Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Katniss’ scream echoed in the apartment on the 12th floor of the Tribute Center, causing Effie to jump from the couch and bring a hand to her mouth.

“Oh, no. What did she do?”

She being Johanna, who had just teared out Katniss’ tracker. Haymitch was still seated, his hand gripping the arm of the couch. He was not even drinking, which spoke volumes about his state of mind; and Effie had not noticed that she had spilled her white wine on the carpet, which spoke volumes about hers.

On the screen, Katniss lay on the floor with blood on her throat, but then the camera cut to the beach, where the remaining tributes were expected to show up. Effie turned towards Haymitch, anxiety tensing up the lines of her face in an unfamiliar way.

“What did she do to Katniss?” she asked again. “She’s… she’s…”

Haymitch got up, and peeked through the patio door. The sky was still clear for now.

“Haymitch, did you see this?” Effie insisted. “She was hurt. By her own ally. And where is Peeta?” she complained, her eyes darting back to the screen where Beetee could now be seen winding the electric wire around the tree.

It was happening. It was time. His and Plutarch’s plan was unfolding just as planned so far. Haymitch sighed deeply as the knot of dread in his stomach tightened, and he walked to face Effie. He took hold of her glass of wine, downed it while she exclaimed: “Haymitch!”, settled the empty glass on the coffee table and seized her shoulders, demanding her full attention.

“Listen,” he said in the lowest voice possible, “we could not tell you before, but we’re going to try and rescue Katniss from the Games.”

He couldn’t explain much, because he never knew where wires might be hidden, where cameras might be watching. They were in the snake's lair, although Snow and the rest of them must be too absorbed by what was going on in the arena to pay attention to anything else.

“Beetee is going to destroy the force field with the wire, and a hovercraft will bring us to the arena to fetch her,” he whispered. Effie was open-mouthed, her eyebrows frowned, and she shook her head. Her voice was icy when she spoke. “No. What are you talking about?”

“Katniss is the face of the rebellion. It’s time to end these atrocities, Effie. I know that you know it, deep down.”

Haymitch's heart was pounding hard. Sweat covered his skin. He had prepared himself for this moment for 25 years, he had fought his darkest instincts and survived just to see it arise, and yet it felt surreal. But in front of her, Effie was downright in another world. In a world where the Hunger Games happened every year and where there was not the slightest doubt they would continue to happen forever. Where the Hunger Games meant stability and peace and security for her home and her life. Haymitch could not imagine how she felt, but he knew that their perspectives right now could not be more different.

“What have you done?” she murmured, her eyes now terrified. She tried to take a step back, and Haymitch realized he was clutching her tight. It was dreadful, to have to convince her in such a short amount of time.

A shadow darkened the room, and Haymitch looked through the windows. A hovercraft was approaching. Following his gaze, Effie shook her head again. “This cannot be serious.”

They locked eyes again. They stood only inches apart, but they had not been so distant in a long, long time.

“Come with us,” Haymitch urged her. “We’re going to the 13th District, we’ll be safe there.”

Now Effie had a nervous laugh. “The 13th doesn’t exist.”

“It does. It was never wiped out. I’ll explain everything on the way,” he added, seizing her wrist to take her outside as the hovercraft landed.

She abruptly broke free from his grip. “This is madness. You’re going to get us all arrested."

Arrested was such an understatement that Haymitch almost snorted, but he didn’t, because he was about to ask Effie to take a decision that would change her life permanently.

“Effie, we have no time. You have to pick your side now. Are you with them, or are you with the team?”

Effie’s eyebrows jumped in surprise and pain. He knew that this word would touch her and remind her of her affection for Katniss and Peeta. Remind her that she, too, had found their situation unfair and cruel.

“But it will never work,” she murmured. “Haymitch, this is madness. Just stay here," she pleaded, extending her fingers to brush his sleeve. "You haven’t done anything wrong yet.”

Gunshots rang out behind them, startling them both, and suddenly two soldiers from the 13th were walking in the room.

“We must go now, sir,” one of them told Haymitch, his hand on his upper arm.

“I know,” he snapped.

“Did you just shoot the door?” Effie exclaimed outrageously.

Haymitch seized her wrist again. “Let’s go.”

But suddenly Peacemakers erupted from the other side of the room and Effie jumped away from him. Haymitch cursed. How could they have reacted so fast? Had Beetee managed to obliterate the field force already? On the TV, the screen had gone black. He had no time to think, he had to flee now.

The Peacemakers shot in their direction, and Effie shouted but she was not targeted. Haymitch and the soldiers dodged the bullets; one of the 13's men seized his arm to haul him to the hovercraft while the other covered them. Effie was out of reach; she had made her choice. She had crouched near the sofa to protect herself. Haymitch ran towards the aircraft as weapons fired behind them. The three of them jumped inside, the door closed immediately and the aircraft took off. Haymitch found a window.

He just had the time to see two Peacemakers snatching Effie and pulling her towards the door before the living room was out of view.

For a while, he stared at the building as it shrank away, his heart still beating frantically.

They had taken her.

Haymitch had not considered this situation. He had imagined only two possible outcomes of asking Effie to join them: she would come with them to District 13 or she would stay safe in the Capitol. Why would they take her? She was Capitol-born. She was an escort. She had never openly disagreed with the system.

It was easy to understand, though: after Snow had realized that something had gone wrong in the Games, he had ordered for everyone close to Katniss and the other tributes to be captured, and Effie was simply too close to them, no matter where her loyalty lay.

Haymitch’s jaw clenched when he thought of how unprepared she was to face Capitol’s punishments. Even spending one night behind bars would scare and humiliate her. How much information would they believe she possessed? Now Haymitch wished that there had been wires recording them. Then they would know how little she had been involved, how she had even tried to discourage him. He had to cling on to that hope.

A voice demanded his attention and pulled him back to the present moment. “She did it herself. Katniss shot the arena.”

Haymitch pivoted to find a quietly triumphant Plutarch stepping in. Right, Katniss and the rescue mission. There was nothing he could do for Effie now except bring the Capitol down. He had to focus. The hovercraft had already left the city and was approaching the outskirts of this year’s arena. “There couldn't have been a better spark to ignite the rebellion. The Mockingjay herself destroyed the Hunger Games.”

One month and a half had gone by in District 13 when President Coin finally decided to retrieve Peeta, Johanna and Annie from the Capitol’s claws. In the last week, Haymitch had watched Katniss become increasingly anxious about Peeta. It had been strange, observing her distress, like a mirror of his own concealed emotions. She had managed to forgive Haymitch about protecting her instead of him, but the guilt kept haunting him. It was torture to bear it without anything to tone it down. Despite the necessity of the rebellion, he despised himself for taking charge and somehow betraying all of them: Katniss, for forcing her into a role she didn’t want to play; Peeta, for too readily accepting to have him dead or thrown to the wolves if need be; Effie, for keeping her in the dark and failing to protect her anyway. And District 12, his home.

Burned off the map in vengeance.

Of course, a war required sacrifices and he had not expected to win without losing first. But he had not imagined that the costs would be so frightfully high so quickly.

Katniss had been the only one enquiring about Effie, of course, and she had included her in the list of people to rescue before being met with a firm “no” by Coin. Peeta and the other Victors, yes; but an escort? Out of the question. Haymitch had been boiling over that.

It had taken Katniss being devastated by the white roses all over the ruins of District 13, and the power outage of the Capitol, for Coin, Plutarch and Boggs to resolve to rescue the Victors. As they were all headed to the meeting room to discuss the details of the mission, Haymitch cornered Coin in a corridor. “I’d like you to reconsider rescuing Effie Trinket.”

This was as polite as he could get in his present mood, but Coin’s features were utterly closed. She tilted her head and examined him. “Give me one good reason to waste time, energy, munitions, or food on a citizen of the Capitol.”

“She has information. She knows places, people. We could use that.”

“We managed fine thanks to Mr. Heavensbee until now. Besides, are you so sure she would yield information to us? I was told that she was with you when you were picked up at the Tribute’s Center. If she’s such an ally, why didn’t she follow you then?”

Haymitch looked away. “It was messy. The Peacekeepers fell on us when we were talking about it.” He was conscious he had not been very convincing so far, but he still had some arguments up his sleeve. “Look, if it’s resources you’re worried about, I’ll take care of it. You won’t need to spend anything on her.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You intend to give her your own rations?” Haymitch took a step towards her. “Effie is important to Katniss, too. Leave her behind, and you’re throwing away your shot to ease her worries about the people she cares for. If Effie’s here, all of Katniss’ friends and family will be safe and she can focus on her mission.”

Haymitch felt bad for weaponizing Katniss, but he was telling the truth, although a little exaggerated and not all of it. However, Coin saw right through him. “I think this is all about your anxiety. I can’t afford to act on emotions and friendships, M. Abernathy. Every decision I make must maximise our chances to win this war, and saving a spoiled woman from the Capitol does not serve us.”

Haymitch felt tense. He had only one more card to play. If it failed, it would mean that he missed his one chance of saving Effie. He had no idea how long this war would last. He didn’t even know for sure where she was, what they were doing to her. At least, Katniss had seen Peeta on screen. Effie’s fate remained a mystery, but the vision of the Peacekeepers brutalising her kept playing in his mind.

“Alright, clearly, you don’t see her value,” he said. “Do you see mine, though?”

Coin was clever. She understood what he meant immediately, he saw it in the way her eyebrows subtly rose. But she indulged him anyway. “Of course. You’re the only one Katniss trusts here. Well, you and her family.” It was interesting that she chose to mention this instead of Haymitch’s role in starting the rebellion at all. Past accomplishments were irrelevant to her, it seemed. “Well,” he continued, “you were right. This is also about my anxiety. I might find it more difficult to help Katniss if I’m worried.”

He was bluffing. As much as he wanted to help Effie, he could not morally give up on the rebellion because of it. But even if Coin called his bluff, maybe she’d see that rescuing one more person in this mission was a small price to pay to secure Haymitch’s loyalty, now and after the war, if they won. She shook her head disapprovingly. “You and Katniss make quite the pair, prioritizing personal desires over the greater good. I thought you had more integrity.” She kept scrutinizing him for a few seconds, and squinted her eyes. “Are you and this woman involved?”

Haymitch was surprised by Coin invading his private life, and he reckoned that it was none of her business. At least she hadn’t objected, this time. “Just help her, Coin, as a personal favour. I will owe you if you do,” he concluded, and left before she could answer. Coin worked with logic, not with sentimentality, and Haymitch had given her all he could.

That night, six soldiers tasked with retrieving the tributes were sent to the Capitol. Plutarch had told Haymitch what Coin had decided: they would free Effie too if they found her with the tributes, but they would not look for her if they didn’t. Now Haymitch could only hope she was there – or someplace else, safe.

He had gone to notify Katniss of the mission, and together they had listened to Finnick sharing his story to distract the Capitol, while watching the rescue team in action.

Snow had talked to Katniss directly, revealing that he was aware of the soldiers breaking into the Tribute Center. Then the screen had gone black.

Haymitch had hugged Katniss crying, certain that she had lost both Peeta and Gale. He could not properly comfort her because there was a high chance she had, and he himself was confused and scared. If Snow had known all along, then all of this had been a trap they had walked right in. All of them could be killed because of it, Peeta, the other Victors, the soldiers, and Effie. Haymitch had to push that horrifying prospect away from his mind. He couldn’t cope with it.

The rest of the night was endless. Katniss isolated herself to try to calm down. He went to bed, lying awake until he judged enough time had passed for the hovercraft to have returned, if it did at all. At that point he joined the command center, where Coin, Plutarch and Boggs were watching the sky.

“Any sign of them?”

“Yes,” Plutarch said. “They’re just about to land. The medical team stands ready to receive them.”

“Thank God,” Haymitch muttered.

He immediately looked for Katniss to warn her, and together they ran to the hospital zone, which was buzzing with people. They saw Johanna, her head shaved and a savage look in her eyes; they paused for a moment to watch Finnick and Annie reunite; then Katniss went to Peeta, and Haymitch had to intervene to try and stop him from killing her.

It was a shock, to see Peeta like that, and he could already calculate the emotional implications for Katniss. The poor girl did not need this. Peeta certainly didn’t deserve it. Haymitch’s hatred for Snow escalated further, even when he thought he had already reached a peak a long time ago.

At that point, he badly, badly wanted to check if Effie was there, but he first made sure that Katniss was okay enough, and that doctors were taking care of her and of Peeta before he looked for her. He was dreading not finding her and being left in the dark about her fate.

He walked back to the main room, urgently scanning the faces around him, but she was nowhere. He was about to go to the hovercraft just to be sure when two female soldiers stepped through the door, supporting a silhouette between them. He had a moment of doubt because of her lack of wig and posture; but as he hurried towards her, he saw that Effie had indeed been saved.

Chapter Text

Effie was staring into space, motionless between the two women. She was wearing a black linen shirt and a pair of trousers too big for her, tightened around her waist by a belt. Her hair had been shaved. She still wore hints of makeup under her glazed eyes ; the only other traces of colour were bruises on her cheekbone and jaw. Her face was expressionless, as if someone had killed the light inside of her.

Haymitch had never deeply reflected on his relationship with Effie, all these years, beyond noticing that they shared a strange link as mentor from the Twelfth and escort from the Capitol. He certainly found her ridiculous, or even straight up insufferable most of the time. They took care of their tributes together, though, and had gone through the Games together for 25 years, so a connection had necessarily developed. She was so very easy to mock, so easily offended that Haymitch couldn’t help teasing her at every opportunity, desperately seeking something to distract him from the horrors he kept witnessing. And with time, Effie had learned to respond occasionally, so that a sort of constant banter had settled between them, which sometimes vaguely sounded like flirting. But this was just a silly idea of no consequence in the scheme they were both a part of.

No matter how unusual their relationship was, the truth was that Effie Trinket and her absurd outfits had been the only constant person in Haymitch’s life for a very long time. And as he faced her looking like she’d rather be dead, and felt his heart shatter, he took the measure of just how much he cared about her.

Haymitch stepped forward to relieve the soldiers. When he tried to take the place of one of them, Effie nearly collapsed, so he scooped her in his arms. It was dreadful how light she was. Her eyes were still empty, but she curled towards his chest as if to hide her face from the world.

“It’s over, Effie. It’s me,” he told her clumsily, distressed to see her like that. “Nurse!” he called, and looked around him: but everyone seemed busy with the tributes. He caught the attention of a nurse that was around Annie’s bed – Annie having deserted it – and said: “We need another bed.”

The nurse gestured for Haymitch to follow him.

They found a room with four hospital beds, one of them free; Haymitch laid her there gently and pulled the blanket over her. The nurse was already on his way out.

“Wait. Someone needs to examine her,” Haymitch said.

“Sorry. We were ordered to prioritise the soldiers and tributes. Someone will come for her soon.”

He exited the room. “Fucking District 13,” Haymitch muttered. He almost expected to hear Effie’s “Manners!”, but she was silent and still. He could not leave her like that. He looked around the room, opened a closet and found a clean cloth and a basin. He stepped out of the room to fill it with clear water.

When he came back, someone was next to Effie. Cuffing her to one of the metal headboard slats.

“What are you doing?” Haymitch said, smashing his basin on a table to stop him.

“Just following orders. Peeta Mellark just attacked the Mockingjay. We’re not taking any risks.”

“And Annie and Johanna? You’re going to restrain them too?”

“They’re visibly themselves. She seems confused.”

“She is traumatised. Don’t be stupid, what do you think she’ll do in this state? Throw a pillow at me?”

“Orders are orders,” the man answered, and he left them.

Haymitch examined the cuff. Only her left hand was attached to the slats, but Haymitch would need a key if he wanted to free her.

This was Coin’s doing. She was taking her revenge on Haymitch forcing her hand to save Effie. He was grateful that Effie was here with them now, but really. Fucking District 13.

Effie didn’t seem to care about being cuffed. He sat next to her with his bowl of water and cloth. He wet the cloth and carefully brought it to her forehead, which caused her to blink rapidly and jerk her face away.

“It’s just water,” he said.

She still didn’t look at him when her head regained its initial position, and it worried him. Was she scared? Angry? Confused? Had she lost her memory, lost her mind?

He started rubbing the cloth over her skin to remove the makeup and the dust lingering on her face. Once her forehead was clean, he moved to her temple, and gently brushed over her injured cheekbone, applying next to no pressure there. The bruise was crimson tinged with purple: it had been done to her recently. Haymitch compulsively shaking his head with contained anger. But Effie shut her eyes, which he took as an invitation to do her eyelids as well, and he felt a little relieved. She was still there, somewhere.

Usually, it was the other way around: he would be in a pitiful state, and she would take care of him. Often with sighs and scolds and complaints, but never once had she walked out on him when finding him drunk or dirty or damaged.

And it had happened more than once over 25 years of the Hunger Games, of watching the kids of his district follow his footpath; watching Effie pick paper after paper after paper from the reaping bowls, and cheerfully announcing the names of the girl and the boy she condemned. How he had hated her in these moments. However kind she had been after his own Games, it was hard to truly appreciate the company of a woman who was convinced the Hunger Games were an opportunity for these kids. An opportunity for them to win and start a new life as Victors, or at least to enjoy everything that the Capitol had to offer in the time they had left. The Capitol had brainwashed her into believing their lives didn’t matter, that the Games were good and important and kept everyone safe, while providing the districts with a chance to shine. She had been part of that system for too long to dare even start to question it. With time, Haymich’s anger, alcohol helping, had dulled into resignation and even, to an extent, into understanding that Effie was a victim of Snow too.

So year after year, they had taken that train across the country and watched terrified kids become the laughingstock of Panem on live TV before inevitably meeting their end in the arena. And year after year, Haymitch had drunk to try to ignore what was happening. He recalled one year in particular where he’d had the idea that if he drunk himself unconscious the day before the reaping, they would finally give up on him.

That day he woke up on the floor of his living room with his head throbbing and the smell of vomit in his nose, his palm stinging from a cut caused by the glass shattered all around him. He heard a distant voice call his name, registered fingers checking his pulse. And then, to his surprise, he felt a hand running through his sweaty hair, and opened his eyes, squinting at the light. “Must you really do that to yourself,” she said, her voice half consternation, half worry.

“You’re gonna stain your dress, darling,” he answered, his throat so dry and his words so slurred he wasn’t sure she could have understood. She kept lecturing him, but his brain was too foggy to listen. When she slipped her hand under his shoulder to encourage him to stand up, he made an effort to cooperate and stumbled on an armchair. She handed him water with painkillers and washed the dried blood on his hand while he slowly got back to reality. She cleaned the vomit and the broken glass, and although he would have liked not to care, not to bend to her will and refuse to go, all he could feel was shame for his state and for making her do this.

After a while, she knelt next to him. “You need to take a bath.” He staggered to the bathroom with Effie at his side, ready to steady him. A warm, soapy bath was waiting. The sight of the white bubbles somehow deeply moved him. “You ran a bath for me?” he asked dumbly. “I just want you to be presentable for the ceremony,” she replied while fetching a towel from a cupboard. He looked at her with a smirk and asked: “Will you help me undress, too?” She scoffed and rolled her eyes under his amused gaze, and promptly exited the bathroom.

After his bath, he put on the pair of trousers and a shirt that she had also left there, and then he joined her in his dressing room. He squeezed his eyes at the brightness of the lights.

“Sit,” she said, pointing to a chair.

He obeyed and closed his eyes.

“Not too short,” he muttered.

“It could use a good trim,” she said with a hint of exasperation.

“Who’s talking.”

She sighed, and then she ran a hand through his hair again – in a way that was meant to be a bit rough, but that he found comforting – before starting to cut it.

“How’s your headache?”

“Better. The bath helped.”

Scissors snipping, jasmine perfume. The feelings of cleanliness, of being taken care of, draping over him like a makeshift blanket. But he could not entirely trust it, no. It was for the cameras.

“Do you think you can possibly hold yourself together today?”

It was for the show. He had to look good for the Capitol.

“You don’t have to do anything, you know that. You just have to be there.” Snip, snip. “I’m the one doing all the hard work,” she complained dramatically.

She finished trimming his hair and brushed off those which had fallen on his shoulders. He opened his eyes again and blinked slowly. She was looking at him, her brows furrowed in concern.

“Haymitch, please. Tell me you’ll behave. They were really upset last year.”

Last year, Haymitch had been a nightmare. He had walked on the stage and had talked to the crowd as if he were a clownish escort under Effie’s horrified eyes. Before the Peacekeepers had intervened, he’d had time to seize a handful of the small pieces of paper in the bowl, and had thrown them around like confetti. They’d had to cut the cameras and pick up all the papers with an agitated crowd before them, and Haymitch had been seized and locked up in the train.

He had found it as fun as a reaping could get. Effie had not talked to him for two full days. He had regretted it afterwards, though. His little display had given hope to the families of the District – maybe they would somehow cancel the reaping this year? Of course, they wouldn’t.

Haymitch sighed deeply, and nodded. She took a breath and nodded, too. “Right.”

He stood up as she dimmed the light, and he attempted to fasten the buttons of his still-open shirt. It was taking him ages. “Come on,” she said softly, and she shooed his hand away with her own. To her credit, she was much more efficient, her fingers delicate and precise. He stared at them as she progressed. He was alone in District 12. He didn’t let anyone even try to get close to him. So those hands were the only hands that ever touched him now. How strange, to think of Effie Trinket in that light.

She finished buttoning up his shirt and smoothed out the fabric on his shoulder, in a way that made him think she was lost in thought.

There were no cameras here. She didn’t have to be so soft.

She snapped back to the present moment, drew back her head and examined him.

“Well now, that’s handsome,” she commented with satisfaction.

“I know, honey,” he replied with a wink, before they made their inevitable way to the reaping.

In the 13th district’s hospital, Haymitch was finishing cleaning her face. She had opened her eyes again. What had they done to her? Obviously they had physically harmed her, but psychologically? Had they talked to her or left her in silence? Had they rewritten her memories? Insulted her? Shamed her? Threatened her?

“I’m sorry for putting you in danger,” he said, looking away in guilt, his voice soft and low. Finally, he felt her gaze on his face and they looked at each other. The pain and loathing he saw in her eyes made him feel sick.

“Why are you here?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

Haymitch felt confused. What was he supposed to answer? “Because I want you to be okay?” “Because you were here for me?” “Because no one else will?”

“You should be with Peeta,” she added.

“Trust me, Peeta is very well cared for. I’ll check on him later.” He touched the back of her hand with the tip of his fingers. “You shouldn’t be alone either,” he said. “You’re part of the team.”

Her chapped lips quivered, and she looked away as tears welled up in her eyes. Haymitch tried to properly take her hand, but she moved it away.

“No. I’m a monster.”

Haymitch felt a cold sweat trickle down his spine when he heard these words, pronounced with this voice, shaking and hopeless and cold all together. He had never seen Effie in such a state. He didn’t know who she was when she was not cheerful, busy, exasperated, comforting, colourful. The Capitol, which she had served all her life, which she had thought would always protect her, had taken her and broken her until she was empty. Haymitch had to swallow the lump growing in his throat; he shook his head.

“No, you’re not,” he replied gently, hoping that she would keep talking, explain what had happened to her.

“Please,” she snapped. “You started a war with the Capitol. I’m one of them. I don’t need your pity.”

It still seemed unreal, to hear her talk like that, and Haymitch needed a moment to answer.

“What have they done to you?” he asked carefully.

“Nothing that I did not deserve.”

Tears rolled on her temples, but Haymitch knew that his urge to dry them would be unwelcome, so he kept still.

“You didn’t deserve this, Effie. No one does.”

She shut her eyelids, clenched her jaw, and then seemed to force herself to meet his gaze. The sorrow that he saw in her pupils blurred by tears was so intense he almost drew back.

“I was part of it,” she said, her voice now fragile and low. “The Games. I sent these children…”

She couldn’t finish, and Haymitch’s heart leapt in his throat.

That was it, then. She had understood, and there was no going back, now. She would have to come to terms with it, somehow, if that was even possible.

Haymitch did not answer. He could not deny she had done these things, and right now she needed to process it. He looked at her shame-ravaged face, her mouth contracted and trembling, wishing there was something he could say or do to make her feel better.

“Go away,” Effie said, turning away from him.

“Effie…”

“Just go. Go see Peeta,” she insisted, refusing to look at him.

He left her hospital room shaken and lost. He felt torn apart by relief that she was out of the system – both physically and mentally – and anguish at seeing her hating herself. How naïve he had been to hope that being rescued from the Capitol would put and end to her hardships. That she would come out of it outraged and galvanised and ready to fight.

But she could not fight the Capitol without tackling her own demons first. And whether she liked it or not, he would not let her go through hell alone.

Chapter Text

Haymitch spent the rest of his day checking on Katniss, on Peeta, and talking with Plutarch and Coin about the situation. He also forced himself to thank Coin and told her that Effie was no more dangerous than Annie (Johanna arguably always being slightly dangerous), and should not be handcuffed. “I’ll see what I can do,” she had replied, even though they both knew she was entitled to do just as she pleased.

Problems were piling up, and he barely slept that night. On the following day he saw Katniss and Peeta again; Katniss still needed to rest, and Peeta was uncontrollable although he had started to calm down a little. Haymitch came up with the idea to have him interact with someone close to Katniss, to test his reaction. He had suggested himself at first, but Plutarch had thought of Prim, as she was the picture of innocence and Peeta had no negative memory directly connected with her. They had both talked to Prim and her mother about it. But they would wait for Katniss to be ready to see it. Haymitch didn’t want her to be excluded from this. As sad as it was, she needed to understand exactly what Peeta was capable of now.

After this was settled, he had a quick lunch before he made his way to Effie’s room, and stopped short when he heard that someone was already inside.

“I’m glad that you’re safe,” Coin’s friendly voice was saying. Haymitch stood there. He didn’t trust Coin, and he wanted to be able to counter-manoeuvre her if she tried to manipulate Effie.

“To be perfectly honest with you, we had not considered rescuing you before Mr. Abernathy suggested it. I couldn’t be sure which side you were on. But it seems the Capitol has turned on you. I’m sorry for what they’ve put you through.”

There was a pause. Effie didn’t reply.

“You will benefit from all the care and protection you need in this District. I’m sure you will feel better soon. Take care, Miss Trinket.”

Haymitch hurried in a corner as Coin left the room. She had not asked Effie to provide info on the Capitol, but Haymitch was certain that this was the reason she was so nice to her. She was highlighting what District 13 was giving to her to take from her later.

Once Coin was out of view, he entered the room and noticed that Effie was uncuffed; Coin had probably done it herself just now, as Effie was distractedly rubbing her wrist. Two of the patients that had been there the previous day were gone; there was only one unconscious woman and Effie in the room now.

“Hi,” he said.

He made sure his uneasiness didn’t show on his face. He was not used to her sunken cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes. She wore a headscarf, and he wondered who had brought her that. Coin, probably. Katniss and Peeta were the only two persons who knew her and liked her enough to be kind to her, and neither of them were fit to leave their own room.

Haymitch held up the paper bag he had brought.

“I brought lunch. Don’t know what they give you here.”

He saw that she had left her plate untouched. “Let’s see…” Unsurprisingly, it was the grey porridge that made everyone depressed. He had gotten blackberries as dessert and had managed to hide them in this bag.

“Yeah, that’s a long shot from Capitol’s buffets,” he said in an attempt to lighten her mood. It didn’t work. He sat next to her, teared the bag open and laid it on the edge of her bed. She looked at the berries and he saw a little spark in her eyes. She was starving, and refused to eat to make a statement. He would not let her. He took a berry and swallowed it.

“Now, you wouldn’t let me eat alone, would you? That’d be terribly impolite.”

This time there was the faintest shadow of a smile on her face, but it disappeared too quickly.

“This woman hates me,” she said finally.

“Coin? She hates everyone who’s not useful to her.”

“She should hate me. You should hate me.”

“No one hates you, darling,” he said casually, as if what she was saying didn’t hurt him. “People are more focused on Snow, these days.”

“I worked for him.”

“As everyone in the Capitol did.” He looked at her, and sighed. “Look, I can’t say I like Capitol folks. You know that. But being a mentor showed me that it’s those who pull the strings who must be condemned. Snow. The Gamemakers – well, except for Plutarch. The rest of you – the escorts, the stylists, the sponsors, even the Peacekeepers, they all think that what they do is right. That they work to preserve peace. Because that’s what they’re indoctrinated to believe.”

Effie was listening attentively, but her fingers were distorting the blanket over her legs. Haymitch could not imagine what it must feel like to process the unravelling of the fiction your whole life was built on.

“Sure,” he continued carefully, “they’re guilty of forgetting to think by themselves – and of an awful taste in clothes – but once they do, once they face it and switch sides, they can start to be forgiven. And to forgive themselves.”

Effie swallowed, her face closed off again. “I don’t know about that.”

He nodded. She would need more time to think this over. “If you thought you were going to distract me, you’re wrong,” he said, pushing the fruits towards her. Her stomach growled. Haymitch insisted. “Come on. You don’t want me to feed you myself. You’d end up with juice all over your lovely hospital gown.”

This time she smiled, and it warmed his heart. She took one berry and slipped it between her lips. Then she kept eating them and he found himself watching her in a way that made her blush when she looked up, so he stood to fetch her a glass of water. He was glad to see some colour on her cheeks. He wanted so bad for her to be healthy and healed. She finished the berries, drank some water and then she shifted in the bed.

“I want to walk”, she said.

He moved away to give her some room, and she sat on the edge of the bed. He held his hands out in case she wanted support, and she seized his wrist to steady herself when she got on her two feet. Then she slipped her hand around his arm, the way she had done countless times when they had attended the Capitol’s celebrations. Now her gown was grey and dull, her perfume was that of antiseptic, and the music was the beeps of the hospital’s machine.

How far they’d come.

“How are Peeta and Katniss?” she asked gravely as they reached the door.

They walked in the weakly lit corridor as if it was a nice promenade. Haymitch hesitated a moment. His first impulse was to lie to her: she didn’t need to worry over them on top of the rest. But she also didn’t need to be lied to again. She’d spend enough time being lied to. Now was the time of truth for Effie; the bare, ugly truth.

“They’re not at their best,” he admitted. “What did you… What were you aware of, when you were detained? About what they did to Peeta?”

“Nothing. Just… screams.” Her voice had once again dropped very low. Haymitch wanted to ask her what they had done to her, but instead he waited a little bit to see if she wanted to develop. She seemed lost in thought for a moment, then she focused on him again.

“How is he?” she asked.

“They altered his memories of Katniss. They made him believe that she’s an enemy that he must kill.”

She brought her hand to her mouth and looked at him with dread on her face.

“No.”

“He tried to strangle her when he saw her after the rescue. Katniss lost consciousness, but she’s okay, now.”

Effie had stopped walking and was shaking her head. She disentangled herself from Haymitch and leaned on the wall. “They’ve been through so much already. So much.”

“I know.”

Haymitch laid a hand he hoped was comforting on her shoulder.

He remembered the year when Effie had reaped two twelve-year-olds. It was the 70th Hunger Games. It was always a shock when they were so young; after all, the Game, as cruel as it was, was designed to minimize the chance of young teenagers to be picked. When the girl, Maddie, stepped towards the stage, Haymitch briefly closed his eyes. The crying, the screams from the families, he was used to it, but usually they were not so young. “Come, come up here,” Effie had called her, her voice soft and warm, ignoring Maddie’s mother shouting her daughter’s name. Maddie stepped on the stage and Effie smiled at her, before saying in the microphone: “And now, the boy.” She had picked another name. “The male tribute of District 12 is… Nox Heaver.” There was rustling in the crowd. A boy’s voice, a man’s voice, “No!” “No!” and the Peacekeepers had to intervene to fetch a child screaming with tears on his face. Haymitch had tensed. This would be enough for the inhabitants of any District to fight the Peacekeepers, and part of Haymitch wanted nothing more than that. But another part of him knew it would end in a bloodbath that would not be in favour the Twelfth. The poor boy was brought on the stage, next to Effie. Haymitch saw that her smile had become tense and fake; he saw her re-read the name on the papers to check that there was no mistake. She swallowed, and waited for the crowd to calm down before she took them both by the shoulders.

“Well, we have our two tributes for District 12.” She looked at each of them in turn, and her voice had lost some enthusiasm when she said: “May the odds be ever in your favour.”

The training period for these two had been hell. Effie had been extra gentle with them, trying to get them their favourite food, the comfiest pyjamas she could find; she had made sure that their stylist made an effort and had promised them that they would find them sponsors despite their young age. Haymitch had told them to hide and run. There was nothing else they could do.

In the evening the kids would tell he and Effie about their families at home. Haymitch asked them tons of questions to distract them. The three of them would make fun of Effie’s wigs, but Effie would prepare hot chocolate for them all the same. Then they would send them to bed, and Effie would not be able to hide her uneasiness.

The morning of the start of the Game, Haymitch and she had settled on the sofa of the penthouse as they always did. They had scored poorly after the training, and Haymitch not been able to get them any sponsor. Effie and he watched Panem’s logo, listened to the hymn, and saw the arena for the first time: an abandoned village. The cornucopia was in the center of the main square. The place could have been a neighbourhood of District 12, so Haymitch thought it could be a slight advantage for Maddie and Nox. The camera showed their faces as the countdown started. Nox was terrified, looking all around him; Maddie’s eyes were fixed on the cornucopia.

“Don’t, love,” Haymitch muttered. “I told you not to.”

“4, 3, 2, 1.”

Maddie ran to the cornucopia. Of course, with her shorter legs she was slower than the other tributes. Everyone was still focused on their own potential gains, so she made it to a backpack that she snatched. The camera showed District 2’s female tribute fight with the 8’s boy and smash a bat in his head (“And that’s probably the first kill for Amber of District 2, yes, we hear the canon boom”). Haymitch looked in the corners of the screen for Maddie and Nox, but the audience was not interested in them, so the focus was now on both tributes of the 4th District running away from the village’s squares with weapons (“These two are off to a great start, right?”), then on the boy from the 11th killing the boy from the 6th (“Well, no one was betting on Samley but this spectacular move will surely get him sponsors now”) and then on the girl from the 1st throwing a knife towards Maddie who was running with her backpack, and hitting her right in the back of the neck. She fell dead instantly. (“What an incredibly precise shot from Lixia, this girl needs to find herself a bow! Oh, and this is Marlov from 5th, one of this year’s favourites. No weapon but he got a backpack and is running towards the house. These will be interesting hiding places this year.”) But Marlov, looking briefly behind himself to secure his environment, bump right into Nox, who must have stayed around to keep close to Maddie. Marlov was on his knees quickly, and Nox was still on the ground when he got his head snapped by the older boy. (“And that’s the end already for District 12 but no one’s really surprised, now let’s see whether Marlov has decided to ally himself with District 4…”)

“Oh, no,” Effie murmured next to him.

Haymitch laid his head in his palms. They had not lasted five minutes. Maybe it was a blessing. They both had had quick, clean deaths. They had been spared days of fright and suffering, of seeing no sponsor come to their help. Their nightmare was over.

Haymitch had tried no to get attached, but presently he was fighting the sobs he felt coming. His face hidden in his hands, he was swallowing back the lump in his throat. He didn’t want Effie to see him cry. He had to distance himself from all of this, as he always did, or he would truly go mad. He needed to forget them. Get over it.

For a long time, neither Effie or he moved. Effie had turned down the volume of the TV. She was unusually quiet. Normally, after their tributes’ death, she would be upset and comment on the treacherous moves of their opponents, or compliment the way they had fought, or accuse their allies of being unreliable while he finished an entire bottle of tequila. But she said nothing and somehow that made Haymitch feel worse.

Finally, he felt her hand on his shoulder. He straightened up and looked at her, ready to snap if she said something inappropriate. But she looked sad and powerless. He had no energy to do anything other than sit back in the couch and stare at the screen without listening or watching or thinking.

Then something even more peculiar happened: Effie quietly moved closer, and delicately curled herself against him, laying her head on his shoulder slowly as if he would push her away any second. But he didn’t. He was starved of human contact and desperate for a friend. Effie was unhinged in many ways, she was too close to the reason for his misery for him to feel really comfortable with it, but she was the closest he had to a friend. So he slipped his hand beneath her arm and intertwined his fingers with hers, and let his tears fall.

They had never talked about that moment again, Haymitch realized, his palm still over Effie’s back. What he mostly remembered from it was that Effie had been the only one who could share his sorrow then, even if in her distorted way, even if on the following day she had put back what he suspected was a mask of indifference and cheerfulness.

Still leaning on the corridor’s wall, Effie staggered and Haymitch seized her arms. “You need to rest and eat more,” he said, and he guided her to her room again. He made sure she was comfortable, but she looked grim again as she thought about Peeta and Katniss’ state.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said before he left.

That evening, withdrawal symptoms made him repulsed at the idea of having dinner. This time, he put his food in a tin box, spent a few hours hidden among the pipe mills to try and calm down, and then made his discreet way to Effie’s room. It was late and no one was supposed to be out of bed; but he was still not in his normal state and couldn’t care less about it.

“Effie?” he whispered as he opened the door, hoping he wouldn’t frighten her.

He didn’t hear an answer, so he called her again and stepped inside.

She wasn’t in the bed.

He frowned. Maybe she had gone to the bathroom. He put his food bag on her table and saw a little note on the pillow.

“Katniss and Peeta need you more than I do.”

Effie had run away.