Haymitch

He wished he had finished his drink.

He had left it there at the bar, with Chaff, once Rye's cannon went off, but he had stopped drinking long before that, too busy studying the screen for the last stretch of the Hunger Games to take a sip. He was on his way to find Effie as soon as Claudius Templesmith declared Rosemary as the winner, but he didn't have to look far for her.

"Haymitch, we have a Victor!" Effie was bubbly, despite the fact that her eyes were visibly red. He suspected it was because of Rye. He was shocked–he didn't know that Effie had a heart. "We'll meet her in the Remake Center. Come, come!"

She didn't need to tell him twice. "We have to hurry," Haymitch rushed her as they made their way through the crowd of Victors who had stopped to see their new peer, camera still on her face as she sobbed for her brother. "She's not going to be in good shape."

"No," Effie's smile fell. "I suppose she won't."

The Tribute center, where the Victor Bar was located, was not far from the Remake Center, especially when they took the car that Effie had called for them. It was just down the street, but it took them a half-hour to get there because of the excited crowds of Capitolites swarming the streets in celebration.

Haymitch hated them all, but he had a special hatred in his heart for the people who bet on the results of the Hunger Games. At least the Sponsors had a purpose–those who gambled on the Victor did not. And there had been a lot of bets dependent on the Mellark siblings, especially when it was revealed that Rosemary could actually fight if she needed to. There had to be at least fifty lucky people with more money in their pockets tonight. Everyone else had been betting on Rye.

When the car finally stopped in the garage underneath the Remake Center–where the chariot parade at the beginning of the Games started–Haymitch didn't wait for Effie to head into an elevator. Fortunately, Effie kept up just fine and slipped in just before the elevator doors closed.

"If she's awake when they get here, do me a favor and don't congratulate her," he told Effie sternly.

"But she's a Victor–"

"And she had to watch her brother die in order to become one," he interrupted her. He didn't look at her face to see her reaction, nor did she speak.

The elevator doors opened on the medical wing and they marched all the way to the nurse's station. There were three nurses waiting there, and one looked away from a hologram for a moment to speak to them.

"They're ten minutes out," the man told them and then gestured to the hologram with his head. "Maybe more, depending on if they can get her sedated."

Haymitch studied the hologram and discovered that it was a live feed of the hovercraft that was bringing Rosemary back to the Capitol. Rosemary was actively fighting off the medics that had been sent to retrieve her. She must have been doing it for a while, because he could see that some of them had scratch marks on their faces from her attacks.

"How hard is it to sedate a sixteen-year-old girl?" He barked.

"They've been trying since they started back," another nurse told him, raptly watching the scene on the hologram before them. "She's broken three syringes already."

Effie gasped, horrified, and Haymitch rolled his eyes at her. She had no problems with the murders of twenty-three children, but she drew the line at Rosemary breaking syringes?

He paid his attention back to the live feed just in time to see a Peacekeeper sneak up behind the struggle between Rosemary and the medics, swiftly inserting a needle into her neck. With the push of the plunger, Rosemary's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she slumped, unconscious, into the arms of one of the medics. They heaved her small body onto a gurney and immediately got to work putting an IV in her arm.

The camera feed didn't cut off, so they watched Rosemary's form as the medics worked over her. Haymitch noticed that they didn't even touch her bad hand and figured it was bad enough that they wanted an actual surgeon to take care of it. Really, he wouldn't be surprised if they amputated it. Honestly, he hoped they would–disabled Victors weren't as in demand as able Victors in the Capitol. And Rosemary was a smart girl. She could live without a hand.

Can she live without Rye? Haymitch wondered but came to a swift conclusion that she would–she had Peeta to think about.

"I need a drink." he murmured, shaking his head.

He wondered what Rosemary would be like as a Victor? Miserable and drunk all the time like him and Chaff? Would she be like Mags and try to live her life as normally as possible? Or would she be like Annie and have moments where she didn't even know where she was or who the people were that surrounded her?

It wasn't long until the doors to the hospital ward were sliding open and the medics were rushing a gurney through the hallway. Haymitch followed Effie as she jumped into action, rushing after them as they pushed Rosemary into a room.

"How is she, is she alright?" Effie buzzed around the procedure room like a bumblebee before grabbing a medic away from Rosemary, tightly gripping onto his shoulders. "What injuries does she have? Will she be okay?"

"Ma'am!"

Haymitch gently grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the poor medic. "Sorry about that," he spoke to the medic who fixed their scrubs with a glare toward Effie. "Are they amputating?"

"President Snow wants the hand saved," the medic told him. Haymitch's heart sank. "The plastic surgeon doesn't know what it's looking like yet, but amputation is the absolute last resort."

President Snow didn't want her hand amputated...Haymitch hoped to whatever higher being there was that Snow had some other plans for her and not what Finnick, Cashmere, Gloss, and so many of the other Victors had to go through. He knew Rosemary wouldn't resist, not when she had her brother and other family to think about. No, she wouldn't follow in his footsteps, free of prostitution, but also having to bury his family.

"Sir, Ma'am, I'm sorry but we'll need you to step out for now," the medic nodded their head toward the door. "We need to get imaging and the surgeon in here. There's extensive damage to be fixed."

"Alright, carry on," Haymitch nodded and though Effie huffed angrily, she stomped out of the room without complaint. He followed her back out into the hallway and shifted toward the two uncomfortable chairs sitting by the door. "Well, I guess we'll be here awhile..."

-

Rosemary

When Rosemary came to, she knew immediately that Rye was gone. She couldn't explain it, but it felt like there was a certain stillness in the air, like Rye's energy had filled up all the empty space between atoms and now that he was dead, that energy was gone too. Logically, she knew this wasn't true. Matter couldn't be destroyed, nor created, and people had no tangible aura that held their energy. Everything in her brain told her that it was impossible to feel that stillness, but she could. Her heart knew that the stillness was the absence of her older brother.

She didn't open her eyes, but kept them closed, not yet wanting to see the world without Rye in it. She felt floaty and even through her hazy mind, she could tell that she was on something. Probably for the pain that she couldn't presently feel but was sure was there. It felt nice, like she had no problems, even if she was well aware that her world would never be the same.

No grief, no stress, no pain, no worries...

She drifted back to sleep.

When she woke up again she didn't know how much time had passed. Pain, sharp and yet strangely dull, coursed through her arm and up into her shoulder, tensing her neck and unconsciously clenching her jaw so tight her teeth ached. It felt like the pain was radiating from her bones, infecting her veins and burning her skin. She inhaled deeply, a whimper escaping her lips, and hoped that it would all go away. It didn't. Nausea coiled in her stomach and before she knew it she was vomiting, the sickness covering the front of her hospital gown and the sheet covering her. There was nothing in her stomach so it was just bile, but it was disgusting nonetheless.

Foreign hands thrust an emesis basin toward her, holding it under her chin as she continued to dry heave but nothing else came up. She squeezed her eyes shut, her heart pounding furiously as she continued her struggle, sobbing into the basin.

"It's okay, sweetheart," a soothing hand touched her back and she flinched away, startled by its presence. "There, there. Mays, can we get some Zofran for Miss Mellark? And a new gown, too."

She heard the shuffling of feet and felt her IV being messed with. Her eyes shot open and she lashed out, knocking the basin clear across the room. A multitude of voices started up and more hands grabbed at her, a scream leaving her lips at the sheer amount of force they used to anchor her to the bed. Her arms were restrained in seconds–including her right arm, which she couldn't move anyway–and then a strap came down, wrapping around her forehead. Painful sobs left her lips as she made eye contact with the doctor that had been comforting her.

"Stop, please stop! It hurts, it hurts, it hurts," she babbled, almost frantically, her pain making her hysterical.

The doctor made a soothing sound. "Push Midazolam and Morphling," she told the nurse at the IV port. "That should help, okay, Rosemary? Just calm down, it's okay. Everything's going to be okay."

Rosemary closed her eyes, tears leaking from the corners. The doctor didn't get it, she didn't understand. Nothing was okay. Nothing would be okay again.

-

The third time that Rosemary woke up, Haymitch was slumped in the chair next to her, sound asleep. She wasn't restrained anymore but the pain in her hand remained so she assumed they were weaning her off the morphling. She was somewhat glad–she knew from her reading that morphling was addictive and she could see why, she felt way too good whilst it was pumping through her veins, masking the pain in her hand and in her heart.

Rosemary could handle pain, even if it seemed impossible at the moment.

Fingering the button on the remote situated in her left hand, she raised her bed until she was in a sitting position. She went slowly, inhaling deeply through her nausea, and squirmed a little, getting herself into a comfortable position. She hadn't expected Haymitch to wake up, she was being quiet, but when she looked over at him again, she saw that he was staring at her already.

"Hey, Pipsqueak."

"Haymitch," her voice was hoarse from misuse; she cleared her throat. "How long has it been?"

"You've been unconscious on and off for the past three days," Haymitch informed her. "How are you feeling?"

"Where's Rye?"

Haymitch pressed his lips together and leaned forward until his elbows were resting on his knees, halfway closing the distance between them. "He'll be coming home with us."

"I want to see him."

"Not right now, you don't," Haymitch said sternly. "We can't let you see him until you're home."

"Why?" she demanded hotly, tears warming her eyes.

"Orders from the higher-ups," Haymitch rolled his eyes, sighing, and leaned forward pressing the call button for the nurse. He slumped back into his chair afterward and studied her. "You've gotta be strong right now, sweetheart. You can't break down until we're back in Twelve."

Rosemary didn't respond, swallowing dryly.

She had to be strong? She was tired of being strong. She had been strong for seventeen days in the arena and she was supposed to be resting now. Rye was supposed to be in this bed, recovering. She wasn't supposed to be here. He was.

The door opened and two people popped into the room, the doctor from the last time she woke up, and a nurse, both of them holding touchscreen tablets.

"It's good to see you awake, Miss Mellark," the doctor greeted her warmly. "On a scale from one to ten, how would you rate your pain at the moment?"

"A seven," As if her body was mocking her, a flare of pain shifted through her arm, shooting up to her shoulder. "And a half."

"A seven and a half isn't bad," the doctor murmured as the nurse recorded her answer. "And are you still feeling nauseous?"

Rosemary nodded.

"Any headaches? You had a pretty severe concussion that we've been treating. Any pain there? Has your memory been spotty?"

"A little, I think," Rosemary couldn't remember most of what happened leading up to Rye's death, or really what happened after. "I only remember him."

The doctor didn't ask her who "him" was, but she did look at Haymitch with questioning eyes. Rosemary didn't look, but she was sure he mouthed Rye's name back at the doctor, because the woman nodded firmly and the nurse recorded Rosemary's answer.

"Short-term amnesia is a concern with post-concussion trauma."

Or really any trauma, Rosemary thought despondently, especially the mental kind.

"We've still got you on Zofran for your nausea, though, so hopefully that will start to get better," The doctor continued. "There was a lot of concern for your hand, it had a lot of damage. Luckily, we didn't have to amputate."

"What was done?" Haymitch spoke up, narrowing his eyes at the doctor.

"Miss Mellark, the bones in your hands were completely crushed and unsalvageable when you were brought in," the doctor informed her. "An orthopedic surgeon was able to make specially engineered bones, made out of synthetic materials, and replace what was destroyed. The Neurologist then fixed the nerves in your hand and the plastic surgeon finished up everything to make sure you look as seamless as possible."

Rosemary closed her eyes, trying to absorb what the doctor was telling her.

"You won't have movement for a couple of weeks as the swelling goes down. You'll have physical therapy for a while, here in the Capitol, but the doctors are optimistic. They say you'll get at least seventy percent function back."

"Is there anything else, Doctor?" Haymitch grunted when Rosemary exhaled shakily.

Would she even be able to bake again?

"No. I'll have Mays discharge you," the doctor gestured to the nurse beside her. "She'll help you get dressed, too. Mr. Abernathy, could I have a word with you outside?"

Rosemary's eyes widened and she looked at Haymitch in alarm. She was unable to reach out to grab him, because he was on her right side, but Haymitch must have sensed her anxiety. He touched her shoulder, just barely, to reassure her.

"I'll be right outside. Come find me when you're dressed."

Rosemary nodded and watched as Haymitch followed the doctor out of the room.

Her nurse set about undoing her IV and bandaging her up. While she helped Rosemary get dressed, she explained how to care for her hand and warned her that using the brace it was currently contained in was the best practice for her in the upcoming weeks, just to make sure that everything was stabilizing. Rosemary listened halfheartedly but asked for a list of instructions, which the nurse was happy to oblige her with. She read it once and then threw it away, her memory locking in the steps she'd have to take to make sure her hand healed properly.

When she was finally dressed, she exited the room and saw that Haymitch had told her the truth. He was waiting outside for her, and by his side was Effie.

"Oh, Rosemary!" Effie gasped wetly, pulling Rosemary into a gentle hug. Rosemary squeezed her back, one-handed, and inhaled the distinct and expensive scent of Effie's perfume. It was familiar and it settled a tiny bit of the anxiety rolling through her.

As Rosemary pulled away from the hug, in a moment of pure vulnerability, Effie said, "I don't–I don't know what to say that won't upset you. All I will say is that Rye was a good man and I'm so very sorry for your loss, Rosemary."

Rosemary's fist curled up, her nails poking harshly into her soft palm, and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Thank you, Effie. I appreciate that."

And she did. It was no secret that Effie said the wrong thing way too many times, especially concerning the Hunger Games. She appreciated that Effie had the tact to know that this wasn't a cause for celebration and that all she could think about right now was her brother.

Effie smiled back at her, but out of the corner of her eye, Rosemary saw something reach out for her. She flinched away, frightened, but apologized when she realized it was just Haymitch reaching out to touch her shoulder.

"Don't worry about it," Haymitch waved off her apology and backed his hand away from her.

She felt so stupid. She was sure he was trying to comfort her, but she had ruined his attempt.

Effie cleared her throat to disrupt the awkward silence that had started and Rosemary was glad. Without Rye here, she had no buffer between her social awkwardness and interaction with other people. If the Capitolites wanted a sociable Victor to charm their pants off, they would soon realize that she was not the right Mellark sibling to have survived the Games.

"Rosemary, we're going to take you to your prep team now. They're waiting for you on the sixth floor. They'll get you bathed and polished before taking you to Vina," Effie ran through the day's itinerary, eyes locking on the glass screen of her mobile. "You'll get dressed, of course, with Vina, and then at eight o'clock the whole team will head to Caesar's Studio for the Post-Games interview which is set to air, live, at nine."

"You'll be able to eat throughout the process," Haymitch assured her when he saw Rosemary's stricken face. He misunderstood, she didn't care about food at the moment.

"And then after the interview, you'll be crowned Victor by President Snow, and you'll be whisked off to the Victor's Banquet, which will include a nine-course meal with the Gamemakers, your Sponsors, President Snow and his officials, and some of the Victors who haven't left the Capitol yet."

It all sounded horrible.

"Is there any way we can just skip all of that?" Rosemary asked quietly. "I don't think I can do this."

"It's all mandatory, Pipsqueak," Haymitch told her quietly and gestured for her to come close, opening his arms like he wanted a hug. "Come here."

Reluctantly, Rosemary leaned into his embrace and wrapped her good arm around him. She didn't want to be touching anyone at the moment, but obviously this wasn't Haymitch's style, which meant that whatever was happening was an act of some sort.

People were watching them.

"Remember when I told you you had to be strong? This is the time." he spoke lowly, so only she could hear. "Listen to me, try your hardest to have Snow like you. You don't want to be on his bad side, trust me."

Rosemary squeezed her eyes shut, her mind racing.

She knew that President Snow wasn't a good person, it was obvious just by the fact that the Hunger Games not only persisted but have turned into such a spectacle. But Haymitch was scaring her. Clearly she didn't know just how bad Snow was, and it made goosebumps raise on her limbs, sending a chill through her.

"Trust me." Haymitch's words echoed through her head once again. He knew from experience what President Snow could do, he's lived through it. Did that mean...? Haymitch had no living family...

Horror rushed through her body, flushing her cheeks pink, as realization dawned on her.

No, no. She couldn't risk anyone's life, especially not Peeta's.

Rosemary swallowed her fear and nodded. "Okay."

Haymitch patted her back once, twice, and let her go. "Good."

Effie, who had been silent through the exchange, beamed at her. "Alright, this is exciting!" She didn't know if Effie genuinely did not know that such a serious conversation was happening only inches away from her, or if she was just playing ignorant. "Come, come!"

Getting to the sixth floor took them longer than expected, especially when Effie led her to the elevator. Panic settled in and she needed several moments before she could gather the courage to use the elevator. Luckily, it had glass walls, which did help her claustrophobia, if only a little. What really upset her more, was that Rye wasn't there, by her side, reassuring her that everything would be okay. She could close her eyes and picture him perfectly, that moment in the Tribute Center, when he persuaded her into riding the elevator there.

Rye, she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that he could hear her wherever he was, I need you here.

Tears made her eyes heavy but when she blinked, she was lucky when none fell.

Don't fall apart, Rosemary. Not now. She reminded herself over and over again as she cautiously stepped into the elevator. Be strong.

She had to be strong. Not only was it necessary for her survival, but Peeta's survival. And there was nothing more important to her than that.