The Only Constant

"Hey."

The touch is light, subtle. Short. He holds her hand for a moment and then puts the other on her cheek. She gets a weird feeling of reassurance that rushes throughout her body and she straightens up, lifting her chin.

"You can do this.", he says and puts his hand down and she nods - giving him one las look before she leaves, her back turned to him.

She repeats his words in her head like a prayer. She can do this because she gave her word - she promised Prim she'd try to win, she promised - but soon the words start to sound like poison to her.

Because he knew she could fight. He knew she could fight and kill and win and he bet on her.

(He always bet on her.)

Her fingers are trapped beneath his. She knows she could remove them with a light flinch, but she doesn't move. She doesn't know for certain if it's because of the odd sense of comfort she feels from the touch of his hand on hers.

Haymitch moves his hand. "This trip doesn't end when you get back home, sweetheart.", he says and Katniss finds herself wishing his hand was still on hers.

Comfort. She needs comfort.

For a second, she considers taking his hand into her own. Instead, she just nods.

"He asked me to keep you alive.", he says as she tries to keep his voice avoid the tone that would indicate that it is exactly what he was going to do, no matter what she says in return.

Katniss shakes her head. "No "

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "If I get drawn, he'll volunteer.", he says but Katniss shakes her head once more before he even finishes.

"Peeta lives, Haymitch.", she says, her voice firm. "Not me."

He grabs both her hands in his and looks her in the eyes. Seam grey, just like his own, easy to read and yet deceiving at the same time.

"Not me.", she repeats and he nods.

"Fine."

(He still bets on her, though.)

Her breathing's hard and heavy. Her throat hurts - oh, how it hurts - and it burns when she speaks or breathes or swallows and tears fill her eyes.

"It's okay, Katniss. You're gonna be okay.", she can hear Haymitch's voice but it's like he's miles and miles away from her. She searches for his hands and holds them tight but as their skin presses together all she feels is Peeta's hands on her throat and she can't breathe, she can't b-

"You're okay, sweetheart. You're just fine.", Haymitch keeps soothing her as dry sobs escape her lips. "We'll help him, Katniss. We'll bring Peeta back."

She just holds his hand tighter.

It's light, subtle. Short. A small brush of one skin against the other just before he speaks.

"I'm with the Mockingjay."

At the funeral, she doesn't cry.

Her tears have all dried what feels so long ago, because all she remembers is death and death and more death and Haymitch holding her hand, giving her comfort, and Peeta getting better but still not being Peeta - their Peeta - and Gale not even showing up because he helped make those bombs, he helped and it's slowly eating him away from the inside.

She doesn't blame him. It was a war. She doesn't blame anyone but herself. Only herself. Always herself.

Because she is Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire, and she burns anyone who dares to come close enough.

But, Haymitch holds her hand and, if she's to admit, that is the only physical contact she is ready for at the moment and Haymitch is the only person she'll accept it from, because Gale is gone and her mother is gone and Peeta isn't Peeta anymore (and all she feels in between the "real"s and "not real"s when his skin touches hers is a burning in her throat and his fingers choking her to death - which sometimes she doesn't really mind because, when she thinks about it, dying might be good) and Prim is being buried three feet underground and she is Katniss fucking Everdeen the Girl on Fire and she burns and burns and burns until she smokes everyone around her and uses up all the oxygen left for her to breathe.

But Haymitch Abernathy is already ashes, and fire can't hurt him anymore. So, he holds her hand and she holds his and maybe - just maybe - her fire will go out just enough so she doesn't burn anyone else anymore and, if she's lucky, she'll slowly turn into ashes, too.