Work Text:
Haymitch
We travel about another mile, everyone’s eyes peeled for signs of a stream or pond, but without any luck. The steeper we climb, I realize that we’re coming to a thinning point in the treeline.
“Maybe we’ll have better luck on the other side,” Finnick calls out. I slash away at the vines with my axe until we’re almost at the top, hoping for a clear view of something promising below.
But there is no other side. Of all people, I should have seen it coming.
I notice the shimmering out of the corner of my eye a second too late.
Katniss
“No!” I choke out, but an unconscious Haymitch is already flying through the air and landing in a heap at my feet. I’m at his side immediately.
“He’s not breathing!” I can’t find his pulse either. I’m fumbling on the ground, trying to convince myself I’m just missing it somewhere. But he is entirely still.
My vision is starting to give and I can taste the coal dust in my throat. I’m not here anymore. I’m there.
“He’s not breathing! Haymitch!” I hear my voice scream. I choke on the thick air.
Suddenly I’m being thrown back into a tree, and when I look back, Finnick’s on top of Haymitch. I draw an arrow from my quiver and aim, but I’m stopped short at the sight of Finnick… kissing Haymitch?
I lower my bow. He’s pushing into his chest, and no , not kissing, blowing air into his mouth. I’ve seen this before, I’ve realized. Not often, but this is something I’ve seen my mother do in our home.
It goes on for what feels like forever, but it was likely only a few agonizing minutes. Finally, Haymitch coughs and opens his eyes. I feel my heart break again but with relief.
“Haymitch! You were dead,” I breathe, grasping his arm tightly, “you weren’t breathing. You were dead. ”
“Who’s bright idea was it to bring me back?” he says, but his voice is weak. I don’t even care that he’s teasing me, that there are tears streaming down my face. I throw my arms around him. He puts a tentative hand on my back.
“It’s fine, sweetheart. I’m okay, it’s still ticking,” he says uncomfortably, patting his chest when I pull away. My mind races. I’m struck by two thoughts at this moment.
First, Finnick saved Haymitch.
Why ? It would have been smarter for him to let Haymitch die. No one would have blamed him, there was no way for me to know he had the ability to save his life, and he’d be one step closer to victory. Does he think he’s too valuable, that it’d be too early to kill off Haymitch as an ally? That doesn’t seem right to me. While incredibly clever, I don’t think Haymitch is well matched on his own against these other tributes. Perhaps Finnick and Haymitch are closer than I’d assumed.
My second thought is far more grim. I’ve just gotten a glimpse of what it will be like to watch Haymitch die, and I’m not any more prepared for it than I was ten minutes ago. I think it will break me.
I feel grimy. Unconsciously at first, I’m scrubbing at my skin to disturb the layer of coal dust I still feel settling on my flesh. I can almost feel it burning my eyes, choking me the further down the shaft we go.
Finnick’s voice brings me back to the arena.
“You taste like vanilla.”
Chaff howls. Haymitch shrugs.
“I had cinnamon rolls on the hovercraft.”
“Mmm, I knew it. That’s delicious.”
“Can you stand?” I ask Haymitch shakily over the laughter. He raises his eyebrows at me, but nods. I help him to his feet and resist the urge to confiscate his axe.
“We should probably push on,” Finnick says, “if you can walk okay.”
Haymitch nods but I protest.
“He quite literally just died , I think we can spare a few more minutes,” I snap. Finnick throws his hands up in defeat. Haymitch is smirking at me.
“Shut up,” I mutter at him.
“It’s almost like you care about me or something."
I scowl. “Absolutely disgusting.”
He just grins.
“I love you too, sweetheart.”