Burnt Bread

Burnt Bread

Author: Howlynn
Realm: The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins
Story Title: Burnt Bread
Summary: Between Hunger games and Catching fire there was a ton of time unaccounted for. I can't leave well enough alone and have had many little requests for the Peeta/ Haymitch pairing. Some is Peeta's view some is omnipotent POV – some may be Haymitch. Please note the pairing because I don't want you to read it if you can't stomach the thought. Feel free to criticize my writing, point out plot holes and grammar issues but if you yell about the pairing I will laugh at you. That includes you little stalker girl and if you hide your dislike for me personally in pretending to point out my stilted diction, please do look it up first. I will correct you and annoy you further. Yes I am going to hell, young lady, and my beach front property is paid for and waiting – you may now let that point be considered postulating the obvious. Thank you for your reviews.
Character/Relationships: Haymitch/Peeta

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I Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

"I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?" Peeta feels his face turning into a mask of hidden despair. He had only allowed himself to live, knowing the hell he would carry inside for the things he'd done in the games, for one reason. He watches her face carefully, hiding that he had only survived because she seemed to want it so badly. She gave him hope. Her love had lit his soul and given him hope. The girl on fire baking the boy with the bread in her warmth is about to give him a new wish. He can see it in her eyes before her words burn him. It was all a lie.

"I don't know," Katniss says, now unable to meet his eyes. "The closer we get to district twelve, the more confused I am."

Peeta waits for her to say more, but she has said all she intends to without saying much of anything. He could stand here for a lifetime waiting for a word of kindness from her and it would not part her lips for his life. Why did you even bother? I learned to live with this repulsive plastic leg, because I thought it would hurt you if I wasn't here. I'm so stupid, Katniss. I was never here at all was I? As you wish, my sweetheart. "Well, let me know when you work it out," he says with the last of the air he can find.

He turns and walks away as if he is strolling to a funeral. He refuses to look back. He has to step up on the train like a kid because only one leg has the ability to lift him up. His real leg steps up, each step and it embarrasses him, to know he will never climb a set of stairs properly again.

He opens the back door and steps into the stuffy air of the train. Haymitch grins at him, but his smile fades quickly as he looks at the boy. Peeta nods. Haymitch's eyes fall on the still closed door and back to Peeta. "Everything ok?" he asks.

"Seems to be working out just how you planned." Peeta replies with no inflection.

Haymitch cocks his head and watches Peeta walk with his slight gimpy gait up the hallway. Haymitch frowns and curses under his breath with a sigh. He glares out the window at the girl standing on the platform still, eyes wide at whatever new world of crap she has created. He doesn't know which one he needs to mollycoddle first, so he decides a drink will help him decide.

Peeta closes the door to his room and locks it. There are no tears and he doesn't break down into angry destruction. Peeta eases himself into a chair and with his prosthetic leg kicked out straight in front and his cane balanced in between his real leg and the fake one, he clasps his hands on top of this instrument of the elderly and maimed and he stares straight ahead. He is searching his mind for a single reason to stay.

Katniss doesn't love him. She was pretending. She and Haymitch fooled him. Haymitch knew and looked him in the eye as he taught her to fake affection for him. How can he ever look in either one of their eyes again? He thinks Effie must suspect too, beings she had looked so miserable for him when she thought he wasn't watching.

He recalls the important details of the games. His first two kills at the cornucopia and finishing off the whimpering girl who built her foolish little fire. He had watched Katniss all night from the bottom of that tree, willing to do most anything to save her. She had dropped trackerjackers on them all and he'd crawled away to die for her hoping he'd done enough. She had her bow and arrows. He was sure she would be fine. He had not expected to take so horribly long to die. He settled into the mud, thinking that it would be his grave, wanting to die hidden from the world, savoring his sacrifice without all of Panem watching and taking pleasure in his moans.

The trackerjacker venom had convinced him that he had died and she won the hunger games. He kept feeling such happy pain because he saw her home with Prim. He watched her bring flowers to the cemetery in Victor Gardens where he had been planted next to Haymitch's other reaped and sewn drinking advisors.

He had been a ghost in the bakery listening to his mother tell those customers who mumbled a condolence that it was no matter. She made fun of him and said she didn't miss his ugly little cakes. His father even seemed pleased. Katniss and Gale were there in his tracker jacker visions, married and wealthy. Katniss was pregnant and seemed happy, but Peeta only saw the black eyes and bruises her new husband had decorated her with. He was gone and could never save her again. He was so afraid for her.

He watched her have to mentor friends and even Prim. She stopped being happy and instead got drunk with Haymitch. Sometimes she didn't even win the game and that fear terrified him the most.

It was hard for him to even accept he was still in the games by the time this haze wore off. He couldn't let go, not knowing if she was alive or dead. He hung on, waiting for her to kill him, to give him peace by coming for him and telling him he was the last one. He waited for someone to come and tell him. He panics when he finds out he can't get out of his grave. He's too weak to help her. He mumbles in delirium for her to please hurry and kill him. It hurts.

His eyes slit open for the announcement of a rule change, but he isn't sure if it is real or a dream. He waits. He doesn't believe it was true when he hears the footsteps and her soft voice calling to him.

"Here to finish me off, sweetheart?" he teases her, hoping she does it fast.

She had come back for him. She had kissed him, saved him, risk her life to fix him so she could feel good rather than because she needed him. Now she needed him to pretend for a little while longer and then what? Then what did he have look forward to? Mentoring with her each year, broken and slowly replacing Haymitch as the district drunk, watching her look at him with pity would be the one life awaiting him. Trackerjacker visions had nothing on the truth.

Haymitch knocked on the door later that night. Peeta answers and looks up at his mentor, his great advisor and the planning half of his betrayal. He lets him in and says nothing, resuming his seat and waits patiently for the mentor to speak his peace.

"Don't do anything stupid. I see it on your face."

"Debatable definition, Haymitch. "

"No debate. I won't lie to you. It will get much worse. There are things I need to explain to you." Haymitch drops his eyes and looks at the floor. "She will never make it without you."

"You won't lie to me? How refreshing. Going to bring me up to speed on you and her little innocent joke? Going to pretend you give a damned now, Haymitch ole buddy? "

"I deserve that. Promise me six months?"

Peeta matches the grinning scowl perfected by Haymitch, "Six hours, yes. Six days, maybe. Six weeks, no."

"Peeta?" there is pain in Haymitch's voice.

Peeta's eyes lock on Haymitch and narrow. "Don't bother. I get it. I was only of value if it helped her. So I will keep it together until the cameras go away. Then I don't care what you have to say. I can't take a chance of turning into you."

Haymitch looks at him and sighs in frustration. "They will kill your family for it. It will make her life a living hell. She does love you, she just needs some time."

Peeta smiles like he is being told that unicorns have invaded district twelve. "My time should have run out in the mud," he admits with quiet surety.

"She almost died saving you. That isn't the action of a girl who didn't care. Just make sure you know your options before you take ours." Haymitch stands. "Let me know. They will kill me too for your little broken hearted swan dive. I will get my affairs in order. Need to figure out who gets all my horded treasures." Haymitch says as if he is trying to make a joke.

Peeta yawns. "Well, I imagine you'll have time to drink most of it," he says to Haymitch's back just as the older man opens the door. The only reply is the door to his room slamming hard. Peeta stands and engages the lock on his door again. Those who knock after that are ignored. Peeta has collapses onto his bed and let his mind swim away in the bliss of the capitol drugs that are meant to ease the phantom pain of his leg, but he takes enough of them that they make the pain of his amputated heart feel more distant.

When it's time to act again, he does it with cool calm. He won't look at her in case any leftover bits of his heart bleed for pity through his eyes. Begging for love is over. They are over and he is determined to bring her no pain for her decision. He will give her some time to make her feelings crystal clear. Her actions will determine if she meant the words and he will take action that will not be seen as something she can be punished for. He has fooled them all. Fooling the capitol into leaving the people he escapes alone, really isn't going to be a difficult matter. His gimpy leg will be blamed, not his mentor or his true love.

He smiles at her with careful shadows of nothing and offers her his hand. "One more time? For the audience?" She takes his hand and Peeta looks down at it, small in his, yet strong enough to crush his life.

Effie fusses over each of us one last time, straightening my lapel and tightening my district inspired tie down tight on my throat. It feels like it is cutting off the blood to my brain and I simply nod my thanks to the pink headed women, refusing to complain of any discomfort. Nothing matches the pain of existing unselected in her heart.

There are waves, reunions, flashing smiles and lips pressed to each other that are no longer kisses, just perfected learned motions that please the spectators. When her mother voices disapproval that Katniss has returned with a boyfriend, I drop her hand and step away as if in respect rather than relief.

Only my father comes. The bakery must remain open. My beloved mother might miss a tiny coin, should she pretend to have any heart to spare for me. I feel a twinge of guilt for inconveniencing her prediction. District twelve might have a victor this year, she had said, not meaning me, not planning on ever seeing me again. My whole life has annoyed her. Maybe I love Katniss just because her nonexistent feelings feel so familiar to me. Maybe I found my scowling cold mother and said yes, that's the girl for me.

Dad hugs me, and his eyes try to apologize that he's the only one. He tells me the polite excuses of his dreams. He pretends that her actions have no hurtful intent. I nod for his sake. He thumps my leg and says he can't even tell. I smile, meaning it no more than he means his words. I pull a bag of coins from my pocket and press it in his hand. "Don't tell her." I say, knowing he will anyway. It is probably a thousand times what she made in the two hours it would have cost her and my brothers to greet me today. I will make no effort to close the gap now. I am already dead to them.

We eventually are taken to our new Victor houses. I stand in the entry of mine, alone. Everything is as meaningless and beautiful as the capitol, and every inch is just as empty while stuffed with possessions. I feel like a guest here, knowing it is so very temporary. Nothing will ever live here, but it doesn't exactly welcome the dead either. I go into the kitchen and explore the ovens. The cabinets are fully stocked with food and supplies. In the dining room, rows of champagne and fluted glasses stand awaiting celebration. There was a party of delicacies laid out for all my well-wishers to enjoy. I know they are all here. The untouched offerings make me sick. Would they have even come to my funeral, or would it interfere with store hours.

I go to a lovely den and sit in the chair, behind the big desk. I rummage through the drawers and lift paper and pen out onto the leather writing surface.

Final requests of Peeta Mellark.

Bury me in darkness. No services. Expect no procession.

I write these things and toss the pen down, leaving the book open and in plain sight. There is nobody here to hide it from. I will make my lists as I pass the time among my final duties. I spend a few hours in planning my demise, searching train schedules and writing dates on the calendar. Haymitch bursts in the door just as I try to figure out how to open a bottle of champagne. I look up at him as wafting sounds of music follow the cool breeze in the door.

"Peeta? Where is everyone? Your family should be here. Hell half the Seam is muddling through her house." Haymitch looks astonished then his face darkens. "Nobody came?"

"You did." I look at him and smile a little as I shrug my shoulders.

He snorts his nose and his eyes sparkle a little in his insane humor, "I suppose this is more our style anyway. Let's show them how to party, boy."

I hand him the bottle and he untwists the cap guard and twists the cork with the flawless skill of long practice. He pours us two glasses and hands one to me. I look up at him, wondering what he wants of me now. His sarcastic humor is catching though and soon, I don't care why he's here. The wine is good and I am not alone at least. We drink to the dead and to bastards of destruction. He tells stupid dirty jokes and I laugh in giddy reckless anger that is building in me like a bubbling darkness of poison thought.

I get so drunk that I get weepy and pathetic. I tell him about my family, things I have never told anyone. I spill secret things that have eaten me alive and Haymitch holds me as I tell him of Katniss. He tells me of a girl he loved once. He confesses he has more feelings for the fireball and I then he should.

I look up at him confused and find his lips pressed against mine. It is not the first such embrace I have known from a man. It is the first one that I accept by choice. He is gentle and as I kiss him back he backs away and smirks at me. "I expected to get stabbed or punched at the very least," he says. His eyes are a little shiny and questioning.

I shake my head at him. He has no idea that my pure little oaf act isn't as true as he thinks. Some mean part of me is determined to shock him. He thinks he knows everything. He thinks getting me out alive is some favor. It crosses my mind he's just here to be paid his imagined due. He and Katniss both just disbursing and collecting debt as they do in the Seam. "If I fuck you will you come to my funeral? "

His eyes go wide and he stands up, shoving me away. "You think it's a joke?" His face is so angry

"Do you think it's a joke to me? My life isn't worth thirty or forty coins to my own mother. My friends have voted to pretend I came home in a box. My mentor has lied to me and yet is the only one who is here, even if his motive is a little full of bubbly stupidity. You may just want to use me again, but I'm no Finnick Odair. Maybe I'm desperate. My door isn't getting bashed in with companionship options. You'll do. I guess this explains why you are single?"

Haymitch chews his lip his face stirring in anger before swelling with pity and then sinking into determined desire. I just sit there and look up at him, waiting to see what he does.

"For years they killed anyone I cared about. I stopped, caring. None of them will ever deserve you. You're beautiful. I do want you. It isn't because I want to hurt you though. I don't deserve you either, but I would do anything to offer you comfort. If that bothers you, I will leave. But Peeta, I want to be here. "

"You have a lot of secrets don't you, Haymitch?" I say sipping my drink lazily studying him, and wondering what he would look like naked, without the vomit frosting of our first encounter a few weeks ago. I had not wanted to see him at that moment, but there had been glimpses, once I got him rinsed off and into clean pajamas.

I was glad Katniss had not helped, so my eyes could randomly linger a little. It had shocked me that he was hairless below the waste, like a boy. I soon had explanation for this strange condition when the stylists went after my own crotch with torturous intent. I have no explanation for the requirement, but the thought of us both in that condition, does make my mind wander into suggestive possibilities.

He sits back down, placing his hand on my knee and giving me that listen to your mentor look. "Peeta, let me make you feel better. I am not trying to hurt you. I would never hurt either one of you if I can keep from it. "

I give him a look of confusion. Then I grin, knowing I landed on a truth about my drunken liar of a Mentor. "You want her too? You do don't you."

Haymitch sighs and nods. "I can't explain it. The two of you. I wouldn't act on those feelings. But I never expected you to be as damned lonely as…me."

I stand up, walk to the capitols unused party set up. I don't want to care. I don't want to be cared about. I want to be detached and miserable so I won't feel guilty. I want liquor and distance. I say nothing and remove another bottle from the display. I open it, throwing the debris on the shiny clean floor and guzzle the sweet liquid then belch loudly. I pop a chunk of cheese into my mouth and chew it slowly. "We ought to go crash her party."

Haymitch snickers. " Yeah. We should."

As we head two houses down, to the new Everdeen mansion, I barge in with Haymitch close behind me. I don't see Katniss anywhere. We don't stay long. I have no idea where Katniss is. I think the most logical and hurtful answer. I don't smile or bother to pretend there any reason to stay. I am surprised he follows when I quietly slip out the front door, escaping the glare of happy that I don't have any right to stand among.

Haymitch returns to my house with me. While I pick at some of the sagging snacks, he opens another bottle of champagne. "I bet she snuck off with him." I wait for him to disagree with me, but he doesn't bother.

Haymitch turns me toward him and I look up at him as he closes his lips on mine again. He pulls me toward him and he barely smiles as my pants are tugged and dropped in one smooth motion. His hand reaches down the front of my boxers and I shiver at the gentle touch. I don't want him. I hate him, but right now, if I send him away, I have to face this house alone. His touch and my response to it may be pure shame, but compared to the rejection, I don't give a damned what it means or doesn't mean.

He's here. Something wants me. Something in this fucked up life is thinking about me at this moment. He may be an ass, and he may be despicable, but his hands are the only ones willing to touch me in a bit of kindness. Even if he's just found a new way to use and destroy me, even if this turns into something ugly and his seduction stops being survivable in my sober mind, I am too pathetic and needy to stop him.

I sigh, looking in his eyes and wondering if he knows what I am handing him. I wonder if he will be my last terrible decision. I wonder if he is just being selfish and taking me for the challenge or if he really will be sad when he has to stand by my coffin and say those final meaningless words he says for all his lost tributes.

I hold his shoulder as I step out of the pants, kicking off my shoes as well. He bends and helps me deal with my annoying fake leg. I look up at him almost apologizing for my disfigurement. "Fucking piece of shit."

He grins and whispers, "Peeta, I've seen much worse. It doesn't matter."

He slides my tie off and pulls the buttons off my shirt, popping them off the garment one by one. The look in his eyes, the way he wants me, brings me to follow his lead. I watch him lock the door and take his hand when he holds his out to me.

He lays me on the wide white couch, kissing me. I don't resist. I watch him take off his own cloths and sit next to me. He slides my boxers off and for the first time I touch him, closing my fingers around him and watching his face to see him still questioning me. I know he's wondering at my state of mind and yet unwilling to ask the obvious question about how I know of this clandestine appetite.

His head is between my legs in just moments and his mouth is pure magic as I watch him make me disappear. My eyes roll back as a groan for his skill rocks me with this stupid need to be alive for just a moment, even if it is Haymitch making me feel something.

I watch him obviously enjoying what he's doing to me and I don't have to admit anything, my body is speaking volumes to him about how good he is making me feel. I speculate why I am letting this happen. I know it wouldn't be, if I wasn't so fucking drunk and I would have pretended he was insane if I gave a damned about anything right now.

I close my eyes and let my breath rise on the waves of delicious depravity. I haven't had release in so long that it is beyond a simple sensation. His middle finger enters me and I thrust without ability to control myself, needing to scream at the pleasure and trying desperately not to. I feel his hand milking me as his throat works to contain the way I flood him. My sounds filter through gritted teeth as my bucking muscles lock in quivering titanic bliss so massive, it truthfully hurts as much as it is joy. I scream so violently that when my air is spent I can't make my lungs reverse flow.

The orgasm stretches out and I see floating lights dance at the edge of my eyes as I curl forward wondering for a split second if he intends to kill me. His mouth is still on me and his eyes smile in gleeful satisfaction that I now resemble a victim of the electric fence in motion and expression.

Then I collapse backward, sucking air finally and lost in the cool relief and whimpering gasps of exhausted loss of all reason. I feel his finger withdraw and lurch at the now shattering nerve response to any slight movement in that area.

He stretches himself next to me on the couch, so smug and delighted that it makes me laugh. His cock is eager and twitching against my thigh. He kisses me and the taste of me is on his breath. "You nearly drown me," he whispers seductively as his hand slowly massages my now slack and still sensitive groin.

"I couldn't stop," I say still breathing hard.

He smirks and drinks straight from the now warm bottle, "Did you want to? Stop I mean?"

"No." I admit. "Now, what about you?" I use two fingers to glide up and down his shaft.

His face drops the smirk. "I don't expect anything. I wanted to please you. We don't have to go any farther." He pulls my head up and kisses my hair, like the matter is settled.

"I am not leaving you like this. After you just…" I wiggle a little, meaning to offer him access.

"I'll take care of it." He stops me. "I have a very good imagination. You're not ready for that," he says with a soft sigh and a gentle nuzzle at my ear.

I swallow, not sure what to say. "I want to." Finally jumps from my lips.

He leans over me and cups my face, sincere thanks in his eyes and voice, "Thank you, but I would hurt you and I would never find pleasure in you suffering my desire. Maybe someday, but not tonight."

"I can handle it."

His eyebrows center as if he's trying to put a puzzle together. "Peeta? Are you a virgin in this way?"

I look away, picking at the material on the back of the couch and shake my head.

"May I ask the context and circumstance?"

"Doesn't matter," I say setting my jaw, unwilling to say more.

"It matters to me. Has this occurred while you were in the capitol? Have I failed to protect you from someone?" His voice is gentle and calm, but his face is darkening in fury.

I realize what he means and laugh bitterly, "No, not there."

"I am glad to hear that, but I still get the feeling … Peeta? Is it someone here? Was it done against your will?"

"Drop it, Haymitch. It wasn't on your watch. Has nothing to do with you. Leave it alone." I sit up and harden my face enough that he knows I mean it. "Don't ruin this for me. Ok? This is different. I want this. I want to go upstairs and even if you have to hurt me, I don't care. I want to decide. It's my choice. I don't care if it matters to you or not. I just want it to be. I just want to fucking please someone for once in my Goddamned life. I want to give you… I don't care if it hurts. It's not like I am going to go bragging or embarrassing you by acting stupid, like I did with her. You wanted to make me feel good and you didn't take or expect or even ask. It means something ok? To me. Nobody ever gave to me. I told you. Remember? I told you that I didn't have a reason to win? I told you that all I wanted was to die so she could go home. She was all that mattered to me. Now there isn't one fucking thing. But right this second, pleasing you back does."

Haymitch sits up and glares. "So you want to torture me? You want me to fuck you and care about you so you can what? One day I wake up to you dead in my arms? No. The whole damned country loves you Peeta. I know you are disappointed. That's why I'm here. You act like you think I can just play with you and when you have had enough or you get mad at me and check out in a week or two, that I will just be fine with losing you. You must think damned little of me, if that's your fucking plan. And now, here I am and you say this?" His face pulls into a mocking impression of me. "It's ok if you hurt me Haymitch. Fuck me anyway, so I can rip your shriveled black heart out. The idiot girl was faking it." He stands up and he throws the bottle against my flawless wall. He turns to me shouting and his voice booms in the room. "So what? I'm not faking it. And by all the coal in hell if you plan to not stick around, I'm done with you too."

I stand up and put on my shirt. I can't button it of course, but it is something to do as I form my reply. I speak calmly, refusing to look at him. "Whatever you decide is fine. I am going upstairs. I haven't even been up there yet. I am not negotiating with you. If you want me, the answer is yes. No strings. If you don't, then get out. I am not putting anything on you or anyone else. I am not making any promises. They all love me? The only one who showed up is you. I'm sorry if you do suddenly care. Please don't. I didn't offer to make you care. I offered because for a second, I did, a little." I take another bottle and I go up the stairs, listening hard for his footsteps.

I open the first door I come to and flip on the lights. I sneak a glance at him. He's still standing exactly where he was, conspicuous anger projecting at me. I set the bottle on the floor, turn out the light and half fall in drunken exhaustion onto the bed, face down. I smile a little, hoping my naked ass will be a tempting sight. The smile evaporates as I hear the lock on the front door and then the door closes. I lay perfectly still, eyes open and blurry with tears. Well, that settles that I guess.

I am almost asleep when I hear the door open again. I can tell from the intentionally heavy tread on the stairs it's him. I don't move and my heart beats so hard I can't hear him as his footfalls go back to silent.

"Are you dead yet, you little bastard?" he says just inside the door as if he's afraid I really am.

"My parents are married." I reply, not moving a muscle.

He sighs and I feel his weight settle gingerly on the bed.

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