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Peeta is the one who discovers the treasure trove of old photos and papers in Haymitch's office as they’re working on the memory book. Or at least the room that he calls an office. It’s really just a bunch of dusty boxes stacked on top of one another that look like they haven’t been touched in at least half a decade.
Katniss and Peeta pull a few boxes at a time and the three of them sit on the ground and sift through everything together.
“This you?” Katniss holds out an old paper clipping of a young man dressed to the nines looking miserable. The boxes contain shockingly well organized photos, papers, and articles from each year’s games, with everything down to press releases listing tributes with bios and photos. The kids had thought sorting through them would be perfect to help fill in the gaps for the book. He didn't particulate enjoy it, but it did give him something to do, and a reason to stay sober enough to function.
“Can’t believe you have all this stuff.”
“All shit Effie saved.” He mumbles, flipping through a stack of interviews from the 65th games.
“Effie?”
“She said i’d want it all some day.” He barks out something that isn’t quite a laugh, “Fuck me if she wasn’t right again.”
Peeta grabs a a gossip rag from the the top of the current pile they're sorting through. The bold head line front reads 'Quarter Quell Victor and Mystery Woman Caught in Capitol Elevator.' It’s plastered with grainy security camera photos of Haymitch in an elevator, and a woman whose legs are around his waist, but face is obscured by his body.
Peeta flips open to where a hot pink sticky note peaks out of the side of the magazine, revealing a spread with a few more photos of Haymitch and the mystery woman, and a few words scribbled on the note itself in loopy handwriting.
Haymitch,
Thought you might get a laugh out of this.
Haymitch watches as Peeta looks at the cover again, this time studying the image closer. And then back at the sticky note. "Wait, is that-"
“Gimme that.” Haymitch grabs the magazine out of Peeta’s hands and throws it in the trash bin.
___ ___ ___
Later, they all sit down to eat dinner at Haymitch’s creaky dining room table. A hearty soup with an assortment of root vegetables and venison, along with fresh bread.
After some amount of silence that is just on the precipice of being uncomfortable, Peeta is the one to finally ask, “Are you gonna tell us what happened?”
“What?” Haymitch replies, mouth half full with bread.
“Are you gonna tell us what happened with Effie?” Katniss chimes in, “Or are you just gonna go around your house looking like kicked dog every time she comes up in conversation.”
Haymitch shoves more bread into his mouth. He can’t imagine anything he wants to talk about less.
He watches Peeta reach for his glass of water, taking a few large sips awkwardly.
Katniss however, stays resolute, not breaking eye contact. Her silence finally breaks him, as it usually does.
“Fine. You want the real truth? Nothin’ happened. Absolutely nothing happened.” Instead of anger or annoyance there’s an air of defeat to his words.
“What do you mean?”
“It means, I haven’t seen her or talked to her since I left the Capitol. I'm sure she has her life pieced back together nicely by now. Always was good at all that kinda shit.”
“Why haven’t you?"
Surprising no one, he doesn’t answer.
Peeta frowns, "I told you she asked me to have you call her last week, right? She wouldn't tell me what it was about but she sounded kinda upset."
There’s another long pause.
“Why would she want to talk to me anyways? What she gonna do? Come visit, decides she loves the crumbling infrastructure, lack of amenities, and the lingering specter of death that hangs in the air here and then stay forever? It’s a load of crap.” As the words leave his mouth and Haymitch sees the way Katniss' eyebrows raise Peeta's mouth hangs open slightly, he realizes he revealed a bit more than intended and tries to backtrack, “That's if I even wanted her to visit. Which I don’t.”
Peeta winces, “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen.”
“Can’t believe I’m talking to you two about this shit.” He scrubs his face with his hands, “She could come to visit, realize we don’t have anything in common without the games, or beyond just tryin’ to survive, and decide she never wants to see me again. That’s the worst that could happen.”
Katniss cocks her head, “If you’re not even talking to her, how do you know she already doesn’t ever want to see you again?”
“Well thanks, sweetheart. Really know how to make an old man feel hopeful.”
“I’m just saying…”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” He waves her off, “We are never talking about this again.”
___ ___ ___
Something compels him to pick up the phone late that night, much too late to be calling anyone. But that had never stopped him before when phoning her.
So he dials Effie’s number and listens to the ring drone on and on until he hears her voice chirp at him to leave a message, and that she'll be back to him as soon as she's available.
He hangs up.
___ ___ ___
Haymitch doesn't even bother trying to go to bed until after he feeds the geese breakfast and eventually falls in and out of a restless sleep on the couch, lazing in a patch of sunlight. He can't help but wonder what it was that Effie wanted to talk to him about. Why she didn't answer when he did call. He tries to stop himself from thinking of the worst. Maybe he’ll call again today at a more reasonable hour.
Sometime later the geese get riled up and he shoves a pillow over his head to drown out the noise. When he hears her voice, he weighs the very real possibility that it's a dream.
“Haymitch Abernathy!” His front door has been flung open and there's the very distinct sound of heels clicking on his worn hardwood floors, “You don’t answer the phone, you don’t respond to letters or emails, and now you don’t even answer your own door?"
He pulls the pillow away from his face in time to see her throw down a manila folder on the coffee table.
Oh fuck.
Haymitch groans, still half asleep. “Are those what I think they are?”
“Quite.”
He frowns, “I thought you were gonna have Plutarch take care of that. Months ago.”
“Well, yes, that was the plan wasn’t it? If you cared to answer your phone you’d know he refused. He said that, and I do quote,” Effie flourishes her hands around in the air and adds a slight affection to her voice mimicking Plutarch’s drawl, "In this new Panem, we are doing things by the book. And then he told me he would not have it annulled for us and that I’d have file the paperwork for a proper divorce.”
“Seems awful high and mighty for a guy who manufactures truths for a livin’.”
“He was having too much fun with it if you ask me. A little too happy to point out…” Effie grimaces, looking down, “certain technicalities needed for an annulment.”
“So he wouldn’t annul it because he knew that we...“
“Yes Haymitch, because he knew that we had consummated the marriage.” She grits her teeth, “If you’ll remember, Plutarch had the compartment next to ours in Thirteen.”
“Oh.” Realization dawns on his face, and a grin finds itself there despite himself. He guessed even thick cement was only so soundproof.
She closes her eyes and shakes her head gently as if to rid herself of the memory, “Honestly, I do not want to rehash it again, it was embarrassing enough having that conversation the first time.” Effie pushes the folder towards him, “So. Sign please. And we can both move on.”
He’s stuck in the middle of trying to decide if he wants to respond with something insulting or crude when he hears another voice.
"Effie?" Katniss and Peeta look completely shocked from where they stand in the doorway, “We heard a commotion, wanted to make sure everything was okay."
"Oh, my dears! How are you?"
“We’ve missed you.” Peeta smiles into her shoulder as Effie moves to wrap him in a hug.
“What are you doing here?" Leave it to Katniss to cut to the chase.
“Just some paperwork!” Effie says shrilly before evening out her tone, “I am so very glad I get to see you both though, what a silver lining!”
Katniss and Peeta must pick up on the lingering tension in the room because they decide to head back out almost as quickly as they appeared.
“Why don’t you both come over once you’re done with that paperwork,” Peeta adds as they’re halfway out the door, “I made a pitcher of sun tea this morning and it should be ready soon.”
"Real nice this is what it took for you to come visit." Haymitch bites out once they're alone again.
"Don't." Effie's voice is sharp. They stand in silence, looking at each other for a moment before she speaks again, "I’m going over to the children’s house. Please have these filled out by the time I return.”
"Fine by me. I'm just as happy to get this over with as you." He grabs the folder and brings it outside with him, taking a seat on the porch.
He sits in silence for a little first, folder thrown down on the bench beside him, and then gets lost in remembering.
___ ___ ___
(The rebels last official meeting before the quell had been bleak. They had less resources than they’d like. They had to cut back on the number of people in the initial extraction. Victors and high ranking military personnel only.
Haymitch had grabbed Plutarch’s arm as he began to leave, turning the other man around to face him.
“We’re not leaving her here.”
Plutarch sighed “Im assuming you mean Euphemia. Plans change. District 13 has been very clear, we don’t have the resources or space to extract anyone else before the games. Essential personnel and immediate family only.”
“She’s part of the mockingjay’s team.” He hissed, “I’d consider that pretty damn essential.”
“Anyone else we can try to extract after the fact. Most likely, she'll be fine until then.”
“I'm not gamblin' on 'most likely'.”
“Haymitch.“ Plutarch sent him a warning glance, but it was softened around the edges with something like pity. “I’m sorry. my hands are tied. “
“If…if I had immediate family. They’re be part of the extraction then?”
“If you did, yes. I don’t know what you’re-”
So he had swallowed his pride and spat out, “We’re married."
“What did you say?”
“I said, Effie and I, we’re married.”
“Well then I’m assuming you would be able to provide the necessary paperwork to prove that?”
”Problem is you don’t get any paperwork from a toasting.”
“A what?”
“A toasting. We don’t have any paperwork 'cause there ain’t any. It's the traditional way in Twelve.”
“How convenient.” Plutarch replied, but there had been a whisper of a smile on his face, “You have 24 hours to get your hands on a marriage certificate, Haymitch. We’ll use this ‘toasting’ tradition to back up the suspicious nature of the issue date. I hope you know what you’re doing.
Whatever they had was too messy to try and figure out. All he had known at the time was that he’d do anything to make sure she’d be safe.
Later that same night, far past the time of any propriety, he had snuck into Effie's room.
He toed off his shoes and pulled back the overstuffed duvet that Effie favored, crawling into bed behind her. It was far more usual than he like to admit these days, crawling into her bed just to sleep.
He didn’t want to disturb her more than he already had, but it had been now or never. So he had placed a kiss at nape of her neck before whispering, “Do you trust me?" into the silence.
“What?” She turned to face him on the bed, her voice tight, already anxious nature reaching new heights over the last few days, “You know I do. What’s wrong?”
“Things are going to be … different next week. With the quarter quell.” He paused, “ I need you to take care of something administrative with me tomorrow.”
She relaxed a little at that, her hands deftly starting to work on the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning just as many as it took for her to slip her hands inside and around his back pulling him flush to her, “Of course.” )
___ ___ ___
He’s not sure how long he’s reminiscing but when he finally goes to pick up the stack of papers, they’re gone.
He watches as in the distance, one of the geese rips up sheets of paper and shoves the torn bits into her nest.
“Fuck.”
It ends up sounding just as ridiculous as he feared it might when he tells Effie later.
“Bad news. The geese stole the divorce papers.” Haymitch grimaces “ You can have your lawyer resend 'em right?”
“Excuse me? What do you mean the geese stole the papers”
Haymitch shrugs, “They’re nesting?”
“Well isn’t that nice for them.” Effie looks distressed and Haymitch feels a touch guilty, “The office won’t be able to resend them till tomorrow. And then even with priority they won’t be here till the day after that.”
“Well, I have an extra room. And the kids were pretty happy to see you, bet they’d be glad if you stayed a couple of days.”
Effie’s bluster from earlier is gone, and she almost seems weary, “Fine.”
“You got someone waiting you need to call?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean, you got someone waiting? At home? Someone waiting for the divorce papers to come through that you’d need to call?” He gets up from the bench to stand in front of her, “You eager to give marriage another try with someone other than me?”
“You. Are. Impossible.” Haymitch can hear the anger building in her voice with each word. "You think I-"
“Divorce?” Katniss is wide eyed in a way that makes her look very much like the child she still is, standing in the entryway to the kitchen.
“Fuck, I gotta put a bell on you, kid.” Haymitch sighs. “It’s a long story.”
“Well, I came to tell you we’ve got dinner ready over at ours,” Katniss supplies, “and nothing half as interesting as that to talk about.”
___ ___ ___
“So you two are married,” Katniss says incredulously almost as soon as they sit down.
Haymitch stabs a vegetable with his fork, “Not for much longer.”
“And not for very long in the first place,” Effie adds, before looking pointedly at Haymitch, “Just a touch more than a year, an anniversary that nary warranted even picking up the phone.”
Haymitch looks down, preoccupying himself with pushing around a bit of potato on his plate.
“So surely nothing as scandalous as you’re thinking.” Effie explains further, “Think more administrative.”
Haymitch bites his tongue. There was a very high chance it was definitely more scandalous than whatever Katniss was thinking.
“So you never dated?” Peeta counters.
“Not in so many words, no.”
The looks on their faces tells Haymitch they’re not buying what Effie is selling, Peeta in particular sounding far from convinced, “But then everyone just instantly believed it when you said you had been secretly married?”
“Well, there had been rumors for years.”
He’s not sure what compels him to butt in, but he reckons that it’s probably just that he missed pissing her off. “Oh is rumors what we’re calling that now?”
If looks could kill, he’d have choked on the rabbit he was eating then and there.
Effie straightens her posture, “Fine, rumors and perhaps a few passing indiscretions.”
Katniss fake gags on the other side of the table, “Gross. Not while we’re eating.”
Before he can add anything Effie continues, “But none of that matters now!” she plasters a wide and clearly artificial smile on her face, “Though it seems we won’t even have a proper divorce party.”
“A divorce party?” Peeta chokes out in between bites.
“People don’t have those in Twelve?” Effie looks at them like they all have two heads, “Really? Hmm. It’s just party, almost like a wedding shower, but instead it’s for a couple who’s getting divorced.”
Katniss shrugs, “People didn’t really get divorced in twelve. You either make it work or one of you dies.”
“Oh dear.” Effie blanches and Haymitch has to take a swig of his drink to hide the smirk blooming on his face as she struggles to form a reply, “Well that is … bleak.”
After that Effie gets Peeta and occasionally Katniss talking about the ongoings in Twelve, culminating with them telling her about the memory book. Haymitch is sure she’d deny it if he said anything, but she gets teary eyed when they explain what a help everything she had filed away had been.
All in all, it turns out to be a more pleasant evening than Haymitch would have guessed, something oddly comforting about being surrounded by people you’ve been to hell and back with. By the time they finish dessert it’s late enough to call it a night and head home.
Back inside his house they stare at each other for a few moments that feel like minutes, that feel like years, after crossing the threshold.
Her words from earlier come back to conjure up a scene in his head, her alone on the other end of the phone line in the Capitol. He doesn’t specifically recall the phone ringing that night, their anniversary if you could call it that, but does remember drinking himself to oblivion that day. “I’m sorry I never answered your calls.”
“It’s my own fault.” Effie replies, laughing weakly, “I shouldn’t have ever expected you too.”
The words hit him like a dull axe to the chest.
“I better be off to bed. Quite tired from the travel and what not.” Her is voice soft with the promise of sleep, and her hand is warm on his shoulder for the briefest of moments before she turns to ascend the staircase, “Goodnight, Haymitch.”
“G’night.”
___ ___ ___
They manage to have coffee in the morning without killing each other, hers black and his with cream and two sugar.
Peeta shows up with bagels and conversation not much later.
“It’s the day of the harvest fest today. Or was the day. Twelve’s not quite big or together enough to have anything proper yet.” Peeta explains, “But I thought maybe we could celebrate. Katniss came home with some quail this morning. We could cook those up and have a bonfire.”
Haymitch has half a mind to make some kind of excuse up and leave it to the kids, but before he can Effie is enthusiastically agreeing that it’s a fantastic idea.
“What can we help with?”
Peeta pauses for a moment, “You and Haymitch could set up for the bonfire, and Katniss and I will handle the food and drink.”
“That sounds wonderful, thank you Peeta!”
Luckily Haymitch keeps a pile of larger logs on his back porch, dry under a tarp, so they only have to gather some kindling.
Effie borrows a pair of boots from Katniss, a thick pair of Haymitch’s woolen socks, and one of his warmer jackets. She cuffs the sleeves of the jacket and looks at herself in the hallway mirror. “I feel ridiculous.”
“Well ya' look ridiculous. Let’s get going, huh?”
Leaves crunch underfoot as they make their way out across his backyard. “It’s quite beautiful here this time of year.“
He hums in agreement. “You know I didn’t actually get to read any of that paperwork. Is half of all this gonna be yours by the time you’re done with me?”
He keeps his eyes forward but Haymitch can practically feel Effie rolling hers beside him.
“You’ll find I was quite fair. All parties retain their original assets. No nonsense.”
The ground at the edge of the tree-line is a bit uneven and Haymitch’s hand finds its way to a familiar place at the small of Effie’s back. For a brief moment he feels her lean into the touch before her back goes ramrod straight. He quickly pulls away his hand, shoving it into his pocket, “How’s things in the Capitol then?”
A few moments pass as they continue forward.
“Things are fine. Plenty to keep busy with.”
“C’mon there’s gotta be more than that.”
“In a lot of ways things in the Capitol are quite the same as they were before. But it feels so different.” Effie’s fingers play with the cuffed fabric of his jacket sleeves, “Some things … you can never really go back can you?”
She’s looking at him in a way that makes his mouth go dry.
“Don’t suppose you can.”
Effie glances down at the ground, seeming eager to change the topic. “Now what about these sticks we’re looking for?”
“Uh, looking for small and medium stuff.” He bends over to grab a fallen branch by his foot, “These white ones here, birch, they go up fast.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
He can’t help that it’s a comical image, Effie Trinket with her brow furrowed, standing in the woods in oversized boots and his much too large jacket, her ridiculous purple pants peaking out between the two. And suddenly he’s hit with a traitorous flood of affection that leaves him lightheaded.
It’s far too much all at once and he doesn't know what to do with it. So, he starts laughing. The first deep genuine laugh he’s felt shake his body since Thirteen, at least.
“What are you laughing at?”, Effie lets out an over dramatic huff, “And if you say me, you should be ready to sleep with one eye open when you go to bed tonight!”
“Thinkin’ about me in bed, huh?” His lips curl up into a wolfish grin, “Dirty, dirty, mind.”
“I swear…” she’s muttering but he can tell it’s because she’s trying her hardest to hide a smile.
And god, he’d forgotten how much he loved to see her smile. “I mean, we are still married.”
She raises an eyebrow as she bends down to pick up a few sticks, “I can’t imagine you get much mileage out of that pickup line.”
"You'd be surprised."
One pinecone flies past his head before another hits him square between the shoulders.
___ ___ ___
That evening, the quail are delicious and Effie is effusive as ever with her praise.
When they finish eating Peeta starts talking about what the harvest festival used to be like, how there was drinking and dancing well into the night. Then he starts to loudly hum some song that Haymitch is sure he knows, but that the kid is butchering the melody of so badly he has no clue what it could be.
"Who wants to dance?", Peeta asks. Effie, with a soft spot a mile wide for the boy, volunteers and Haymitch watches as he spins her around clumsily and they both laugh.
“You ever think we’d be here?” Katniss says from beside him.
“This is my house, so yeah I guess I figured.”
She knocks him on the shoulder, “You know what I mean. The after. Did you ever think we’d ever make it to the after?”
“No.” He answers plainly, “ I didn’t.”
If Katniss had something else to say she never gets to it, because Peeta is standing in front of her, hand extended with a grin plastered across his flushed face. She takes it and they begin to sway and spin around the fire in step.
He shouldn’t be surprised that Effie extends her hand to him next, wordlessly, but he is a little surprised he grabs it as eagerly as he does and lets her pull him to his feet.
Peeta’s still humming but Katniss has started to sing as well, her voice soft, grounding the melody into something real.
“I never understood why you used to make such a fuss about dancing at parties,” Effie’s breath is hot on his neck as she leans into to whisper to him, “You’re very good at it. You’ve got natural rhythm.”
His hands sit on her waist as they sway together, and even through the layers of fabric his fingertips burn.
“Wasn’t about to waste my moves on any sponsors. Only one person I ever wanted to dance with.”
He could swear he sees her face flush before she moves her head to rest on his shoulder, but maybe it was just the firelight.
When the fire starts to fade and the chill in the air creeps beneath their layers of clothes they call it a night, heading inside. Effie watches Katniss and Peeta stumble back to Katniss’ house, and Haymitch watches Effie.
They make their own way inside and she sheds his jacket at the door, hanging it neatly on the coatrack. “What a nice night.”
“Yeah. Not half bad.” He slips off his own jacket before sitting down on the couch.
“You know, the papers should be here in the morning.” She takes a moment before continuing quietly, “So I suppose I should give you this back.”
She reaches behind her neck and skillfully undoes a delicate clasp, before pulling out a chain from where it rests underneath her shirt, a thin gold band dangling from it.
His mother’s ring.
She had to pawn her engagement ring after Haymitch’s father died, but had worn that wedding band until the day she died. He had found it gleaming in the wreckage of his childhood home after the ashes had cooled.
He’s at a loss for words now.
She lays it in her open palm and holds her hand out to him, offering it up.
“No.” He shakes his head, ”you should keep it.” He reaches out and closes his hand over hers, curling her fingers over to cover the chain and ring.
He's not sure what he's saying with the gesture. That it'd be too painful to take back? That there won't be anyone else he'd give it to? That he's not actually ready for whatever they have to be over? He figures she can take her pick, they're all probably true.
(He remembers the night he had given it to her, the night before the quell. She had been weepy-eyed from her good byes with the children, perched on the edge of her bed.
“Got something for you.” He reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out the bit of shimmering gold, holding the chain and letting the ring looped on it dangle. “I know it’s not much, but it was my mother’s. To make it look official ya know?”
“It’s beautiful.” She admired it as he fastened the thin chain around her neck, and tucked it under the neckline of her dress. “I just wish-“
"I'm sorry." His voice was quiet, "I would tell you if I could, but you just have to trust me."
She looked at him, blue eyes mournful, "That's not what I was going to say.")
“I know none of it was ever real to you, but ….” She scrunches her nose and shakes her head ever so slightly. “I just wanted to say thank you. I do appreciate it Haymitch, more than you know.”
It’s an unspoken fact that she’s the last living escort. The rest had been executed by Snow or by the rebels or had simply caught in the crossfire. But he’s still caught up on the first part. “Never real?” He asks.
“I suppose I should get to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She bends down to kiss his cheek, but as she does, he turns his head to look at her and her lips catch the corner of his mouth.
It’s like he’s been shot. “Effie.”
He reaches up, hands grabbing at her waist to pull her into his lap and she comes more than willingly, pressing open mouth kisses along his jaw before he can realize what’s happening.
He tilts her head up to kiss her on the mouth and it’s like a fucking chemical reaction, he can’t believe he’s gone so long without her tongue in his mouth, that they’ve been hovering around each other at arms length for the past two days without catching spark.
He’d be embarrassed that they don’t even bother getting undressed, hands down each other’s pants as they press themselves together on the small couch, but it just feels so damn good to care.
He can feel himself drifting off as buries his face into the soft waves of hair at the crown of her head, where it lays on his chest, taking a deep breath and inhaling the soft floral smell of her shampoo. He knows they’ll regret falling asleep like this, that his back is worse for the wear on a good day, but he’s not going to be the one to break whatever fragile thing is hovering between them.
The harsh knock on the door the next morning, however, that does just that.
And then another.
“Delivery for Haymitch Abernathy.” A voice says from outside.
He untangles himself from Effie on the couch, missing the heat of her body immediately, and his back aches like hell just like he thought it would. He waits for her to straighten her clothes before opening the door.
The delivery boy stands on the other side of the threshold, thick envelope in hand. He hands it over and stands expectingly until Haymitch grabs a few spare coins from the table by the door and shoves them in his hand.
As he looks at the envelope it comes crashing back that this is the only reason why Effie is here. The truth of everything slams back into him like a freight truck.
This isn’t real. It’s just pretend. It’s always been pretend. The fragile strand of happiness he has been chasing over the last few days breaks, snapping back in his face.
“Well.” He rips open the envelope with no fanfare, grabbing a pen and signing his name next to the X, “Now you’re free. I think the next train’s in an hour.”
Effie’s face drops, “Haymitch-”
“So grab your things and get out of this hell-hole.” There's a hundred pound weight on his chest, "That’s all you came here for isn't it?"
She's standing stock still and he can't help but goad her, "Isn't it?"
“I’m not doing this.”
"Fine. Enjoy the train ride back." He snaps, heat rising up his neck to his face.
"Enjoy the rest of your life." She snaps back, slamming the front door behind her.
He storms out the back, grabbing a bottle of whatever is within reach on the way. Popping the cap off and taking a sip he sits on the back porch, staring out at the thick fog and the morning frost that covers the vegitation.
He takes another generous swig.
The fog begins its slow rise after sometime, it's foreboding and grey around the leafless trees and it reminds him of Thirteen.
In Thirteen, with the threat of death looming, the sheer uncertainty of it, everything had all felt so raw. Effie without her wigs and makeup, and him without his booze. It had been Effie that had fought to break him out of the solitary confinement they shoved him in to sober up. Taken responsibility for him and seen him through the worst of it. Only once he was on the other side of it, had she let him have it for keeping her in the dark.
But even that hadn’t lasted long, and the truth of the matter was they had clung to each other like a lifeline in the cold grey underground, whether either would ever admit it or not.
Memories flit through his minds eye now in rapid succession, as the final bits of frost melt away under the day’s sun.
(The way the thin gold chain holding his mother’s ring had pooled in the hollow of her throat as they lay in their bed, the conspiratorial whispers in the dining hall, her fingers threading through his hair methodically as they sat in the shaking bunker when the bombs dropped, the small contraband packet of instant coffee that had almost brought Effie to tears.)
The weight of it all feels like a slap in the face and he stands up suddenly, bottle falling to the ground.
The house is silent when he goes back inside, the guest room empty. He walks over to Katniss and Peeta’s house, knocking but not waiting for a response before swinging the door open.
“If you’re looking for Effie she’s already gone. She caught the train out about a half hour ago.” Katniss glares at him over the top of the book she’s reading on the couch. “You really made a mess of that.”
So Effie got Katniss in the divorce. Go figure.
He leaves without saying anything at all, walks across the dirt road and into his house with purpose, through the living room into the kitchen where his old phone lives.
It rings twice before the person on the other end picks up. “Yeah, hope you’re doing well too Plutarch. But that’s not why I called. I need to cash in one of those favors you owe me.”
___ ___ ___
(Katniss’ banishment to Twelve had been effective immediately. Haymitch got word that there would be a train waiting for them that evening before Coin’s body was even cold.
It hadn’t given him much time to wrap up loose ends.
Effie had found him shortly thereafter in their shared room throwing things haphazardly in his suitcase.
“You’re going back to twelve this afternoon.”
Not a question, just a statement.
And just like that reality had sunken in. They hadn’t had time to talk about anything but he guessed it didn’t matter anyways. Because as he had looked at her standing in her Capitol finery again, after months in Thirteen, and he knew there was no way she’d be happy in Twelve with him. And he couldn’t stay here. Especially not now.
“Yeah. Going back to Twelve this afternoon.” He slammed his suitcase shut, “You’ll deal with getting Plutarch to take care of the annulment then?”
“Oh.” Effie paled, turning to straighten things on the dresser that didn’t need straightening, “Of course. Yes. That makes sense.”
And that was that.
Effie had still made sure she was there to say goodbye, had hugged a despondent Katniss and spoken a few final words to the girl soothingly before sending her off.
Then Haymitch leaned in and kissed her not like a goodbye, because he didn’t think he couldn’t take that, but like he was just running out to the market.
“Don’t be a stranger.” He had said, and hoped he believed it.
He sat on the train, glass of whiskey in hand, and thought about Effie going back to the room they had shared, alone. About how they hadn’t spent a night apart in months.)
___ ___ ___
He’s slumped against the outside of her apartment door, almost sleeping when she gets home.
“Haymitch?” She nearly drops her bag in shock.
“Did you know a hovercraft can get ya' to the Capitol about six hours faster than a high speed train?” He grins, but Effie is not amused.
"What are you doing here?"
"I've been doin' a lot of thinkin'. And the thing is, I don't wanna get divorced from you."
"What?
"I don't wanna get divorced."
"And precisely," Her head is held high, tipped back slightly as if she could keep the oncoming tears back with physics alone, "How do you expect me to respond to that?"
"Uh," He stammers taking a step forward towards her as she takes a step back, "How about, I don't wanna get divorced neither?"
“I’m sorry Haymitch," even in the dim light of the hallway he can see the tears starting to slip from the corners of her eyes, "I know you came all the way from Twelve, and I know you're lonely, and you're probably feeling sentimental, but you can't just show up in the Capitol and tell me you still want to be married to me. It just doesn’t work like that. It can't work like that, not after everything.”
"Why not?" he can hear the desperation in his own voice, strained and fragile, but he doesn’t care. "What about the fact that after all these years you're the only person who's ever really understood me, despite my best efforts. Or that I think after all these years I'm the only person who's really understood you, Eff. Behind all that shit you put on for everyone else to see. And then there’s the fact that you're the only person who I wanna talk to when I wake up in the morning, or when I'm lyin' in bed at night. And it's not just 'cause I'm lonely, or 'cause I'm feeling particularly sentimental. I came out here because when you realize you got the chance to spend the rest of your life with someone you love like that, you don't wanna fuck it up."
“I can’t stand you, Haymitch.” Her voice catches and Haymitch sees it clearly in her eyes, that thing that's been there as long as he can remember. And now he knows, it’s been love this whole time. “I really can’t stand you.”
Her bag thuds as it hits the ground when she moves to kiss him, hungry and sacrosanct all at once.
___ ___ ___
In a fortnight, when the night is bright but silent, and the landscape of Twelve is illuminated by a full moon reflecting off of the first real snow of the year, Haymitch throws a thick manila folder into the fireplace and they watch together as the flames rear up.
He turns to Effie, “You got the bread?”