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come on in and save me; come on

As soon as Katniss is sedated, I vanish. I kept it together in front of her, but once she's passed out I can feel myself start to crack. Heavensbee's looking at me; Prim's looking at me; I have to get out.

There's no booze in Thirteen, that's what they say. Coin's rules— but where there's a will, there's a way, and right now I need it so bad I don't care if I have to tear the entire place apart to find it. The kitchen's too obvious— but I know where there are storage closets, caches of supplies. An easy place to hide a bottle, if you had one you wanted to hide.

I push through door after door, barely hearing the noise of them banging shut behind me. The echoes are too loud in my head— Peeta screaming, hoarse and ragged with his hands wrapped around Katniss's throat; her sobs, desperate gulping gasps that only quieted when they put the IV in her arm. My own breath comes loud and sharp; my vision greys, my brain full of static, and I stagger, bracing myself against the wall with a trembling hand. The only thing that'll silence the noise is a drink. I shake my head to clear it, focusing on the door ahead.

I'm so focused on navigating I barely notice when the concrete beneath my feet changes to carpet. When the watery fluorescent light turns brighter, warmer, on the back of my neck. It's not til someone calls out behind me that I turn and realize, panic stabbing sharp in my side— I'm not where I was.

I plaster on a smile, hoping it'll hide the way I'm grinding my teeth. "Think I'm a little lost."

[Find him already in the bar or wandering the halls looking for it.]

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Katniss sometimes waits tables in the Smoking Room and when she hears that a low drawl, she knows who it is without even turning around. She does, though, because it's someone from home and as frustrating as he is, Haymitch is family.

"Or found, however you want to look at it. When did you get here?"

I'm so jarred by the sight of her— awake when I just left her sleeping in a hospital bed, the bruising around her neck gone as if it had never been— that for a moment I just stand there, leaning against the doorjamb, gaping.

Finally I find my words. "Depends on where here is, sweetheart. I'm a little..." It takes me an extra second to find this word in particular. "Disoriented."

"Here? Here's...kind of in between," Katniss says. She isn't exactly sure how to explain the idea of the Nexus to Haymitch and she isn't sure where to start. He's a smart guy and he's the kind of guy who might think she's lost it completely if she starts babbling about a magic hotel outside of the reach of the Capitol.

"It's safe. No Snow, no Capitol, no 13."

"Safe," I mutter. "Heard that one before." She's not making any sense— no Snow, no Capitol, alright, but the only place that's true is Thirteen. "How'd we get here? How'd you get here, I just saw you a minute ago?"

She looks fine. Healthy. Something's not right, and I'm starting to feel like everything's slipping away from me. Did I imagine Peeta raving and trying to kill her? I wish I could believe I had, but my insides still feel scraped raw, and I can't pretend I don't know why.

I need to sit down; I need a drink. There's a table close by and I slouch toward it, collapsing into a chair and looking up at her flat, unimpressed expression. "Wait," I say before she starts talking. I nod toward the bottles I can see behind the bar. "Bring me one of those, and a glass. Then explain."

Edited 2015-05-05 21:27 (UTC)

Katniss doesn't care if anyone stops her or not. Haymitch probably needs the drink to get through this explanation and at least the alcohol in the Nexus is good quality and not likely to destroy his gut in one swallow.

She gets a bottle of whiskey and a glass, plunking them down on the table in front of him. "Have a drink and let me start explaining. Don't get drunk, though. I need you to focus."

I make a face at that; I've got a right to be pissed, my gut still churning and an ache starting to pulse behind my eyeballs. Any sane person would want to drink right now. They'd take any escape they could get. I remember when she came to see me after Snow announced the Quarter Quell; she knows how this feels. She's got no right to judge.

But just as I'm working up some steam over that, I remember how I left her back in the infirmary, passed out full of drugs with a red ring around her throat in the shape of Peeta's hands. Whatever's going on now, at least she's not there... and I suppose I have to be grateful for that.

She's still staring at me expectantly, waiting for some kind of response, so I gesture with the glass, hitching one shoulder in a shrug. "I'll drink slow if you talk fast," I say. It's not agreement, but right now it's the best I can do.

It's all she can really ask for. Katniss clears her throat and tries to decide where to start. The Nexus is a tricky concept even when you haven't been drinking.

"We're in a place that's hidden from the Capitol. We don't get their feeds and they can't find us, so far as I can tell."

The first shot burns its way down my throat, and I blink away the sting, shaking my head a little. This place is already winning me over; they've got great booze.

"So far as you can tell?" I repeat, glaring. I'm giving her about to the count of thirty before I pour another shot. "How long've you been here testing that theory out?"

"A year and change?" Katniss has sort of lost track of it. She knows she's had two birthdays since she's been here and now she's nineteen - an age she never thought she'd reach back home. It's a little weird to think that if she'd been at home, she'd be ineligible for the reaping. She would have survived, provided the rules hadn't changed again.

"Long enough to know that if they wanted to find me, they would have tried already. I don't think they'd let me live here this long without trying something."

My eyes bug out and I can tell I'm making a ridiculous face, but it's unbelievable. Over a year? No wonder she looks so different. I try to imagine it and can't— out from under the Capitol's thumb, no Snow, no Peacekeepers, no fear... for a year. It sounds like heaven. I wouldn't have come back for anyone either.

"Well shit, sweetheart," I say, running a hand through my hair and taking another drink. "Looks like you hit the jackpot. Where do I sign up?" I've got more questions, of course— tons of 'em— but the booze is working its way gently through my body, leaving me pleasantly relaxed and unhurried, and I'm not eager to leave the feeling behind.

"You're already signed up by just being here," Katniss admits. She wonders if Haymitch knows how to function in relative freedom. His entire life, he's been under the thumb of the Capitol and he's been alive a lot longer than she has.

She looks at his glass, watching it carefully. "Go easy on that stuff, okay? You can access it here, sure, but that's good stuff. It's not trash like we used to get in 12."

To Haymitch, Annie surely must have looked like a completely different person. They'd never interacted all that much in 13, and she was far from the skinny, fearful creature who had been rescued from the Capitol. Tristan perched on one hip, she looked like any happy, healthy young mother, the stability and freedom of the Nexus a lifetime from the secrets and cruelty of Panem.

"You're back," she simply said, smiling as she hitched Tristan higher. The baby's wispy blonde curls were starting to get long; recently she'd wondered whether she'd ever have the heart to cut them.

The girl looks familiar, but that doesn't mean I've actually met her. She looks well-fed and like she's showered recently, which does mean she's definitely not from Thirteen. Did I black out and end up somewhere else? The kid's looking at me; he's cute. Something twists in my stomach, looking at him; I think I might be about to throw up.

"If you say so," I say, shrugging. It comes out more churlish than I meant, but I've got needs, and right now chatting with her isn't one of them. "Any idea where a man can get a drink around here?"

I push past her as I ask, hoping she'll just shout some directions at me and let me go, but I catch her profile in the corner of my eye and stop short, turning back. My eyes narrow. "Annie," I say. It's not a question; I'm certain it's her, though I've never seen her looking this good, this... alive.

The question I do have suddenly becomes more important than finding a bottle to crawl into. "Where the hell am I?"

Why Haymitch having forgotten the Nexus surprised her, Annie couldn't have said. The way the place played so easily with time, it made a certain kind of sense. She'd gotten too complacent, maybe, her life now something wondrously settled and surprisingly uneventful.

"Not in Panem," Annie answered first, because that was always the most salient point, wasn't it? "This is a sort of way station," she added, because they didn't exactly have hotels where they came from. "You're safe here, although I know that's probably hard to believe. Katniss is here, and Finnick, Johanna, and Effie, and—"

Stopping herself, she forced a small smile. "And me," she finished. It was possible that Peeta wasn't truly gone for good, but she couldn't escape the deep-down feeling that he wouldn't be back anytime soon.

It's hard to register much beyond not in Panem, my mind hooked on that like a fish on a line. "Not in Panem?" I repeat stupidly. It doesn't make any sense. I want to argue there's nothing outside of Panem, even though I've argued just the opposite in the past. There's got to be something else out there, someplace that's safe, but—

"Where is it, then?" Safe— she'd said that I was safe. I'll believe that when I see it. Nevermind that I don't even know what it would look like. I take a breath; it comes out shaky. "And how'd I get here without knowing it?"

"An alternate dimension," Annie answered with a slight wince, knowing that while it might have been factually accurate, it wasn't exactly easy to believe. Unfortunately, she didn't know of any better way to put it that wasn't a lie.

"Out in space, apparently. You'll see if you walk outside. And I don't know how you got here. I don't think anyone does. Just be careful going through doors, because it can happen again, and you'll be back in Panem without intending to be."

Annie hesitated a moment, and then added, "I know this sounds crazy."

I understand her words, but they don't make sense. Alternate dimensions, lost in space— it's like she's speaking a different language. Like when I'm drunk (even though right now I know I'm not) nothing's getting through.

I can tell I'm glaring at her, and I'd like to feel bad, but I can't spare any sympathy for her when I need it all for me. "Damn right it does. But since I don't have a better explanation for this, I'm clearly not in a position to argue with you." I glance around, my gaze catching on the baby in her arms before sliding away again.

"You said something about the doors," I remind her. "Tell me more." If she's somehow right and I have gotten away from Panem, there's no chance I'll be going back if there's anything I can do to avoid it.

For all of his faults, there was one thing Annie had to appreciate about Haymitch: He was practical. He could stand there right in front of her and agree that her explanation sounded insane, but that didn't stop him from getting the information he needed most. It was the same information they all needed most: How to avoid going back home.

"The doors in this place are... weird," Annie tried, knowing this was a very weak approximation of the reality. "You never know where they lead. Could be to the next room ninety-nine times, and then the hundredth you end up in another world. Or back home. I don't know if it's magic or science that does it, but just watch out."

She peered at him a moment, wondering if any of this was really getting through. "This is Tristan," she added, hefting the baby higher on her hip. For his part, Tristan simply watched Haymitch with wide and wary sea green eyes. "Finnick's son," Annie pointedly added, in the event that wasn't clear.

I snort a laugh. "No shit. I'm a drunk, honey, not an idiot." With that face, those eyes, there's no one else whose kid he could be. But I can tell the glare I throw her now is more fond than it isn't, before the kid grabs my attention again, waving a fist at me. He's fat, the way babies should be; it's a fair bet he's never gone without a meal. We stare at each other for a while before I snap myself out of it, meeting her eyes again.

"So the bottom line is, look before you leap. Think I can remember that much." I hope I can. It's a reason to keep myself on this side of blacked-out drunk, at least.

But speaking of.

"I sure hope there's a bar in this fancy place," I say with a grin. Katniss's terror, the rage-mask of Peeta's face, all seem a little further away now, a little distant. But not nearly distant enough; to get the sound of her screams out of my head, I'm going to need some liquid assistance, the sooner the better.

Edited 2015-08-05 02:47 (UTC)

"Don't worry, you're less than ten seconds from somewhere that'll serve alcohol," Johanna deadpans as she leans her hip up against the nearest door frame and studies Haymitch, wondering what the hell's happened to him to make him look so washed out. Then again, she already knows. It's just seeing it in person that's one hell of a difference and something to get used to. She cocks her brow upwards, giving him something of a shrug. "First round's on me?"

"You're looking better than last time I saw you," I say. I can feel the pulse hammering in my throat, my chest tight like I'm half underwater. Half an hour ago she was pale and sweating, half-conscious on a hospital bed. Now... I've blacked out before, but never before I was drunk.

Nothing about this makes sense. Normally I'd want to get to the bottom of it, to make it make sense, but I'm too worn out to care. I want to ask about Peeta, but I'm almost afraid of the answer. So instead I take the out she's handed me, sweeping a bow as I say, "Lead the way."

"So I've heard," she replies coolly, given that Johanna is plenty aware what the future holds for her, but she's being a stubborn bitch avoiding giving into it, not wanting to go so easily into that good night. She can't help her delighted smile at Haymitch's theatrics, offering her arm as she begins to slowly walk towards the bar.

"Don't worry, you're not hallucinating. Unless you often hallucinate about me, though that's perfectly normal," she promises. "You really are in some insane half-dimension you wandered into."

She's always had a way with making me laugh, but just now it's hard to summon more than a little huff of acknowledgment. My hands still feel like they're shaking, but I don't want to look close enough to confirm it.

"You're gonna have to back up and explain that to me," I say, glancing at her sidelong. "And use small words. I'm not having a good day."

She gives him a very long look, assessing exactly what's been done to Haymitch. She feels like she understands him, a little, but then, all victors share a similar pain that's unknown to the rest of the Districts, because winning is the most bitter pill of all to swallow after being forced to compete in the Games. "We need drinks for that," she says, bitterly certain of that much. "I'd suggest something stronger, but I don't have a supply and you don't look like you could stand it."

"I've never been one to prize quality over quantity," I say. "Just get me to a bottle, and make it fast."

She leads me down a wide staircase and into a huge foyer. Marble and glass and polished wood, this place almost puts the Capitol to shame. The questions in my head keep mounting, but I bite them back til she pushes open a door and leads me to an empty chair at the bar.

"I don't care," I tell the bartender when she asks what I want. "Just make it strong, and make it fast."

Johanna keeps her head up, acting like she's above all of it when really, she just prefers to ignore the people working here because she does, too. She needs to somehow keep herself separate from them, because she's not like them -- mainly because they're not like her and haven't had to live through what she has. Johanna glances up to order her regular, the gin being handed to her with a glass filled with ice cubes.

"It boils down to this," she starts, "you wandered through a door and managed to find the fucked up back door of luxury. If you're lucky, you can figure out which door takes you back and avoid it."

I nod, trying to remember which door I came through. It's already lost in the tangle of my memories; maybe I'll recognize it when I see it next? "Guess I'll just have to look both ways before going anywhere," I conclude with a shrug.

A glass gets set in front of me, two big ice cubes floating in dark amber with little bubbles fizzing to the surface, and I take a gulp, ready to protest that I'd said to make it strong when the afterburn hits like fire down my throat. Swallowing, shaking my head, I put the glass back down, my eyes watering. "That's the good stuff," I say, grinning.

A second later I get serious again, looking at her sidelong around a hank of my hair that's fallen into my eyes. "You seen anyone else from home since you came here?" I'm almost afraid of the answer.

Johanna shrugs, like she's somehow responsible for bringing Haymitch here and to the alcohol when really, she knows that she's not even close to being in charge of this place. She works to its demands just like anyone else, and she tries to ignore how very much like the Capitol that sounds. "There's plenty of us here," she agrees, running her fingers around the glass. "Katniss," she says, with a touch of bitterness, as she knows Katniss always gets the attention. "Effie, Finnick, and even his girl. For a while, Peeta was around, but I haven't seen him lately. Guess he got to go back and have more fun," she notes, voice dripping with sardonic disdain.

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