This was just typed up out of sheer boredom. I kind of consider it slash, but you don't have to if you don't want to. These two may be a little out of character, but I tried to make it as in character as possible for the slashy-ness to work. I just re-edited it. No Beta, but it's 1am. I'm too lazy to find one. Anyway, I hope you sort of like it!

It was when I opened to door to Haymitch Abernathy's room and the smell of liquor hit me when I realized this conversation with my mentor was going to be a difficult one. What an understatement.

Empty bottles lay on the rumpled sheets of the bed and Haymitch himself is on the floor. The avid drunk seemed more or less asleep, eyes half lidded. He occasionally mumbles incoherently and reaches out, trying to find a bottle that isn't already empty. He wouldn't find one. President Coin had outlawed the consumption of alcohol in any way, shape or form here in district 13. All alcohol was to be under lock and key, and not distributed unless directly issued by the kitchen. And the kitchen wouldn't allow Haymitch to have a drink either, much to the drunk's dismay. There would be absolutely no alcohol for Haymitch Abernathy. And it seemed to be taking it's toll already.

He moans loudly in displeasure and picks up an already empty bottle, grunting and throwing it. The clear glass shattered instantly against the wall. But despite Haymitch's little display, he was too hung over to get too physical. My mentor hadn't even noticed me yet in his unhappiness.

I spoke softly at first. "Haymitch…"

His head lulled up and he stared at me intensely with his blood-shot eyes. Those grey, seam eyes. Sometimes I forgot how we grew up in the same place. It took him a moment to realize who he was seeing standing in his room. Haymitch's words were heavily slurred. "Well hey there, sweetheart. Beautiful day, eh?" He was being sarcastic. Only Haymitch could retain humor while having a horrible hang over. "You look horrible."

A small, almost hesitant smile forms on my face as I imagine what I look like. I must look malnourished, drugged up, and sick. Then I quickly frown. I was supposed to be mad at him. This only makes Haymitch chuckle.

"Well you don't look so fantastic yourself." I spit back. It was easy to be indifferent towards people. But it's a bit harder to be constantly angry with somebody who is always so pathetic looking. He was sitting on the ground, probably more malnourished then I am and he was suffering heavily from withdrawal. I quickly had to remind myself that he had abandoned Peeta in the arena, that he had lied to us before the Quell, that he never told me things I needed to know.

"Sweetheart, I always look like this.", He reminded me dryly and propped himself up against the bed so he could look at me.

For a moment I almost felt actual pity for him. I, again, reminded myself I didn't care one bit what happened to this stupid man. "Yeah I know." My tone becomes a bit less cold as I stare at him, despite my best efforts. "I know…"

Even in his hung over state, Haymitch could tell I came for a reason other than his horrid drinking habits. He patted the space beside him and nodded, inviting me. I frowned for a moment, rubbing my arm as I thought. Should I…? It took me a fill thirty seconds before I finally gave in and slowly walked over to him and sat down on the hard floor. We didn't have to say a word to know that were both thinking the same thing.

"…They said he was doing better." I venture in a quiet voice. But I knew deep down my hope was false. Peeta was gone.

Haymitch stayed silent for what seemed like eternity, his eyes watching the unmoving ground, as if searching for a reply. Eventually he looked up at me, pursed his lips, and put his arm around my shoulders, leaning his head against mine. Whether this was a something to comfort me or he was just dizzy from sitting up, I don't know. But after sitting rigid for a long moment, I welcome the motion and we sat together in silence.

It was at most an hour until either of us spoke or moved. I had fallen asleep in silent tears while Haymitch held me. I trembled and cried as dreams of wolf mutts with tribute eyes, white roses, clocks, hijacked Peeta and mockingjays filled my head, And Haymitch just held me. It was all he needed to do. Just having a familiar touch was enough.

"Sweetheart… Sweetheart, wake up." Haymitch's voice calls me out of the darkness. His voice was slightly hoarse, like he had been crying too, but I know when I look at his face his eyes will be dry. It was just the lack of alcohol. I wiped a tear from my cheek and buried my face in his chest.

"Good …" He petted my hair gently. "It's about 9 o' clock… You'll need to head up to command. They need you there." Haymitch was being gentle as well as nice since I was still crying, though it was silent.

I shook my head slightly and just pressed closer to him, despite the fact he smelled of brandy and other Haymitch-like things. He looked down at me and I could feel him sigh a little. I didn't need to voice an argument for Haymitch to understand I wouldn't be much help in command at all in my current condition. Crying wasn't acceptable in command. Not for the Mockingjay.

Hung over Haymitch just petted my hair and let me sit there, holding onto him like it was life or death. Then again maybe it was. I didn't know why I couldn't stop the cascade of tears running down my face. Maybe it was all the pressure of everything finally getting to me. At least somebody was there to cry on. Crying alone only made it that much worse.

Tears continued to fall for another half hour until I finally pulled myself together enough to stop, if not just tone it down into a sniffle. My tears had stained his shirt and my own as well. Haymitch's cheek was pressed to the top of my head and I felt the slight shaking of his limbs now that I had stopped shaking myself. This alcohol withdrawal was probably horrible for him, and there I was, being selfish and think about only my problems.

I wanted to apologize to him, but the words wouldn't come. "Haymitch, I…" My throat was closed up from crying, making my voice come out sounding broken. "I'm sorry." , I choked out and tried to sit up.

But Haymitch's strong arms held me in place. I looked up at him, but he was staring at the floor again. He looked… almost scared. That frightened me – Haymitch Abernathy being scared. Drunk, fearless Haymitch.

I just swallowed and stayed where I was. Both of us needed the support, it seemed. Two people, two citizens of District 12, just holding on to each other as the darkness closed in. The capital closed in. That was what Haymitch and I were. Not tributes. Not pawns in district 13's rebellion. Not Haymitch Abernathy and Katniss Everdeen. Just people. Just scared people.

"It's alright, Katniss.", He said quietly. "It's alright." I didn't know if he was accepting my apology or comforting me. Not that it mattered which. Both of them would have made me feel better. I had completely forgotten I was mad at him.