Who: Rhett Cavendish What: Sooner or later, you have to stop wallowing. When: Christmas Morning Where: His house. Warnings: Language and whangst.
Rhett greeted Christmas at midnight with a shot in his hand. The year before, he’d been sneaking presents under his tree for Gavin to find in the morning. Gavin, of course, had gone to bed earlier and wouldn’t notice if the presents arrived at midnight on the dot, but it was the first Christmas that was really old enough to participate. His very first Christmas, he’d sat in his bouncer like a perfect little doll. When he was one, he’d been fascinated by the lights, but the gifts hadn’t really mattered until after the glitter of the holiday itself was over. At two, he’d cared more about ripping the paper and playing in the boxes, but at least he’d taken an interest in the proceedings. Three, though, three was old enough that he’d get excited about the carefully selected presents. Santa Claus actually meant something at three. Rhett had been planning for this Christmas since the last one, had imagined taking pictures of his wife and son and doing all of those cliché holiday things that he’d never really been interested in before.
When his wife asked for a divorce, he’d still imagined Christmas with his son - surely he’d be able to get him at least for a little while on the day. Maybe they would even come over to still have a family Christmas, for Gavin’s sake. Then he’d met Charles, and before he realized it his best friend and Yasmine were in the picture as well, two divorced dads and their kids spending the holiday together and proving to themselves that they could have a happy family gathering without the perfect idea of daddy, mommy, baby to make it picturesque. For the first time in a very long time, Rhett had been happy. He’d had something to look forward to. Though he was unfamiliar with the holiday, Cinna had thrown himself into it wholeheartedly as well, embracing any excuse for joy and festivity since he’d had precious few of those in his own life.
Then Charles had left. Oh, Rhett understood, logically. As long as Liza could still reach them, they were in danger. Mombasa and anonymity were the safest things for Yasmine, and above all Charles would always do what was best for his daughter. A friend couldn’t compare to that, Rhett didn’t have any cause to be hurt. It was just... he hadn’t realized how Charles had wormed his way into his future until suddenly he was gone and there were vast holes, bigger even than the ones his wife had left in her wake. He’d never quite had a friend like Charles before, he hadn’t realized how much the loss of a friendship could sting. Even the occasional emails and text messages didn’t compare to having him right there. It didn’t fill in the gaps in those vague plans for someday everything being okay again.
Just when he was convincing himself (with Hunter’s help, though he tried not to think about that embarrassing incident where the younger man fished him out of a bar) that life went on, the other shoe dropped - and there seemed to be a lot of dropping shoes in Rhett’s life lately. Enough to fill his whole closet, really. This one had been a long time coming, but the anticipation only made it worse when the judge said that in light of Rhett’s lifestyle (what lifestyle? He was a photographer, for fuck’s sake, and the charges of an affair had been dropped for lack of evidence, and just because his wife said he was gay it didn’t mean he was), he couldn’t give him joint custody, and that full custody would be given to his ex-wife. Oh, but he still had visitation rights, of course. Visitation where his wife dropped his son off looking suspicious, and texted him throughout his time with his boy, and came back before the allotted time was over, as if he couldn’t be trusted with his own child. As if all the time he’d lived together and raised a child together meant nothing because he’d maybe started to drink a little more. Who could blame him for it? She wasn’t the one going home to an empty house every night, she couldn’t know. He hadn’t even asked about Christmas, just assuming that she wouldn’t be heartless enough to keep him from his child on the holiday.
Ah, but the Monday before she’d casually informed him that of course she was taking Gavin to her parents’ house for Christmas, like he’d never agreed to before because her parents hated him and he had to work up until the last minute anyway. When he asked what he was supposed to do, she’d just shrugged and told him “Drink, like you always do.”
So he had. He’d started that day, calling in to work sick. He hadn’t even really had to fake it, he’d felt near to death. Cinna hadn’t even given his usual encouragements to get up and do something other than wallow in his misery. He must have known it would do no good. Cinna was a smart man, sometimes, even if he seemed to think that designing clothes would fix all of Rhett’s problems.
He’d started with eggnog, trying to embrace a little of the holidays. He’d left an angry message on his ex-wife’s voicemail telling her that she’d best fucking bring his son over so that he could open presents before they left, so he could know his dad hadn’t just abandoned him on Christmas. She’d left one in return saying that there was no coming near him when he was angry, and she wasn’t going to put herself in danger like that. Rhett had never hit her, never even moved to hit her, even in the worst of his fights. He’d started putting a little more brandy in his eggnog.
The next voicemail he left, he might have been in tears. He didn’t remember it, really, but he was horribly afraid it was the case, since he remembered his throat tight, his eyes stinging, his nose running, pleading with her to let him see his son. Her reply had been that she didn’t want Gavin to see him like this, that he should just package up the presents and have them delivered, that he’d best clean himself up if he wanted to see his son after they got back. Somehow it didn’t seem legal within the terms of their agreement that she could deny him that, but he was too far gone to go through the paperwork. It felt entirely possible that he could never see his child again, but it didn’t make him stop drinking. It just made him switch from eggnog to pure brandy.
He knew it was Christmas Eve because the man on the television told him so. For some reason, in alcohol logic, it seemed important to watch the minutes tick away until midnight, shot after shot of brandy counting down with him. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like it was New Year’s Eve, with the ball dropping and... but he’d be alone for that, too. May as well start practicing early.
Not alone, Cinna reminded him, the first time he’d spoken all night, as the clock ticked past midnight and on to another minute just like the rest, no Christmas magic for Rhett.
The reminded did help, just a little. ‘I should have bought you a present. After all, you’re the only one that isn’t going to just walk off and leave me.’ He reflected on that moment, then added, ‘Though buying you a present would really just be buying myself one. I guess that’s a little pathetic. Not that I can get much lower.’
There was silence again. Rhett took another shot of brandy. Almost choked on it. He was probably going to vomit again soon. He greeted that with a strange sort of calm, having done it so many times over that week. It was a waste of good brandy, he supposed, just like doing it in shots rather than sipping and savoring was a waste. Sipping took too long, though, didn’t give him the mindlessness that he needed. He’d enjoyed that mindlessness, hadn’t paid much attention to his headmate, but the reminder made it difficult to ignore the fact that, no, he wasn’t alone. ‘So you really didn’t have a Christmas? Or anything like it?’
Cinna sounded much more solemn and sober than he should have - shouldn’t the fact that Rhett was so inebriated make Cinna drunk too? Maybe the designer just held his liquor better. Maybe alcohol just didn’t change him like it did most people, Rhett had seen a few people who were just the same drunk as sober. It didn’t quite seem fair to them. All we had were the Hunger Games. That was our only celebration, the only one that mattered at least. It’s more like your Easter, I’d say. Someone’s child dying for us... except many children, and for our entertainment rather than our souls.
Obviously Rhett had given in and read the books. He’d known that, known every bit of it. Still, he shuddered. ‘Sounds horrible. Not much about it to really celebrate. How did you get by, those of you that cared?’ Because Cinna had cared. He hadn’t been like the rest of those Capitol idiots, not understanding how despicable this entertainment was. How did they all not just bury themselves in alcohol, like Haymitch? Rhett thought he’d rather like Haymitch. He thought they’d see eye-to-eye, much better than he and Cinna did. Perhaps it was best that he wasn’t the one in Rhett’s head, really.
Somehow, Rhett felt that was directed at him. ‘There are no heroes, anymore. Just greedy pigs and selfish slobs. There’s nobody that’s going to stand up for what’s right, at least not anybody that would want my help.’ Because, really, who would want him? He’d been a complete asshole most of his life, and now a disgusting drunk. No hero in their right mind would want anything he could offer. They’d take one look at how he broke everything he touched and get as far away from him as possible. ‘What’s the point of it all, really? The only thing I’m good for is giving you a place to stay, at this point.’
Have you ever thought that maybe there are heroes, and they just aren’t visible because there’s no one there to lift them up? No, Rhett hadn’t. But perhaps... hadn’t Katniss needed Cinna’s help to make her shine? To make the people love her? If it hadn’t been for that, there was no telling what would have become of her. Maybe... ‘Maybe there are.’ Rhett snorted at his own foolishness. ‘But still, what could I do for them? Taking pictures, designing clothes... we’re not in Panem. What could appearances do?’
That drew an actual laugh from Cinna. Oh, Rhett, surely you of all people know that appearances are everything, no matter where you are.
For the first time since he’d lost custody, Rhett smiled. It wasn’t much of a smile, just a quirk of the corners of his mouth. ‘I should, shouldn’t I? I never claimed I wasn’t an idiot.’
The smile must have encouraged Cinna. Would you really like to give me a present?
‘Of course. I said so, didn’t I?’ Rhett did say things he didn’t mean, but never to the people who mattered. And Cinna, now, he mattered. He was what Rhett had.
Then try. Try to make this better, in whatever ways you can, even if you think they could never matter. To somebody, they will. There’s a war on out there, and there’s a place for you in it, even if it’s not on the front lines. When Rhett didn’t respond quickly enough, Cinna played dirty. Is that the kind of world you want your son to live in? Do you want him to look back, years from now, and see that you did nothing?
Bringing up Gavin... ‘That was low.’ But it was true. What if there was something he could offer? If nothing else, pictures were publicity. Even just within the reincarnate community, publicity was a powerful force. Once, he had wanted to take pictures of more than anorexic girls in ridiculous clothes. And clothes... they did make a difference. Presentation made a difference. What if... ‘I couldn’t.’
You could. I’m with you. I’ll help you.
Slowly, Rhett put his glass down. Cinna’d gotten himself killed, making a difference... but he’d made a difference. He had. It was better than killing himself with a bottle, wasn’t it? ‘It would be less lonely, at least.’
He walked to the window and looked out at the lights below, the city lit up in celebration. His own tree was dark, the plug pulled viciously when he learned for certain that Gavin wouldn’t be there. The thought of making new connections was unappealing, but, ‘‘Maybe I could give Hunter a call. Once I’m sober.’ Hunter had seemed like he might know what was going on.
Cinna seemed pleased. I think that would be a good start. And Rhett... just because Charles left, it doesn’t mean everyone else you get close to will leave, too. There will be someone else.
Rhett rubbed at his eyes, ignoring the flush of color in his cheeks. It was just the last flush of brandy going to his head, obviously. ‘You make it sound like we were... we were just friends. Really, we were.’ But those moments where it might have been--
He shook his head, then clutched at the wall when that threatened to tip him right over. “First order of business.” Talking out loud, he startled himself. His voice was thick and slurred, more than a little hoarse, but there was a kind of strength in it he’d never considered before. “Sleeping it off. Poor kid doesn’t need me being drunk at him again.” He’d sleep it off, clean up, and then...