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Victors Village was beginning to show the first signs of spring. It seemed as though the temperature was rising a few degrees every day. Haymitch hadn’t noticed the difference between one season and another in decades, but despite his initial resistance, things could change. He knew that life would never be the same after the war. That was precisely the aim of the revolution. However, he had never imagined the change would impact him personally.
Without a doubt, Panem had changed for the better. The Games were over; no more children being sent to certain death. Snow had died along with Coin. The districts were a safe place. Reconstruction was progressing at a steady pace. Everyone seemed to be healing and rebuilding their lives. Even him.
Surprisingly, even him.
Surprisingly, even him. Having left a piece of his heart at the Capitol, standing at the foot of the steps leading up to Snow’s mansion, dressed in one of her feathered gowns and as pale as the winter surroundings. Right after kissing her, completely sober and putting all his sincerity into it.
She had arrived in the District one morning with two suitcases and a modest dress. No makeup, no wigs. Just her ethereal natural beauty. She took the train again after several letters back and forth between the Capitol and District 12, pretending that they were both fine going their separate ways. His handwriting was usually just a single line, while hers was almost poetry. He barely slipped the paper into the envelope, whereas she used elegant pens and cursive script. Once he wrote to her that the children missed her, and she replied she missed them too. The following week, he opened the door to his house and found her standing there, a shy smile on her nearly bare face. Her eyes were smiling, too. And he found himself smiling for the first time since he left the Capitol. At first, she came and went to the city, never leaving entirely.
They both dealt with their pain in opposite ways: she immersed herself in a false sense of happiness, while he sank into genuine sadness. For a while, their conversations consisted mostly of sporadic words of comfort. Until, gradually, she realized that it was possible to be sad without being punished, and he began to understand that feeling joyful did not erase his past torments.
Haymitch poured himself a cup of fresh coffee as he took in the silence that filled the kitchen. He didn't like waking up alone, as it remind him of the lonely times he had lived through before the rebellion.
A noise from outside caught his attention. A symphony of squawks, followed by a high-pitched, cheerful yet firm voice. That’s what his mornings had sounded like lately. It was a big change from how things had been before the rebellion. Victor Village used to be shrouded in deathly silence every day, since he was the only living person there. He had grown accustomed to the isolation and the emptiness.
The 74th Hunger Games had changed that.
He walked past the bouquet of daisies in the vase on the table. He’d been buying them every week ever since one afternoon they had gone downtown and she had spotted them at the flower shop. She practically ran over to the daisies and said they’d cheer up the house. He had replied “why bother if they’ll just wilt in a few days?”, but she pouted, then smiled, and he realized how easy it was for him to change his mind just to make her happy. When he finally agreed, her blue eyes lit up so brightly that he decided it was worth buying those daisies every week just to witness such a wonderful scene over and over again.
He was thinking of covering his entire garden with daisies just to see how her face would light up every day whenever they went outside or looked out the window. By late spring, the yard, if not the whole District, would likely be filled with dozens of different flowers that would attract swarms of colorful butterflies and birds.
That was her effect.
Effie Trinket had ways of bringing things back to life.
Even whilst she struggled to put the pieces of her own heart back together.
Haymitch headed for the door, setting the cup on the table next to the daisies. As soon as he stepped outside, he felt the first rays of the morning sun.
The view was breathtaking and a little amusing. He could never get enough of it. The geese were noisily awaiting their breakfast while she tried not to give in to their chaos.
"Hey, what did I teach you guys about waiting your turn?," asked the sweetest voice he’d ever heard, with a slightly reproachful tone.
He chuckled. How could he not? She was trying to boss around a group of rebellious animals. She watched as she spread the food out on the grass carefully so the geese wouldn’t bump into each other. The noise stopped almost completely for a minute as they ate.
No one would believe it, least of all her, but those geese were starting to grow fond of her. He could tell. They were getting used to her, and she had learned to manage their chaotic nature.
He almost didn't dare to interrupt the scene unfolding before him. It felt like when a painter interferes with a painting that has already found its harmony. Especially paired with the black eyeliner. Although makeup was no longer one of her priorities, she still kept up the basics for special occasions. And he’d be lying if he dared deny how good it looked on her and how much he loved the new classic style she’d adopted in District 12.
She seemed straight out of a fairy tale. No wonder he called her princess.
“Are you arguing with the geese again?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her from behind.
The long sleeve of his shirt rode up a little as he pulled her toward him, and the sun’s rays reflected off the gold bangle on his wrist.
“I’m not arguing, ” she replied, hugging him tighter. “But someone has to teach them good manners.”
Her first impression of the geese hadn't exactly been favorable. She didn't like how unruly and noisy the animals were. Every time she and Haymitch tried to share an intimate moment in the morning, the honking from outside would ruin their mood. Besides, the animals didn’t take her orders seriously, and it drove her crazy. Despite everything, she won their trust, so now the geese let her feed them and give them orders. Those little bastards obeyed her more than they did him. Though he couldn’t blame them. After all, he didn’t follow anyone’s instructions either, except hers.
"And it won’t be me," he replied with a teasing smile.
"Yeah. That's why they prefer you. Because you spoil them," she accused him softly, resting her head on his chest and looking up at him.
Haymitch could count her freckles from this close up, thanks to the sunlight. Her face looked like a starry sky in broad daylight. And her ocean-blue eyes reflected a glow worthy of the moon.
Why would he bother looking up at the real firmament when he had heaven wrapped in his arms?
“And it won’t be me,” he replied with a mocking smile.
“Yes. That’s why they prefer you. Because you spoil them,” she accused him softly, resting her head on his chest and looking up at him.
Haymitch could count her freckles from this close up, thanks to the sunlight. Her face looked like a starry sky in broad daylight. And his ocean-blue eyes reflected a glow worthy of the moon.
Why would he bother looking up at the sky when he had heaven wrapped in his arms?
Suddenly, one of the geese honked, and she turned to it with a look of disapproval for interrupting their brief flirtation. However, Haymitch kept his gaze fixed on her, smiling..
"They're not the only ones I spoil."
His thoughts turned to the daisies, the weekly walks through town, the decorations inside the house, and the variety of butterfly-shaped trinkets he used to find scattered across the furniture every time she attempted to make one of Peeta’s recipes.
He kissed her neck gently and she let out a little giggle. Oh, what a beautiful sound.
They stood there, watching the geese, amused by the commotion they were causing.
“The kids will be coming over for lunch,” she announced suddenly.
“Great,” he replied softly. Then an idea occurred to him. “This time, maybe you could be the one to tell the stories,” he suggested.
She fell silent for a moment. It seemed unfair to him that she always sat there quietly during their conversations, listening to his stories, while it was never her turn to open up. She, too, had nightmares. Horrible memories. Months of torture and years of threats. She, also, had every right to hate Snow.
"I'm afraid they wouldn't appreciate my stories. I'm not a fighter or the District's hero like you."
"I'm no hero, princess. I thought you'd have already figured that out by now. We've told our stories, you might want to tell us yours."
"You already know about my past. I don't like playing the victim in front of them. They've suffered much worse than I have."
“We don’t measure other people’s suffering, Effie. Snow did terrible things to you, too,” he said, but he didn’t press the issue. If he did, she’d shut down even more. “I don’t want you to feel pressured, only that you know you have a space. If you ever feel like talking, we’re here.”
"I know. Thank you."
"Anytime, princess."
She laughed at that nickname. During the early years of their working relationship, it had bothered her because she thought it was his way of mocking her. But, as time went on, she had grown accustomed to it. She had actually come to like it. Now, it sounded like home.
Victors’ Village had never felt so alive.
His house had never felt so alive and peaceful simultaneously.
He owed it all to her.
Haymitch felt alive and at peace because of her.
There were ghosts from before his Games wandering around the house and there were monsters dressed up as soldiers hunting her dreams, but she illuminated his darkness, and he turned her nightmares into hope.
Perhaps Haymitch also knew how to bring things back to life.
Looking at her standing in their garden in District 12, arguing with the geese and planning lunch with Katniss and Peeta, wearing that same smile from decades ago, he knew it. He would make her happy so she could keep cheering everyone else up.