Archive of Our Own

My castle crumbled overnight

I brought a knife to a gunfight

They took the crown, but it’s alright

When he had left the Capitol with Katniss after the war Haymitch had told her to not be a stranger, which Effie thought might be the singular most devastating thing one could say to another person. And while she did stay in the Capitol for many long months, sitting by Peeta’s bedside, she took his parting words to heart in just about every way she could.

Instead of talking to her government assigned shrink she calls Haymitch, because he’s the voice inside her head and everyone else she’s ever known is either dead or had dropped her like a hot coal.

The people of the Capitol didn’t care for her anymore, they had made that much clear. Every gossip rag and naysayer was talking about how she had betrayed her hometown, how she was evil and conniving, a vindictive harpy who had never been pretty enough to rise through the ranks of the escorts and had taken her resentment out on the city via political rebellion.

The Capitol had decided it didn’t love her anymore, and she knew well enough that there was no swaying public opinion once it was set.

The new government didn’t seem terribly fond of her either. They didn’t want to execute her, and they couldn’t punish her for her involvement in the Games beyond seizing her ‘immorally acquired funds’ thanks to some fancy arguing work from Haymitch and Plutarch. But they also didn’t know what to do with her. Mostly they just pretended she didn’t exist. Ignored the staining presence of the last living escort and let her quietly sit with Peeta day in and day out.

It seemed that the only person who truly wanted to hear from her was Haymitch.

“How’s the boy?” he asked every time they called without fail.

“Better today.” she hummed. “He’s rather taken up with painting again, which always makes everything feel like old times.”

Nothing felt like old times.

Effie doubted things would ever feel that way again.

But sometimes, when she sat curled up in a chair, pretending to read while Peeta worked away on his canvases, it was almost like he was the sixteen year old boy she had first met, and nothing bad had happened yet. To any of them.

“What does he paint?”

“I’m not sure actually.” She curled the phone cord around her finger absentmindedly. “They’re rather abstract at the moment. Big messes of colour. Dr. Aurelius assures me that it’s good though. That he’s working through his feelings or something of that ilk.”

Haymitch snorted at that. “Fuckin’ shrinks.”

“Yes, well…” she chuckled. “I try not to interfere.”

Silence overtook them, which had become a recurring theme of their calls. Sometimes they liked to sit and listen to the air between them, the rise and fall of each other’s breathing. She hadn’t seen him in nearly a year. It was odd to think about, seeing as she had seen him every eleven months regularly for the better part of her entire life.

The line crackled briefly, as it tended to do in the winter. She pictured the snow and ice sitting on the rickety phone lines in Twelve.

“How’s Katniss?” she asked softly.

“Same.” he grunted. “Always the same.”

Effie knew that was true enough because when it came down to it, they were all the same. Stuck in the strange limbo of post-war, waiting for time to heal wounds. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting.

“Give her my love.”

She always asked him to. His reply was always the same. “I will.”

One had to wonder if he actually did what she asked, or if he was simply placating her. If he actually ever leaves his house to see Katniss, or if he just wallows and drinks. Perhaps he’s simply being selfish, keeping her wishes of love for himself.

She would give him plenty of his own… All he had to do was ask. Show her that he wanted it in some small, minuscule, probably irritating way, as was his nature.

Silence again.

“I’ve been talking to one of his nurses,” she began, soft and slow. Never spook the horses.

“Oh yeah?” He didn’t sound spooked. “Makin’ friends, sweetheart?”

He had a very optimistic view of her post-war social situation. The nurses avoided her at best. Sometimes they glared, sometimes they jumped if she got too close. There was one older woman, a war nurse from Two who was baseline polite with her. But beggars could not be choosers, and the war had made a beggar of even Effie Trinket.

“Aren’t I always?” she quipped lightly, mostly because she couldn’t help but what to be the shiny image he had of her in his head. “And she mentioned that… that they might be releasing him. Not soon, of course, but… soon-ish. In the spring.”

“Oh.” His tone was irritatingly unreadable. “I mean, that’s good right? Progress and whatever?”

He was ever so eloquent.

“Quite.” she hummed, hoping to garner a more telling reaction from her next piece of news. “And he’s expressed an interest in returning to Twelve if they’ll allow him.”

A beat of silence followed.

Effie wished desperately she could see his face, but crackly phone line talks were all she had at the moment.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. And I just thought… Well, I thought if everything went to plan I might come with him.”

“With him?” Haymitch asked. “To Twelve?”

“Yes. To Twelve.”

Another haunting stretch of silence had Effie rethinking all of her thoughts from the past year. She had thought that it meant something. The kiss, the ‘don’t be a stranger’, the constant phone calls. But perhaps it had all been in her imagination. Perhaps it was all just as meaningless as he claimed their preceding ten year affair to be.

She blinked back what was the beginning of tears burning in the back of her throat.

“Of course, I-I understand if it would be inconvenient, I know Twelve isn’t in the best shape, a-and you wouldn’t want me invading your space, but I just thought—”

“You should come.”

He interrupted her hurried rambling.

“I mean… If you want, I ain’t tryna… I think,” Another pause and Effie waited with bated breath. “I want you to come, Effie.”

He so rarely said her name, and it was probably for the better because she felt an electric shock pass through every part of her body when he did.

“You do?” Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears.

“Yeah, I mean, ‘course I do.” he replied. “Been fuckin’ boring without you.”

She giggled at that, albeit a bit weak.

But her heart was alive. Every part of her body giddy and singing at the implication of his words. He wanted her. He wanted her to be there with him. It wasn’t even the fact that he was the only one in the world who wanted her right now.

If they lived in a world where everyone still loved her, Effie knew that he would still be the only one she ever wanted for.

“We can discuss details when it gets closer, obviously,” she rambled, mostly for the comfort of familiar positions; her in charge of the schedule and him nodding along. “But yes… In the spring… I’ll come.”

“Spring it is.” he replied.

He said it like a promise, and she held that close to her heart until the snow melted. Peeta received a stamp of approval from his many doctors. Together they packed their few remaining possessions and got on a train to the districts.

“Is everything alright, dear?” she asked as the train whisked out of the city.

Peeta was staring out the window, a contemplative expression settled on his brow.

“I can have them bring you some tea, even food if you’re hungry.” she offered. “And I packed your sketchbook if you wanted to draw.”

“I’m fine. Thank you, Effie.”

He flashed her a gentle smile and she smiled back. Always glimmers of the young boy she once knew, trapped beneath the layers of only heaven knows what.

They had done everything they could at the Capitol hospital. Reached ‘the limits of the treatment’, as his doctor had politely phrased it. She hoped Twelve and Katniss would help him beyond that limit. If anyone deserved to find peace of mind, it was the children.

She proffered her hand on the armrest between their seats, and smiled when Peeta took it. He squeezed as they passed the last city limit.

“I’ll never ride this train again.” he whispered, watching the glow of the city retreat into the dark periphery of the early morning.

It wasn’t necessarily true. There was no knowing what the future held for them.

But he said it like it was an oath to himself, and so she didn’t correct him.

“I’ve ridden this train for most of my life,” she said softly. The city, which had been her home for so long, could never be her home again. “I don’t think I’ll miss it.”

Peeta turned to look at her.

“You’re staying?”

Effie nodded. “As long as you’ll have me, of course.”

“Does Haymitch know you’re coming?”

“Vaguely. He knew I intended to return with you and that we were coming at some point in the spring, although I didn’t tell him the exact date.”

Effie didn’t know why she’d kept it a secret. It wasn’t for lack of opportunity, they still talked on the phone with obscene regularity. Perhaps she simply didn’t want to give him the chance to change his mind… the chance to turn her down.

A pocket of anxiety still curdled in the pit of her stomach. What if he changed his mind when he saw her? What if he decided that she was evil and corrupt, just like the rest of the country has? What if he saw her honey curls, her bare face, and simple clothes and decided he didn’t love her anymore?

All silly thoughts, she knew that, but Effie couldn’t help but think them.

Peeta nodded and turned his gaze back to the window. “I think he’ll be happy to see you.”

The boy would never know what a favour he did her in saying that simple statement.

Effie smiled to herself and rested her head back against the seat. Even after everything, he still was the sweet boy she’d always known. Effie had never envisioned herself with children, but if she’d had a son she would have wished for a boy like Peeta.

The train ride which she had done a million times over passed surprisingly quickly. She didn’t stop holding his hand until much later, when the train finally pulled into the small station of District Twelve, and they emerged with their bags into the beaming afternoon sun.

Even a whole year after the end of the war, District Twelve wasn’t much to look at. A small shanty town creeping out amidst what remained of the past and rumble. Like a flower which grew between the cracks of concrete. Together they walked a route which Effie suspected they both knew too well, towards Victor Village.

She had never been nervous on this walk before.

Usually just preemptively irritated at whatever state she was going to find her Victor in.

For peace of mind, Effie briefly imagined it was just another one of those days. The hot day of a Reaping and she was headed to Haymitch’s house to scold him into sitting upright in a chair on stage. It would have been the 77^th Hunger Games that year, which was a terrifying thought in and of itself.

The comfort of the routine of Reaping Day suddenly became much less comfortable, so Effie pushed it from her mind.

Instead she focused on the light spring breeze, the birds that could be heard in the distance. The equal fall of Peeta’s steps on the dirt road. It wasn’t long before they arrived at the wrought iron gate of the entirely unchanged Victor Village.

Peeta walked to his house, which sat opposite Katniss’. She had rather expected him to go to her house, but said nothing as he placed his bags in the dusty entryway. It was exactly as it had been left. Frozen in time, a relic of the day she had picked them up for the Quarter Quell.

“I think I’ll go for a walk.” he mumbled. “Go to the woods.”

If he hadn’t brought it up first Effie would have suggested it. The Capitol had very little nature to offer beyond the ambiance screens, and she knew Peeta had missed it.

The outdoors of Twelve seemed a much better option than his tomb of a house.

“Do you want company, dear?”

“I’m fine on my own. Thank you, Effie.”

“Of course.” Unable to resist a bit of fussing, she reached up and patted his cheek. Straightened his coat so he wouldn’t get cold.

Then they parted ways. Peeta towards the forest, Effie towards the top of Victor Village.

She used to complain endlessly about Haymitch picking the house furthest from the gate. She used to tease him about it, say he’d only done it to irritate her even though they hadn’t known each other when he had picked the house. But today she was grateful for the long walk. It gave her time to think about all the ways this could go horribly right or horribly wrong.

He had kissed her when he had left the Capitol. Would he kiss her again?

She had at least looked pretty then; a wig, designer furs, lashes, and heels. Her final costume at the request of Coin. The thought made her wish she had picked something prettier for today. Something beyond her simple floral dress, knit sweater, and little brown boots. Hopefully her subtle mascara had survived the train ride.

The house next to his seemed occupied, which catches Effie slightly off guard. There’s smoke emerging from the chimney and a dog lazing next to a water bowl on the front porch.

“He’ll be happy you’re here.”

The voice makes her jump.

It belongs to an old, bony looking woman, who is leaning in the open doorway of the house. She didn’t recognize the woman, although it seems the woman did indeed recognize her.

Effie self-consciously pats her hair and tries not to think about how the last time this woman saw her she was dressed much more beautifully and picking children’s names out of glass bowls.

“I’m sorry?”

The woman pointed a bony finger at Haymitch’s house.

“It’s you he’s been waitin’ for, ain’t it?”

Effie blinked because she wasn’t sure what else to do.

“Always knew he was getting’ a little too antsy for Reapin’ Day the past few years...” the old woman hums. “Shoulda known it was you he was waitin’ for. Go on then. Ain’t no sense it draggin’ it out.”

Effie decided right then and there that Haymitch’s neighbour was far too nosy and a little rude. But she took the old woman’s words and held them close to her chest as she climbed the steps and knocked on the door.

Nobody answered. “Haymitch?” She knocked again, this time accidentally pushing the door open.

Because of course he doesn’t bother to lock or even close his door properly, she thought to herself with an eye roll. It looked like nobody was coming to greet her, so Effie did the only thing she could do. She invited herself inside.

“Haymitch?” she called. No answer.

He couldn’t possibly be dead in his own sick, they had spoken on the phone less than forty-eight hours ago. Effie decided that he must have gone for a walk or something along those lines. Perhaps he was with Katniss.

She delved further into the house, wrinkling her nose at the mess.

It wasn’t as awful as it had been in past years. It wasn’t truly dirty. There was no rotting food, no mouse droppings, no stench of mold. It was more of a surface mess. Dirty dishes in the sink, his jacket haphazardly thrown over a chair, a light layer of dust on rarely touched surfaces.

She doubted he had paid someone to clean, as he’d always thrown a fit whenever she had tried to arrange a cleaner for him. Perhaps the nosy neighbour did it of her own accord.

Very much lacking something to do or feeling a little on edge from being in his house by herself, Effie began to move around the kitchen without thinking. She arranged his boots in a more orderly line. She picked up his coat and hung it on a hook in the adjoining mud room, and perhaps lingered for a moment because it smelled like him.

It had been too long since she had seen him, Effie was certain she was going insane.

She had never washed dishes in her life, but the pile was annoying her so she opened the tap, picked up a rag, and started to scrub.

“Sae, how many times have I fuckin’ told ya to mind your own—”

She whipped around to find a grumpy looking Haymitch frozen in the doorway. His hair was falling in his face and he was shirtless, only a loose pair of flannel pants hanging off his hips. Had he been sleeping? She stood equally frozen, a half-washed plate and rag still in her hand.

 “Effie.”

After nearly twenty years of replacing her name with various mocking sobriquets, he seemed to be on a bit of a roll since the war ended.

“I knocked but you didn’t…” She gestured weakly at nothing.

“I was sleeping.”

“Ah. Yes.”

The air around them was so still, it was like the kitchen itself was holding its breath. A whole year of talking on the phone and this was the best they could do?

After a lifetime of living in polite society, Effie was well practiced at making endless conversation out of nothing. But today her mind was running blank. Perhaps distracted by the fact that he looked so handsome, tousled and rolled out of bed.

“When did you…?” he asked.

“Just today, not even an hour ago in fact. Peeta went for a walk so I thought I’d…”

There is no end to her sentence which makes sense, so she elects to not say anything. Thought she’d what? Break into his house? Huff his coat like a maniac and scrub his sink? What was she even doing there? The silence only made her feel more ridiculous.

Like when they used to listen to each other breathe on the telephone, only worse.

Luckily, it didn’t last for long. Their stilted staring was interrupted by sharp and incredibly loud honking from outside. The unfamiliar sound made Effie jump.

“What the hell was that?”

Haymitch chuckled a little at her swearing. The tightness in the air lessened.

“Geese. Probably hungry, I ain’t fed ‘em yet.” He went into the mudroom and took his coat off the hook. Threw it on over his bare shoulders and pulled a bucket of grain from the corner.

Effie abandoned her half-hearted washing, curious. “Geese?” she asked with a skeptical raise of her brow. “When on earth did you get geese?”

“Few months ago.” he shrugged. “You wanna come see?”

An olive branch if there ever was one.  

An ‘I know we had a weird probably-unhealthy psychosexual affair for nearly a decade, I dragged you to live in a rebel dungeon for a year, I kissed you, but then we spent the next year only talking on the phone, and now neither of us know what to say’ type of olive branch.

“Sure.” she smiled, shaking her head. Washing dishes was dreadful anyway. “Show me your creatures.”

He rolled his eyes at that as he opened the back door.

“Always so dramatic, sweetheart.”

Now, Effie had never seen geese in with her own two eyes before, but it seemed that her assumptions weren’t far off. They are precisely as gross and ugly as she had predicted.

But they squawked excitedly as Haymitch approached with his bucket. He hopped the fence with the ease of a much younger man and Effie had to pretend she didn’t find it oddly attractive. He also talked to the geese, telling them to fuck off and apologizing for not feeding them earlier.

It was all together a very adorable scene which Effie watched from a healthy distance, perfectly satisfied to remain behind the protection of the old fence.

“I know, I know, I didn’t come out this morning.” he grumbled as they pecked viciously at the ground. “Greedy little buggers.”

“Do you normally sleep through the day?” she asked as he climbed back over the fence, bucket in hand. He shrugged and ran an embarrassed hand through his hair. She knew his little idiosyncrasies so well.

Too well, she thought to herself.

“Something. It’s better than sleeping in the dark.”

“I know.” she said softly, hoping to ease his discomfort. “I remember.”

It must have worked because she saw his posture soften. How the tenseness of his frame was suddenly put at ease. How quickly they both found a familiar comfort that they hadn’t even known was there, but had perhaps been present for all their years together.

They were standing fairly close together. Under the warm sun, the breeze danced around her skirt. Effie thought for a moment he might kiss her again. He looked like he might.

But then something else clouded his gray eyes. The tenseness leached back in and he pulled away.

“When’s your train back?”

Effie felt her stomach plunge and her heart clench. That wasn’t all at how she thought their reunion would go. Did he truly want her gone so quickly?

She blinked back any trace of emotion that might betray her. “What?”

“Don’t be dumb.” he growled.

“I’m not,” she said pointedly, resenting the implication. “Don’t be rude.”

“You don’t got any bags, sweetheart.” He gestured back to the house. “What’s a guy supposed to think?”

Of course, she sighed inwardly. It was so very like him to assume the worst. To assume she had stopped by for a quick hello, perhaps toy with his feelings, before running back to the Capitol.

Always broken telephone with them. Trips over wires and words unsaid always leading to someone’s feelings getting hurt.

Perhaps one day they would figure out how to actually talk to one another.

Now seemed as good a time as any to start.

“They’re at Peeta’s.” she explained gently. “We stopped there first and I… I didn’t want to push in on you.”

Something close to relief washed over his face. It was almost instantly replaced with a rare outward display of unease.

“When I said I wanted you to come I meant it, I just…” he looked to the house and then at his feet. “It ain’t clean, I meant to do that before you came and there are extra bedrooms if you want but, you know, I thought—”

Effie mercifully cut him off before he worried his way into a heart attack.

“Yes.”

He looked up. “Yes?”

“I know what you’re asking, Haymitch, and the answer is yes.” she said. “Of course it is.”

“Yeah?” he grinned.

It was Effie’s turn to smile.

She nodded and it was as if everything in the world was suddenly right. The sun was bright, the air was warm, she was standing with the only man she’d ever truly wanted. His horrid geese were honking in the background, and he was asking her to stay.

To not be a stranger.

“Yes.”

All the liars are calling me one

Nobody’s heard from me for months

I’m doing better than I ever was

The months which followed went very much as Effie had hoped.

Well, perhaps not exactly.

In her loveliest of fantasies she had pictured the four of them playing happy families in her idyllic imaginings of District Twelve. Sharing dinner, taking walks, spending the rest of their days in a well-earned peace.

That wasn’t quite how it went.

Peeta and Katniss got better, together. They kept up the charade of sleeping in separate houses for a few months, but Effie and Haymitch both knew they rarely spent nights apart. Eventually they gave it up and Peeta moved into Katniss’ house. Sometimes it was idyllic. Peeta would bake and bring warm bread in the morning. Katniss would hunt and bring them meat for dinners, which they always ate as a family.

But sometimes Peeta disappeared into the basement of his and Katniss’ house for hours on end, painting his demons onto stretched canvas. Sometimes Katniss went into the woods under the pretense of hunting, but she didn’t take her bow. Effie and Haymitch largely suspected that she walked aimlessly around the woods until she found the solace she was looking for, but they never said anything. Sometimes the children slept poorly, sometimes they didn’t get out of bed, sometimes they left Haymitch to make their dinners on his own, and sometimes Effie had to help them keep their house tidy.

Neither of them minded. They figured the children had earned the right to take small liberties, perhaps reclaim tiny parts of their lost youth.

Life with Haymitch was nice, most of the time. They still bickered, because how could they ever stop? He still drank because to stop at this point would probably kill him, but Effie kept tabs and he never drank more than was needed to keep his hands steady. He slept mostly during the early hours of the day when he didn’t have to fight his demons in the dark, which suited Effie just fine. He still laid with her at night and stroked her hair while she slept. He didn’t complain when she repainted his walls or sewed new curtains. She attempted to scold him less for swearing and leaving his clothes laying around.

Katniss hunted, Peeta baked, Haymitch had his geese, and Effie sewed. All in all, they learned how to take the good and the bad as it came.

Our own strange version of happy families, she thought to herself with a small smile.

It was late afternoon and the sun was hanging over the forest, basking Haymitch’s living room in bright light. Their living room. She slept in his bed, ate in his kitchen, and kept her clothes in his closet… but she still had to remind herself that she lived here too. The window was open and the sound of the outdoors, better than any ambiance recording in the Capitol, trickled in.

Effie was curled up on the couch lazily embroidering a chain of flowers on the bottom of one of her favourite skirts, the television playing some mindless program on a low volume in the background.

Haymitch had gone out to collect eggs.

She had been focused on a particular part of her split stitch, which was giving her trouble, when the sound of her own name being said aloud on TV caused the needle to slip and prick her fingers.

“Effie Trinket: Traitor and Liar!”

“Damn,” she muttered to herself, dropping the needle.

She pinched the end of her finger to stop the small spot of blood.

“We asked you, the viewers, to call in and give us your opinions on the last living escort, and oh boy! You did not hold back. Coming up next—”

The television shut off and she turned to find Haymitch standing next to the sofa, his jacket and boots still on, the remote in hand.

“You shouldn’t watch that shit.” he grumbled, as if it was him the daytime television hosts had been insulting.

“I wasn’t truly watching it.” she called after him, slightly annoyed by his insinuation. “It was just on.”

“Uh-huh.”

He reappeared, boot-less and jacket-less, and sat down next to her. Effie shifted slightly so that she could rest her feet in his lap, let his hand rest as a steady reassurance on her shin. She didn’t take her eye off her embroidery, but she could feel Haymitch watching her. His gaze prickled under her skin.

“It doesn’t matter, you know that right? The shit they say.”

Effie continued to not look up.

“I know.” she hummed, deliberately nonchalant.

His gaze didn’t budge, but eventually he gave into her playing dumb. He sighed heavily and reached over to grab one of his dusty old books off the coffee table. They continued to pass their afternoon in what Effie forced herself to believe was comfortable silence.

But her mind was very much on other things.

She couldn’t help it, truly. Effie had spent the majority of her life steering clear of Capitol drug addictions, but the truth was she had been an addict of the worst one.

Fame was an unforgiving and villainous drug.

One that infected every ounce of her body and soul. It was gauche to say, which is why Effie would never admit it aloud, but she had loved being famous. What was better than crowds of adoring fans? People deciding they loved you unconditionally, even if they didn’t truly know you? She had been a fiendish addict, desperate for people to clap and say they loved her, desperate to know what people thought of her. Tell her she was beautiful, that she was perfect, that she was doing a good job…

And even now, after months of living in District Twelve, it wouldn’t go away.

She wanted to know, needed to know.

Even when all they only said horrible things, even when they called her a traitor and a liar, evil and manipulative, old and washed up, nasty and untalented… she couldn’t look away.

Haymitch resented it, she was sure he did.

What he didn’t understand was that ever since she was a young girl, Effie had been trained to feel happy when people clapped for her To feel accomplished, to feel proud.

For her entire life, that was all she had.

Was it even possible to be happy without that?

“I think I’ll go for a walk.”

She pulled her legs abruptly from his lap and got up, tossing her embroidery into the basket beside the sofa. Haymitch started to get up too.

“You want company?”

“No,” The sharpness of her own tone made her wince. “No, thank you…” she said, softer. “I just… I need some fresh air.”

For a moment Effie was sure this was the brink of an argument. It’s what they would have done before the war, argue and needle one another until they both erupted.

Effie exhaled through her nose as she picked up his coat, which was draped over the railway in the front hall. This wasn’t that time, this was their new life…

Their life where they tried harder.

“I’m not upset.” she said, pulling on his well-worn coat. She felt too antsy to ask for a hug, so the familiar embrace of something that smelled like him would have to do. “Truly, I just… I want to think.”

Haymitch nodded and leaned against the archway.

“Sure, yeah. You, uh… You do that.”

It wasn’t their worst attempt at communication. Perhaps old dogs could learn new tricks.

“The train comes in today, I might stop there.” she said, pulling on her boots. “Did you need anything?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Alright.”

Effie stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss against his cheek.

“I’ll be back later.”

“Uh-huh.”

He touched the small of her back as she left and closed the door gently behind her. In another time that interaction would have involved much more yelling and slamming.

Certainly not their worst by a long shot.

She walked out of Victor Village and down the road towards town. The summer air was warm. She truly hadn’t needed his coat but she was glad she took it anyway. Effie curled in on herself as she walked, avoiding the central hub of what had been rebuilt of District Twelve. She kept to the outside paths, rounding town until she arrived at the small train station.

Men were unloading crates of supplies. A few freighthoppers, people who hadn’t found a home since the end of the war, rode the train and sold their goods at the station. People wandered in between stacked crates and makeshift stalls.

Nobody paid Effie any mind.

She gave one man a few dollars for an old silver ring that looked to be made out of the end of a spoon. Even the war and district fashion had not tempered her love of accessorizing. She swiped an apple off an overflowing crate and walked to the end of the platform where there was a man selling Capitol magazines.

Effie nearly jumped when she saw her own face staring back at her.

It was an old picture, from around the 72^nd Hunger Games, splashed across the cover with a bright yellow headline.

Effie Trinket: Why She Disappeared!

The last living escort has not been seen in months. Where did she go?

“How much?”

The words left her mouth without an ounce of forethought.

“Two dollars.”

It seemed that in the post-war economy gossip rags came dirt cheap.

The man didn’t recognize her as they exchanged two coins for the glossy periodical. In his defense, she barely resembled the white-faced version of herself that was emblazoned on the cover, not anymore. He wasn’t from Twelve so he didn’t know the whispers which surrounded her presence in the Victor Village.

She was oddly grateful for the anonymity.

Effie kept her nose buried in the magazine her entire walk home, her feet taking her back to Victor Village without thinking as she ignored the world around her.

The article was terrible. The usual rhetoric about her traitorous nature. Quotes from alleged ‘close sources’ about how she had always been an evil, calculating bitch bent on betraying her home out of jealousy. Some rumors about her running off to District Two. That she was estranged from her parents and sister. That she had perhaps killed herself.

It all put an ugly pit of sadness in her stomach.

Had she really done that much wrong? People used to adore her. They’d loved her, they’d worshiped her, they had put her up on a pedestal and cut her down at the knees the moment she put a toe out of line. Like she was nothing… Like they had been waiting with knives and stones. The bridge of her nose started to burn, her vision blurred, wretched sobs building in her chest.

Everyone had loved her, and then they didn’t. They didn’t love her. Nobody loved her.

Tears had already wet her cheeks by the time she arrived at Victor Village. She pushed through the gate and stormed up the hill.

Effie stopped in front of Sae’s house. There were the remains of a fire in the pit in the old woman’s front yard. The bony dog was nowhere to be found.  

Anger? Bitterness? Betrayal? Loneliness? Whatever cocktail of emotions was bubbling under her skin took over.

Effie tore the magazines to shreds and tossed it in the fire pit.

She was a bitter animal lashing out in the only way she could. She watched the torn pieces curl as they smolder on dying coals. A dying fire. The glossy picture of her white face caught and curled into dark ash.

I’m not even her anymore, Effie thought sadly.

Was she sad? She couldn’t tell.

She watched as the black and white print went up into smoke, hot coals reflecting in her glassy eyes.

Haymitch…

His name caught her eye. In the article, plain as day. She would know his name without her glasses, half-blind, just the shape of it, the rise and fall of the h, y, t, h. It burned to black and smoke before she could even try to save it. Effie would never know what the horrible gossip rags said about them. Their alleged affair, how he had put himself on the line to save her from the wrath of the justice trials.  

But it caused something to click in her mind.

Without so much as a glance back, Effie turned away from the firepit and raced to his house.

Their house.

She pushed open the back door and hurried into the kitchen, not even caring to remove her dirty boots which was very unlike her. Haymitch was standing at the counter, cutting vegetables. Stew. They were having the children over for stew tonight. Their little family.

He looked up as she entered.

“Hey, are you—”

Effie didn’t give him a chance to finish. She raced across the kitchen and threw her arms around him, kissing him long and hard.

They had kept their kisses decidedly chaste since the end of the war. Always careful, always unsure, never linger too long. They hadn’t even really had sex, just slept in the same bed like strange eunuchs. Always so careful. And Effie was tired, she was so tired. She had spent her whole life being careful. Why would she deprive herself of him any longer?

Haymitch must have felt the same way, because his hands easily found her waist and he kissed her like a man who had been waiting a year or ten.

Ten years, and somehow it had all led to them kissing in a kitchen they shared, his steady hands around her waist and his forehead resting against hers.

When they broke apart Effie could hardly contain her smile.

She gently swept his hair out of his face. She didn’t want to miss a single detail of him. Although, as soon as he got a good look at her his happiness was clouded over by concern.

“What— Are you crying? If it’s about the shit on the TV—”

“No, I’m fine. Well, I was, yes but it’s not…” She exhaled shakily and brought a hand to his cheek. His stumble pickled against her palm. “I feel better now…” she assured him softly. “Much better.”

She said it like a promise, sealed with another kiss.

The world may not love her anymore… But Haymitch loved her, even if he couldn’t say. The children too. And as funny as it sounded in her own mind, maybe that would be enough.

Maybe Effie could learn to live in a world where she didn’t ever want for anything more than that.

All my flowers grew back as thorns

Windows boarded up after the storm

He built a fire just to keep me warm

After that day something between them changed, and despite Effie’s affinity for the warm weather, fall in Twelve soon became her favourite.

Fall meant long mornings where she escaped the cold air in Haymitch’s arms. Fall meant tea tasted sweeter and Peeta’s bread felt warmer. The hunting began to peter off, but she and Katniss spent long hours preparing meat to be frozen, preserving endless amounts of food in glass jars. She started stealing Haymitch’s sweaters because never in her life had she lived in actual cold weather before, and she knit him and the children scarves which they all dutifully wore every time they ventured outside.

Fall also meant taking advantage of the last nice days before they were all relegated to long months indoors. They sat on blankets or old stumps as they gathered around the firepit in Sae’s yard. They sipped hot tea out of old mugs, dangled their legs off the old woman’s porch, and watched the flames dance well into the night.

It was one of the many District Twelve things which Effie found to be delightfully quaint.

People just sitting or standing around a fire for hours, talking, wandering back and forth between their houses, piling on sweaters as the night grew darker, passing around rolls of bread and tearing them off into pieces.

For small moments it would feel like they were the only people in the universe, and after a lifetime of spending her days surrounded by eyes, cameras, and never-ending scrutiny, Effie thought it was nice.

She had never been un-watched in her life, and surprisingly, it was a welcome change.

Perhaps made nicer by being sat next to Haymitch, leaning on his shoulder and curled up in his jacket as she sipped her tea and watched the flames.

Katniss was across the way, whittling away at a stick. Probably to make one of her little traps, Effie thought, although she wasn’t truly sure. The forest was very much Katniss’ domain, and they left it to her.

Peeta had gone inside with Sae for a moment. The old woman wanted him to look at her new fire oven.

It was Haymitch’s voice which pulled Effie down out of the clouds, although she didn’t quite catch what it was that he said.

“Mhm?” she hummed, leaning her head back to look at him.

“Said we gotta buy you your own coat, ‘fore the snow starts. Can’t go stealing mine all winter.”

“Well I could…” she challenges with a flirtatious smile.

It warmed her heart when he grinned back.

“And what am I gonna do?” he asked.

“You have plenty of sweaters.”

“Yeah, but someone’s been stealing those too.”

“I believe it’s called sharing, darling.”

“Oh yeah?” He looked so very handsome looking down on her life that, hair falling slightly in his face, eyes never grayer. “Whatever you say, princess.”

Her only answer was a kiss, chaste for the sake of Katniss still sitting on the other side of the fire. She then curled up deeper into the cook of his neck, tightening her arm around his. A lifetime of being so careful with her touches… Effie was sure she would never be careful again.

“You said the Garten kid was selling coats at market last week, didn’t ya?” he asked across the fire.

“Yeah, but just the plain ones, like the miners coats they used to sell.” Katniss shrugged. “They’re not fancy.”

Effie resisted the urge to be annoyed at the girl’s implication when she’d dutifully worn nothing but district style dresses and Haymitch’s coat for months now, which was indeed one of the old miner’s jackets.

“That’ll do just fine.” she smiled. “I’ve barely resisted the urge to start embroidering on Haymitch’s, I’ll simply do that on my own.”

“If you put fuckin’ flowers on my coat, you can keep it.” he smirked.

“It was going to be stars, thank you very much.” she said, giving him a teasing slap. “Very tasteful.”

Katniss still seemed unconvinced.

“They’re expensive.” she mumbled, ignoring their playful banter. “No point in buying one if you’re only going to be here for one winter.”

“Hey, what did I say about that?” Haymitch barked, immediately on the defensive.

“It’s alright.” Effie hissed, not wishing to start something.

“I was just—”

But Katniss’ defense of her words was cut off by the swinging open of the screen door and the sound of a much more pleasant conversation. Peeta and Sae emerged and the three of them all fell silent, which was surely more suspicious than if Haymitch and Katniss had simply continued to argue.

“Everything okay?” Peeta asked. He sat down next to Katniss who was glaring at her whittled stick.

“Fine.” her and Haymitch grunted at the same time.

Sometimes they were so alike it hurt.

Peeta raised an eyebrow and looked to Effie for an explanation. She rolled her eyes and shook her head in an indiscernible motion, and the conversation was promptly dropped.

Effie tried not to blame Katniss for her lack of tact. According to the locals, winter was when things got hard in District Twelve. Even with help from the new government, it was expected to be a harsh winter. A winter which Effie knew that a lifetime of artificially regulated west coast weather had ill prepared her for.

And she greatly suspected that a hint of their girl’s mounting cool attitude might have nothing to actually do with her. If Effie had lived in Katniss’ shoes, she too might expect everyone to leave her behind the moment things got tough.

Even if the people around her now had zero intention of ever leaving.

The pleasant conversation returned with the boys and Sae discussing the alleged bear spotting on the edge of the woods last week.

Katniss refrained from participating, distractedly passing her knife between her fingers in a way which made Effie fear that one day she would accidently slice off a finger. She pushed down the urge to scold the girl in favour of extracting herself from Haymitch’s side and rounding the fire.

“Sorry, Effie…” Katniss mumbled her stale apologies at the ground as soon as she approached, probably knowing that if she didn’t apologize now Haymitch would simply make her do it later.

“It’s quite alright, dear.” Her hand landed on the girl’s shoulder and she rubbed it affectionately. “Would you like more tea?”

Katniss looked down, apparently not realizing her cup was empty. “I’ll come in with you.”

“Alright.” she hummed.

Effie met Haymitch’s gaze across the fire. He raised a questioning eyebrow. She shrugged. What was the worst that could come of it? Effie emptied her cup and followed Katniss up the steps and into the warmth of Sae’s kitchen.

Katniss went straight to the stove, bypassing the kettle to crouch and warm her body by the firebox. Effie placed her cup on the counter next to where Katniss had left hers, tentatively touching her hand to the outside of the kettle.

There were no little blinking lights on kettles in Twelve to tell you if the water was still hot. Over the past months she had watched in amazement as Haymitch and the children touched all manner of hot kitchen surfaces, testing their temperature without even flinching. Perhaps it was something in their blood. But Effie was slowly learning how to do the little district tricks on her own, like checking to see if the kettle water was still hot with her hand.

It wasn’t. Lukewarm at best, so she moved it back onto the hot burner.

Katniss hoisted herself up onto the counter while they sat and waited. Effie pursed her lips at the thought of Katniss’ pants, which had touched both the ground and the old tree stump seat, on the surface Sae cooked food on. Food which they sometimes ate.

If it was any other night, Effie would have lightly scolded and Katniss would have rolled her eyes but hopped off the counter anyway.

But she decided that tonight that wouldn’t do anyone any good.

“I know you hate Twelve, Effie.” Katniss mumbled eventually, more at the floor than to her face.

Effie couldn’t help the scoff that escaped her mouth.

“It wasn’t a joke, I’m serious.”

“Katniss,” she began gently. “Do you truly think I would live here if I hated it?”

The girl just shrugged. “You might. For Haymitch.”

“I certainly would not,” she chuckled. “The war may have changed a lot of things, but I am still much too proud to let my place of living be solely dictated by a man, I promise you that.”

Her small acknowledgement of her own self-involvement earned a little smile from Katniss’ lips. She didn’t need to know that that had been Effie’s goal.

After that they didn’t say much else after that, which was to be expected.

As much as she would have liked a long, drawn-out conversation about their feelings, Effie knew that Katniss would hate that. Instead, Effie stayed silent. She fetched them both tea bags from one of Sae’s tins and poured their boiling water. She stirred Katniss’ sugar in for her, and fussed a little over her hair, corralling the girl off the counter with minimal eye rolling and retying her loose braid.

Let her love live on those simple things, the way Katniss liked it, rather than words.

But, of course, Effie couldn’t resist just a few words.

“I’m not going anywhere, Katniss.” she said softly as she tied off the girl’s hair and gently brushed the braid over her shoulder. “This isn’t just a passing fancy, it’s not just for one winter… I promise.”

Katniss only nodded and smiled.

Even if she didn’t believe her, Effie was determined to live up to her promise.

The pair went back outside, fresh cups of tea in hand. Katniss went back to her spot next to Peeta, and Effie slotted herself back into Haymitch’s arms. It was darker now, the sun finally dipped fully behind the trees, bathing the sky in rosy orange.

She took advantage of the cover of dusk by tugging gently at the collar of Haymitch’s sweater, pulling him down to meet her lips, warm and harder than before.  

“Alright?” he asked in a low voice when they parted.

“Yes.” she replied in all honesty. “Just… happy.”

They would all forever live with the scars and hurt of the past. But that didn’t always matter.

Because most nights the world was still, and the fire was warm, and maybe there was just enough good and unspoken love in the world to carry them through any long winters.

All the drama queens taking swings

All the jokers dressin’ up as kings

They fade to nothin’ when I look at him

But they couldn’t stay hidden in the bubble of District Twelve all the time.

At least, some of them couldn’t.

Katniss was technically under exile and, according to her final sentence, never allowed to leave Twelve. But the rest of them were there of their own free will, which meant they were technically allowed to leave whenever they wanted. In the beginning it was harder. The train systems were ill-equipped to carry mass amounts of people between districts, especially as far out as Twelve.

But time had passed, Panem had grown, the railways became bigger and more reliable, and by consequence it became harder and harder to avoid invitations out of the district.

Especially when said invitations came from one’s parents in the Capitol.

Effie was certain she would have preferred to spend her first post-war Christmas in Twelve, amongst the familiar warmth of Haymitch and the children. But her parents had been sending her incessant invitations which contained varying degrees of guilting for her supposed abandonment of the city.

The Christmas visit was a tactic of appeasement, one Effie was certain she was regretting.

“You alright?” Haymitch asked, watching her shuffle uncomfortably on her heels as they observed her mother’s packed drawing room.

He had, of course, come with her.

Peeta had been spared, mostly because Effie refused to ruin his Christmas with her family’s nonsense, and they had all agreed that it would be terrible to leave Katniss behind. But Haymitch had come, in spite of his lifelong disdain for the Capitol, society parties, wearing a suit, and her parents.

He had come for her.

“Fine.” she smiled brightly.

Her cheeks hurt and somewhere in the back of her mind a thousand memories of evenings filled with faking smiles needled her.

“Perfectly fine.”

“Uh-huh.”

It felt strange to be at a party like this again.

Revolutions erupt, governments crash to the ground, new governments rise in their place, and the people of Capitol high society still gather in their best silks and jewels on Christmas Eve to drink and insult one another behind gloved hands.

Albeit with much less wigs, makeup, and extravagant dresses, credit where credit was due. Perfectly coiffed ringlets of one’s natural hair, simple eyeliner and lipstick, and a new style of dresses with simple lines, full skirts, and tapered waists had come into fashion. Although, Effie was quite certain every woman was still wearing a corset, so perhaps nothing but the exterior had really changed.

She had done her best to replicate the latest Capitol fashions for herself tonight, in an effort to cause minimal fuss with her mother. A Christmas red dress with a white petticoat, a black belt, and matching four-inch heels.

But even this scaled-down version of Capitol fashion felt like a costume now. It was stiff and unnatural. Her heels and corset were pinching at her body in a way they had never done before.

Everything was different. She was different.

Not that her parents would dare let her forget it.

“Honestly, Euphemia, I didn’t invite you to linger in the corner like some district urchin,” her mother snapped as she appeared seemingly out of thin air and snatched her wrist. “Come socialize!”

“My apologies, Mother.”

It was more of an order than a request, and she barely had time to turn and catch Haymitch’s hand to drag him along before she was engulfed by the crowd.

Had family holidays always involved this many people? She couldn’t remember. All she knew was that the crowd felt suffocating now, an inescapable wall of people, the chatting and laughter of what must be hundreds buzzing in her ear.

Her mother stuck them with a group of the all-too-young wives of her father’s lawyer friends, and Effie was quite certain that the only thing keeping her upright was the iron grip she had on Haymitch’s hand.

“Effie!”

“Hello, hello,” They all exchanged kisses on cheeks and Effie forced a beaming smile. “It’s lovely to see you all.”

“Goodness,” Ditee Wellwillow chattered. Her bright purple wig and white face had been exchanged for red lipstick and brown pin curls. But Effie never forgot a face, nor the biting cadence of the socialite’s voice. “The tabloids said you looked like a positive ruffian now, they didn’t say you sounded like one too.”

It wasn’t as if Effie was speaking like Haymitch or Katniss now, lazily dropping off the ends of her words, replacing hard t’s with soft d’s. But her firmly born and bred Capitol accent had softened slightly. Perhaps more than she cared to admit.

Effie subconsciously straightened her posture and forced herself to join Ditee and the group in their laughter.

Haymitch just scowled at the joke, but he should have just swallowed both of their prides and laughed. His stony expression only solidified his position as their next target.

“And you’ve brought…?”

“You all remember Haymitch, of course.” Effie said, placing a hand on his arm.

“Vividly.” Cass Silverhorn smiled.

It wasn’t a compliment, despite what her pearly white veneers claimed, and everyone knew it.

She felt rather like they had been thrown in with the vipers, stumbling their way through every needling question and politely smiled insults.

“Do they not use wedding rings in the districts?”

“Oh no, we’re not—” “It’s not—” she and Haymitch fumbled at the same time.

“Do forgive me. I’m afraid I assumed.”

“I was so certain you two were married.” Cass Silverhorn said, always the noisiest in a crowd. “There was an article in the Capitol Star—”

“A false flag. I assure you, if we were to get married the very last people to know would be the reporters of the Capitol Star.” she snipped with a perfectly pleasant smile.

Effie had thought for a moment that perhaps she had managed to land a blow, when her Mother interjected in the most unhelpful manner.

“If you were to get married?” she blinked in horror. “Surely you will wed eventually?”

Haymitch looked like he’d rather be shot dead than have this  conversation in such open company. The guilt of dragging him along curdled unpleasantly in her stomach.

“Well, we don’t—”

“What am I always telling you, Euphemia? Never say never...” her Mother cut her off. “Besides, it’s so important for women to get properly settled.”

“Oh, I agree.” Ditee Wellwillow fawned, giving her a once over. “Before the bloom has quite gone off the rose.”

Effie clenched her jaw and attempted to swallow the very polite dig at her age with some dignity.

“Where do you live now?” Artemis Bellberry asked.

“The Victor Village, in Twelve.” Haymitch answered. He didn’t say ‘duh’ but it was highly implied in his tone.

Effie squeezed his arm, a pavlovian reminder to watch his manners.

“What, in one of those Victor houses?”

“Oh dear, those quaint things?”

“We like it just fine.” he grunted.

“I always thought the Victor’s houses was always rather reminiscent of the Ambrosevale summer house.” Artemis Bellberry hummed. “That adorable little shack on the edge of Delphi Parks.”

Effie had summered at the Ambrosevale’s once when she was a teenager. It was hardly a shack. Certainly a townhouse on par with the Victor’s houses. But they had spent weeks complaining about the rooms anyway, only fifteen split between the ten house guests. It had seemed an impossible dilemma at the time. Positively torture.

“Did you hear it got destroyed in the war?”

“Certainly for the better.” Ditee Wellwillow scoffed. “It was a dreadfully ugly house.”

She felt Haymitch stiffen at her side at the casual comment. The idea that the violence and destruction of the war had been a good thing, if only to rid the Capitol landscape of the Ambrosevale’s ugly summer house.

“How ever do you manage?”

“We manage perfectly fine, thank you.” Effie snipped through a disingenuous smile.

“Haymitch!” her Mother suddenly exclaimed. “Do come, I’ll make proper introductions to the relations.”

“Oh Mother, that’s not—”

“Don’t be silly, Euphemia. Everyone is curious. Don’t be a nuisance, darling,” she whispered as she pulled Haymitch by his arm and out into the crowd. “Put on a good show.”

But this wasn’t a show.

This was supposed to be a family Christmas. But now Effie was caught in the middle of a vicious onslaught, not a single member of her family in sight, and the only person she really cared to spend her time with being dragged away.

She should have expected exactly this. It was naïve to think that things would have changed.

Naïve and stupid.

“Well I don’t know about you girls, but it’s been simply impossible to find good help since the war.” Cass Silverhorn carried on.

Everyone nodded and hummed words of agreement.

“Oh, you mustn’t get me started. Our staff is down to one housemaid and the cook. I don’t know how we manage.”

“Is it hard to hire in the districts?”

Effie blinked, not entirely sure what this conversation had to do with her. “I’m sorry?”

“Your staff. Do you have trouble hiring?” Cass Silverhorn asked. “All the papers say the workers have fled to the districts, it must be far easier to hire in the country than it is in the city.”

“Oh, we don’t…” Effie searched for the right words. “Retain a staff.”

Appall fell over the circle of women.

“Why on earth not?”

“We… simply don’t, I suppose.” she said, ardently trying to toe the line between not being a complete Capitol embarrassment and not speaking badly about her new home. “In Twelve everyone just does things themselves.”

The whole lot of them seemed amazed.

“I can’t imagine.” Artemis Bellberry said with wide eyes.

“Yes, well, one must develop some useful skills eventually.” Effie smiled, landing herself one small hit.

Her lunge was quickly parried and returned by Ditee Wellwillow.

“And yet you seem to have so many skills, Effie.” she said in a sickly sweet tone. “Washing windows, beating rugs… Escaping trial…”

It was as if all of the oxygen was suddenly sucked from the room.

But Ditee had simply opened the floodgates, and within seconds every other woman in her general vicinity had something to say.

“How did you not stand trial, if I may pry?”

“Especially when everyone else who’d ever touched it got put through the wringer…”

“Imogene’s husband was a Gamemaker and was lucky to get life in prison. What did they call it… Crimes against humanity?”

“Rather seems like the role of the escort would fit into that, doesn’t it?”

She felt like a wild animal caught in a hunter’s gaze. Any explanation she could offer seemed wrong. In fact, all of her words seemed eternally wrong, causing them to get stuck in her throat.

“I… I was granted immunity by the new government.” she managed to say. “Before the trials.”

“Really?” Cass Silverhorn asked. “And how did you manage that? Because Aurora heard the most interesting rumour—”

Effie couldn’t bear it a second more.

“Would you excuse me, actually? I just saw someone…”

She turned from the group, not even bothering to make up a name of some relation who had just caught her eye as she disappeared into the crowded drawing room. She couldn’t be around them for a second more. She didn’t have it within her to explain everything; the trial, her disappearance, her strange reappearance with Haymitch by her side…

Why did they even expect an explanation?

These people weren’t her family, they had barely even been friends. Society acquaintances whom she owed nothing.

But that wasn’t the Capitol. Her old home, where appearances were everything, where gossip exchanged hands at the speed of light, where it was all a game of knowing everyone and everything.

A city where your mere existence was an invitation of public scrutiny.

She arrived at the refreshment table at the far side of the room and steadied herself by gripping the edge of the polished table, its lace tablecloth. She was so dreadfully out of practice. She’d often heard it said that people never forgot how to swim, but tonight was proof enough of the opposite.

Effie had been tossed in a deep-end but she hadn’t broken the surface and weighed everyone’s pockets with rocks like she would have done just a few years ago.

She had floundered and nearly drowned.

She took the most fortifying deep breath she could manage and instead focused on the elegant display of pastries which sat on silver platters before her. Most of them were holiday themed, white and gold because her Mother thought red and green were garish, topped with all manner of sprinkles and sparkles. A small tray of adorable pink puffs at the end of the table caught her eye.

Now, the likelihood of a pretty pink pastry fixing all of her earthly problems was slim, Effie knew that. But she picked one up, thinking that it was worth a try.

But before she could even take a bite, her father appeared at her side.

Had her parents always been so ghost-like? Appearing and disappearing at her side whenever they pleased, often leaving some damage on their wake.

“Goodness, Euphemia…” he scolded. “I know it’s Christmas, my sweet, but we must be careful not to overindulge.”

Her embarrassment was immediate and all-consuming. “Oh, I wasn’t—”

She didn’t often long for the heavy powder makeup styles of the old days, but in that moment Effie would have given anything to cover up the pink tinge on her cheeks as her father plucked the pastry from her hand like she was a greedy child and replaced it with a tiny glass of something she was all too familiar with.

“Here, have a drink. A vomitisium might do you some good.” he said looking her up and down.

He then winked and vanished once more, leaving her standing with the tiny glass of familiar clear liquid, the smell of it already inducing a memory taste of bile in her throat.

Effie wondered if her father would care to know that he’d just kicked her when she was already on her knees.

Or perhaps he wouldn’t care.

Perhaps nobody cared, and nothing mattered, and nothing was real. Effie could feel herself spiraling. Flung into space, untethered and spinning. After that she hardly talked to anyone else. She didn’t touch another crumb of food. The whole party seemed like a blur. Like her head was under water and she was watching the scene take place above her.

The reality of soon being called into the dining room feels like a death sentence. She couldn’t very well ignore her duty to make conversation for the entire three course meal.

The meal…

Could she get away with moving her food around on her plate without touching it? But she was also hungry. District life had accustomed her to earlier meals, fuller plates without looks of judgment. But now her stomach was churning at the thought of three courses, her father watching...

Of eating in front of everyone.

She felt ill, she felt strangled, she felt like the air was being sucked from her lungs. She wanted to leave but that would be rude, and simply cause people to whisper more.

Whisper about her rebel associations, about how she escaped the justice trials, about her strange disappearance from society, about her running off to Twelve, about her accent softening, or her gaining weight…

It all felt like too much.

Effie was in the middle of considering whether she could get away with hiding in the bathroom for the rest of the evening when Haymitch appeared at her side.

“Fuckin’ hell, your Mom is a nightmare, you know that, sweetheart? Dragging me around with her talons for like an hour, and it ain’t in the fun way like you used to do—”

His complaining about her mother came to a screeching halt when he caught sight of her face. Effie was doing a very careful job of smiling.

But Haymitch noticed anyway. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Haymitch.” she pleaded. The last thing she needed right now was her mother lecturing her about his horrendous manners. “Nothing is the matter.”

“Then why do you got that look on your face?”

“I don’t have a look.” she hissed, her annoyance mounting.

Effie kept her gaze level, fixed on the blur of the party without wavering. Her stomach felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Every time she attempted to take a deep breath the expanding of her chest was stopped by the stiff canvas and boning of her corset. The sensation was simultaneously all too familiar and entirely foreign. She had left her old life behind and yet nothing was different. Nothing was different. She was different but nothing was different…

Her eyes stung and her throat tightened, and all she could think about was how her mother would scold her if she ruined the Christmas soirée with tears.

“Alright, we’re leaving.” Haymitch said firmly, putting down his glass.

“What?” she demanded.

“We’re leaving. Come on.” He tried to pull her towards the hall but she resisted.

“We can’t just— Haymitch, my parents will— We cannot simply leave!”

“Why not?”

Effie blinked and scoffed. “Because it’s rude.”

“The fuck do we care?” he shrugged. “You wanna leave, let’s leave.”

“I don’t want to—”

Her lie was cut off by the chiming of a delicate bell. The crowd turned to the connecting door between the drawing room and dining room where her mother was standing, silver bell in hand.

“That’s dinner, everyone!” she announced with her most gracious host smile. “If you will follow me…”

The crowd began to file in, buzzing with chatter of the upcoming meal.

Effie exhaled shakily.

“Well?” Haymitch asked.

She tentatively met his gaze, clear blue on warm gray. For a brief moment, the oppressive chatter of the drawing room faded away. She heard her mother’s voice corralling people into their seats like a proper hostess, but it sounded distant. Far away. Unimportant.

So dreadfully unimportant…

The decision seemed all too easy once she actually made it.

They made a break for it. Surely their empty seats will be noticed once everyone is sitting, but nobody gives them a second glance as they slip into the front hall and out the door.

“Haymitch, what are you— Haymitch!”

He grabs her hand and tugs without warning. “This is an escape, sweetheart, ain’t it? Better fuckin’ act like it.”

Effie doesn’t even have time to scold him for his liberal profanity because she was too busy giggling as they ran like absolute maniacs down the stone drive.

It had been a while since she’d had to run in heels. She tried to think of the last time. The 73^rd Games perhaps? Their tributes had been out early, as always. Finnick had drunkenly attempted to do a handstand in the street because Chaff had dared him to and she had run into traffic to drag him back to the sidewalk by his ear. Chaff had laughed. She remembered how Finnick had grinned, the click of her heels on pavement.

And now they were both dead, and Effie’s heels still clicked on hollow stone.

She squeezed Haymitch’s hand just a tad harder as they made it beyond the front gate.

They didn’t call a car for a reason Effie didn’t know. Perhaps walking just felt nice. They’d never had the privilege of idly wandering around the Capitol hand-in-hand before. The weather wasn’t controlled like it used to be, but it was still much more mild than out in the eastern districts. The chill in the air was held at bay by the warmth of her long coat and Haymitch’s arm around her. The lights of the city twinkled as snow floated through the air, but never quite touched the ground.

It was almost idyllic. Like they could pretend for a moment that perhaps the world had never been bad, that her home had never been a war zone, and that maybe they had met in entirely different circumstances…

Better circumstances.

“So, who said something?” Haymitch asked eventually. “Your Mom or your Dad? Or was it a rando? Some old fartbag with a saggy face? Some bitchy society wife with lifeboats for lips?”

She rolled her eyes as they rounded the avenue. “Nobody said anything.”

“Uh-huh.” he said skeptically.

They lapsed back into comfortable silence. Effie rested her head on his shoulder as they walked. She’d managed to wear rather a spot on the left shoulder of his jacket in the past year, but he assured her that he didn’t mind.

Effie thought that secretly he coveted it. A reminder. Proof that she was indeed there.

That she rested her head in the same spot every time they walked.

“I mean, you heard… The ton and their usual horrid chattering.” she sighed. “But my father may have mentioned, implied actually, that I had… perhaps gained a bit of weight…”

Haymitch’s response was immediate and firm.

“Fuck that. Fuck him. Has he looked in the mirror in the past fifteen years? I’ll jam my dick in his one good artery.”

“Please don’t talk about jamming anything of yours in any part of my father.” she hushed, then cleared her throat. “But yes, very much that.”

They continued to walk, the streets becoming increasingly more populated as they made their way deeper into the city. It wasn’t downtown club territory like where their feet would have taken them in the old days. Just sparkly department store windows and shimmering luxury apartments. She noticed that the architectural style was different than it was before. It was interesting, unlike anything she’d ever seen. More utilitarian, less ostentatious.

She was about to point it out, but it seemed Haymitch was still stuck on the previous topic.

“It doesn’t matter, you know… All the stuff they say, fuckin’ assholes…” he shook his head. “It doesn’t mean shit, Effie. It doesn’t matter”

“I know.” she smiled softly.

In fact, it all seemed to mean especially nothing when she was standing next to him.  

“I know.”

He didn’t even make an attempt at hiding his grin as they entered their hotel. His hand stayed firm on the small of her back all the way to the elevator.

“What on earth are we going to do with the rest of our evening?” she sighed as doors slid closed behind him.

“Dunno.” he shrugged, pressing the button. “We can have our own thing. Don’t need those pompous dickwads to have a good Christmas.”

Effie rolled her eyes but didn’t bother to fully suppress her laugh.

They entered their room and she immediately stumbled out of her heels as Haymitch flopped unceremoniously on the bed.

“My goodness,” she huffed, mostly to herself. “And to think I used to run around all day in ones higher than that…”

She padded into the bathroom in her stocking feet as she removed her jewelry. A simple string of pearls and gold cluster earrings that she had bought specifically for this occasion which now seemed like a waste of money. Perhaps someone in Twelve would get married soon and she could get some use out of the pearls again.

He was on the phone when she re-entered the room, ordering them dinner. She was down to sliding her stockings off and unpinning her hair. Even shaking her curls barely returned them to their pre-rollers and hairspray state.

When he got off the phone with room service he caught her staring out the window at a skyline she’d looked at for her entire life, but one that no longer felt like home.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, princess?” he asked from the bed.

If this wasn’t home anymore, where was?

“I miss the children.”

“Even when they’re annoying little shits?”

She looked at him, her only answer being a small smile settling on her lips.

“Yeah…” he said. “Me too.”

“I wish I’d just…” she looked back to the skyline. Dancing candles of light against the darkness and snow. “I wish we had done Christmas in Twelve.”

“Yeah?”

He sounded surprised.

“Mhm-hm.”

“I mean… there’s always next year, right?”

Effie smiled and nodded. “Next year.”

A promise of the future was a nice thing. It settled in her chest, heavy and warm. It probably helped that he looked so very handsome, lazing on white sheets. At some point he’d removed his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves.

Very handsome indeed.

She made sure he got a good look at her posterior as she strutted back towards the bathroom with her nightgown and makeup remover in hand.

He swatted at her behind as she passed the bed. “Fuckin’ minx.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” she flirted from the bathroom door with a knowing smirk.

Private hotel room Christmas had most certainly been the right call.

She finished getting undressed, depositing her dress and boned undergarments into an empty chair, very much doubting that she would ever use them again. Unless her parents dragged her up for summer solstice or something of that ilk. Not that she had to come running at their beck and call. Effie didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to anymore. Not ever again.

The food arrived and there was certainly a lot of it. She loaded them both plates while Haymitch poured them sparkling water. He had been getting better with reducing his drinking to the absolute minimum, but they didn’t want to break any progress by indulging in some holiday wine.  

“Hungry?” he asked as she returned to the bed with plates laden with food.

“Positively famished.” she huffed, climbing up next to him. “Those canapés were like eating air.”

He took his plate, a funny grin on his face. He looked almost proud, although she hadn’t a clue why. “Fuckin’ Capitol food.”

“Agreed.”

As it turned out, Christmas with just Haymitch was the most enjoyable holiday night Effie could ever remember having. They watched Christmas movies on the television that Effie hadn’t seen since her nanny-filled childhood and laughed over how ridiculous they were. They ate an excessive degree of room service food and drank gallons of bubbly juice.

At some point around one in the morning their lazy cuddling turned into lazy sex.

Afterwards, when she was tired beyond belief and fucked soft, they just laid together and listened to the sound of eachother’s breathing. A post-war habit of theirs. She felt as he traced his hand up and down her body. Time and war had changed her. Changed them both.

Post-war life had added inches to her hips, a softness to her stomach.

Probably for the better, she reminds herself on the constant. Better than taking tiny clear drinks into the bathroom at every party. Better than corsets, better than counting calories, better than tightening a tape measure around her waist and thighs once a week to make sure she stayed within modeling parameters. Better than two fingers down the throat, cold toilet bowls, stomach acid on her tongue.

If she was being honest, it probably would bother her more if Haymitch wasn’t so distinctly unbothered by it.

Sometimes it was like nothing in the world was real, except for him.

Her life before, this life she had left behind… The parties, the society squabbles, the hiding insults behind practiced smiles, signaling wealth, pretentious art, drug idled orgies covered up by snow-white weddings, gossip rags and rag-tag pretenders, all of it dusted in a thick layer of powder and press… It had all been an illusion. A desperate flailing attempt to feel real in a world where everything was deliberately artifice. A cloying and vapid game.

But Haymitch wasn’t a game. He wasn’t a trick. His hand had real weight, dimpling her skin. She could smell his plain goat’s soap on the sheets and she felt him every time her heart beat in her chest.

“I love you,” she whispered, entwining their fingers on her bare stomach.

She could see in his eyes that he wanted to say it back, that he wished he could. Effie doesn’t mind doing it for him. He had released her from so many of her own burdens.

She was happy to do one in return.  

“And you love me.”

“Yeah…” he said, his words and eyes never truer. “I do.”

And I know I made the same mistakes every time

Bridges burn, I never learn

At least I did one thing right

But while the war had changed so much of them, some things didn’t change at all. Perhaps they couldn’t change. The sun would always rise in the east, spring would always follow winter, dogs would always get lost in the forest whereas cats would always return home.

And Effie and Haymitch would always find something to argue about.

Even if most of the time, they couldn’t even recall how these arguments began.

“Do not fuckin’ walk away right now!”

“I will walk away if I damn well please!” she shouted back as she marched down the hall and into the kitchen.

He followed her because of course he did, surrounded by storm and anger.

“You’re acting crazy, you fuckin’ know that?”

“Oh? Oh? I’m acting crazy?”

“Yes, marching up and down the stairs and screaming like fuckin’—” he began to shout, but Effie had heard quite enough for one day.

“You know what?! I don’t want to hear it.”

She stalked out of the kitchen towards the stairs but even that didn’t stop him from yelling after her.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that?” she shouted back in her most disingenuous tone.

“Holy fuck, can you stop being such a cunty bitch for one second and just talk?”

They both freeze, Effie’s mouth falling open in absolute shock. She watches as Haymitch goes through a hundred stages of realizing what he’s said and how the hurt registers in her face.

“No, no. I didn’t mean that,”

But Effie doesn’t care. She doesn’t want to hear another word out of his mouth. He tries to grab at her hand on the railing but she’s already moving.

“Would you… Fucking hell,” he grumbles. “It just fucking slipped out, sweetheart! I didn’t mean that you’re a cunt or a bitch, I wouldn’t—”

She’s already halfway up the stairs when she spins around.

“Well you just did!” she yells back. “I barely tolerated you calling me that in the old days, I don’t know where the fuck you get off thinking I would tolerate it today!”

“I wasn’t— I was just saying, you kept cutting me off, it’s not—”

“I am well aware that you have a history of referring to me with charmingly profane monikers, but I never… I never thought again, not now, I—”

No matter how hard she tried to stop it, raw emotion cracked through her voice.

“How very foolish of me.” she whispered.

“Effie, come on,” he tried to reason, clinging to the railing. “I meant it like shitty but the other stuff just slipped out I don’t… It was an accident, sweetheart…”

“No, no, I don’t want to hear it!” She turned on her heel and stormed up the rest of the stairs. “Just leave me alone!”

And he did leave her alone.

For a few moments, at least. But Effie was approximately twenty minutes into crying herself to sleep on top of the bedsheets of their guest room when she heard a knock on the door.

“Effie?” She held her breath but said nothing. “I… I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean it.” She still said nothing.

Effie heard him sigh and struggle with his words for a bit before something else coherent came through from the other side of the door.

“I, I… fucking… love you, alright?”

It was a rare thing, those words from his lips.

She should have said something. Returned his love maybe, tell him to go away but promise to talk in the morning. Maybe apologize herself.

But she didn’t do any of that.

She didn’t want to. Her heart hurt too much and if she opened her mouth all that would come out would be sobs. So she stayed frozen and waited for him to leave.

“Fuck.” she heard him say, perhaps to himself.

After that, nothing else came from the other side of the door.

Eventually she choked out the sobs she had been holding back, only because she couldn’t hold them any longer. Resigning herself to a night alone in the guestroom, she curled deeper in on herself. Effie didn’t remember falling asleep, but she did remember crying and then waking up the next morning with a pounding headache. Every muscle in her body seemed to weigh a thousand pounds and her eyes felt sore from crying.

I’m far too old for this, she thought bitterly as she rolled onto her back.

She used to be nineteen, capable of clubbing from dusk until dawn in a full corset and heels, mix vicious amounts of alcohol and drugs, participating in acrobatic level orgies, get in a screaming match with her boyfriend on the car ride home, and she would still be able to make eleven-thirty brunch reservations the next day without feeling it.

Except now she was thirty-seven. Her whole body hurt, her head was pounding, and one idiotic fight made her want to not get out of bed for a week.

Effie looks over to the empty space next to her, and it hits her all at once that she’d slept on her side of the bed, even without him there. An unconscious decision her body had made for her in the middle of the night.

Always leaving space for him, always waiting for him to come back to her…

She threw the covers back and made her way down the hall, scolding herself for not collecting her things previously because it’s easier than thinking about every other decision that had been made last night.

She tiptoes into their bedroom, their bedroom. Haymitch is fast asleep on his side of the bed, and she’s careful not to look at him, careful to avoid the floorboards she knows will creak.

Not that it matters.

“Hey,” she hears him croak from behind her before she can even reach the dresser.

“Good morning.” she fired back in her iciest tone.

Then came the rustle of sheets behind her and she doesn’t need to look to know he’s sitting up, his eyes bleary, his chest bare, scratching the back of his head, only further disheveling his hair…

Apparently no amount of arguing could stop her from thinking about how handsome he looked in the mornings.

“You sleep alright?”

She’d spent most of the night crying or pretending to rehash the argument with a Haymitch shaped figment of her imagination.

“I slept perfectly fine. In fact, I’ve never woken up feeling so refreshed before.”

It had been a while since she’d lied through her teeth like that, especially to him. But surprisingly, it came back to her like a second nature.

“Yeah?” He didn’t sound angry. She didn’t know what he sounded like. “Well, you were tired yesterday. Probably needed it.”

“Mhm.” she hummed in lieu of a response.

Silence followed. Effie spent a very long time pretending to dig through her drawer of wool stockings.

“Look, sweetheart,” he eventually huffed. “I didn’t mean what I said last night.”

“Uh-huh.”

She still didn’t turn around.

“Fuckin’ hell, Effie…” he groaned. “I wasn’t saying you were a bitch, I wouldn’t fucking say that… I mean, not anymore.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

More silence.

Effie sighed and finally turned, forcing himself to face him. She wished she was simply angry. That would have been easier. But she looks at him and she loves him so dearly despite the deep pit of betrayal she feels in her stomach.

“I can accept that it might have slipped out, I can, but…” She exhaled and collected her words. “Let me be very clear, I will not tolerate being called names like that. Not by you, and especially not at this point in our relationship.”

He frowned, seemingly genuinely confused.

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“It means that I’ve been called a myriad of names by a wide range of people as of late, Haymitch.” she said, sighing deeply again. “I have been called a bitch, a cunt, a traitor, a whore, a shrew, every name under the sun has been used against me. By my old friends, by the media, even people in this very district. But that’s all fine, why should I care what they say? But I refuse to be called that by the man I share a home and a bed with, I just… not anymore.”

Something that might have been realization passed over his face.

Effie didn’t give herself enough time to find out, slamming the open drawers shut and gathering her clothes in her arms.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll get dressed in the spare room.”

“Don’t, I mean…”

It was Haymitch’s turn to sigh.

“Come on, sweetheart… All your shits here, all your clothes and the makeup stuff.” he said, much too soft. “I grew up around words like that, alright? Been callin’ people bitches and cunts since before I could walk, it doesn’t mean anything, not like you’re thinkin’. I’m sorry, alright? I won’t do it again, don’t… don’t wanna upset you again. So will you just stay?”

Part of her wanted to stay. Yearned to fall into their bed, into his arms, and never look back.

But those words were still ringing in her ears.

Traitor. Shrew. Whore.

Cunty bitch.

 “I’m going to help Peeta with the bakery today.” she said quietly. “I’ll be back later.”

Effie left without another word, feeling his gaze on her back as she closed the door behind her.

It’s not the truth, but it’s not technically a lie either. She does come back, although much later than anyone expected, especially Haymitch.

The bakery closes at five, but she doesn’t walk back to Victor Village. She doesn’t tell anyone where she goes, not even Peeta. She’s not even sure herself, she just wanders through fields and forest, allowing her feet to carry her and her cracked heart. Let them speculate over her whereabouts during their dinner of three. Effie doesn’t return home until the children have gone and it was well and truly dark out.

She was surprised to find Haymitch sitting at the kitchen table, alone.  

Effie didn’t give him a second look as she hung up her jacket and toed off her boots.

“You missed dinner.”

“My apologies.” she mumbled. “I went for a walk.”

“Long walk.”

“Yes, well…” Silence reigned. “I needed to clear my head.”

She didn’t say anything further as she walked past him, deeper into the kitchen. She pulled a glass down off the shelf and filled it with water at the sink. The air in the room was still and unsettling.

“I left chicken in the oven if you want it.” Haymitch said, another weak attempt.

“No thank you. I’m afraid I’m not hungry.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Right.”

Effie felt every muscle in her neck tense, her jaw clenching at his childish response. If he wanted to play petty, she could be petty. She emptied her water glass down the drain and set it in the bottom of the sink, perhaps a little harder than necessary. She continued to move around the kitchen, deliberately ignoring him because she knew it would get on his nerves.

She was right.

“Are we gonna talk about last night?” he barked, clearly frustrated.

“I don’t know what there is to talk about…” she replied, as flippantly as possible.

“Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“Language.”

For a moment they just stared at each other, challenging one another.

Say something else, Effie thought. Swear again, call her a bitch, kick her out, call her ugly, threaten to rip of her dresses, fuck her so hard he leaves bruises… A million things, all of which he had done in the past. A million lifetimes ago.

But it never comes.

He just sighed heavily before throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Fucking… fine. I listened to your spiel, I apologized, I did all the shit. If you wanna go on acting like this, and ignoring me, that’s fuckin’… whatever, that’s fucking fine.” He stood up and was quiet for a moment, running a rough hand through his hair. “I can’t get shit right, can I?”

Effie blinked, momentarily confused by the unfamiliar direction of the argument.

He didn’t sound angry, just… sad.

“I never said that.” she whispered, but Haymitch was already spiraling.

“Didn’t need you to.” he snarled, pacing the room like a wild animal in a cage that was too small. “Haymitch, who can’t be trusted to fold his own clothes. Haymitch, who doesn’t clean the bathroom properly. Haymitch, who apparently flirted with the fruit stand girl because I talked to her for too long that one time. Haymitch, and his boring fucking books. Nothing to offer but shitty district life with fucking village drunk ‘cause if he stops drinking his body might implode. Haymitch, who forgot to watch his mouth one time and now everything’s gone to shit.”

Each sentence felt like a needle in her heart, far more real and painful than any amount of name calling could ever be.

“Did I miss anything, sweetheart? Anything you wanna add to the list of reasons I ain’t good enough to keep you around?”

“Is that truly how you think I see you?” Effie breathed, stunned beyond reaction. The bridge of her nose burned fiercely. “When I tell you how much I love you every day with no expectation of you reciprocating my words?”

An ugly, self-loathing chuckle left his mouth.

“Didn’t mean to be such a burden to you, sweetheart.”

“I, I didn’t say it was a burden—”  

“Haymitch, who’s fucked in the head cause he got his family murdered when he was sixteen.” he shook his head, suddenly very interested in the pattern of their countertops. “It’s a fucking wonder you ever stooped to my level.”

Effie was truly tearful now, she couldn’t help it. “That’s not true, Haymitch.”

“Ain’t it?”

She was utterly speechless. The idea that he truly thought those things… that he thought that was what she thought… It made her throat burn and her chest hurt.

Effie didn’t even realize how long she’d remained silent until he spoke again.

“Ya know what, fuck this. I’m gonna go play chess with the boy.” he grunted, walking towards the back door. “Maybe you should sleep in the other room again. Wouldn’t wanna send you running back to the Capitol cause I snore or some shit.”

He storms out and leaves her standing there, frozen in silence.

For heaven knows how long, Effie doesn’t move a muscle. She can’t. She just stands in the middle of their empty kitchen, blinking back tears, her gaze burning a hole in the door he had just slammed behind him.

Eventually she does move, although she doesn’t know why. Her limbs feel robotic, almost detached from herself as she moves through the house and up the stairs. Into the guest room. She removes her wool socks and her dress, trades them for a nightgown and knit sweater. She barely thinks about anything. Just brushes her hair and removes her contact lenses. Shoves her faithful pink glasses up her nose. Going through the motions.

It’s only when she empties the last of her hand cream bottle into her palm and makes a mental note to put hand cream on their shopping list that it all hits her.

Would they even share a shopping list anymore?

It was one of those tiny domestic things that had grown into her routine, their shared routine. Would they still have that after this? Part of her was screaming not to be ridiculous. Couples fought all the time. Fighting used to be a primary staple of their relationship…

But it wasn’t anymore, and hadn’t been for a long time.

He had apologized. Last night, again this morning.

But Effie had ignored it because she was selfish and stupid and apparently the owner of a debilitating ability to ruin everything she touched. And now she had hurt him…

She crept to the window of the guest room and pushed back the curtains to look at the children’s house, only a few doors down the street. She could see the lights on in the living room. The vague silhouettes of Haymitch and Peeta playing chess at the table in front of the window.

There is a brief moment where she thinks she should go to him.

Run down the street in her nightgown like a maniac, swallow her pride and apologize a million times over. Wrap her arms around him and squeeze until he could feel her heart beating in his own chest. She imagined giving him a kiss on his cheek, his stubble scraping against her lips, pressing her forehead to his shoulder, promising that she would never act so selfishly again. That wild horses couldn’t drag her from his side.

But she doesn’t.

Because what if he turns her away? What if he looks at her and there’s nothing but cold disdain? Effie can’t bear the thought. Can’t stand the prospect of another argument.

She was tired, and her head was throbbing, and the thought of him confirming her worst nightmare to her face is too much.

So instead she trudged down the hall and stole the toothpaste out of their once shared bathroom. Brushes her teeth in the hall bath and returns to what used to be their guest room. Now her room, Effie supposed.

It’s a stray thought which squeezes at her heart and burns behind her eyes.

Just as she’s about to take her glasses off and reach for the bedside light she sees something flutter across the room.

She squints to confirm what could only be described as her second worst nightmare.

Haymitch not loving her anymore? Devastating, but could be handled with a lifetime of dignified crying herself to sleep.

But a spider in her room?

Effie felt her heartbeat double as she pushed herself back against the wooden headboard, an undignified shriek leaving her mouth as the most terrifying spider she’d ever seen in her life moved across the carpet next to the bed.

“Haymitch! Haymitch!” she screamed at the top of her voice.

Her eyes darted around the room for some sort of escape, but there was none. It was right next to the door, and Effie was in her bare feet. She didn’t look away from it though, she didn’t dare. If she let it out of her sight who knows where it would end up…

Her bedding, her nightgown, in her hair?

“Haymitch!” she screams again.

Then she remembers… He’s not here. Gone. At the children’s house, playing chess with Peeta. Effie wants to cry. She’s barely able to keep her hands steady as she reaches for the phone on the bedside table. She plucks the receiver up and dials the children’s number as fast as she can.

“Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up…” she repeats desperately as she watches the spider continue to explore the carpet.

Each empty ring triggers a bumbling sob in the back of her throat.

“Hello?”

It’s Peeta who picks up.

“Is Haymitch there?” she whimpered.

Under normal circumstances she would be embarrassed to be tearful with the children, but this was no ordinary night. Not by a long shot.

“Yeah, but he’s, um—”

“I know he’s angry, but please put him on, I need him, I—”

She is cut off by her own choking sob. There is some brief silence on the other end of the line. Some indistinguishable words. A heavy sigh. Some shuffling as the receiver changes hands.

“What?”

He sounds irritated but she doesn’t care, she doesn’t care.

At that moment, she was only glad to hear his voice.

“There’s a spider here.” she manages, her voice still shaking. “In my room. I need you to come, please Haymitch, please…”

When she had first moved to Twelve, he and the children had all laughed at her alleged fear of spiders. The teasing had stopped when one day Effie found one in the bath.

That had been an afternoon of screaming, of Effie huddled in the hallway in a towel with her head between her knees, begging for Haymitch to kill it. He had wanted to just turn the water on but that wasn’t in Effie’s book of rules. She didn’t want it in the pipes, didn’t want its remains on the carpet or on the bottom of one of their shoes. Even after Haymitch had killed it and taken it outside, she had refused to use the bath until it was scrubbed with bleach nearly fifty times over.

They all knew that this was a horrible, panic-attack inducing, all-encompassing fear that Effie had, which was probably why Haymitch was back at the house in less than a minute, despite their fight.

“I’m here, sweetheart, I’m here…” he reassured her gently from the guest room door.

“No, no! Don’t move, you might step on it!”

She watched as he took her in, his gaze passing up her terrified stance, her white-knuckle grip on the phone receiver, her back against the headboard. It annoyed her slightly. Why was he looking at her when there was a spider in need of killing?

“Okay, it’s okay,” he said gently, holding his hands up. “Where is it? Just point.”

“It’s over there.”

He followed her shaking finger to the spot on the carpet where the horrible thing was currently lurking.

While it was a gargantuan monster in Effie’s eyes, Haymitch was entirely unbothered by spiders in general. It was one of those native district things that she would never understand.

“Okay, I’m here now. Why don’t you get out of here and I’ll take care of it?”

“No! I can’t!” she screeched, curling tighter in on herself. “What if it comes towards me, Haymitch? What if it comes running at me with its horrible spider legs?”

“Okay, okay, it’s okay…” he backtracks in his most gentle tone. “Gimme a second then.”

“What are you doing?” she demands.

“Trust me, okay?”

Effie nods, and watches as he slowly takes a tissue from the box on the dresser and picks up the thing with such ease it sends a shiver down her spine.

“Is it dead?”

“Uh-huh.” he confirmed. “Don’t worry, I got ‘em real good, sweetheart.”

He takes it to the hall bathroom and she hears the toilet flush, signaling the final exit of the insect. Effie shivers and makes a mental note to avoid the hall bathroom toilet for the next few months.

“It’s gone.” he assures her tenderly when he returns to the doorway.

“You’re certain?”

Her voice sounds small, even to her own ears. Small, stupid, and childlike. But Haymitch seems undeterred. If anything, she swears she sees his expression soften.

“Yeah. Promise.”

Her legs still feel itchy and she swears there’s something crawling on the back of her neck. The image of a million spiders hiding inside the mattress underneath her fills Effie’s brain. Would it be terribly ridiculous to just burn the entire house down and buy a new one?

“I keep thinking there’s one on me.”

“Come on,” He moves towards her, a hand outstretched. “Come downstairs and I’ll get you a tea or something. Calm you down, yeah?”

A fresh wave of tears washes over her. From the situation or his kindness, she isn’t sure which.

“Can you get my shoes?” she asks, barely a whisper.

“Yeah, sure.”

“And will you check inside them to make sure there isn’t anything in them? Please?”

“I will, I will,” he promises in all sincerity.

He returns a moment later with her brown boots in hand.

“Nothing there.” he guarantees, offering her his hand once again.

He helps her climb off the bed after she puts them on, and Effie is certain she’s crushing his hand with how hard she’s holding it but she doesn’t care. He leads her out of the room with a steady hand on her waist and Effie can’t help but practically sprint downstairs as soon as she’s out the door, her skin prickling all the way down to the kitchen.

“You wanna coffee instead?” he asks, never far behind her.

He knows she likes it more than tea, and the urge to cry still won’t leave her alone.

“Tea is fine. Thank you.”

He wordlessly puts the kettle on to boil. Effie closes her eyes and drops her head onto the table in the most undignified fashion, but she can’t even bring herself to care. She just tries to concentrate on her breathing. On how the table smells like home and how he places a steady hand on the nape of her neck when he sets a warm mug down in front of her.

She barely manages a breathy thank you.

“You alright, princess?”

He sits down next to her, settling the same hand on her knee. Rubbing reassuringly up and down her thigh. Her head feels like it’s full of cement but she forces herself to raise it anyway and smile.

“Yes. My apologies, I just…” Effie cleared her throat. “I just despise them. We should hire someone to clean that room. Perhaps the whole house.”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

He’s being far too nice and it only makes her feel more guilty about their fighting. What kind of relationship was this? One where they never learn their lessons? Where no matter how good things get they always go back to what they know; biting at each other's throats…

Although, she doesn’t linger on that thought long, as she swears she feels eight legs scamper across the back of her neck and her hand jumps to her hair.

“Hey, hey,” he smiles, taking her hand in his own and resting it on the table. “It’s okay. You want me to check that there’s none on you? Or you can go for a shower, get a new nightgown and shit?”

His hand is still resting on top of hers.

“No, no, it’s alright.” she sighs, thoroughly exhausted. “I just need a moment.”

She takes a shaky sip of tea before once again resigning herself to the very embarrassing position of her head down on the table. She closes her eyes and attempts some deep breathing yoga nonsense she learned during her workout phase in her twenties.

But Haymitch is undeterred, entirely unembarrassed.

“You’re okay,” he tries to sooth.

She hears his chair scrap against the floor as she budges closer, his free hand resting solidly on the back of her neck. A kiss in her hair. His fingers petting her curls.

Some of the tension dissipates from her shoulders. Not all, but some.

She was so very tired.

“I should go back to bed…” she whispers into the wood of their table.

“You really think you’ll be able to sleep in that room?”

Effie doesn’t move because she knows exactly what the answer is. The likelihood of her ever setting foot in that room again were slim, let alone actually sleeping in it.

And they don’t have another guest room.

“You could come back to our room…” he suggests in a low mumble, as if he was reading her mind. “There ain’t none in there. You clean it so damn often.” with a little smirk. Like he was suddenly fond of her neurosis.

But the longer she stays silent, the faster any trace of humour falls from his expression. When she finally did speak, he looked nearly as sad as she felt.

“I could sleep on the sofa in the living room.” she suggested with half-a-heart. “Or at the children’s…”

“No,” he says. “If anyone’s taking the couch, it’ll be me. You take the bed if you wanna sleep alone.”

Did she want to sleep alone? Did she well and truly want to sleep in their bed without him there? To look at his empty spot and know that he was just downstairs when they had no reason to be apart?

Is that what she wanted?

“The thing is…” she whispered. “I don’t think I want to be alone.”

Not now. Perhaps not ever.

And certainly not when he was within reach.

That night they went upstairs together, holding onto one another like their lives depended upon it, Effie practically falling asleep on his shoulder as they mounted the stairs. Although, she felt much more awake by the time they actually reached the bedroom.

Why sleep when you could have some disgustingly domestic make-up sex?

Slow missionary. On the bed.

Ten years ago they both would have laughed.

“Effie, I…” he murmured while he’s thrusting inside her, but the rest of his words never came.

“I know.”

She always knew.

He took back up a steady grinding motion and moved his lips to her breasts, chasing the sound of her pleasure with the method they’d diligently perfect. He could probably tell that she wouldn’t be long. He knew her sounds so intimately. Like the back of his hand.

Her orgasm came less than a second later, the shuddering of her pulsing setting off Haymitch’s own. He stifled his groans against her skin, his nose pressed hard to her sternum.

When they were both spent they laid together in a tangle of sheets and limbs, bathed in lamplight and bare affection.

“I am sorry,” she whispers into darkness.

His hand is resting on her naked stomach and she’s tracing random patterns between his knuckles.

“Don’t be.” he grumbles. “Ain’t your fault that you’re scared of ‘em.”

It was generous, almost gallant of him to pretend that that was what she was apologizing for. They had never been good at this part of the arguing. The part where you’re supposed to say the right things and kiss the wounds better.

“No,” she said. “Not for that.”

But she wanted them to be good at it.

She wanted to try.

“Do I really make you feel that way? Like you’re not good enough?”

“I was just angry, sweetheart. Saying shit I didn’t mean.”

She lets her head fall to the side and searches for the truth in his gray eyes. He sighs and grumbles when she won’t let it go, which is strangely endearing. He was a grumpy old man with an unfounded ability to make her heart swell in her chest.

“Look, I don’t sit and fuckin’ ponder over it every night before I go to sleep… But sometimes,” He sighs. “I dunno, I just think—”

“Well don’t.” she cuts him off. Effie takes his hand in her own and squeezes. “Don’t you dare think anything of the sorts for one second more, Haymitch Abernathy. Because it’s not true. In fact, it might be the absolute furthest thing from the truth.”

Her words coax an old familiar smile onto his lips. He watched her in the dark, his gaze passing over every outline of her features in the lamplight… Like he’s trying to memorize her…

“Ain’t done a lot right in my life, sweetheart.”

“Me either.” she whispered.

He snorts even though it was true, but she returns it with a playfully scolding nudge.

They had both made so many mistakes over the years… Done so much bad, to themselves and others, burned every bridge to ash, made a thousand wrong moves and suffered the consequence of every single one of them.

“Just… don’t wanna mess you up. Us up.” he amends. “You’re the only fuckin’ thing I’ve ever done right.”

Did he know she thought the same of him?

I’m laughin’ with my lover, makin’ forts under covers

Trust him like a brother, yeah

You know I did one thing right

Starry eyes sparkin’ up my darkest night

And so she showed him, in every little way she could, that he was the only thing that had ever really meant something in her life.

The only thing she’d ever done right.

And so they tried hard, they tried so damn hard. To not let their habitual bickering devolve into true arguments, to not let annoyances fester, to not let silences become long and heavy. She thought they’d grown into it rather well, all things considered.

Effie had loved him for as long as she could remember, even if it hadn’t always been in the right way. But perhaps they could go the distance, do things the right way one day at a time. She didn’t ever want to live without him again. She enjoyed splitting muffins with him every morning too much. She loved this life where they collected eggs from the geese and she got to rest her head in his lap whenever she was tired.

As long as they could have this, she would never be lonely again.

“Are you telling me I’m wrong?” she asked with a grin as she padded around their bedroom, hairbrush in hand.

It was late, far too late to be awake but they were anyway. The windows were open, letting the cool nighttime air of the summer waft in between dancing curtains of white linen. Haymitch was lounging in bed, watching her with a silly grin on his face as she attempted to tame her hair into a braid before they slept.

Her hair had been short at the end of the war. Resting just at her shoulders, flattened curls that were unsure of how to breathe without a wig sitting on top of them.

Her hair was much longer now. Bouncy curls of honey blonde which fell well down her back.

“No, I’m tellin’ you you’re crazy,” he snorted without an ounce of malice. “Do you know how old we are, sweetheart?”

“I am staunchly in my thirties, thank you very much.”

“Late thirties.”

His comment earned him a decorative embroidered pillow aimed directly at his face. He caught it in one hand with too much ease and laughed.

“I’m simply saying,” she continued, strutting over to the bed as she shrugged off her cardigan. “I know we don’t want to have children, but if we did they would be very attractive.”

“That’s an insane thing to talk about.”

“It’s not!” she protested. “I’m simply saying that objectively, they would be stunning.”

“Oh yeah?” he snorted.

He seemed unconvinced despite Effie’s very sound argument.

“Absolutely.” She bypassed curling up on her side of the bed and climbed directly into his lap. She delicately brushed his hair out of his face, relishing the how happy he looked to have her straddling him, to have his hands on her waist. “You and I are already individually blessed in the genetic pool, but together? Our children would be born supermodels.”

“You’re so modest, sweetheart.” he said, dragging his hands up and down her hips.

She smirked and wiggled in his lap. “I do try.”

Effie knew it was a ridiculous conversation, but there was no seriousness behind either of their grins.

After all, what were long-term, essentially marriage but without a ring, relationships for if not for endless silly conversations in the dead of night?

“Our imaginary offspring would also be completely fucked in the head, you know that right?” he said, encouraging her antics. “Like borderline OCD, addiction gene, mental illness two-for-one special, fucked in the head.”

“You’re being very rude for a man who has the model mother of his unborn supermodel children on top of him.” she said in a low voice.

She took her hands from his chest to his face, tracing along his jaw and cheekbones. Feeling the beginnings of an erection underneath her, she wiggled her body against his grip. Not trying to get free, no; trying to get further caught.

“Am I?” he asked.

“Mhm-hmm.” She leaned in and kissed him, her lips grazing his softly and then more intense. “Who cares who’s scrambled in the head anyway?”

“I believe I said fucked.”

She ignored him in favour of planting a kiss on his cheek, down his jaw, before finding his lips again.

“You’d be surprised how much good looks can make up for in the world.” she whispered, running her hands back down his chest.

It was a strange thing, but Effie remembered being attracted to him as a teenager. She remembered the Quarter Quell posters they sold, an eighteen by twenty-four inch glossy print of sixteen year old Haymitch, all broad shoulders and chiseled abs and a carved jaw.

He didn’t look like his teenage self anymore, but then again neither did she.

And for some reason she couldn’t explain, she felt more attracted to him now than she had then. He was still broad-shouldered, sure, but age and drink had made his middle soft. He still kept his hair long like some district hobo and he was rarely clean shaven. It was everything her Capitol upbringing had taught her to find unappealing in men but she wanted him, fuck did she ever want him.

She’d been cosseted from bodies like his her entire life. Haymitch wasn’t some steroid-hopped, full body polish, waxed, pumped, and polished dandy boy. He was solid, doughy, warm and real. Wrinkles and chest hair. Effie wanted to kiss every inch of him and have sex with him until his dick broke.

“Look at you,” she hummed in his ear, rotating her hips in a slow back and forth.

She could feel how hard he was underneath her and she loved that she could do that to him, that she could feel his skin twitch as she licked the shell of his ear.

“My handsome man.”

“Rather look at you,” he smirks.

“Mhm,” she kisses him again, but even her lips can only stop his smart ass remarks for so long.

“Are you saying my looks make up for my fucked head?”

“Scrambled.” she corrected.

Her tongue finds its way into his mouth, grazing his own. She carefully bites at his lips ever so slightly, eliciting a moan out of both of them. He must have been tired of waiting for her to get to the main event, because in the most Haymitch way possible, he breaks away from her and grabs her by the waist, pulling her fully down so that their bodies are flush.

“So are you gonna scramble me or just give me a hard-on and go to bed?”

Effie collapsed into an unfettered fit of giggles, burying her face in Haymitch’s chest as he chuckled at his own joke, flipping her onto her back and hoisting himself up on top so that they could get down to business.

It was the best laugh and best sex Effie could ever remember having.

Of course, nights weren’t always like this. Nights weren’t always easy. Sometimes Haymitch still needed to sleep during the day because shadows and memories haunted him at night. Sometimes his nightmares would wake her in the small hours, sometimes Effie couldn’t sleep because her brain was trying to recall every bad thing she’d ever done, sometimes ghosts of dead children visited them both.

But they had each other, and often enough that made nights just the tiniest bit better.

My baby’s fit like a daydream

Walkin’ with his head down, I’m the one he’s walkin’ to

So call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to

Days in the districts weren’t always easy either.

Eventually things in Twelve began to settle, as all things must eventually. People who had been pushed away by the war moved back, new houses were built, new brick laid on top of bombshell paths. It didn’t look like a district of war anymore, but it didn’t look like old times either, even Effie knew that much.

It was a new District Twelve. Scruffy dogs still shuffle up and down the streets, bony mules hitched to wooden carts, barefoot boys spent the summer in overalls chasing each other down the street with sticks and balls, and most of the town’s water still came from the well pump on the corner of Main and Market.

But there was a vague optimism in the air, one of the likes which Effie had never seen in all her years of coming to Twelve. Gardens seemed greener, the air less tense. People started painting their window shutters different colours, children ran a little freer. There was more money, more favours, more kindness to go around.

It was as if the entirety of District Twelve had finally released the breath it had been holding.

And Effie, Haymitch, and the children found themselves right in the middle of it. Katniss still liked to sell her hunting catches at market, although they suspected that was mostly out of habit and comfort. Haymitch grumbled about the return of the ‘nosy district bitches’ but weathered it in favour of the return of proper food stores and helping Peeta lift trays of bread at the bakery.

Effie kept cautiously to herself, offering her skills of mending with a needle and thread to anyone who asked, and selling cheap dozens of Haymitch’s goose eggs because the eggs the new government shipped in were still beyond expensive for the average market goer.

Because of all that, nobody seemed to mind her presence. At least not enough to start something, which was perfectly all right with her.

People mostly liked to whisper, gossip about the circumstances of her living in Haymitch’s house. Some children who were too young to remember when she used to hand out juvenile death sentences once a year called her Mrs. Abernathy, while their mother’s whispered about how there had never been a wedding.

But none of it mattered, not truly.

“Mornin’, Mrs. A!”

“Good morning, boys!” she called back as the pair of young brothers raced across her yard. She was out on the porch, hanging her freshly washed kitchen linens over the railing to dry. “Not heading to the woods on our own, are we?”

“No, Mrs. A.” they chorused back.

Jem and Addie Brandywell were Twelve natives who had recently moved back after the war. At eight and five respectively, they were a part of the group that was too young to remember her beyond the nice blonde lady who mended clothes and handed out cookies in Victor Village.

To them, she was nothing beyond Mrs. Abernathy.

“My Ma sent me over for eggs.” Jem, the oldest of the two, said as he approached the steps. “We ain’t had our five dollars at the beginnin’ of the week, so we had to wait ‘till today. She said she’s real sorry for not comin’ on the day. Hopes it ain’t an inconvenience to you and Mr. A.”

“Not at all, my darlings.” she smiled, abandoning her laundry. “Come up. I’m sure I’ve got a nice dozen for you somewhere.”

Both boys followed her up into the house without hesitation. She didn’t say a thing about them tracking mud into her spotless kitchen, she would just mop once they left. At least they were wearing shoes.

The boys hung back while she went into the cold room, searching for a spare dozen.

They seemed adorably fascinated by the kitchen, which Effie imagines is bigger and a much sunnier shade of yellow than their kitchen at home.

“Your house is real nice, Mrs. A!” Jem called.

“Why thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Ain’t at all like Flint said.” Addie the younger said before he was shushed by his older brother.

Effie, unable to find a clean dozen, came out into the kitchen with the basket of the freshly collected from that morning and carried them to the sink. Fresh eggs were lovely, as long as they weren’t covered in dirt and poop.

The two boys hopped up onto the counter stools as she carefully began to clean their eggs.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of young Mr. Maycomb in my house.” she hummed as she worked.

She’d only ever seen Flint Maycomb in passing, at market or leaving the school. Haymitch and Katniss were both in agreement that his mother, Mrs. Maycomb, was a nuisance. Although they said that about everyone so she could hardly take their word for it.

“That’s ‘cause he’s scared.” Addie Brandywell pipped up.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he said ya gotta be outta yer mind to come up to this house.” Jem continued with an enthusiasm that could only be achieved by an eight year old boy. “He got dared by Grover Bullfinch to run up and touch the front steps last week, and he wouldn’t do it. Said there ain’t no way in hell he’d touch the house ‘cause his Ma said a witch lived there.”

Effie swallowed the idea of local children making a game of touching her front steps with relative dignity.

“Did he now?”

The young boy nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

She loaded twelve, freshly clean eggs into a carton for them.

“Well, I hope you will tell Mr. Maycomb and Mr. Bullfinch that they have nothing to be afraid of, there are no witches here.” she said, putting on a smile. “Just Mr. Abernathy and I.”

“I’ll sure tell ‘em, Mrs. A.”

“We’ll tell ‘em real good!” Addie said enthusiastically.

“Well alright then.” They exchanged one carton of goose eggs for five little coins out of the boy's pocket. “Say hello to your mother for me. And do tell her that she mustn’t worry if she doesn’t have the five dollars next week. We know she’s good for it, alright?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Mrs. A!” Jem shouted as they darted out her back door.

“Thank you!” the younger shouted.

“Stay out of trouble boys!”

“We will!” they chorused in unison as they ran down the path.

They nearly knocked down an unsuspecting Haymitch on their way down to the road, which caused Effie to smirk from her place in the open doorway.

“Hi, Mr. A!”

“Boys.” he grunted with a nod.

That was about as polite as Haymitch got with what he liked to call ‘the local rugrats’, no matter how many times she scolded him.

He was a grumpy old district man, but he was her grumpy old district man, and that suited her just fine.

“Damn Brandywell boys…” he muttered once he was on the porch and out of the range of tiny ears. “Every time you think they can’t get more wild, a new one pops outta thin air and threatens to run the district down.”

“I think they’re very nice,” she hummed as they walked into the kitchen together. “Although a little uncouth.”

“Uncouth,” he snorted. “Pretty sure that’s the least of their mother’s worries.”

He shrugged off his jacket before placing a brown box that she hadn’t even noticed he was holding and slid it across the counter to her.

“What’s this?”

“Stopped at the bakery. Present from the boy. And don’t ask me what ‘cause he didn’t tell.” he said. “Wanted you to be surprised.”

She delicately lifted the lid to reveal a batch of exquisitely decorated pink cupcakes.

“Oh, Haymitch! Look how lovely…” she gushed.

Peeta did have such a knack for making the most beautiful pastries, even with limited resources. The pink icing was a new venture, the product experimenting with goat's cream and raspberry dye.

“He does know how to make me happy, that boy…” she said with a smile.

She hadn’t even noticed Haymitch sidling up beside her until the smell of the outdoors summer which was settled on his clothes hit her.

“Not the only one, I hope.”

He let his arms fall around her and she nestled her head back into his chest, tilting upwards only slightly to meet his gaze.

“Certainly not the only one.” she whispered, soft.

He kissed the crown of her head and smacked her bottom because he was Haymitch and couldn’t help himself. A giggle escaped her at his antics and she playfully shoved him towards the mudroom so that he could take off his boots while she began to place Peeta’s lovely gift on a plate.

If only he had come home a moment sooner, she thought idly to herself. She could have sent the Brandywell boys home with a treat or two.

She often did give out treats, she couldn’t help it. Throw in an extra bread roll for any child that looked particularly scrawny when she helped Peeta at the bakery, give them candies from her purse when they came to pick up their mother’s freshly mended skirts, always send them home with more than what they came with…

Effie liked to tell herself that it wasn’t guilt.

That despite never truly wanting children, she had always liked children. She’d always been good at talking to them. She liked to think that she would have given Jem and Addie Brandywell cupcakes anyway, and not just because she couldn’t help but imagine a different time when she could have very well plucked their death sentence out of a big glass bowl.

She tried to pretend that none of it was guilt.

That it all wasn’t an attempt at penance for her unpayable debt.

Months of pretending that the women who ignored her didn’t whisper behind her back, and the women who were kind to her didn’t do it out of pity.

“She’s very nice, you know.” she said, seemingly out of nowhere when Haymitch shuffled back into the kitchen in his socks.

“Who?”

It was evident that he had moved on from the previous conversation.

“The Brandywell mother.” she replied quietly. “She’s nice. Nice to me, anyway.”

He looked her up and down, as if he was attempting to discern where this conversation was headed. She didn’t know what he eventually found in her face because he just nodded and came up next to her, a casual hand on her waist.

“Well that’s alright then.” he shrugged. “Went to school with her, before she was a Brandywell obviously. Nice lady.”

Effie nodded. “Very nice.”

He pressed a kiss against her lips, warm and sure.

The women of Twelve could say whatever they wanted about her. About who she was, about who she used to be, about why she lived in his house… It didn’t matter. None of it mattered, not when she had his arms around her waist, his lips against hers, and his words in her heart.

My baby’s fly like a jet stream

High above the whole scene, loves me like I’m brand new

So call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to

Or that’s what she tells herself over and over again when the whole lot of them are forced to travel to the Capitol for the newly established Independence Day ceremonies.

The ceremony itself isn’t all that bad.

Effie is positive her presence might be the second most contentious one after Katniss, but Haymitch had made it very clear to Plutarch that he wasn’t going to step one foot on the stage unless she was by his side. Peeta dutifully wears a suit but it doesn’t go unnoticed that he clings to Katniss’ hand like a life line. Johanna makes sure her complaints are well vocalized and gives the camera’s nothing but stony glares. Haymitch and Katniss match her, with silent stoic stares of their own. Enobaria was uncharacteristically quiet. Beetee is doing his due diligence as he always did, observing and quiet. Annie was the only one who was formally recused from attending.

“Do you think if I shove out a baby they’ll leave me alone too?” Johanna asked in a cold tone as they are ushered from the hotel entrance into shiny black cars.

An odd sense of déjà vu washed over Effie as she climbed in.

Shiny black cars, checking her lipstick in a compact mirror, the clothes, the itinerary…

And she knew she wasn’t the only one because everyone else seemed rather on edge for the entirety of the car ride to the memorial grounds.

“This fuckin’ tie…” Haymitch grumbled.

“Will you stop fiddling with it?” she snapped.

“I wasn’t fiddling, I said it was fuckin’ tight.”

“If Katniss throws up I’m jumping out of this car.” Johanna snarked.

Katniss and Peeta were both looking a little pale and shaken but pointing it out certainly wasn’t helping anybody.

“I’m not going to throw up.” she hissed.

“Nobody is throwing up.” Effie assured quietly.

They arrived at the memorial grounds to find crowds already assembled, district and Capitol. A wall of cameras waiting for them as they carefully exited the vehicles.

Effie teetered delicately on her black pumps, which perfectly matched her plain black dress, coat, and gloves. She’d slept the night before with her hair in rollers and had paired the ensemble with a black pillbox hat. All of it perfectly matched to the Capitol ‘new look’.

Everyone else in their group had made less of an effort to match the new look, but Effie had made sure they all looked presentable. And in an almost eerie way, they had all followed her instruction with minimal grumbling.

That was only the beginning of the endless strangeness of the day.

Effie kept her head down and her expression neutral as Haymitch handed her down from the car and cameras flashed.

She didn’t know why the dress code of the day was black and gray formal. Perhaps it was intended as a sign of respect, but it made the whole event feel more like a funeral rather than a celebration of the free Panem.

They waited for Peeta and Katniss to exit the car, Effie fussing and hovering hands inches from their shoulders as they did. Whether it was for her sake or theirs, the wall of cameras and shouting loomed like a dark wave, and she wanted them to know that they weren’t alone.

Haymitch’s hand found her right and Peeta’s her left. He held Katniss with his other.

A team, their family, together as they walked.

“Look at you, Trinket,” Johanna snorted as they followed their escort.

It was a man with sunglasses and a plain suit, rather than a woman dolled up like a show pony. Having important people led around by shiny sex symbols was no longer in fashion it seemed.

“Campaigning for fake mother of the year?”

She saw Haymitch open his mouth to jump to her defense, but oddly Katniss beat him to it.

“Shut up, Jo.”

The point is promptly dropped, and Effie allows a ghost of a smile to escape her lips as they climb the hill towards the main stage.

None of them wave or smile for the rest of it though. Not even Effie. Not to the wall of cameras, not to the crowd, not even when they’re placed in a line on the stage. She didn’t know about the others, but her body felt like a stone edifice. Her arms stiff at her sides.

All of it felt wrong.

The hotel, the cameras, the vast memorial stage, the crowd, the flags, the funeral costumes. It all felt like something of a bygone era.

The ceremony began and thank goodness none of them were asked to speak.

Effie was quite sure nobody wanted to hear them speak anyway. Sure, put their bodies on display. Dress them up, drag them around, blind them with a thousand camera flashes. It was a necessary acknowledgement of the role the Victors had played in the rebellion.

But nobody wanted to hear their words.

Plutarch gives a very long speech about the perseverance of mankind and how they were at the dawn of a new age of civilization. But she can’t even pay attention to his words, nor the fact that his hairline is receding. All Effie can think about is how the sun feels too bright on her face. Her skin feels too tight and she was certain that she would rather be anywhere but here.

The freely elected President Paylor speaks next.

She talks about all the sacrifices that were made for their freedom, and then they’re all asked to bow their heads for a moment of silence in memory of those who gave their lives.

Effie tries to think about Finnick.

About the honorable people like Cinna and Portia, the ones who deserved to be remembered. Mags, little Rue, darling Prim…

An endless list of people who deserved to be standing on this stage far more than she did.

But it didn’t take much for her mind to wander to Seneca. To all the escorts she’d known whose bodies were never found, all the Gamemakers who had groped and harassed her for years but ended up with needles in their arms for ‘crimes against humanity’.

Their names didn’t appear on any of the memorials. They weren’t remembered in speeches and songs. But in a way, they had died so that there could be peace.

And Effie knew that if she had been left behind in the Capitol to die, her name would have been forgotten to the sands of history alongside theirs.

When the ceremony is over the cameras begin to click and flash again. Trying to capture something, anything. The barest hint of an expression. Something they can print in their tabloids about the last Victors and the only living escort.

The world didn’t seem so big in Twelve.

They went to market every Saturday, and walked on the side of dirt roads, waving at the old farmers as they passed in their carts. They made stew from Katniss’ game, and ate dinner by oil lamplight. Picked the crabapples off the trees and ate them, even if they tasted sour. The air always smelled like a clean nostalgia, doves cooed like they had no troubles, and there wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed with a needle and thread, a fresh loaf of rye, or many rough but tender hands.

The world was small in Twelve. But it was big here.

And Effie felt… small. Stupid and raw. Like a corpse, opened up and left on the operating table, an observatory packed with cameras staring down at her exposed organs, looking for whatever hidden messages were engraved on her intestines, branded and burned on her heart.

“You okay?”

It’s Haymitch’s whisper that pulls her back down to earth.

She had thought it was his hand that was shaking in her grip. But now she realizes it was hers, and no amount of steady squeezing could stop it.

“Perfectly fine.”

The same man from before escorts them off the stage, and suddenly it’s all over.

Or nearly over.

There is a reception ceremony across the street that they’re supposed to attend, and Effie doesn’t know if she has the stomach for it. But in true ‘just like old times’ fashion, the Victors have other plans.

“Anyone fancy a smoke?” Johanna askes as they stand in the entryway.

“Yeah,” Haymitch says, observing the reception with a slightly haunted expression.

The people shaking hands, the falsely somber music, the trays of tiny sandwiches. There is a continuously looping slideshow of Panem's ‘fallen heroes’ being projected on the other end of the room, and Effie is certain that if Prim’s face were to show up Katniss would set the building on fire. Or worse.

“Let’s do that.”

“What are we—?” Peeta begins to ask.

“Nevermind,” Haymitch claps him on the back. “Just follow along.”

Of course, it’s a pretense, just like it always was. In the old days ‘fancy a smoke’ was code for ‘I need to talk to you on the roof’. Effie didn’t even care to think how many of her cigarettes were wasted burning away between Haymitch’s fingers just because they needed to talk without the walls listening in.

The group of them escape, leaving Beetee and Enobaria behind for the politicians to chew on. Johanna waves her cigarette carton in a security guard's face, and he lets the five of them into a secluded alleyway.

“Trinket?”

Johanna already has one between her lips when she offers the pack in Effie’s direction. The security man is still watching them from the propped open door.

“Of course,”

She takes one and Haymitch lights it for her with the matchbook from his back pocket.

“Sorry,” she whispers as Peeta and Katniss both wrinkle their noses in a way that makes them look heart-achingly young.

“It’s alright.” Peeta assures her, but she stands against the wind anyway.

Eventually the security guard seems satisfied and leaves them alone.

Effie doesn’t even really smoke the cigarette. She just holds it between her fingers and allows it to waste away. It’s been far too long. She tried bringing it to her mouth once or twice, but she doesn’t have the taste for it anymore. It doesn’t smell like a cigarette. It smells games season and misery, so she lets it burn down to the filter before crushing it beneath her heel.

What a very odd day this was.

She was half-hoping she would suddenly wake up, and find herself back in Twelve.

“Car?” Johanna asks, flicking her own to the ground.

Katniss and Peeta look confused.

They don’t know the code, that this was all a ruse. Actually, the idea of Katniss and Peeta thinking that they were dragged out of the reception simply to watch Effie and Johanna not smoke cigarettes is quite funny.  

“Car.” Haymitch nods.

They slip out of the alley and walk to where the rows of black cars are waiting. Effie doesn’t know if the vehicle they get into was intended for them, but they commandeer it anyway.

“It wasn’t so bad,” Peeta said as they drove off.

Even he doesn’t sound like he believes his own words.

Johanna snorts, Katniss glares at her for it, and they all lapse into silence.

It feels like a blur of driving, hotel lobby, elevator, and hallway until they arrive back in their room. Effie doesn’t even register how tired she is until she sits down and slips off her shoes. The heels of her feet are rubbed raw. She absentmindedly drags her soft gloved fingers across the red patches of skin.

Exposed corpse, open raw, feeding frenzy of flies with cameras…

She’s shaken from the wandering recesses of her mind by Haymitch and Johanna arguing about who had it worse today; him with his tie or Johanna with her heels. In spite of that, Johanna doesn’t go back to her room and Haymitch doesn’t tell her to scram.

Effie thinks they take comfort in the meaningless argument, in some strange way.

Katniss and Peeta don’t really go back to their room either. There was a connecting door between the two suites, and they left it open as they both settled and changed. All five of them, wandering between the two hotel rooms, coming and going as they please, slowly shedding their black and gray armour.

At some point Johanna orders a plethora of room service, and it arrives on a huge cart. She at least tries to be subtle about the alcohol she ordered, snatching up the bottle and taking it to Peeta and Katniss’ room.

But Effie sees the way Haymitch’s eyes follow it as she leaves.

“Come here,” she whispers, idle and soft as she beckons him over to her.

He’s standing in front of her now, the difference in their heights emphasized since she is distinctly shoe-less, stocking feet on plushy carpet. She slowly begins to unthread his tie. His eyes flicker down to meet hers and she gives him her best attempt at a smile. It’s not really the day for smiles, but she feels bad. He’s been trying so hard… Always trying so hard for her.

Effie lets her hand linger on his chest for a moment longer than necessary. Over his heart, she let’s it rise and fall with his breathing before she slides the tie from around his collar, feeling him of the wretched thing.  

“Are you alright?”

It appears that that was the question of the day.

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

He drops a kiss on her cheek and walks to the bathroom. His stumble leaves a tingling on her cheeks, or maybe that was just his lips.

Either way, she chooses to believe him.

She sighs and carefully tucks the tie away in their suitcase, never one to leave anything out of order. Katniss must have spotted her helping him, because the girl wanders into the room with a request of her own.

“Effie, can you…?” She turned slightly and gestured to her back.

Putting on another smile was easy enough. “Of course, dear.”

Effie carefully carded her fingers through Katniss’ hair, gathering it up and pushing it to the side before she undoes the row of buttons on the back of the girl’s jumpsuit. Katniss jokingly calls it her ‘fancy jumpsuit’, based solely on the fact that it was sleeveless and the impractical nature of the buttons.

“Thank you.” the girl whispers when she’s done.

“Mhm-hm.”

When Effie finally returned from the bathroom, changed into her usual cotton nightgown and knit sweater, face scrubbed clean, she found that Katniss, Peeta, and Johanna had all decided that their rooms were no good. The three of them were sprawled across the sitting section of her and Haymitch’s suite, Katniss and Peeta occupying the sofa, Johanna on the floor with a large bowl of crisps and dip. The television was playing some mindless program and they were all half-heartedly picking at plates of food.  

Were they adults? Sure, in the technical sense of the word. But barely.

They were still very much children in a lot of ways, their youth having been frozen in black tar and only now starting to be unthawed.

Effie joined Haymitch on the bed, stealing a cookie off of his plate as she curled up next to him.

Normally she didn’t condone eating in bed. But it was a hotel after all, and it felt like a day where perhaps they had earned the indulgence.

For a very long while, that was how they all stayed. It grew darker outside the window, eventually dusk. None of them were truly there, not truly watching the television as their minds wandered up to space.

At least until they hear their names being spoken.

“The Independence Day celebrations kicked off today, leaving the people of Panem with a lot to talk about, isn’t that right Tito?” one of the television hosts asked.

“That’s right Isidore.” his partner replied. He pointed his pen at the papers in front of him as if he were reporting on important events, and not shiny penny gossip. “Now, I want to get into it all. Johanna Mason, the appearance made by Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, but first I think we need to talk about the presence of Effie Trinket on the line of Victors, on the arm of none other than Haymitch Abernathy.”

“Her latest catch in a long line of men.” A third host said.

The television people all laughed, and Effie suddenly found the pattern of the bed sheets very interesting.

But that didn’t stop the words from penetrating her blood-rushed ears.

“Now, ever since the war ended there has been plenty of talk about the suspected relationship between Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy. Many have speculated that this started as a ploy to secure her freedom—”

“Change the channel.” Haymitch barked.

But the television hosts continued. “Effie has dated plenty of men, often with the intention furthering her position and I would say—”

Effie could feel herself wading out into darkness, a wild ocean up to her neck. It was an ugly truth. Her endless history of charmers, dandies, and get-love-quick-schemes. But it wasn’t as if she had been the only person in the Capitol to have done that.

So why was she the only one being punished?

“Who’s to say this liaison with Haymitch Abernathy is any different?”

“Change the channel, Jo.” Haymitch said again, this time moving to get up.

But she grabbed his arm to stop him. Not because she didn’t want him to turn it off. But because her vision was blurring and she could feel her breathing in her skull and it felt like everything was beyond her control.

Nothing she could say would ever be right. Nothing she could do would ever be enough.

Her happiness was fake, and her love was manipulative.

“Come on, don’t you wanna hear them talk about what a whore Trinket is?” Johanna smirked, the remote in hand.

“Jo, come on—” Peeta tried.

“I’m not fucking doing anything, I’m just watching!”

Apparently tired of arguing, Katniss snatched the remote from Johanna’s hand without a word, changed the channel to some dreadfully boring weather forecasting, and tossed the remote behind her onto the foot of the bed, well out of reach.

“Thank you,” Effie said, barely a whisper.

She’s not even sure anyone heard her. Haymitch snatches the remote off the foot of the bed for himself and Johanna mutters some very rude things under her breath while Katniss goes back to her food with a surly expression on her face.

But the rest of the evening passed, and they’ll never know what the gossip hosts were going to say about everyone else.

Johanna eventually went back to her room, saying something about calling Annie. Peeta and Haymitch find a chess board and start playing while her and Katniss watch. Although, neither of them really understand the rules as well as the boys do, as they make a rather poor cheering squad.

“Do you think they’ll make us come back next year?” Katniss eventually asked.

It’s the middle of the boys’ third game. Haymitch moves the piece which he calls the bishop before answering. Effie’s always thought it looked like a tiny butt plug. She’d told him that once, a million years ago, and he’d made fun of her. Told her that her brain had been rotted by the Capitol.

Rot had a tendency to linger, even when you tried to get rid of it.

She still thinks the bishop looks like a fun-sized butt plug.

“Dunno.”

More silence.

Peeta moved his tiny castle piece. The rook, she reminds herself.

“I don’t want to come back.” he admitted quietly.

She could hardly blame him.

“I’m sure we can talk to Plutarch about it.” Effie said without a moment of thought. She looked to Haymitch to confirm. “Can’t we?”

For a moment he hesitated.

Effie knew they didn’t have a lot of leverage with the new government. It was a very precarious position that all sat in. Key pieces in the narrative of the revolution. Their names would be long remembered by history textbooks, by old tales of what really happened during the year of the 75^th. And yet they were simultaneously a makeshift band of exiles, half-teenagers, and the bloodstained perpetrators who did nothing but inspire division and gossip.

But they had to try. For the children.

“Yeah, I’ll call ‘em when we get back.” Haymitch promised.

Katniss nodded gratefully.

“Thank you.” said Peeta.

Inevitably, they couldn’t help but try when it came to Katniss and Peeta.

Soon the hour grew much too late. Katniss was clearly bored of watching chess games, and Effie shooed them off to their room, saying that they all needed sleep if they were going to get up early enough to catch the first train tomorrow.

But there was very little sleep to be had.

Effie and Haymitch laid side-by-side in inky darkness, staring at the ceiling and listening to the rise and fall of each other’s breathing. Old habits and all that. Both of their minds were far too occupied to find any rest.

“You think Plutarch can get ‘em to let the kids stay behind next year?”

“I’ll make sure he does if it’s the last thing I do.” she answered with a firm determination.

She heard him chuckle rather humorlessly in the darkness.

The air was heavy again.

“We could offer them something in exchange.” she said. “I don’t imagine that anyone’s coverage was favourable, so I imagine they’ll want to limit the number of us that attend next year.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded even though he couldn’t see her.

“It would be the smart thing to do, from a PR perspective.”

The optics of inviting all of them was already insanity, Effie doubted they would repeat their mistake. Or perhaps they would double down. Force people to accept the Victors and herself as pieces of the New Panem via repeated and unrelenting exposure. Her mind was already running through each plausible scenario.

Once an escort always an escort, even if the thought made her sick to her stomach.

“We could offer our guaranteed attendance every year, you and me. The reception too. And in return, the children get to stay home.”

It was a haunting proposition and it hung in the air as such. Haymitch sighed heavily. She saw the dim outline of him raising his arm, dragging a hand roughly over his face.

“Ain’t ever gettin’ off that train, are we?”

They would never escape it entirely. The cameras, the rumours, the spot lit stages, the glad-handing receptions, the tabloids which year after year call her a slut and a whore and a conniving wretch. They were never getting off that horrible train, but Effie knew they would ride it a thousand times over if it meant sparing Katniss and Peeta.

“We’ll survive,” she whispered, finding his hand under the sheets. “We always do.”

That night Effie fell asleep in the quiet safety of Haymitch’s arms, and the moment they arrived back home in Twelve she snatched the phone from its hook on the wall in their kitchen and began to dial Plutarch’s number.

A deal was begrudgingly struck, after many hours of Effie arguing from every PR angle she knew.

Her and Haymitch would dutifully come to the Capitol once a year for a day of black clothes, freedom cheering speeches, stuffy receptions, and moments of silence. In exchange for this, Katniss and Peeta were to be left alone.

Every year they boarded a Capitol bound train with suitcases packed with funeral clothes. And every year upon their return to Twelve, Peeta baked them a mountain of brown sugar muffins without a word and Katniss hugged them each a little tighter, leaving her thank you’s behind in her embrace.

In a perfect world, they never would have ridden that train again.

“Whatcha readin’?”

It’s the fourth annual Independence Day and they’re on their early morning train ride across the country. They don’t get twenty private cars to themselves anymore, but the first class compartment wasn’t so bad. They provide magazines and Effie’s favourite flavour of pink sparkling water that she used to drink by the gallon in the old days. She’s curled up in the corner next to the window. Their bags are on the seats opposite them, and her legs are resting in Haymitch’s lap.

She flipped the magazine and held it up so that he could read the headline for himself.

Trouble in Paradise? Close district source reveals that Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy are currently on the rocks!

The picture was a slightly grainy shot of them in District Four, when they had visited Johanna, Annie, and little Fin a few weeks ago. They had entirely neutral expressions on their faces. If Effie remembered correctly they had been sent on a mission into town to buy lemon juice and she had been annoyed that they could only seem to find lime juice.

But neutral expressions were indicative of relationship disaster according to the journalistic experts of the Daily Capitol Journal.

The sub-caption read; With the split imminent, who will Effie Trinket’s next target be?

“Nice.” Haymitch snorted and shook his head, returning to his own novel. It was one of his dreadfully boring one’s, something about men exploring mountains.

“Isn't it just?”

Effie flipped the magazine back around to face her.

“Apparently you confided in a confidential source that our relationship is struggling,” she said, skimming the article.

“Uh oh.” he deadpanned.

“Right when we apparently had plans to get married, oh dear.”

“Tragic.” he said, turning the page of his book.

“The source says that I plan to stay in the Capitol after the ceremony and mail my secret engagement ring back to you in Twelve.”

“Oh come on.” he laughed. “Gotta give ‘em credit for creativity ‘cause that is first rate bullshit.”

“Indeed.” she giggled.

“Any other fun insider scoops?” he asked in a frankly ridiculous mocking tone.

“No…” she hummed, scanning to the bottom of the page. “Just the usual. I’m a slut who can’t be trusted and is using poor innocent men to my advantage and you’re a heroic Victor who fought for the freedom of Panem and doesn’t deserve to be caught up with a wretch like me.”

Effie tossed the magazine aside in favour of a different one.

As years passed she had gotten better at bearing the gossip. She used to lay awake at night and dream of time machines and revenge. But slowly, surely, the power it had over her seeped away. It became like a distant joke, a meaningless nothing.

She found a fashion periodical with pictures of the past season’s runways in her pile of magazines and opened that instead.

“Well…” Haymitch said, glancing up from his book. “Good thing ain’t true, right?”

She smiled at him over the edge of The Boutique’s ready-to-wear catalog. “A very good thing.”

Maybe they would never get off this train.

But they had each other to hold onto and they always came home to Twelve, the children, and brown sugar muffins. It may not be a perfect arrangement, but it was certainly close enough.

I want to wear his initial

On a chain ‘round my neck, chain ‘round my neck

Not because he owns me

But because he really knows me

Which is more than they can say

Even during the three-hundred-sixty-four days of the year when they weren’t in the Capitol, marriage rumours still came and went. The district wives whispered, Effie’s mother pestered on their weekly phone calls, even Katniss and Peeta seemed to be waiting for something to happen.

But it never did.

Effie had written off marriage as an option for them a long time ago, and there was no point in digging up graves she had already made peace with.

She never asked Haymitch for words she knew he couldn’t give. She never asked to legally change her name, even if half of District Twelve called her Mrs. Abernathy. And she certainly never asked for binding jewelry of any kind.

Not even when a particularly pretty locket catches Effie’s eye at a table in the Hob.

She was in the middle of examining the pretty design on the surface when Haymitch came up behind her, a net bag of corn for dinner in hand.

“Buyin’ more rings?”

That was what she usually did at this particular table of things. She searched the little wooden boxes for any manner of rings. Rounded spoon ends, old bronze things, fake stones and coloured glass worn away by time and travel. Just because she lived in the districts now didn’t mean she didn’t still love accessorizing.

But that wasn’t what she was doing that time.

Effie flashed him a smile and put back the locket. “No, I was just looking.”

But Haymitch had clearly already caught sight of what she’d had in her hand. “You want it?” he asked, without a single reservation.

He’s already reaching from his wallet when she stops him.

“Mhm? Oh, no… Sorry, I was just distracted.”

He looked at the locket again and then back at her, a funny frown on his handsome face. “You sure?”

“Quite sure.” she smiled. “Shall we?”

They left the Hob with their bags of corn, and Effie even picked up some birdseed for the new feeders which lined the Victor Village gate.

The topic of the locket wasn’t brought up again.

At least not until nearly a week later.

It was quite late in the evening. Effie’s sewing was spread out across the kitchen table. The radio on the counter was playing unintelligible music on a low volume, and her pink glasses slipped down her nose as she attempted to fix a hole in one of Katniss’ favourite pair of leggings by lamp light. Effie was positive there was no nuisance in the world greater than stretchy fabric.

She had thought that Haymitch was reading in the living room, perhaps fallen asleep on the couch due to the lateness of the hour.

But quite suddenly and without explanation, he barged into the kitchen with a determined expression on his face, like he had been working up to it for a while. He didn’t say anything, just dropped something bronze on the table with a dull thud.

It was the locket, the very same one she had been admiring at the Hob.

“What…?”

But words fail her. She pushes her glasses up onto her head and picks it up, tentatively passing her fingers over the bronze oval piece.  

“It’s the locket.” he said, a little quiet and a little rough. “Last week, you were lookin’ at it in the Hob.”

She knows that.

“Oh.” is all she manages to say.

“Just… thought you liked it, but you didn’t buy it for some reason and I went back ‘cause I thought I could get it for you and I… I hope you like it.”

For the briefest of moments she can’t place his tone.

She’s caught entirely off her guard. Her brain is still focused on sewing stretchy fabric for goodness sake. But when it catches up, it all makes sense.

The image of Haymitch going back to the Hob on his own, carefully making sure to select the same locket. Bringing it home, thinking about it for days on end, trying to find the right time to give it to her, debating with himself over whether he should take it back. And tonight he had brought it downstairs, perhaps stood in the living room and stared at it for hours before deciding to march in here and drop it on her sewing with a few grumbled words.  

Stupid man.

Her sweet, caring, most endearing stupid man… Hidden beneath forty years of piss and vinegar.  

Effie can’t help but jump to her feet. She pressed kisses to his cheeks and his lips, ruffled his hair a little. He was positively adorable when he was trying to make her happy, all gruff and unsure of himself. What he still doesn’t understand is it’s not the gifts that make her happy, not like they used to…

“I love it,” she assures him, and she sees the relief pass over his features. “Thank you.”

His arms came snaked around her waist and he kissed her like he hadn’t seen her in years. Effie pulled him closer to her, so there was no space between them. She placed her palms on his cheeks, his stumble against her soft skin, she wanted so badly to just touch him, feel him. They both moan a little and suddenly the room feels very warm.  

“Wasn’t sure you would like it,” he said when they came up for air. “I mean, ‘cause you coulda bought yourself but then you didn’t and I was thinking, I just—”

“Haymitch,” She held a carefully manicured finger to his lips.

They had recently started selling coloured nail varnish at one of the shops in town. It was hardly the same as extravagant acrylics, but Effie was ecstatic and had bought a rainbow of colours nonetheless.

“You heard me say I loved it, did you not?”

He smirked. “Yeah…”

“Then believe me, because I am certainly not one to lie and put on a good face when it comes to something as important as jewelry,” He snorted, but only tightened his grip around her waist. “I love it.”

While it was perhaps mostly Haymitch’s reservations which stopped them from ever getting married, Effie had to admit that she was perhaps also a guilty party.

She had always hated jewelry which came with a bond.

She’d been given a chastity ring when she was only seven, when she had been a virginal angel, pure as the driven snow. And it had only inspired a deep rooted sense of guilt and sin when an older male model fingered her behind the curtain of her first runway show at the age of fifteen. Her first real boyfriend had given her a promise ring, a physical reminder of their everlasting bond and devotion. Effie had thrown it out his penthouse window in the middle of their hideous breakup. Over her years as an escort many engagement rings had been put on her finger, but she never let them stay for long. Never followed through.

Shiny gilded cages, handcuffs made of gold and diamonds. They had all been a symbol of her ownership to someone else.

All those years as an escort, so many wondered why she never married. But marriage would have been a forfeiture of any ounce of autonomy she’d ever had. At least when she was an escort, she was somebody.

In marriage, she would have just been another society wife. Another ever-perfect, virgin white, society arm candy, sex-receptacle, sin eating, baby-machine, wife.

But so much was different now.

The locket didn’t feel so heavy in her hands. Effie knew it wouldn’t be a shackle around her neck.

She leaned lazily into his chest, his arms still firmly around her. She could feel his heart under her ear as she examined the pretty thing. She traced her short pink nails over the bronze casing, the little flower carvings on the front. She even flicks it open to examine the blank interior.

Haymitch just watches her, as he often did. Breathing her in and pressing his warm cheek to the crown of her head.

“We should get a photo taken,” she said softly. “Together.”

They didn’t have any. Whatever secret, boudoir photos Effie had taken of them in the old days had been lost in the war, and photography was still primitive at best in Twelve. But Effie didn’t care if it was a full colour digital or a little black and white daguerreotype.

She wanted something of their very own to rest in her locket.

“Yeah, sure.” Haymitch said. “Whatever you want, princess, I’m all yours.”

Effie smiled. “Yes?”

He nodded with a grin of his own. “Yeah.”

I recall late November

Holdin’ my breath, slowly I said

“You don’t need to save me

But would you run away with me?”

Effie wore that locket every day and although she knew there was no accounting for the future, she had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t be parting with it anytime soon.

And she certainly wouldn’t be throwing it out any window.

As years passed the gossip columns’ fascination with them faded slightly.

Never completely, every so often a ‘Where are they now?’ article would surface. They never talked about marriage rumours or how their relationship was a sham to keep her from facing trial, all of that was very out of style in terms of gossip.

Nowadays they mostly talked about how Haymitch had saved her from any number of things; saved from her Capitol indoctrination, from being imprisoned, from mistreatment in Thirteen, from the Justice Trials, and particularly from her own vain and selfish nature.

It was better than all the false flags from before, but it wasn’t necessarily true either.

Haymitch hadn’t saved her. Effie was much too proud, far too self-sufficient for such a thing. He had certainly done a lot for her; opened her eyes to a different world, painted her blue heart gold, let her into his own well-guarded heart, his home and life.

Even after the war, she could have rebuilt her life in the Capitol if she had tried. It would have been hard, dirty work and it surely would have taken her the better part of a decade, but Effie Trinket was no quitter, and she could have done it if she really wanted to.

But instead she had chosen to build a life with him.

A home, a makeshift family, a love of their very own. And didn’t that just make everything feel that much sweeter?

But even after all her winters in Twelve, Effie still never quite got used to the cold.

“What—Are you going through menopause?” Haymitch grumbled from his side of the bed, half asleep and clearly annoyed at her layering herself in a mountain of blankets. “What is wrong with you?”

“Menopausal women get hot flashes, Haymitch.” she hissed. "I am cold.”

“You’re insane, that’s what you are…”

But there was no real malice behind his words. There never was, not anymore.

Effie curled up against his side. If she had learned anything from the winters in Twelve it was that excessive blankets, sweaters, and Haymitch’s body heat were the only ways to survive. His arms encircled her, heavy and warm in spite of his alleged annoyance.

“And when I do eventually go through menopause I expect you to be a little more considerate.” she mumbled sleepily into the crook of his neck.

“I will, I will…”

A weight fell against the top of her head and Effie wasn’t sure if he was pressing kisses to her hair or falling asleep against her. She was too tired to look for herself.

“I’ll be a fuckin’ saint.”

Neither of them could truly be annoyed with each other.

After all, they had just essentially promised one another that they would be sticking around, sticking together, until they were both old and gray. Even if it was in their own strange way.

The thought sent Effie to sleep with a silly smile on her face.