Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - Haymitch
I sit on the bench at the train station. The brisk morning air and sunshine causes me to squint as I try to minimize the pain that has begun pulsating throughout my head. I’d much rather be back at home slipping into the sweet darkness of unconsciousness, but Effie had called, and in her obnoxious Capitol accent, had made me promise to be there to pick him up from the train station. After extensive testing they’d finally cleared him to leave the Capitol and he was coming home. I frown and pull my coat tighter around my neck.
I still remember finding them in the square among the screams and moans of the dying. After the second blast, District Thirteen’s soldiers had rushed the president’s mansion, kicked in the doors. They’d met little resistance from anyone. They found President Snow staring down at the carnage below his eyes following the bright human torches as the fires consumed their lives. He surrendered himself calmly and with little emotion. I remember the small smile and the glint of triumph in Coin’s pale eyes as the transmission came through.
Medics rushed into the square and began carting off survivors. I stood around stupidly feeling useless until a commotion started up by the flag pole to my left. And then there they were, in the snow, unconscious and burned, but still alive. My two victors.
I was never meant to take care of people, but it became clear in the following days that I was going to have to. Mrs. Everdeen, working frantically to save lives with the other district 13 medics was found and taken to Katniss. Her relief at finding one daughter alive was short lived when she found out that the other had perished. She sank to her knees and wailed until someone came and took her away. I saw her in and out of Katniss’s room as Katniss recovered, but it was clear from the deadness in her eyes that she wasn't going to be there for Katniss when she woke up. Shortly after Katniss revived, she threw herself into her work the way I throw myself into a bottle.
Peeta was easier, but he’s always been easier. When he woke up in the burn unit, he asked about Katniss. Asked if he could see her, but he couldn't. The doctors came soon after that and I hardly saw him until the day of Snow’s execution. During Katniss’s trial, when he had breaks from therapy, I would keep him updated with whatever tidbit of knowledge I could glean from Plutarch and we would sit there in silence until a nurse would come gather him for something or other. When I heard she was singing, I told Peeta that I thought that she would be alright. He just nodded and stared out the window. I pretended not to see the tears rolling down his cheeks.
Before Katniss and I left for District 12, I sought him out and asked to talk to him privately. It’s hard to explain to Peeta, but I try anyways. I tell him; much in the same way I told Katniss in 13, that she will never be the same again. I tell him that he has a chance to start over and to find happiness. In another district, in the Capitol even. I try to keep the edge out of my voice as I remind him how Katniss completely abandoned him to deal with his tortured mind on his own. That he doesn't owe her anything, that there’s no guarantee that she will ever reciprocate the feelings that Snow failed to destroy within him. But he sits there calmly until I’m done and informs me evenly that he’ll be back as soon as Dr. Aurelius feels he is ready to go.
It’s the difference between me and him. The surety of self, the willingness to risk despite the chance of failure, the ability to forgive, to see past the flaws of people like Katniss and I, who only end up hurting others as we selfishly try to protect ourselves, and still love them. I make a sound of disgust and leave to go gather up Katniss so we can return to the graveyard that is District 12. It only takes a couple of exchanges with Katniss before I decide that I don’t owe either of them anything. They’re alive. I did my job. By the time we land I have a bag full of liquor.
That was two weeks ago, and things haven’t really changed much. I drink myself into oblivion; Katniss sits and stares at the fire and life moves on past us. But Peeta’s making good on his promise to return and I have a sinking feeling that I won’t be able to enjoy this charade for much longer. In fact, it’s not much long after this thought that the train pulls up and Peeta steps off onto the platform.
Despite my dark thoughts, it’s still good to see him. He looks better. Still thin, but he’s standing straighter and his blue eyes have a clarity in them that I haven’t seen in a long time. He’s dressed in simple grey pants and a button down white shirt. He looks almost normal except for the fading scar that climbs up the side of his neck and reaches over his eye. I stand and catch his gaze and that easy smile of his breaks across his face. I clasp his shoulder in greeting and we stand there awkwardly for a bit before I offer to take his bag. He declines, probably noticing that I’m not very steady on my feet, and we begin walking towards the Victor’s Village.
He strikes up a conversation in that easy way of his, but it dies quickly when he sees the ruins of his old home. The town is a mixture of black and white like one of his charcoal drawings. There are a few wagons being drawn by horses and manned by men wearing masks to protect against the ash as they dig through the collapsed houses in search of human remains. I turn to see the tightness in Peeta’s eyes as he takes in the destruction for the first time. Forgetting that he has only heard of the fire-bombing of twelve, but has not actually seen it. He swallows and presses his lips together and then we continue towards home. We say no words until we reach the trail to the victor’s village. It’s there that he asks quietly as we continue walking, “How is Katniss?”
“She’s getting on.” I lie. “Sae makes sure she’s eating.” I add lamely. He nods but I can feel the disappointment and sadness emanating from him.
“Do you think she will want to see me?” He asks. I tell him I don’t know, because I don’t and because I've long since stopped trying to understand what that girl wants. What I want, however, is to feel the aching burn of liquor down my throat and the fuzzy numbness in my head so that I don’t have to think about Katniss or Peeta or myself for that matter. I drop Peeta off at his house and find an excuse to leave. He doesn't make it hard. He knows me well enough, is kind enough to let me cower back into my weakness. And I do. Tilting back the bottle, feeling the fire caress my throat and settle into my belly. Again and again until the room spins and I’m crawling up the stairs and into the bedroom where I sprawl on the bed and finally find release.