 13,416 words
Warnings: Nothing much more disturbing than the books themselves, though to be fair that is pretty disturbing. Off-screen compulsory prostitution. Some violence. Suzanne Collins, you are quite the bundle of rainbows. Plus the big age difference of the pairing, and possibly underage sexytimes depending on where you live (Katniss is 17 in the story).
Spoilers: This goes AU at the end of the first book of the series, but includes references to backstory and characters we don't get until Catching Fire and Mockingjay.
Summary: (contains implied spoilers for the first book, highlight to read) No berries, no mockingjay, no rebellion. Katniss killed Peeta in the arena, and now she has to live with herself like every other victor.
Author's Notes: Also available all in one piece at AO3. Thanks to kyrafic for encouragement and a great beta job. Written for the Tik Tok (Ke$ha) challenge at nothing_hip. Tick tock on the clock but the party don't stop. Whoa-oh-oh-oh.
**
Like everybody else in the Capitol, Haymitch is watching when Katniss and Peeta, bloody and wild-eyed, hear the announcement that there can only be one victor after all. He sees Peeta reach for his knife, sees Katniss let the arrow fly. Sees her arrow bury itself in Peeta's chest as Peeta's hand finishes the movement, throwing the knife away, but it's too late. He dies with blood bubbling out of his chest, Katniss clutching his hand, begging him not to.
Unlike everybody else in the Capitol, Haymitch isn't surprised. This is his twenty-fifth Hunger Games and there's not much he doesn't know about how they work. How the Capitol works.
So he's finally mentored a victor. Good for him. He takes another drink.
**
He realizes halfway to the Hob that he forgot his wallet, and when he gets back to his house in the Victor's Village he finds Katniss there, a noose strung around her neck in his kitchen, just about to kick off the chair she's standing on.
A rush of terror hits him so strongly it surprises him, and he's across the room grabbing her just as she starts to fall. "Katniss," he's yelling. He hardly ever says her name, he realizes as he says it. It feels strange in his mouth. "What the fuck?"
When he gets her down, furious and terrified, he shakes her so her teeth rattle, adrenaline sharp in his limbs. "What were you thinking? They kill your family if you kill yourself, do you have a brain in your head?" She's already crying. She's not a pretty crier, goes all blotchy and swollen, snot dribbling from her nose, body heaving with phlegmy sobs.
He sits her down in a chair, and she's crying too hard to talk. Even through how angry he is, he thinks, God, she's just a kid. He can't remember the last time he cried that hard. He thinks about if he'd come home five minutes later and shudders. Collapses into the chair across from her and pours himself a drink. His hand's so unsteady some sloshes onto the table.
"And why the fuck are you doing it in my house?" he says, voice still too loud, still with that edge of panic in it. Goddammit.
She's mopping at her nose with her sleeves. Attractive. "I didn't want Prim to find my body," she mutters.
"Oh, and you wanted me to? Thanks," he says. He's still shaking all over. Fucking kid. He knocks back an angry gulp of alcohol, feels it burn going down.
"What do you care?" she says, finally looking at him, a spark of anger back in her eyes, that defeated look pushed away a little. Good. She looks more like herself when she's angry. "You don't even like me."
"Damn right I don't," he says. "I can't stand you. You're just like me." He means it as a joke, sort of, but it's truer than he'd like it to be, and that must come through in his voice because Katniss blinks. Child-killers, both of them. Survivors. People don't make it through the Games if they deserve to live, is the irony, but the Capitol doesn't give them a choice about the living afterwards. He sees it in Katniss's eyes, that recognition of likeness between them, that recognition of mutual self-loathing, sees that for a second she understands him very well. He doesn't know why that is, that they can always understand each other. They look at each other for a minute.
Finally Katniss's mouth twists, miserable, and she looks down. God, he hopes she doesn't start crying again. "I can't live with it," she says, so quietly he can barely hear her. She's staring at her hands, resting on the table in front of her. For a second he sees Peeta's face when her arrow hit him.
He sighs heavily and gets another glass, shoving it across the table to her. He thinks it's clean. As he starts to pour her some liquor he lets himself put his left hand on hers for just a second. Her hand is hot, sticky with snot and tears. "Oh, sweetheart," he says, trying to sound sarcastic, but his voice wavers. "You'd be surprised what you can live with."
**
He drinks his way through the year, like every other year, but the difference is that this time he has to go on the fucking Victory Tour. Watch Katniss look older every day, the circles under her eyes getting darker. He thought watching his tributes die every year was bad -- he didn't think watching them survive would be worse. Well, live and learn.
He was the one who told Peeta to go public with being in love with Katniss, the whole star-crossed lovers routine his strategy. It was his fuck-you to the Capitol -- see how the crowds like it, watching dopey infatuated kids have to murder each other, get murdered, the whole country watching young love with no hope. He thought maybe it could ignite something in the districts, finally something as far over the line as that, but Haymitch pays attention at every stop on the tour, Eleven to Ten to Nine to Eight, and there might be a little more unhappy murmuring than normal, but mostly it's the same weary defeat as always.
Well, it was worth a shot. His first real fuck-you to the Capitol since his own Games, since that axe came flying back up over the cliff and buried itself in that girl's head.
Funny, he can't remember her name anymore, that girl he killed. There was a time when he hadn't thought he could ever forget it.
Doesn't matter. He's getting old. Doesn't know why he bothered trying to give the Capitol another fuck-you when the first one didn't hurt anybody but himself anyway. None of these things ever go anywhere, and Katniss, the girl who was on fire, guttered out like every other spark.
**
At least at the Capitol's banquet at the end of the tour he gets to see some old friends, Chaff in from Eleven, a few other old victors. Cinna. Haymitch has big plans to get blitzed and try to forget this whole godforsaken tour -- the middle of the year is supposed to be when he doesn't have to think about the goddamn Games, for fuck's sake. The Games, the Games. When he left the arena alive he thought the Games were over -- it's hard to remember being that naive, like his sixteen-year-old self was an entirely different person. And at the time he had felt so old.
Halfway through the banquet, he sees Finnick Odair across the room, flirting shamelessly with Katniss. Finnick's wearing... well, not much. It's a little shocking anyone can get away with showing that much skin at a black-tie affair, but Finnick's Finnick. Katniss is bright red and staring fixedly somewhere above his head.
Haymitch rolls his eyes and goes over to rescue her. "Oh, Finnick, don't waste your time," he says, his voice heavy with irony. "Don't you know she lost her one true love in the arena?"
It's just meant to be a joke, but as Finnick laughs, Katniss whips her head around to look at Haymitch in shock and fury like he just killed her puppy. "Yeah, didn't we all?" Finnick says, but before he's even got the sentence all the way out Katniss is stalking off, fuming.
Oh, for fuck's sake, he didn't mean it like that. It's just, all these goddamn interviews about Katniss and Peeta's pure, doomed love all week, when he knows Katniss was playing for the cameras the whole time, he just meant -- oh, what does it matter what he meant, he's an asshole, why did he say that? He must be drunker than he thought.
Finnick watches her storm away, his eyebrows raised, but then he laughs again. "Good mentoring, Haymitch. You're a class act."
"Put on a fucking shirt, Odair," Haymitch says, rubbing his forehead. He should probably go after Katniss and apologize but he can't seem to summon up the energy.
Finnick's still looking after her, his smile fading slowly. "She's really an innocent, isn't she?" he says. "She wouldn't even look at me."
"Probably didn't want to induce vomiting," Haymitch says, taking a swig from his flask.
Finnick glances over at him and smirks, quick -- he knows exactly how beautiful he is -- but then goes back to serious again. "She's pretty, too," he says. He says it lightly, like it's of no consequence, but Haymitch knows what Finnick's saying, as obliquely as he can in public, and wishes he didn't.
"Yeah," Haymitch says. He thinks about that little sister back in District 12, all that leverage, thinks about Katniss blushing, how many dirty old men there are in the Capitol, and just, fuck. Maybe he should've chosen Peeta after all. Though... that kid was pretty too, maybe even prettier, all that blond hair, so it's not like.... Well. Nothing to be done either way. He wishes he were drunker.
"That's a shame," Finnick says, very quiet now.
"Everything's a fucking shame," Haymitch says, and goes off to find Katniss.
**
She's in a dark back hallway between the dining room and the kitchens, sitting on the floor, curled up into the smallest possible ball. Cinna put her in a pink dress and flats tonight, so she looks about twelve years old. If that.
She doesn't look up at Haymitch's footsteps, and he leans against the wall next to her, sliding down until he's sitting on the floor beside her. He takes a sip from his flask. "Sorry," he says. He hates apologizing, never really does it. He hopes she appreciates the effort he's putting in here.
"Peeta wasn't pretending, was he?" she says. Her face is still buried in her arms and she sounds like she's been crying. "I was, but he wasn't. I thought it was just a strategy you came up with, but it wasn't, he actually loved me."
"Oh, it was a strategy," Haymitch says. When Katniss looks at him, disbelieving, he shrugs. "Well, it was." He offers her his flask, and after a second she takes it. When she drinks she makes a horrible face at the taste. Yeah, he really should get better, Capitol liquor while he's here, but he's kind of gotten used to the Hob stuff.
"Don't lie to me," she says, and hands the flask back to him.
"It was a strategy," he says, because it was, but then adds, "But no, Peeta wasn't pretending."
She presses the heels of her hands hard against her eyes, but she doesn't cry this time. She's a tough old bird, Katniss Everdeen. Young bird. A tough baby bird. "I don't ever want to be in love," she says, her voice rough and agonized. "It's awful. I never ever wanted to be in love, not once, not even when I was little. And I didn't want Peeta to be."
For the first time in a long time, he thinks about his own girl back in District 12, dead twenty-four years now. The one he was going home to after the Games -- Clementine, her name was -- and how there hasn't been anyone since, not anyone that's meant anything. Yeah, he and Katniss, they understand each other. He decided not to love anything a long time ago. He won't even get a dog. "Yeah," he says. "Smart girl."
"I'm not smart, I'm horrible," she says.
"Have another drink," he says, and hands her the flask.
They sit for awhile in silence, drinking slowly. His face feels flushed with the booze, and he thinks again about Finnick making Katniss blush. Finally he says, "That was your first kiss, on camera, wasn't it? With Peeta?"
Katniss looks at him like that's a weird question, or like it's critical, or something. "So?" she says.
He thought so. "I was just wondering," he says. God, the Capitol is going to eat her alive. Maybe he should've let her die in the arena, but it's too late now. She's a survivor, anyway. Even if he'd chosen Peeta he thinks Katniss might've been the one to make it out.
**
"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the richest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the tributes will be reaped only from those who have never taken tesserae."
Oh, the Capitol is clever. If Haymitch had thought there was any lingering resentment against the Capitol coming out of the star-crossed lovers stunt he pulled, he knows that's all going to be forgotten by the districts now. Goodbye, impossible revolution he hadn't even known he was stupid enough to still be hoping for. The Capitol knows how to nip that in the bud, how to divide and distract.
Even Katniss looks fierce and glad over it, like justice has finally come to the Games, and he doesn't bother telling her that the Capitol's most effective weapon is making you forget who the real enemy is. Let her be glad that Prim's out of the running, that the "rich" of her own district are in. She might as well be happy about something for a change.
**
He and Katniss are both onstage when the tributes get selected, and he's not quite as drunk as last year, but he's close. The reaping's usually the worst day of the year for him, all those kids that could be chosen, their young, young faces turned up to the stage, tense and worried. Younger-looking every year.
This year the girl tribute's about fifteen, Aster Sykes, daughter of the tailor, redheaded and freckled. She looks shy and terrified and tiny, and she's not going to have a shot in the arena. The boy, Tate Undersee, is even younger, maybe thirteen, barely into puberty, and he has that blond, pale look that most merchant's kids' have. It makes him look vaguely like a younger version of Peeta, and Haymitch figures that's why Katniss goes still and horrified as he comes up on stage.
After, when the tributes are saying goodbye to their families, Haymitch says to Katniss, "You all right? That kid, Tate...." He trails off, not really wanting to say Peeta's name.
"It's okay," Katniss says, not looking at him. "I just know his cousin, that's all. Madge."
Oh. So it's not the Peeta thing after all. Just as well.
"He's going to die, isn't he?" Katniss says. "They both are." It's pretty obvious -- they're both fair, delicate, and merchant's kids never have any discernible skills anyway. Well, just once Haymitch got one who was the son of the butcher, who at least knew how to use a knife. That one made it to the final eight. But he was by far the exception, and also, he was seventeen, not one of the babies, not like these kids.
"Yep," Haymitch says, and goes to see if he has enough liquor packed on the train.
**
Their first full day in the Capitol, Haymitch gets a surprise call from Bromius Leach. Leach is old and rich -- from what Haymitch can gather he made his fortune at something vaguely shady -- and now seems to spend most of his time walking around at Hunger Games events making Haymitch's skin crawl, his face with that stretched look Capitol citizens get after too many surgeries. Haymitch has no idea why Bromius would call him -- they're not exactly friends.
After the exchange of some pleasantries, forced on Haymitch's side, overly cheerful on Leach's, Leach says, "That Katniss girl of yours," and Haymitch immediately tenses up. He doesn't doesn't like Leach saying Katniss's name, not one bit. Doesn't like him thinking about her. And there's something about the way he says it -- suddenly Haymitch has a suspicion why Leach is calling, that it might be what Finnick was implying back on the Victory Tour, and he feels sick to his stomach, desperately hopes that he's wrong. "She's got so much spirit," Leach continues. "A very appealing girl."
"I don't think I'd call her appealing," Haymitch says. "Hostile, maybe. Unlikable."
Bromius just laughs like Haymitch told a good joke. "She and the boy, out there together. They made quite a pair, all those clumsy kisses. Is she a virgin, do you think?"
Fuck. Fuck Leach. Fuck everything, this is fucking horrible, Haymitch wants grab Katniss and run away somehow. Like there's anywhere to run to. "I don't know," Haymitch says. His voice has gone cold, and he knows being unfriendly to one of Snow's cronies, to someone this influential, is just putting his tributes at risk, but he can't seem to care. God, there has to be something he can do to put a stop to this, but he's been around long enough to know there's never anything anyone can do. He'll probably end up going with his usual solution, drinking until he passes out. God, he needs a drink.
"Mmm," Leach says. "Well, either way. How much do you think Snow would want for her?"
Fuck it. Haymitch hangs up on him. He sits there in his room for awhile downing whiskey as the sun sets, the room getting darker and darker until he's sitting there drunk and alone in the blackness, until Effie calls him for dinner.
**
The next morning Katniss has been summoned to some meeting before Haymitch gets up, so he sends the kiddies off to training by himself and then settles down to eat more than is good for him. He's just considering pouring some liquor into his coffee, because these kids are doomed, so what's the point of trying not to drink before noon anyway, when Katniss appears in the doorway, white as a sheet.
"You okay?" he asks, startled.
Her eyes are wide and agonized. "I just," she says. "President Snow -- he wanted -- he says I --" She can't seem to get the words out, like they're sticking in her throat.
Haymitch remembers Bromius's call from the day before, suddenly knows exactly what that meeting was about. Fuck, fuck, he knew it was coming, but fuck, already? And this whole suite is bugged within an inch of its life. "Katniss," he says, getting up, trying to sound businesslike and cheerful, cut her off before she says it. "Let's go for a walk. You haven't seen much of the Capitol, have you?"
She looks at him like he's gone crazy. "I'm trying to tell you--" she says, but he's close enough now to grab her arm, lean in.
"Not here," he says into her ear. If she weren't so rattled, she'd know that already. Then, louder, "Why don't we go see some of the city?"
"Oh," she says, finally remembering the monitoring. She's still thrown off-balance, not playing it as well as she normally would, but she rallies. "Sure. Okay. Yeah, I'd like to see the city."
There's a crowd of photographers waiting outside as they leave the building, the whole mob of them rushing forward when they see Katniss, flashes going off. Katniss, their little tragic heroine -- fresh meat, popular after the last Games. Katniss looks at him, panicked as they swarm her, and God, she's such a baby, not even used to this yet. Welcome to life as a victor, kid. "Smile, sweetheart," he mutters to her, and takes her arm, starting to move her through the crowd of them with a practiced hand. "Just smile."
Across town they leave the photographers behind as they pay to get into the Hanging Gardens, even though Haymitch usually avoids this particular attraction -- it's a little too much like the arena he fought in, a little too ridiculously beautiful, but what the hell. Anyway, it's funny to watch Katniss's eyes get all wide, much as she tries to hide it. The same way she did when they were on the elevated monorail coming over here, looking out the windows at the shining richness of the Capitol, skyscrapers gleaming in the sunshine, everything clean and opulent. Country mouse in the big city. He guesses she didn't get to see too much of it last time.
He leads her to the Garden of the Bells, where thousands of windchimes hang among the flowers, huge deep chimes twenty feet tall, small soprano ones hanging in glittering spirals. There's no way anyone will be able to overhear them in all the racket.
"So," Haymitch mutters out of the corner of his mouth, pretending to be very interested in the light glittering off the crystal, so anyone who sees the two of them won't think they're talking about anything important. "Snow sold you to Bromius Leach, huh? When do you have to do it? Tonight?"
Katniss whips her head around to stare at him. "You knew about this?" she says. Outraged, like he sold her out somehow, like he's betrayed her.
He rolls his eyes. "Don't look at me like that. It's not like anybody asked my permission. Leach called me to brag. Fucking pervert. I hung up on him." He's been trying to be his normal self, flippant and sarcastic, but his voice is sounding tight and angry. Well, so what, he's angry.
Katniss looks a little mollified, but her gaze is still steady and accusing. "But you're not surprised."
He wishes he had put that liquor in his coffee after all. He looks away. "It happens to a lot of victors," he says. Suddenly he feels very tired, and it's too bright out here, the sun making his eyes sting, giving him a headache. He sighs. "Finnick is very popular."
"Finnick," Katniss says, taken aback. She has to take a second to process it and he can see her putting it all together, realizing why Finnick is the way he is. Yeah. After she's blinked her way through that one, she shakes it off and says, "Well, did it happen to you?"
A gust of wind comes up, raking a beautiful wave of sound out of the chimes. Haymitch can feel Katniss's angry, terrified eyes on him but he still can't look at her. "No," he says. "They killed everyone I cared about after the Games so they didn't have any leverage. Who'd they threaten, your sister?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Katniss nods miserably.
He shrugs. He figured. When he glances over at Katniss her mouth is twisting like she might cry. The fragrance of the lilies in front of them is heavy in the air, and the chimes are moving gently. Finally he says, "I'm sorry."
She shoves her hands into her pockets, hunching her shoulders. "So that's it?" she says. "I just have to do it?" She's frowning at the fountain in the middle of the garden, her hair pulled back severely from her face into that one braid of hers, and he doesn't know what she thought was going to happen.
"Well, what else can you do?" Haymitch says.
She kicks at the grass in front of her. "I don't know," she mutters. "I've never even -- I just thought you'd have a plan or something."
He really doesn't know what to say. It's not like there are any options. There are never any options.
"I just, I need to think for a second," she says, more to herself than anybody. "Just give me a second. I'm gonna --" She gestures vaguely toward the other side of the garden, like she's saying she needs to get away for awhile, be on her own.
As she starts to walk away from him, Haymitch says to her back, "Okay, I'll be here." Not like he has anything else to do today. He'd rather not be back at the training center anyway.
The fountain is an interactive one, where you can push buttons to make different spouts spray, and Haymitch stands by it for awhile, amusing himself by pushing them at random. Every once in awhile he'll see Katniss through a break in the windchimes, wandering on the other side of the garden with her forehead furrowed, or sitting on a bench with her head in her hands.
She takes a long time, walking around by herself, and he's lost track of her in the chimes and the flowers when suddenly her voice comes from right behind him, making him jump.
"Okay, so maybe I have to do it, but I'm not losing my virginity to Leach," Katniss says. When he spins to look at her, she's frowning, her arms crossed over her chest, definite and fierce. He's surprised -- he hadn't known that she and that little fake-cousin boyfriend had ever done anything.
"Oh?" he says. "Well, good."
"No," she says. "I mean, I'm not because you're going to fuck me. Today."
That's such a surprise coming out of her mouth that he laughs. But when he looks at her she's completely serious and suddenly it's not the least bit funny. "Um," he says. "No. I'm not."
"I'm not losing my virginity to him," she repeats, more insistent. "And I don't know anyone else here."
"Katniss," he says, and runs his hand through his hair. God. "I'm old enough to be your father. I was in your goddamn mother's class at school."
"So?" Katniss says. "L-Leach," she stumbles over the name, sounds like she's choking, but then rallies. "Leach is older than you."
True, but so what? He rubs at his forehead. "Sweetheart," he says. "I see where you're coming from, but wouldn't you rather... I mean, why don't we just bring that little boyfriend of yours into town instead?"
She looks confused for a second, but then says, "Gale?" in this tone of voice like he's being an idiot to call Gale her boyfriend. Like the whole district doesn't know that they sneak off into the woods together every Sunday.
"Yeah," Haymitch says. "I'll pull some strings, get him on a train. Then you two can...."
"You can't get him here by tonight," Katniss says in this scornful voice. "Anyway," she says, but now she's muttering. "I don't want Gale."
"Oh?" he says.
Katniss has gone all angry and deadly, the way she looked in the arena right before she killed the tribute from District 1, after he'd killed her little friend. She doesn't say anything for a second, face twisting. "He just wants things from me," she finally bursts out. "Him and Peeta both, they both want things -- wanted things, and I'm not -- I'm never getting married, I'm never going to be the person they want me to be, and if I slept with him he'd think -- but I can't --" She breaks off, her words getting smothered like her throat's closing up.
He understands. "Ah," he says.
Katniss swallows a few times, getting herself under control. "I just need this not to mean anything," she says, quiet and miserable.
God. Haymitch runs his hand through his hair again and doesn't know what to do. That's his specialty, sex not meaning anything. But he's not... "Look," he says finally. "Maybe there's something else we can do -- let's go see Finnick, okay? He knows about this. He might have something that'll help." Finnick has drugs for all occasions. It feels like a longshot, but maybe he has something that would make this not so bad for her, that she could take to keep her from noticing what Leach is doing to her.
And if that doesn't work, maybe she'll see Finnick and want to fuck him instead of Haymitch. After all, the girl has eyes.
**
Haymitch has to ring the bell at Finnick's three times before Finnick finally pulls the door open, yawning hugely. He's wearing a pair of shorts, thankfully, but it's obvious he just got out of bed, his hair sticking up every which way, a groggy expression on his face. Somehow even his bedhead manages to look sexy, like it's been intentionally styled that way. Haymitch doesn't know how he does it. His abs and chest are as muscular and chiseled and bronzed as always.
"Christ, Haymitch," Finnick says when he sees them. "It's the middle of the night."
"It's eleven," Haymitch says.
"Yeah," Finnick says, yawning again. "That's what I said."
There's a very pretty boy coming down the elegant sweeping stairway behind Finnick, wrapping himself in an almost sheer silk robe, and there are beer bottles and other party detritus all over the front hall. Typical. The cleaning service must not have been here yet.
"Can we come in?" Haymitch says. "Katniss needs some advice."
Finnick finally seems to notice Katniss is there -- he gives her his sexiest smile, complete with bedroom eyes, and Katniss goes bright red immediately.
"Cut it out, Finnick," Haymitch says. Yeah, it's funny, but this isn't the moment.
Finnick rolls his eyes, but lets them in the door. Katniss is staring at her shoes, like she's too embarrassed to look anywhere else. Haymitch saw her expression when she saw the boy on the stairs -- she's probably scandalized. District 12 is so provincial.
"You seen Beetee recently?" Haymitch asks. That means, has your place been swept for bugs lately?
Finnick's face goes still and interested immediately, and he drops the sleepy act, stops rubbing his eyes. Beetee sweeps Finnick's place every few weeks -- they leave most of the bugs alone, so the Capitol doesn't get suspicious, but there's always one room in the house whose bugs Beetee makes sure are mysteriously malfunctioning, so the Capitol only gets static off them. "Oh, you know Beetee," Finnick says. "He's good at keeping in touch. Why don't we go talk in the study?"
Haymitch nods, and Finnick starts to escort them in that direction. But the boy he fucked last night is standing in their way, all finely polished muscles and classically beautiful face, curly hair falling artfully into his eyes. God, Haymitch hopes he's 18. "Oh, hi," Finnick says to him, all casual heartbreaker, his tone like he'd forgotten the boy was even here. He's doing it on purpose, Haymitch knows -- he sees him do this maneuver all the time. "Last night was fun. The coffee's over there, and the door's over there. See you around, huh? Stay beautiful." He pats the kid's cheek and keeps walking.
The kid's face falls, though he doesn't look like he's entirely surprised. After a long second of deliberation he frowns and grumpily heads in the direction of the coffee, apparently deciding not to make a fuss. Finnick looks at Katniss, who's staring at him like he's scum, and smiles. "Thank God," he says to her in a stage whisper as they walk to the study. "It's so tedious when they're clingy."
Katniss looks appalled again, obviously not aware that he's doing this for her benefit -- Finnick really needs to stop messing with her. It's too easy to even be any fun.
Once they're in the study, Finnick closes the door firmly behind them and goes to sprawl on the leather desk chair, somehow sex in every line of his body, in the artless way he cants his hips, his shorts barely covering him. Haymitch thinks of how different Finnick was when he was fourteen and hates the Capitol.
"So," Finnick drawls, gesturing expansively for them to sit on the couch. "Speak freely."
Katniss is red and staring at the floor as she sits down, obviously not about to volunteer anything. Haymitch sighs and sits far enough away from her that they're not even close to touching. "Bromius Leach called Snow about Katniss," he says.
Finnick's eyes go steely and hard. Bromius Leach likes the victors when they're fresh and new, unspoiled. Haymitch is pretty sure he bought Finnick's virginity too. "Fucker," Finnick mutters.
"Yeah," Haymitch says, and tries to think how to say the next part, how to ask Finnick what would help, but Katniss jumps in instead.
She's slumped sullenly back into the couch and isn't looking at either of them. "I don't want to lose my virginity to him," she says. "But Haymitch is being uncooperative."
Oh, for fuck's sake. Haymitch rolls his eyes, but Finnick's suddenly smiling, amused. "Haymitch?" he says. "Good choice. He's great in bed."
Does Finnick ever shut the fuck up? Haymitch opens his mouth to say something cutting, but then he can't think of anything. "Finnick," he says, incredibly annoyed. God. Anyway, he's pretty sure he wasn't great in bed, considering how unbelievably drunk he was at the time.
Katniss is staring at him, horrified. "Do you like men or something?" she says. She sounds like now she thinks that's why Haymitch turned her down, and like she thinks it's epically perverted. Oh, for heaven's sake. He doesn't even know what to do with her.
He rubs his forehead, trying to stave off the headache he feels coming on. "Occasionally," he says, feeling aggravated. "And I was drunk. It was Finnick. Stop being so shocked at everything, you're seventeen, not seven. Don't be such a hayseed."
That shuts her up, at least. She looks mad, though, like Haymitch not telling her every detail of his life is a betrayal. Oh, yeah, that attitude's really making him want to sleep with her.
"So what's the problem, Haymitch?" Finnick says, still infuriatingly smirky and amused. "It could be fun. I mean, when's the last time you slept with someone whose name you know?"
"Like you're one to talk," Haymitch says. "How old was that kid out in the hall, anyway?"
Finnick smiles, not even bothered a little. "Yesterday was his eighteenth birthday. I helped him celebrate."
"You're shameless," Haymitch says.
The amusement fades out of Finnick's eyes, though he keeps his lips smiling. "I try," he says. "It's a survival skill."
Oh, for fuck's sake, now Haymitch feels shitty. It's not fair of Finnick to pull that out in the middle, to make it about reality all of a sudden. Haymitch's headache is really throbbing by now and he needs a drink. "Look, Katniss," he says, trying to get this conversation back on track. "I know why you want to do this, but why don't you sleep with Finnick instead? He's an expert, and he's not twice your age."
Katniss stares at him, appalled. "I don't want to sleep with him," she says, then pulls up abruptly, like she just realized she was really insulting right to Finnick's face. "Uh, I mean," she says to Finnick, trying to recover. "No offense or anything."
Finnick's back to amused, though, not insulted at all. He grins at Haymitch. "I like her," he says.
"You would," Haymitch says. Finnick just smiles wider, suddenly looking at Haymitch with all this affection, and for a second Haymitch flashes back to that night five years ago, to Finnick underneath him, smiling up at him just like that. Fuck.
"Well," Finnick says, looking back and forth between the two of them. "I think you should do it, Haymitch. Help the girl out. I have a penthouse you can use, if you want it. Unbugged and everything. Very discreet." He swivels in his chair and starts opening desk drawers, like he's looking for a key.
"Oh, fuck you," Haymitch says, but Finnick's come up with a keycard and Katniss grabs it out of his hand before Haymitch can stop her.
"Thanks," she says, tucking it into her pocket. "Can you talk some sense into him while I use your bathroom?"
Finnick smiles at her and says, "You got it, kid. And second door on the left past the stairs."
When she's gone, the door shut behind her, Haymitch says in a warning tone, "Finnick."
"Haymitch," Finnick says right back, imitating his tone.
"For God's sake," Haymitch says. "You're not helping. I just came to ask you if you, I don't know, have a drug that'll make this easier on her."
Finnick raises one eyebrow at him like he's an idiot. "Like, a magic drug?" he says. When Haymitch makes a face at him, Finnick fixes him with a steady look and says, "When I said I thought you should sleep with her, I wasn't actually kidding, you know."
Haymitch groans. "C'mon," he says. "Honestly. Would you have wanted someone to fuck you when you were fourteen just to get it over with? Would that have really made it better?"
"Before Leach fucked me?" Finnick says, not kidding at all. "Someone like you? Yes. I would have wanted that."
"She doesn't even like me," Haymitch says.
"She trusts you," Finnick says. "Liking's easy. Trusting's harder."
Haymitch hesitates. Goddamn the Capitol, he should never have been put in this position. Finnick and Katniss shouldn't have been put in this position. Damn them all to fucking hell, miserable murderous child-fuckers, he wishes he could put an axe through all their heads.
Katniss reappears in the doorway. "So are we going to this penthouse or what?" she says, all bravado, hands in her pockets, standing like a boy in her old District 12 hunting clothes, hair in that one frumpy braid down her back, no makeup on. He can't decide if she looks older or younger than after she's been styled. She looks more like herself, anyway.
"Yeah," Finnick says, before Haymitch can answer. "Haymitch is going."
**
:: on to part 2 ::
Title: To the Victor, the Spoil
Fandom: The Hunger Games trilogy
Pairing: Katniss/Haymitch (plus references to Haymitch/Finnick, Katniss/Johanna, Katniss/Finnick)
Rating: NC-17
Length: 13,416 words
Warnings: Nothing much more disturbing than the books themselves, though to be fair that is pretty disturbing. Off-screen compulsory prostitution. Some violence. Suzanne Collins, you are quite the bundle of rainbows. Plus the big age difference of the pairing, and possibly underage sexytimes depending on where you live (Katniss is 17 in the story).
Spoilers: This goes AU at the end of the first book of the series, but includes references to backstory and characters we don't get until Catching Fire and Mockingjay.
Summary: (contains implied spoilers for the first book, highlight to read) No berries, no mockingjay, no rebellion. Katniss killed Peeta in the arena, and now she has to live with herself like every other victor.
Author's Notes: Also available all in one piece at AO3. Thanks to kyrafic for encouragement and a great beta job. Written for the Tik Tok (Ke$ha) challenge at nothing_hip. Tick tock on the clock but the party don't stop. Whoa-oh-oh-oh.
**
Like everybody else in the Capitol, Haymitch is watching when Katniss and Peeta, bloody and wild-eyed, hear the announcement that there can only be one victor after all. He sees Peeta reach for his knife, sees Katniss let the arrow fly. Sees her arrow bury itself in Peeta's chest as Peeta's hand finishes the movement, throwing the knife away, but it's too late. He dies with blood bubbling out of his chest, Katniss clutching his hand, begging him not to.
Unlike everybody else in the Capitol, Haymitch isn't surprised. This is his twenty-fifth Hunger Games and there's not much he doesn't know about how they work. How the Capitol works.
So he's finally mentored a victor. Good for him. He takes another drink.
**
He realizes halfway to the Hob that he forgot his wallet, and when he gets back to his house in the Victor's Village he finds Katniss there, a noose strung around her neck in his kitchen, just about to kick off the chair she's standing on.
A rush of terror hits him so strongly it surprises him, and he's across the room grabbing her just as she starts to fall. "Katniss," he's yelling. He hardly ever says her name, he realizes as he says it. It feels strange in his mouth. "What the fuck?"
When he gets her down, furious and terrified, he shakes her so her teeth rattle, adrenaline sharp in his limbs. "What were you thinking? They kill your family if you kill yourself, do you have a brain in your head?" She's already crying. She's not a pretty crier, goes all blotchy and swollen, snot dribbling from her nose, body heaving with phlegmy sobs.
He sits her down in a chair, and she's crying too hard to talk. Even through how angry he is, he thinks, God, she's just a kid. He can't remember the last time he cried that hard. He thinks about if he'd come home five minutes later and shudders. Collapses into the chair across from her and pours himself a drink. His hand's so unsteady some sloshes onto the table.
"And why the fuck are you doing it in my house?" he says, voice still too loud, still with that edge of panic in it. Goddammit.
She's mopping at her nose with her sleeves. Attractive. "I didn't want Prim to find my body," she mutters.
"Oh, and you wanted me to? Thanks," he says. He's still shaking all over. Fucking kid. He knocks back an angry gulp of alcohol, feels it burn going down.
"What do you care?" she says, finally looking at him, a spark of anger back in her eyes, that defeated look pushed away a little. Good. She looks more like herself when she's angry. "You don't even like me."
"Damn right I don't," he says. "I can't stand you. You're just like me." He means it as a joke, sort of, but it's truer than he'd like it to be, and that must come through in his voice because Katniss blinks. Child-killers, both of them. Survivors. People don't make it through the Games if they deserve to live, is the irony, but the Capitol doesn't give them a choice about the living afterwards. He sees it in Katniss's eyes, that recognition of likeness between them, that recognition of mutual self-loathing, sees that for a second she understands him very well. He doesn't know why that is, that they can always understand each other. They look at each other for a minute.
Finally Katniss's mouth twists, miserable, and she looks down. God, he hopes she doesn't start crying again. "I can't live with it," she says, so quietly he can barely hear her. She's staring at her hands, resting on the table in front of her. For a second he sees Peeta's face when her arrow hit him.
He sighs heavily and gets another glass, shoving it across the table to her. He thinks it's clean. As he starts to pour her some liquor he lets himself put his left hand on hers for just a second. Her hand is hot, sticky with snot and tears. "Oh, sweetheart," he says, trying to sound sarcastic, but his voice wavers. "You'd be surprised what you can live with."
**
He drinks his way through the year, like every other year, but the difference is that this time he has to go on the fucking Victory Tour. Watch Katniss look older every day, the circles under her eyes getting darker. He thought watching his tributes die every year was bad -- he didn't think watching them survive would be worse. Well, live and learn.
He was the one who told Peeta to go public with being in love with Katniss, the whole star-crossed lovers routine his strategy. It was his fuck-you to the Capitol -- see how the crowds like it, watching dopey infatuated kids have to murder each other, get murdered, the whole country watching young love with no hope. He thought maybe it could ignite something in the districts, finally something as far over the line as that, but Haymitch pays attention at every stop on the tour, Eleven to Ten to Nine to Eight, and there might be a little more unhappy murmuring than normal, but mostly it's the same weary defeat as always.
Well, it was worth a shot. His first real fuck-you to the Capitol since his own Games, since that axe came flying back up over the cliff and buried itself in that girl's head.
Funny, he can't remember her name anymore, that girl he killed. There was a time when he hadn't thought he could ever forget it.
Doesn't matter. He's getting old. Doesn't know why he bothered trying to give the Capitol another fuck-you when the first one didn't hurt anybody but himself anyway. None of these things ever go anywhere, and Katniss, the girl who was on fire, guttered out like every other spark.
**
At least at the Capitol's banquet at the end of the tour he gets to see some old friends, Chaff in from Eleven, a few other old victors. Cinna. Haymitch has big plans to get blitzed and try to forget this whole godforsaken tour -- the middle of the year is supposed to be when he doesn't have to think about the goddamn Games, for fuck's sake. The Games, the Games. When he left the arena alive he thought the Games were over -- it's hard to remember being that naive, like his sixteen-year-old self was an entirely different person. And at the time he had felt so old.
Halfway through the banquet, he sees Finnick Odair across the room, flirting shamelessly with Katniss. Finnick's wearing... well, not much. It's a little shocking anyone can get away with showing that much skin at a black-tie affair, but Finnick's Finnick. Katniss is bright red and staring fixedly somewhere above his head.
Haymitch rolls his eyes and goes over to rescue her. "Oh, Finnick, don't waste your time," he says, his voice heavy with irony. "Don't you know she lost her one true love in the arena?"
It's just meant to be a joke, but as Finnick laughs, Katniss whips her head around to look at Haymitch in shock and fury like he just killed her puppy. "Yeah, didn't we all?" Finnick says, but before he's even got the sentence all the way out Katniss is stalking off, fuming.
Oh, for fuck's sake, he didn't mean it like that. It's just, all these goddamn interviews about Katniss and Peeta's pure, doomed love all week, when he knows Katniss was playing for the cameras the whole time, he just meant -- oh, what does it matter what he meant, he's an asshole, why did he say that? He must be drunker than he thought.
Finnick watches her storm away, his eyebrows raised, but then he laughs again. "Good mentoring, Haymitch. You're a class act."
"Put on a fucking shirt, Odair," Haymitch says, rubbing his forehead. He should probably go after Katniss and apologize but he can't seem to summon up the energy.
Finnick's still looking after her, his smile fading slowly. "She's really an innocent, isn't she?" he says. "She wouldn't even look at me."
"Probably didn't want to induce vomiting," Haymitch says, taking a swig from his flask.
Finnick glances over at him and smirks, quick -- he knows exactly how beautiful he is -- but then goes back to serious again. "She's pretty, too," he says. He says it lightly, like it's of no consequence, but Haymitch knows what Finnick's saying, as obliquely as he can in public, and wishes he didn't.
"Yeah," Haymitch says. He thinks about that little sister back in District 12, all that leverage, thinks about Katniss blushing, how many dirty old men there are in the Capitol, and just, fuck. Maybe he should've chosen Peeta after all. Though... that kid was pretty too, maybe even prettier, all that blond hair, so it's not like.... Well. Nothing to be done either way. He wishes he were drunker.
"That's a shame," Finnick says, very quiet now.
"Everything's a fucking shame," Haymitch says, and goes off to find Katniss.
**
She's in a dark back hallway between the dining room and the kitchens, sitting on the floor, curled up into the smallest possible ball. Cinna put her in a pink dress and flats tonight, so she looks about twelve years old. If that.
She doesn't look up at Haymitch's footsteps, and he leans against the wall next to her, sliding down until he's sitting on the floor beside her. He takes a sip from his flask. "Sorry," he says. He hates apologizing, never really does it. He hopes she appreciates the effort he's putting in here.
"Peeta wasn't pretending, was he?" she says. Her face is still buried in her arms and she sounds like she's been crying. "I was, but he wasn't. I thought it was just a strategy you came up with, but it wasn't, he actually loved me."
"Oh, it was a strategy," Haymitch says. When Katniss looks at him, disbelieving, he shrugs. "Well, it was." He offers her his flask, and after a second she takes it. When she drinks she makes a horrible face at the taste. Yeah, he really should get better, Capitol liquor while he's here, but he's kind of gotten used to the Hob stuff.
"Don't lie to me," she says, and hands the flask back to him.
"It was a strategy," he says, because it was, but then adds, "But no, Peeta wasn't pretending."
She presses the heels of her hands hard against her eyes, but she doesn't cry this time. She's a tough old bird, Katniss Everdeen. Young bird. A tough baby bird. "I don't ever want to be in love," she says, her voice rough and agonized. "It's awful. I never ever wanted to be in love, not once, not even when I was little. And I didn't want Peeta to be."
For the first time in a long time, he thinks about his own girl back in District 12, dead twenty-four years now. The one he was going home to after the Games -- Clementine, her name was -- and how there hasn't been anyone since, not anyone that's meant anything. Yeah, he and Katniss, they understand each other. He decided not to love anything a long time ago. He won't even get a dog. "Yeah," he says. "Smart girl."
"I'm not smart, I'm horrible," she says.
"Have another drink," he says, and hands her the flask.
They sit for awhile in silence, drinking slowly. His face feels flushed with the booze, and he thinks again about Finnick making Katniss blush. Finally he says, "That was your first kiss, on camera, wasn't it? With Peeta?"
Katniss looks at him like that's a weird question, or like it's critical, or something. "So?" she says.
He thought so. "I was just wondering," he says. God, the Capitol is going to eat her alive. Maybe he should've let her die in the arena, but it's too late now. She's a survivor, anyway. Even if he'd chosen Peeta he thinks Katniss might've been the one to make it out.
**
"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the richest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the tributes will be reaped only from those who have never taken tesserae."
Oh, the Capitol is clever. If Haymitch had thought there was any lingering resentment against the Capitol coming out of the star-crossed lovers stunt he pulled, he knows that's all going to be forgotten by the districts now. Goodbye, impossible revolution he hadn't even known he was stupid enough to still be hoping for. The Capitol knows how to nip that in the bud, how to divide and distract.
Even Katniss looks fierce and glad over it, like justice has finally come to the Games, and he doesn't bother telling her that the Capitol's most effective weapon is making you forget who the real enemy is. Let her be glad that Prim's out of the running, that the "rich" of her own district are in. She might as well be happy about something for a change.
**
He and Katniss are both onstage when the tributes get selected, and he's not quite as drunk as last year, but he's close. The reaping's usually the worst day of the year for him, all those kids that could be chosen, their young, young faces turned up to the stage, tense and worried. Younger-looking every year.
This year the girl tribute's about fifteen, Aster Sykes, daughter of the tailor, redheaded and freckled. She looks shy and terrified and tiny, and she's not going to have a shot in the arena. The boy, Tate Undersee, is even younger, maybe thirteen, barely into puberty, and he has that blond, pale look that most merchant's kids' have. It makes him look vaguely like a younger version of Peeta, and Haymitch figures that's why Katniss goes still and horrified as he comes up on stage.
After, when the tributes are saying goodbye to their families, Haymitch says to Katniss, "You all right? That kid, Tate...." He trails off, not really wanting to say Peeta's name.
"It's okay," Katniss says, not looking at him. "I just know his cousin, that's all. Madge."
Oh. So it's not the Peeta thing after all. Just as well.
"He's going to die, isn't he?" Katniss says. "They both are." It's pretty obvious -- they're both fair, delicate, and merchant's kids never have any discernible skills anyway. Well, just once Haymitch got one who was the son of the butcher, who at least knew how to use a knife. That one made it to the final eight. But he was by far the exception, and also, he was seventeen, not one of the babies, not like these kids.
"Yep," Haymitch says, and goes to see if he has enough liquor packed on the train.
**
Their first full day in the Capitol, Haymitch gets a surprise call from Bromius Leach. Leach is old and rich -- from what Haymitch can gather he made his fortune at something vaguely shady -- and now seems to spend most of his time walking around at Hunger Games events making Haymitch's skin crawl, his face with that stretched look Capitol citizens get after too many surgeries. Haymitch has no idea why Bromius would call him -- they're not exactly friends.
After the exchange of some pleasantries, forced on Haymitch's side, overly cheerful on Leach's, Leach says, "That Katniss girl of yours," and Haymitch immediately tenses up. He doesn't doesn't like Leach saying Katniss's name, not one bit. Doesn't like him thinking about her. And there's something about the way he says it -- suddenly Haymitch has a suspicion why Leach is calling, that it might be what Finnick was implying back on the Victory Tour, and he feels sick to his stomach, desperately hopes that he's wrong. "She's got so much spirit," Leach continues. "A very appealing girl."
"I don't think I'd call her appealing," Haymitch says. "Hostile, maybe. Unlikable."
Bromius just laughs like Haymitch told a good joke. "She and the boy, out there together. They made quite a pair, all those clumsy kisses. Is she a virgin, do you think?"
Fuck. Fuck Leach. Fuck everything, this is fucking horrible, Haymitch wants grab Katniss and run away somehow. Like there's anywhere to run to. "I don't know," Haymitch says. His voice has gone cold, and he knows being unfriendly to one of Snow's cronies, to someone this influential, is just putting his tributes at risk, but he can't seem to care. God, there has to be something he can do to put a stop to this, but he's been around long enough to know there's never anything anyone can do. He'll probably end up going with his usual solution, drinking until he passes out. God, he needs a drink.
"Mmm," Leach says. "Well, either way. How much do you think Snow would want for her?"
Fuck it. Haymitch hangs up on him. He sits there in his room for awhile downing whiskey as the sun sets, the room getting darker and darker until he's sitting there drunk and alone in the blackness, until Effie calls him for dinner.
**
The next morning Katniss has been summoned to some meeting before Haymitch gets up, so he sends the kiddies off to training by himself and then settles down to eat more than is good for him. He's just considering pouring some liquor into his coffee, because these kids are doomed, so what's the point of trying not to drink before noon anyway, when Katniss appears in the doorway, white as a sheet.
"You okay?" he asks, startled.
Her eyes are wide and agonized. "I just," she says. "President Snow -- he wanted -- he says I --" She can't seem to get the words out, like they're sticking in her throat.
Haymitch remembers Bromius's call from the day before, suddenly knows exactly what that meeting was about. Fuck, fuck, he knew it was coming, but fuck, already? And this whole suite is bugged within an inch of its life. "Katniss," he says, getting up, trying to sound businesslike and cheerful, cut her off before she says it. "Let's go for a walk. You haven't seen much of the Capitol, have you?"
She looks at him like he's gone crazy. "I'm trying to tell you--" she says, but he's close enough now to grab her arm, lean in.
"Not here," he says into her ear. If she weren't so rattled, she'd know that already. Then, louder, "Why don't we go see some of the city?"
"Oh," she says, finally remembering the monitoring. She's still thrown off-balance, not playing it as well as she normally would, but she rallies. "Sure. Okay. Yeah, I'd like to see the city."
There's a crowd of photographers waiting outside as they leave the building, the whole mob of them rushing forward when they see Katniss, flashes going off. Katniss, their little tragic heroine -- fresh meat, popular after the last Games. Katniss looks at him, panicked as they swarm her, and God, she's such a baby, not even used to this yet. Welcome to life as a victor, kid. "Smile, sweetheart," he mutters to her, and takes her arm, starting to move her through the crowd of them with a practiced hand. "Just smile."
Across town they leave the photographers behind as they pay to get into the Hanging Gardens, even though Haymitch usually avoids this particular attraction -- it's a little too much like the arena he fought in, a little too ridiculously beautiful, but what the hell. Anyway, it's funny to watch Katniss's eyes get all wide, much as she tries to hide it. The same way she did when they were on the elevated monorail coming over here, looking out the windows at the shining richness of the Capitol, skyscrapers gleaming in the sunshine, everything clean and opulent. Country mouse in the big city. He guesses she didn't get to see too much of it last time.
He leads her to the Garden of the Bells, where thousands of windchimes hang among the flowers, huge deep chimes twenty feet tall, small soprano ones hanging in glittering spirals. There's no way anyone will be able to overhear them in all the racket.
"So," Haymitch mutters out of the corner of his mouth, pretending to be very interested in the light glittering off the crystal, so anyone who sees the two of them won't think they're talking about anything important. "Snow sold you to Bromius Leach, huh? When do you have to do it? Tonight?"
Katniss whips her head around to stare at him. "You knew about this?" she says. Outraged, like he sold her out somehow, like he's betrayed her.
He rolls his eyes. "Don't look at me like that. It's not like anybody asked my permission. Leach called me to brag. Fucking pervert. I hung up on him." He's been trying to be his normal self, flippant and sarcastic, but his voice is sounding tight and angry. Well, so what, he's angry.
Katniss looks a little mollified, but her gaze is still steady and accusing. "But you're not surprised."
He wishes he had put that liquor in his coffee after all. He looks away. "It happens to a lot of victors," he says. Suddenly he feels very tired, and it's too bright out here, the sun making his eyes sting, giving him a headache. He sighs. "Finnick is very popular."
"Finnick," Katniss says, taken aback. She has to take a second to process it and he can see her putting it all together, realizing why Finnick is the way he is. Yeah. After she's blinked her way through that one, she shakes it off and says, "Well, did it happen to you?"
A gust of wind comes up, raking a beautiful wave of sound out of the chimes. Haymitch can feel Katniss's angry, terrified eyes on him but he still can't look at her. "No," he says. "They killed everyone I cared about after the Games so they didn't have any leverage. Who'd they threaten, your sister?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Katniss nods miserably.
He shrugs. He figured. When he glances over at Katniss her mouth is twisting like she might cry. The fragrance of the lilies in front of them is heavy in the air, and the chimes are moving gently. Finally he says, "I'm sorry."
She shoves her hands into her pockets, hunching her shoulders. "So that's it?" she says. "I just have to do it?" She's frowning at the fountain in the middle of the garden, her hair pulled back severely from her face into that one braid of hers, and he doesn't know what she thought was going to happen.
"Well, what else can you do?" Haymitch says.
She kicks at the grass in front of her. "I don't know," she mutters. "I've never even -- I just thought you'd have a plan or something."
He really doesn't know what to say. It's not like there are any options. There are never any options.
"I just, I need to think for a second," she says, more to herself than anybody. "Just give me a second. I'm gonna --" She gestures vaguely toward the other side of the garden, like she's saying she needs to get away for awhile, be on her own.
As she starts to walk away from him, Haymitch says to her back, "Okay, I'll be here." Not like he has anything else to do today. He'd rather not be back at the training center anyway.
The fountain is an interactive one, where you can push buttons to make different spouts spray, and Haymitch stands by it for awhile, amusing himself by pushing them at random. Every once in awhile he'll see Katniss through a break in the windchimes, wandering on the other side of the garden with her forehead furrowed, or sitting on a bench with her head in her hands.
She takes a long time, walking around by herself, and he's lost track of her in the chimes and the flowers when suddenly her voice comes from right behind him, making him jump.
"Okay, so maybe I have to do it, but I'm not losing my virginity to Leach," Katniss says. When he spins to look at her, she's frowning, her arms crossed over her chest, definite and fierce. He's surprised -- he hadn't known that she and that little fake-cousin boyfriend had ever done anything.
"Oh?" he says. "Well, good."
"No," she says. "I mean, I'm not because you're going to fuck me. Today."
That's such a surprise coming out of her mouth that he laughs. But when he looks at her she's completely serious and suddenly it's not the least bit funny. "Um," he says. "No. I'm not."
"I'm not losing my virginity to him," she repeats, more insistent. "And I don't know anyone else here."
"Katniss," he says, and runs his hand through his hair. God. "I'm old enough to be your father. I was in your goddamn mother's class at school."
"So?" Katniss says. "L-Leach," she stumbles over the name, sounds like she's choking, but then rallies. "Leach is older than you."
True, but so what? He rubs at his forehead. "Sweetheart," he says. "I see where you're coming from, but wouldn't you rather... I mean, why don't we just bring that little boyfriend of yours into town instead?"
She looks confused for a second, but then says, "Gale?" in this tone of voice like he's being an idiot to call Gale her boyfriend. Like the whole district doesn't know that they sneak off into the woods together every Sunday.
"Yeah," Haymitch says. "I'll pull some strings, get him on a train. Then you two can...."
"You can't get him here by tonight," Katniss says in this scornful voice. "Anyway," she says, but now she's muttering. "I don't want Gale."
"Oh?" he says.
Katniss has gone all angry and deadly, the way she looked in the arena right before she killed the tribute from District 1, after he'd killed her little friend. She doesn't say anything for a second, face twisting. "He just wants things from me," she finally bursts out. "Him and Peeta both, they both want things -- wanted things, and I'm not -- I'm never getting married, I'm never going to be the person they want me to be, and if I slept with him he'd think -- but I can't --" She breaks off, her words getting smothered like her throat's closing up.
He understands. "Ah," he says.
Katniss swallows a few times, getting herself under control. "I just need this not to mean anything," she says, quiet and miserable.
God. Haymitch runs his hand through his hair again and doesn't know what to do. That's his specialty, sex not meaning anything. But he's not... "Look," he says finally. "Maybe there's something else we can do -- let's go see Finnick, okay? He knows about this. He might have something that'll help." Finnick has drugs for all occasions. It feels like a longshot, but maybe he has something that would make this not so bad for her, that she could take to keep her from noticing what Leach is doing to her.
And if that doesn't work, maybe she'll see Finnick and want to fuck him instead of Haymitch. After all, the girl has eyes.
**
Haymitch has to ring the bell at Finnick's three times before Finnick finally pulls the door open, yawning hugely. He's wearing a pair of shorts, thankfully, but it's obvious he just got out of bed, his hair sticking up every which way, a groggy expression on his face. Somehow even his bedhead manages to look sexy, like it's been intentionally styled that way. Haymitch doesn't know how he does it. His abs and chest are as muscular and chiseled and bronzed as always.
"Christ, Haymitch," Finnick says when he sees them. "It's the middle of the night."
"It's eleven," Haymitch says.
"Yeah," Finnick says, yawning again. "That's what I said."
There's a very pretty boy coming down the elegant sweeping stairway behind Finnick, wrapping himself in an almost sheer silk robe, and there are beer bottles and other party detritus all over the front hall. Typical. The cleaning service must not have been here yet.
"Can we come in?" Haymitch says. "Katniss needs some advice."
Finnick finally seems to notice Katniss is there -- he gives her his sexiest smile, complete with bedroom eyes, and Katniss goes bright red immediately.
"Cut it out, Finnick," Haymitch says. Yeah, it's funny, but this isn't the moment.
Finnick rolls his eyes, but lets them in the door. Katniss is staring at her shoes, like she's too embarrassed to look anywhere else. Haymitch saw her expression when she saw the boy on the stairs -- she's probably scandalized. District 12 is so provincial.
"You seen Beetee recently?" Haymitch asks. That means, has your place been swept for bugs lately?
Finnick's face goes still and interested immediately, and he drops the sleepy act, stops rubbing his eyes. Beetee sweeps Finnick's place every few weeks -- they leave most of the bugs alone, so the Capitol doesn't get suspicious, but there's always one room in the house whose bugs Beetee makes sure are mysteriously malfunctioning, so the Capitol only gets static off them. "Oh, you know Beetee," Finnick says. "He's good at keeping in touch. Why don't we go talk in the study?"
Haymitch nods, and Finnick starts to escort them in that direction. But the boy he fucked last night is standing in their way, all finely polished muscles and classically beautiful face, curly hair falling artfully into his eyes. God, Haymitch hopes he's 18. "Oh, hi," Finnick says to him, all casual heartbreaker, his tone like he'd forgotten the boy was even here. He's doing it on purpose, Haymitch knows -- he sees him do this maneuver all the time. "Last night was fun. The coffee's over there, and the door's over there. See you around, huh? Stay beautiful." He pats the kid's cheek and keeps walking.
The kid's face falls, though he doesn't look like he's entirely surprised. After a long second of deliberation he frowns and grumpily heads in the direction of the coffee, apparently deciding not to make a fuss. Finnick looks at Katniss, who's staring at him like he's scum, and smiles. "Thank God," he says to her in a stage whisper as they walk to the study. "It's so tedious when they're clingy."
Katniss looks appalled again, obviously not aware that he's doing this for her benefit -- Finnick really needs to stop messing with her. It's too easy to even be any fun.
Once they're in the study, Finnick closes the door firmly behind them and goes to sprawl on the leather desk chair, somehow sex in every line of his body, in the artless way he cants his hips, his shorts barely covering him. Haymitch thinks of how different Finnick was when he was fourteen and hates the Capitol.
"So," Finnick drawls, gesturing expansively for them to sit on the couch. "Speak freely."
Katniss is red and staring at the floor as she sits down, obviously not about to volunteer anything. Haymitch sighs and sits far enough away from her that they're not even close to touching. "Bromius Leach called Snow about Katniss," he says.
Finnick's eyes go steely and hard. Bromius Leach likes the victors when they're fresh and new, unspoiled. Haymitch is pretty sure he bought Finnick's virginity too. "Fucker," Finnick mutters.
"Yeah," Haymitch says, and tries to think how to say the next part, how to ask Finnick what would help, but Katniss jumps in instead.
She's slumped sullenly back into the couch and isn't looking at either of them. "I don't want to lose my virginity to him," she says. "But Haymitch is being uncooperative."
Oh, for fuck's sake. Haymitch rolls his eyes, but Finnick's suddenly smiling, amused. "Haymitch?" he says. "Good choice. He's great in bed."
Does Finnick ever shut the fuck up? Haymitch opens his mouth to say something cutting, but then he can't think of anything. "Finnick," he says, incredibly annoyed. God. Anyway, he's pretty sure he wasn't great in bed, considering how unbelievably drunk he was at the time.
Katniss is staring at him, horrified. "Do you like men or something?" she says. She sounds like now she thinks that's why Haymitch turned her down, and like she thinks it's epically perverted. Oh, for heaven's sake. He doesn't even know what to do with her.
He rubs his forehead, trying to stave off the headache he feels coming on. "Occasionally," he says, feeling aggravated. "And I was drunk. It was Finnick. Stop being so shocked at everything, you're seventeen, not seven. Don't be such a hayseed."
That shuts her up, at least. She looks mad, though, like Haymitch not telling her every detail of his life is a betrayal. Oh, yeah, that attitude's really making him want to sleep with her.
"So what's the problem, Haymitch?" Finnick says, still infuriatingly smirky and amused. "It could be fun. I mean, when's the last time you slept with someone whose name you know?"
"Like you're one to talk," Haymitch says. "How old was that kid out in the hall, anyway?"
Finnick smiles, not even bothered a little. "Yesterday was his eighteenth birthday. I helped him celebrate."
"You're shameless," Haymitch says.
The amusement fades out of Finnick's eyes, though he keeps his lips smiling. "I try," he says. "It's a survival skill."
Oh, for fuck's sake, now Haymitch feels shitty. It's not fair of Finnick to pull that out in the middle, to make it about reality all of a sudden. Haymitch's headache is really throbbing by now and he needs a drink. "Look, Katniss," he says, trying to get this conversation back on track. "I know why you want to do this, but why don't you sleep with Finnick instead? He's an expert, and he's not twice your age."
Katniss stares at him, appalled. "I don't want to sleep with him," she says, then pulls up abruptly, like she just realized she was really insulting right to Finnick's face. "Uh, I mean," she says to Finnick, trying to recover. "No offense or anything."
Finnick's back to amused, though, not insulted at all. He grins at Haymitch. "I like her," he says.
"You would," Haymitch says. Finnick just smiles wider, suddenly looking at Haymitch with all this affection, and for a second Haymitch flashes back to that night five years ago, to Finnick underneath him, smiling up at him just like that. Fuck.
"Well," Finnick says, looking back and forth between the two of them. "I think you should do it, Haymitch. Help the girl out. I have a penthouse you can use, if you want it. Unbugged and everything. Very discreet." He swivels in his chair and starts opening desk drawers, like he's looking for a key.
"Oh, fuck you," Haymitch says, but Finnick's come up with a keycard and Katniss grabs it out of his hand before Haymitch can stop her.
"Thanks," she says, tucking it into her pocket. "Can you talk some sense into him while I use your bathroom?"
Finnick smiles at her and says, "You got it, kid. And second door on the left past the stairs."
When she's gone, the door shut behind her, Haymitch says in a warning tone, "Finnick."
"Haymitch," Finnick says right back, imitating his tone.
"For God's sake," Haymitch says. "You're not helping. I just came to ask you if you, I don't know, have a drug that'll make this easier on her."
Finnick raises one eyebrow at him like he's an idiot. "Like, a magic drug?" he says. When Haymitch makes a face at him, Finnick fixes him with a steady look and says, "When I said I thought you should sleep with her, I wasn't actually kidding, you know."
Haymitch groans. "C'mon," he says. "Honestly. Would you have wanted someone to fuck you when you were fourteen just to get it over with? Would that have really made it better?"
"Before Leach fucked me?" Finnick says, not kidding at all. "Someone like you? Yes. I would have wanted that."
"She doesn't even like me," Haymitch says.
"She trusts you," Finnick says. "Liking's easy. Trusting's harder."
Haymitch hesitates. Goddamn the Capitol, he should never have been put in this position. Finnick and Katniss shouldn't have been put in this position. Damn them all to fucking hell, miserable murderous child-fuckers, he wishes he could put an axe through all their heads.
Katniss reappears in the doorway. "So are we going to this penthouse or what?" she says, all bravado, hands in her pockets, standing like a boy in her old District 12 hunting clothes, hair in that one frumpy braid down her back, no makeup on. He can't decide if she looks older or younger than after she's been styled. She looks more like herself, anyway.
"Yeah," Finnick says, before Haymitch can answer. "Haymitch is going."
**
:: on to part 2 ::