(hawkeye) there must be some kinda way out of here, said the joker to the thief

[burnwithus]

Today is not a strong day.

There are days when I can fight off the cravings and ignore the tremors and the shooting cold in my joints. Days when my resolve is hardened, when I can think about the Morphlings from District 6 and remember them clearly. Whatever state my mind is in, my first instinct is always survival in the face of nothing worse. It’s not one that most decent people have.

Today my resolve’s been shattered so completely that I’ve resorted to desperately combing the fabric of my Mockingjay suit and the floor, searching for pills that I might have dropped, scratching my fingers uselessly against the tile when I don’t find anything. I haven’t eaten. I haven’t slept. My body’s as thin as it’s ever been, even in the months directly following my father’s death. But there are no dandelions here, and even Peeta isn’t the same boy who threw me the bread that one day. The island changes too much in too short of a time, and even though I’ve stopped dreaming about peace after the war, the effect is still there.

I spend an extended period of time rocking back and forth, trying to sleep before I remember the clinic and its probable stash of drugs, but it still takes another while to force myself to get up. Take small steps, Katniss. Keep your balance, Katniss. Open the door slowly. I give myself simple instructions to make it seem as though I’m going through the motions of daily life. The clinic is starting to look familiar but not enough that I know who to speak to, so I don’t. I stand in the middle of the hallway, wishing I had brought a blanket for the intervals when the cold hits.

Comments

[burnwithus.livejournal.com]

After the arena, every unfamiliar touch is an attack my body expects me to fend off, no matter what my condition. But I restrain myself from becoming a thrashing animal, subduing the reaction to a flinch. I'm not so badly off that I can't walk by myself, but I let him lead me to the clinic anyways. He doesn't look like a doctor, and it's that fact that allows me to relax, stupidly enough. I remind myself that no one is ever safe.

The silence of the empty clinic bothers me and soothes at the same time. I keep expecting the noise of gunfire to punctuate the stillness, and my agitation comes from knowing it can't last. I distract myself with the sights around me, debating the merits of starting a conversation. I open my mouth one or two times, but there's nothing to say. Instead I keep my eyes trained on him, never leaving his face.

[anger-sideways.livejournal.com]

Hawkeye guided the girl to the nearest bed, gesturing for her to sit down. The way she was staring at him was quite unnerving - if he had to guess, she'd had a rough time of it, and not just because she might be going through drug withdrawal. He'd seen that wary, hyperalert look on countless soldiers before.

He pulled up a seat and sat down beside the bed.

"Well, to begin with, why don't you tell me what symptoms you've been experiencing?"

[burnwithus.livejournal.com]

"Tremors and pains. Coldness. Nausea." I begin awkwardly, listing off all the things I can remember, which is hard because all of the symptoms and all of the past few days have melded together into one painful blur. It reminds me of the one time I was drunk with Haymitch, except this poison doesn't go away. "I tore my room apart hoping that I might have brought some over with me. I want it and I don't want to." the doctors had hoped to slowly wean me off it was my guess. Otherwise, this was a torture further than anything I thought imaginable. Worse than being on fire or being shot, because at least I still regain some sense of self.

I don't want to become like them, the Morphlings from District 6. A frail yellow sack of bones and wrinkled skin.

[anger-sideways.livejournal.com]

That certainly sounded like opiate withdrawal to Hawkeye. Well, there was some chance it could be a bad dose of flu, but the 'tore my room apart' bit suggested otherwise. (That, and the fact that the enclosed environment made colds and flu quite rare on the island.)

He laid a hand on her forehead - freezing. Though give it half an hour and she'd probably be burning up with fever. Her pupils were dilated too, he noticed, and her eyes watering slightly. He saw no reason to dispute her self-diagnosis.

"I'll be honest with you, then - things are going to get worse before they get better," he said. "You're going to feel like absolute hell for the next two or three days while the body works through it. I promise you this, though, it won't kill you, and you will come through it feeling better in the end. I can help with the symptoms, but there's nothing else to be done but wait it out."

And of course then there was dealing with the psychological after-effects, which could last a lifetime, but he'd leave that to the island shrinks. He preferred to keep strictly to the physical side of things.

[burnwithus.livejournal.com]

I'm not afraid of death. I'd accepted mine the moment I let the arrow fly into President Coin's heart. No, earlier than that. The Quarter Quell. I was prepared to die in order for Peeta to have a chance at life. None of that comes close to frightening me. But I've seen Haymitch on his bad days, shaking and screaming at things that weren't there.

I don't want to see her die again.

"Alright. What are you going to do?" I keep my face as impassive as possible, but it's hard when my arms are shaking as badly as they were in the second arena, doused with chemical rain. "How long will it take?"

[anger-sideways.livejournal.com]

"How long it takes depends on how long ago your last dose was," Hawkeye said. "The first few days are the worst, but you won't be completely free of it for a good week or two."

There really wasn't that much he could do to ameliorate it, either. He could take care of her, but the only thing that really alleviated withdrawal was giving the body the drug it craved, and that was out of the question.

"Think of it as being like a really bad flu. You'll feel like hell, but your body'll do all the work of cleaning itself out. All I can really do is minimise your discomfort while that happens. We've got some anti-anxiety drugs that might help, but mostly what you're going to need is plain old looking after." Hawkeye shook his head with a slight air of regret. "All these doctors on the island, and not nearly enough nurses. Do you have any friends here who would be willing to help out?"