Chapter Text
~~~
In hindsight, Haymitch should have realised this sooner.
Maybe he was too devastated after the loss of his family, too empty after Lenore's death to care enough to connect the dots.
During his Victory Tour in District 11, Haymitch told himself he would never trust anyone from the capitol again.
Well, he was being foolish.
Averting his eyes from the terrified girl, Haymitch looks up to find that Plutarch's attentive eyes are already on him.
Somehow this gaze alone is enough to confirm his suspicions.
Another wave of nausea rolls over Haymitch's stomach, not from alcohol overuse this time. He does it all to contain it.
‘Here, here, sweetheart, you'll be alright…’ Effie says gently where she's kneeling before the girl. It's clear she's shaken by all this too.
‘Quick, go bring a medician here!’ she yells at the winner's staff from District 4.
The two don't react though, their lips pressed in a thin line until they go pale, as if they knew something others didn't.
In that moment Haymitch's mind goes back to the same feast year ago, one of the many Victory Feasts in his name.
He is drinking all evening, the habit that has stayed with him until now. It makes playing the Capitol's puppet much easier.
Young and handsome, he's no longer in a cage, surrounded by his sponsors who keep firing questions at him.
With a bottle of some expensive alcohol in his hand, he entertains them all, making shit up without care. Anything that pulls his mind off the crushing loneliness, the memory of his deceased loved ones, of bloody foam coming out of Lenore's mouth.
One of the sponsors sits especially close, taking advantage of the boy's drunken swaying, he pulls Haymitch to sit next to him.
The man is old and all powdered, the stench of artificial perfume and vomit surrounding him. His hair is light purple, styled in a strange ridiculous construction tall on his head. A new novelty in the terrible Capitol fashion.
‘You're so sweet, my boy, how about we talk somewhere quiet?’
Haymitch is too drunk to realize the man's words, he blinks slowly trying not to empty his stomach from the alcohol he's been so solicitously consuming.
‘That wine bottle of grape juice, guess who sent it to you sweetheart?’
The hand creeping up his leg doesn't reach its destination because that's when Plutarch Heavensbee appears out of nowhere, effortlessly pulling him up from the couch.
‘Mr Ollisvire.’ Plutarch greets with a fake polite smile plastered to his face and a tight grip on the back of Haymitch's suit.
'Thank you for keeping Mr Abernathy entertained for me. President Snow sends his regards.'
Ollisvire presses his violet lips in a thin line, clearly unhappy with Haevensbee's appearance. Taking aside his close relations with President Snow, it's an influential name in the Capitol afterall.
Haymitch sways in Plutarch's hold, clumsily trying to regain his level.
Plutarch mutters something to the wealthy man, loud enough for the rest of the VIPs to hear, but Haymitch has been already pushed away from them, the noise of the party muffling the blonde man's words.
It's only now, a year later, that Haymitch fully understands that incident.
Looking into Plutarch's eyes, eyes filled with empathy, acceptance, and sad calmness, Haymitch realizes how much more he owes to the man.
Red eyes geting filled with moisture, Haymitch looks away first, but he can't look at the poor crying girl either.
If something like this happened to him back then, right after his Dove's death, he wouldn't be able to face her in his nightmares any longer.
He'd most probably kill himself, failing Lenore in his promise, leaving this world without respecting her final wish.
This year's winner is finally helped to stand up on her buckling legs, Effie stays close to her, promising not to leave, using her fancy shawl to cover up the remains of blood on the girl's white dress.
As the group disappears in one of the rooms, Plutarch and Haymitch are left in the corridor all alone, the girl's muffled crying still coming from the door.
Haymitch finally stands up, his knees stiff from staying in the position for too long.
‘Are you alright?’ Plutarch asks, his voice attentive and careful.
The younger man doesn't reply for a lingering moment, it takes a while until he pulls himself together.
‘Thanks to you.’ Haymitch finally rasps, glazed-over eyes finding Plutarch's gaze.
The blonde handsome man only smiles at him with that soft sad smile of his, hands in the pockets of his fancy slacks.
‘No need to thank me for this, Mr Abernathy.’ Haevensbee says calmly.
‘Come, let's go back to the feast. Soon they're going to realize that their new victor is gone.’
Haymitch follows after him hesitantly, and they walk in silence down the white marble stairs.
When they started to look for Ogilvy who suddenly disappeared from the feast, Haymitch would never expect such an outcome.
She ran away and hid herself at the highest floor of the palace, and so they have quite a way to cover to go back.
‘Does it happen... to all of us..?’ Haymitch wants to know, his heads starts to ache from the start of a painful hangover.
He needs more liquor.
‘Not all.’ Haevensbee replies stiffly.
‘Only the most attractive winners deserve this “honour”.’ he adds blandly, voice full of hidden disgust and contempt.
Haymitch wants to puke.
Two Awox are standing nearby, and the two go quiet until they go past them, the sounds of the party get louder.
Taking a lungful of stifling air, Haymitch shakes his head, feeling as if his brain was trembling in his sensitive skull.
‘I need to leave this shithole as soon as possible...’ he announces with a firm resolution.
Haevensbee turns back to look at him, his lower lip bitten in puzzlement before he mutters,
‘You're leaving with me tonight.’
Those words stir a strange sensation in Haymitch's scarred stomach. Knowing what he knows now, he can't help but look at the other man in a different light.
Having guessed that the palace might be full of bugs, Haymitch keeps up the pretence and plays along Plutarch's game.
‘Have you favoured another tribute like this before?’ Haymitch asks uncomfortably, clearing his dry throat.
Looking pleased with how fast Haymitch has realized they might be eavesdropped on, Heavensbee doesn't hesitate to answer truthfully.
‘Yes. But not many.’
‘Who exactly?’ Haymitch insists, unable to hide a hint of suspicion in his deep voice.
It could as well come off as jealousy.
‘Two.’ Plutarch says curtly.
Wondering if it's one of the winners they've talked to tonight, Haymitch furrows his eyebrows in ponder.
‘Is it a secret?’ Haymitch drills.
‘Not really.’ Plutarch says rather evasively.
‘My interest in other men is well known in the Capitol. But don't worry, darling, from now on, I'll only be crazy with you.’
As laid back as he is, Haymitch feels somehow affected by the bluntant flirting, but he composes himself in no time, sharing a knowing smirk with the other man.
Turns out there is one man in the Capitol that he's going to trust.
~~~