#Haymitch is sometimes the parent - sometimes the child -sometimes the pet

[mollywog]

I picture the Victors of District 12 as the found family where each assumes they’re the most responsible of the trio

[ellanainthetardis]

I know you must have a lot to write but I finally came up with a prompt. Effie and Katniss have some kind of mother/daughter moment post mockingjay. You can decide the specifics but just something along those lines :)

Here you go! [X]

Tiger Mama

The Presidential Mansion’s hallways werecrowded with rebel soldiers and, in her blue wig and brand new green silkdress, Effie felt ill-at-ease. She had never fitted in in Thirteen but, atleast, when she had been wearing the same grey rags as everyone else, gazes hadtended to slide on her instead of watching her with suspicion.

She wasn’t the only one who had tradedThirteen’s uniform for regular clothes, Haymitch had done it too, but she wasso obviously… Capitol… It wasn’t agood thing to be right now. Not when her people were being murdered in thestreets because District people were angry and the rebels couldn’t control themobs.

The smile on her lips was fixed and fake,warranting her even more stares perhaps than the make-up and the clothes. Shecouldn’t help herself though. This was her default persona: cheerful, cluelessand dumb. It was how she kept herself safe.

Eventually, she found herself in front theEverdeens’ suite and she knocked on the door with relief. The sooner she wouldbe away from the rebel soldiers, the better. She waited but there was noanswer. That made her frown. Katniss had been released from the hospital only afew days earlier and the doctors had been adamant she needed rest and constantsupervision, both of which she could only found in her room.

She hesitated a few seconds more, knockedagain, and then pushed on the handle that gave easily under her hand.

“Aster?” she called, stepping inside andclosing the door behind her. “I apologize for coming in uninvited but I knockedand…” It became obvious very quickly that there was no one there. Theliving-room was empty, the doors to the bedrooms were open and… “Katniss!” sheexclaimed when she spotted the girl huddling against her headboard, her legshugged close to her chest, her cheeks damp with tears. She hurried over, sat onthe edge of the mattress and gently brushed her loose hair back, mindful of thestill healing burns. “Dear, where is your mother?” Katniss shook her head inignorance, her small frame shaking with the strength of her sobs. Effie’s angerrose and fell in the same breath. She understood Aster’s grief, truly she did, but sometimes, it felt toher the woman forgot she had two daughters– one of which was still breathing. “No matter. Are you alright? Are you inpain? Did you take your medication today?”

That was a lot of questions and it was too muchfor Katniss.

Effie sighed and kicked off her heels becauseshoes should never belong on a bed. She moved closer to Katniss and gentlybrushed her fingers through her hair, not sure she would accept more just yet.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong, darling?”she asked softly.

The poor girl didn’t talk a lot anymore. Shewandered around as if in a perpetual daze, not unlike how she had behaved inThirteen in times of great duress, and Effie’s heart broke every time she sawthe usually brave and dynamic girl like that.

“I woke up.” Katniss whispered, her voice raw.“I wanted to tell Prim something and then… Then I remembered.”

The girl’s voice broke and she was soon cryingagain.

Effie opened her arms without a second thought,actually a little shocked when Katniss willingly shuffled into her embrace. Sheheld her as tight as she dared given her recent injuries, petting her hair andmurmuring empty promises that everything would be alright in the end.

Aster should never have left.

Haymitch had arranged it so she could takeleave of her duties in the medic team to care for her daughter. The doctorswere concerned with her mental state and withreasons. She had just lost her sister. And she needed someone around at alltimes precisely for this.

Effie lost all notion of time after a while.She ran out of banalities and started humming one of the rare slow songs sheliked. The humming seemed to calm the girl down so she grew bolder and sangsoftly. Eventually, Katniss’ sobs died down to hiccups but she didn’t make anyattempt to move away so Effie kept on singing and coming her fingers throughher hair.

Her dress was wet where Katniss’ cheek waspressed against her shoulder. It was brand new and delicate and now it would beruined and, for a second, she indulged in the pretending it was what was reallymaking her furious. Her pretty dress was ruined thanks to Aster Everdeen’sirresponsible behavior when she had spent too many months wearing rags. Onceupon a time, she might even have been more concerned with that than with thechild crying in her arms.

Now, though…

She would give everything for this child. For her and Peeta both. Everything shehad to give and probably even a little more.

She thought the girl had fallen asleep so shestopped singing but she didn’t dare let go of her. The headboard was hardbehind her back and she was uncomfortable. That didn’t prevent her fromdrifting off after a while though.

She wasn’t sure how long had passed before sheheard the knocks on the door immediately followed by the sound of its opening. Rude, she thought.

“Aster?” Haymitch’s voice called.

“Hush!”she retorted in a hard whisper that brought him straight to the bedroom.

Haymitch’s frown turned to a scowl when hiseyes took in the pitiful picture the girl curled up against her chest must havemade. “She took off again?”

Effie’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean again?”

Because if Aster had left Katniss alone morethan once and he hadn’t told her…

They had kept their voices low but Katnissstill shifted. Haymitch’s face softened when he met the girl’s eyes and hesighed, crossing the distance to the bed in a couple of long strides. He satdown next to Effie and gently tugged on a strand of Katniss’ hair.

“You had your medicine yet today, sweetheart?”he asked. The girl gave him a shrug that hit Effie in the ribcage. She wincedbut didn’t protest. “How about something to eat? You had that?” There wasanother dispassionate shrug and Haymitch clucked his tongue once in a tell ofirritation. “Let’s start with that, yeah? You feel like having some soup? I feel like having some soup.” His greyeyes darted up and met hers. “What do you say, Effie? Soup?”

She wasn’t hungry at all but there was awarning in his gaze that she should humor him so she smiled and used her mostcheerful tone. “Soup sounds delightful.”

“Soup it is, then.” he decided. “I’m gonnaorder it. How about you take a shower while I do that, Katniss? You’re startingto smell.”

“Haymitch!” Effie snapped, glaring at him.“This is not how you talk to a lady.”

“Nobody ever accused her of being a lady.” hesnorted.

It seemed to make the girl react at least. Shesat up and Effie was loathe to let her go but she supposed it was progress. Atleast until Katniss rubbed her face and did little else. Their Mockingjay wasapathetic.

“Perhaps I could run you a bath, dear.” Effieoffered. “And I will find you some clean pajamas for when you are done.”

The girl didn’t really approve or decline thatplan but when Effie went to the bathroom and filled the bathtub, Katnissshuffled after her and awkwardly stripped down. The burns still pained her andmade it difficult for her so Effie helped her, chatting all the while to chaseany embarrassment on either part. Not that Katniss seemed to care. The proudteenager who had volunteered for her sister was gone and had only left a shadowbehind her.

She made sure the victor was settled in thebathtub before she left to corner Haymitch in the living-room part of thesuite.

“I ordered food.” he muttered before she couldsay anything. “She doesn’t eat if whoever’s with her isn’t eating too.”

“How longhas this been going on?” she growled. “And whydidn’t you tell me?”

He ran his shaking hand over his face andturned to face her, exhaustion written on his features. “’Cause I didn’t wantyou to read the riot act to her mom. Look, Aster’s not doing well���”

“Neither is her daughter.” she snapped.“Katniss was alone and upset. She shouldn’t have…”

“Preaching to the choir.” he cut her off,lifting both hands in the air. “I told Aster to call me so someone could takeover when she feels like getting some space.”

“Clearly she did not listen.” she huffed. “We cannot allow this to continue.”

“Wearen’t Katniss’ parents, sweetheart.” he retorted. “It’s not like we can justgrab her and move her to our room.” Effie’s face brightened but he cringed. “No, Effie. We can’t.”

“And why not?” she countered.

He smirked but it was more bitter than amused.“Missed the part about us not being her parents?”

“What does thatmatter?” she snapped. “I would neverleave her like this. She barely gotout of this war alive. She has just been released and… She needs someone trustworthy to watch over her. I willnot fail this girl, Haymitch, I will not.”

He stared at her for a long time and thenaverted his eyes. “Maybe… I can ask Plutarch about moving them next to oursuite. Would be easier.”

“Very well. Do that.” she nodded. “And keep her mother away from me because I amafraid I cannot answer for mybehavior.”

She turned on her heels and would have marchedstraight back to Katniss’ bathroom if he hadn’t grabbed her wrist. She frownedat him but relaxed when he simply placed a brief kiss on her lips.

“It’s really hot when you go all tiger mama,Princess.” he teased.

She huffed and puffed and huffed again, givinghim a glance over before striding out of the room with a new spring to hersteps. That man was ridiculous. Listening to him you would think they hadn’tbeen doing this for years.

Tiger mama.

She didn’t mind the comparison.

She certainly felt ferocious when her victorswere concerned.

[ellanainthetardis]

I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please let me know!

[FF] or [AO3]

30. Thirty-Seven Weeks

The baby was crying.

Effie hurried down the corridor, unable to quench the panic that was gnawing at her guts.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

Her hand brushed against the familiar wallpaper but the feeling wasn’t right. Instead of the smooth wall she had forced Haymitch to restore half a year earlier, the surface was uneven. It was all cutting edges under her palms. Familiar too, but not in a good way.

As soon as she noticed the discrepancy, the flowery smell of the cleaning products she insisted on using all over the house disappeared, replaced by a smell that immediately made her want to retch. Rot. Filth. Her own body decaying, her mind trapped in that corpse that was refusing to die just as surely as she was trapped in that coffin of a cell.

She was in Twelve, she told herself, that was over. Haymitch had come. Haymitch had saved her. Haymitch…

The screaming of the baby derailed that train of thoughts. It called to something deep inside her, something she was reluctant to call motherly instinct. She knew it was her son calling for her, she knew her son was in pain, she knew…

She reached the nursery and didn't even blink when she found it empty of the furniture they had lovingly picked.

The cell was small. She knew every inch of the six grey surfaces that composed it. She knew that if she stood in the middle, she would have been able to touch the opposite walls without having to outstretch her arms. She knew that the ceiling was too low and that she would be forced to bend in two. She knew that the only way to move in that cell was to crawl like a dog would. Because that was who she was now. An animal. A pet. Abernathy’s bitch. The one the guards kept because it was fun to watch her cling to life.

There were scratch marks on the wall from when she had tried to keep count of the days, back in the beginning when they still fed her once a day and when the pain from her torn fingernails had abated enough that she had given in to the need for distraction. The ground was dirty, always dirty with her blood and things decency made her revolt against, yet there was a smoother patch near the corner opposite to the one she usually curled up in. She liked to touch it sometimes. She liked to touch it and imagine she was elsewhere. Somewhere nice and warm. She forgot sometimes - often - what nice and warm felt like. She forgot what the sunlight looked like. There was no light in there. It was pitch black all the time. Even when they slipped food through the trap at the bottom of the door, the light was barely a blink. There and gone in a moment, too brief for her tired brain to comprehend.

The cell was hell.

And yet she didn’t hesitate to rush inside, bowing her head as she did, desperate to find the son that was calling for her.

There were bloodied rags in her favorite corner that didn’t belong to her. Her blood ran cold. She dropped to her knees and crawled closer because it was the quickest way to do it. It was only when she got close that she realized the wailing had stopped.

It was silent.

She had always hated silence.

Her parents’ house had always been silent. A heavy kind of silence only disrupted by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall and the occasional coming and going of the staff. Disappointed stares, poised attitudes, boring afternoons that stretched endlessly…

Silence had a different quality in her prison. There was no ticking of a clock, no coming and going, no aloof presence that, at least, alleviated the loneliness. There, the loneliness was rather the point. The silence was absolute. A blanket of nothing that wrapped around her until she couldn’t tell if she even existed anymore. Nobody to talk to. Nobody to tell her if she was dead or alive. She could not stop the thoughts circling in her head. Around and around, the thoughts came. Flitting. Maddening. Elusive.

She hated silence.

She hated silence.

She warily reached for the bundle, a sob stuck in the middle of her throat. Someone was screaming in the distance but the silence was still absolute. She couldn’t understand the paradox. She didn’t even try.  

She knew what she would find in the rags but she looked anyway.

Aidan was so perfect.

Tiny nose and puckered pink lips. A heap of dirty blond hair and if they had been open, she knew he would have had his father’s eyes.

She cradled him against her chest and rocked on herself, back and forth, back and forth… There was no point though. The blood was everywhere, so much for such a tiny thing… She wanted to scream, to beat the walls until her knuckles broke, to claw at her stomach… She didn’t even manage a whine.

He wasn’t breathing.

He wasn’t breathing because…

“You killed him.”

She looked up to the rusty metallic door. There was a figure there, but it had its back to the light and Effie was blinded. It was too dark in the cell. Too dark.

The figure moved a little to the right and Effie brutally recoiled, automatically curling up in her corner, wrapping herself around her dead child as if she could still protect him.

It was her.

Who she used to be, at least.

Effie Trinket, escort, complete with pink wig, heavy make-up, and an elegant golden dress. Nowadays, she understood why Haymitch used to call her a clown. She hated clowns. And this one was scary.

Her doppelganger had no weapon but she had never needed any to be dangerous. Her mouth was quirked up in an arrogant, cruel smile, and her blue eyes were cold under the fake feather eyelashes.

“You killed him.” her double repeated, completely detached.

“No.” she protested, cradling the baby closer to her chest. “It was you.”

She didn’t know where the accusation was coming from but it made perfect sense to her. It was the escort who had reaped the children. It was the escort who had the blood on her hand. It was…

“Oh, no…” the escort laughed – that fake bubbly laugh she used to be so good at mustering on command. “I pull pieces of papers from a bowl. I am otherwise quite harmless.”

“Liar.” she hissed.

Effie had never been harmless. ��

She had always been a master manipulator. She knew how to read people, what they wanted, what they denied even to themselves… She knew how to pull the strings, how to play everyone like puppets… She had always been very good at being what everyone wanted her to be, at getting what she wanted.

And when she had wanted something, it had hardly mattered who she hurt in the process.

She had never apologized for being ambitious and she had never been reluctant to give herself the means of her ambitions.

The escort batted her fake eyelashes in a somehow disturbing flirty way, the smile on her lips becoming more teasing. “But, dear… I am just the escort… You are the victor… And we both know how unpredictable victors can be…”

“I am not a victor.” She shook her head, rocking harder. Her head hit the wall every two seconds but it was good. Pain was good. Pain was a reminder. Even if it was fleeting.

“Aren’t you?” her double chuckled. “My mistake. It must have been the many times you compared this place to an arena. Or perhaps it is the man you killed.”

“He was going to hurt the baby.” she growled. “I had to…”

“Kill him.” the escort finished for her. “See, I find it funny how you are always so quick to call me a murderer, when you are the one going around stabbing people. Why did you kill our son for?”

“I didn’t kill our son.” she snapped.

“Look down.” the doppelganger ordered.

“No.” she refused, her voice breaking. She could feel it in her right hand. She could feel it.

“Look. Down.” the escort demanded.

She didn’t mean to look but she did anyway and there it was. The knife in her right hand. The dead baby in the crook of her left arm.

“No!” she screamed. “No! No! No!”

“Victors are never right in the head.” her double mocked.

And suddenly, she wasn’t the pathetic prisoner huddling in the corner anymore. She was the escort. As flamboyant and confident as she used to be. Naïve, too. Weak, maybe. But powerful too in a way.

The woman in the corner, the scarred survivor she had become, screamed and screamed, carefully placing the baby aside before pouncing on her in a rage that couldn’t be controlled, trying to stab her, to…

“WAKE UP!”

It felt like breaking the surface of a very deep lake. She gasped a deep breath as if she had been underwater for too long, grasping his shoulders by reflex.

“That’s it.” Haymitch’s voice encouraged her. “You breathe, sweetheart, just breathe. I’m right here. Focus on my voice. It’s alright. It’s alright, sweetheart.”

She had to blink several times before the black dots stopped dancing in front of her eyes. But when the room’s outlines finally became clearer, it made no sense. The soft glow of the nursery lamp tossed shadows shaped like dolphins on the wall.

“Why… Why am I here?” she stuttered through her tears.

She touched her face, disturbed by the tears she didn’t remember crying.

“Not sure when you left the bed.” he admitted. “I woke up when you started screaming.”

She realized she was sitting in the rocking-chair and he was kneeling in front of her, one of his hands was cupping her cheek, the other one was on her stomach. On her very pregnant stomach. She hadn’t given birth yet.

“She killed the baby.” she whispered when the dream came back to her. Panic rose with the memories. She could feel the prickling on her fingers, the strangely distorted hissing in her ears that meant a panic attack was looming. “She killed the baby. She…”

“Nobody killed the baby.” he cut her off slowly. “It was just a nightmare. A very, very bad one.”

“But he was dead.” she argued, even if it made no sense. “She… She was me. She…” She shook her head. “I killed the baby. I… I killed our baby. I…”

“Effie.” he snapped. Her eyes shot up to meet his troubled ones and she fell silent. “Listen to me, you didn’t hurt the shrimp. The shrimp is fine.”

“What if I hurt him when he’s born?” she breathed out, her eyes wide, digging her fingers in the flesh of his shoulders, to make her point or to ground herself she wasn’t sure. “What if she’s right? What if I’m a victor now? What if…”

“I’m more likely to harm the kid than you are.” he scoffed dismissively.

“Don’t say that!” she growled. She felt an urge to hurt him for that comment that was difficult to swallow down. She could still feel the knife in her hand, its weight, how it had felt when she had stabbed it into Clay’s neck. The noise. The smell. It made her feel sick. “Don’t say that…” she repeated more softly. “I can’t let you. I won’t let you.”

“I bloody hope so.” he snorted fondly. “It settles that though, yeah? You won’t let anyone harm the baby, so you won’t harm the baby.”

“Haven’t you heard? Victors are deranged.” she chuckled and it was hysterical. It occurred to her she was still crying. She was going mad. She was going mad.

“You’re not a victor, sweetheart.” he sighed. “You’re a survivor. It’s different.”

“I was torn to pieces for some people’s sick enjoyment. How is that different?” she snarled. “I killed someone to survive. How is that different? I can’t cope with what happened to me. How is that fucking different?”

Haymitch studied her for a few seconds. He looked sad.

“You really need to start watching your language, princess.” he joked but it fell flat. He brushed her hair back. His hand lingered on her cheek in a tender caress and then joined the other on her stomach. “You’re back with me?”

She took a minute to answer that because she wasn’t sure. The shadows in the nursery’s corners made it too easy to remember her cell. She needed light. Bright blinding lights. And the smell… She could still smell the rot and decay. She knew it wasn’t real but she felt gross all the same. As if she was still covered with her own filth.

“Mostly.” she confessed. “Too many triggers…”

She let her voice trail off. He would know what she meant and, hopefully, he would be able to help.

“Mostly is good enough for me right now.” he declared. “I need you to tell me how you feel ‘cause I think you’ve been having contractions.”

“What?” she frowned. She realized the hands he had placed on her stomach weren’t there to protect or reassure. He was monitoring.

“They’re spaced out give or take four minutes.” he told her.

“It’s too early.” she immediately protested. There were still at least two weeks to go.

“You water didn’t break as far as I can tell…” he hesitated. “It might be the same thing as last time. It was a bad night terror.” The contraction hit then and she let out a small groan. Worry flashed on Haymitch’s face but his features were soon schooled into something neutral. “I’m gonna call Larcher, alright?”

“I don’t think it is necessary to disturb him in the middle of the night.” she denied. “I… Let’s wait and see if it calms down. We can call him in the morning.”

He didn’t look convinced. “I’m so not getting this baby out myself, Effie…”

“The pain isn’t bad.” she countered. “I promise if I don’t feel better in half an hour, we will call.”

He wasn’t happy with the compromise but he gave her a brief nod. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“I want a shower.” she winced. “I need…”

“I know what you need but we’re gonna have to put the baby’s need first, yeah?” he cut her off. “Right now the baby needs you to lie down and rest.”

“Maybe a bath…” she tried to argue.

“I’m not risking putting you in hot water.” he refused. “The shrimp might take that as a sign it’s time to come out.”

She knew he was right but it didn’t make it any easier to stomach. He switched on all the lights he could upstairs without her having to ask and, for that, she was grateful. He supported her all the way back to the bedroom, pursing his lips when a new contraction hit.

“The pain is not bad.” she sighed as he helped her sit on the bed. “It isn’t labor, Haymitch.”

“Can you even rate pain, right now?” he retorted – not mean but a bit harsh because he was worried.

Besides, it was a pertinent question.

She was so locked up in her memories… It was hard sometimes to make the difference between them and the reality when the experience was so intense as that nightmare had been. Her pain threshold had become very high since the war and…

“I really do not think it is bad.” she whispered, crawling back on the bed to lie down. She let him tuck her in because it was plain to see he needed to do something. “I swear, Haymitch, I wouldn’t… I would never put the baby at risk.”

He opened his mouth and shut it again before he could say anything.

It didn’t matter, she knew what he had been about to reply: that it wasn’t what she had been claiming ever since she had woke up.

She tried not to resent it.

She was too confused herself by the thoughts in her own head.

“I would like a glass of water.” she requested instead.

His eyes roamed on her and then he nodded and disappeared in the bathroom. She closed her eyes, not quite surprised to feel the mattress dip a few seconds later. She opened her arm, smiling when she felt the warm body snuggling against her side.

“You’re cheating on me.” Haymitch snorted and she opened her eyes in time to grab the glass of water and a handkerchief. She took a grateful sip and then pressed the fabric to her nose while he ruffled Snowball’s fur. The puppy looked uncertain, as if he was picking up on the tension. She petted him with her free hand.

The handkerchief smelt like lavender. It was a strong pungent smell, which was why she used it to do the laundry. She couldn’t bear bad smells since prison, it was an immediate trigger, hence her obsessive cleaning sprees. The lavender helped her ground herself.

For a while, they just stayed like that. Haymitch was sitting on the side of the bed, absentmindedly petting the puppy huddled against her side, and she breathed in the lavender, occasionally taking a sip of water.

Eventually, the contractions spaced out from four to seven minutes and then only came randomly. After an hour of this tensed waiting, Haymitch finally relaxed enough to lie down next to her, sandwiching Snowball between them.

“You trust me, Effie?” he asked.

“Is that even a question?” she huffed tiredly.

He rolled on his side to watch her, head propped on his elbow. “One hundred percent?”

“With my life.” she promised. “You know I do.”

“With our son’s life?” he insisted.

She didn’t even bat an eyelash, she didn’t even hesitate for a single second. “Yes.”

“Then you need to trust me when I say you’re never gonna harm him.” he stated calmly. She dropped her eyes to the puppy but he reached out and covered the hand that was petting Snowball with his own. “You’re not a killer and you’re certainly not a victor.”

“Did you forget Clay?” she spat and the name left a bad taste in her mouth.

“That’s different.” he shrugged. “Survivors kill to survive. Victors… There’s always a sick part of us that comes to enjoy it in the end, you know. That’s what the arena does to you… It…” It was his turn to avert his eyes. He stared at their hands instead of looking at her. “It’s a thrill ‘cause their death means your life. It’s a twisted game. Even if you don’t want to play… It catches up with you. And you enjoy it. Maybe it’s innocent at first ‘cause it just means you’re glad to be alive. Maybe it lasts only a second but… It’s enough. You enjoy it. ‘Cause you’re powerful. You take their lives and, in that world, you’re a god. That’s why so many victors have gone crazy over the years. Once you let the monster out to play, it’s hard to rail it in.”

“I know.” she whispered.

“Do you?” he snorted.

The Capitol had never advertized that side of things, of course, and she had had no firsthand experience because Haymitch, despite his alcoholism, had always been… tamed in his violent urges. He had been brutal at times, he still was sometimes, but he had never lifted a finger on her – pushed her against a wall, yes, shoved her out of the way a few times, but he had never hurt her. Some other victors… Some of them were charming in public but could be very difficult to control in private, she had heard tales from other escorts that had left her feeling grateful for Haymitch’s difficult attitude.

And, naturally, there were the victors nobody talked about, that had been quickly forgotten by the general audience because the Gamemakers had wanted it that way. Those who had suffered tragic accidents or had succumbed to a timely illness. There had only been rumors about those, the ones who had never been able to make the difference between the arena and the real world, the ones who had grown addicted to killing…

The problem had mostly concerned the Careers, those who had fought to volunteer… Those who had already been unstable before going in…

She had always known some tributes took pleasure in the act of killing.

Haymitch had never been overly sharing with his time in the arena. He had told her some over the years, mainly when he had been too wasted and too desperate for human comfort to know better. The only time he had really talked about it while he was sober was on the third Quell’s Reaping day.

“Did you enjoy it?” he asked slowly. “Even for a second?”

Her mouth was dry and she licked her lips nervously.

There was no good answer there. One would make him feel worse about himself, the other would be admitting her worst fears were true.

And he knew her better than she knew herself, it seemed.

“No.” she offered, choosing honesty over sparing his feelings.

“No.” he repeated with a small smile, there was a hint of sadness to it. “Because you’re a survivor, not a victor. You will do whatever you need to protect this kid, sweetheart, including killing someone, but that doesn’t make you a killer. And it certainly doesn’t mean you’re going to hurt him.”

“I would kill myself before I purposefully hurt him.” she confessed in a murmur.

“I know.” he said, his tone hard. “I would too.”

“I love our baby so much.” Her voice broke and she searched his eyes, pleading with him to understand. “But I’m so scared. All the time. It’s been almost three years… When will it go away?”

“Sweetheart…” he breathed out. The pain she could hear in there… He nudged Snowball aside so he could hold her – try to, at least, because it wasn’t as easy as it used to be with her stomach – the dog was stubborn though and he settled against Haymitch’s back. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” she countered immediately, almost automatically. Because they couldn’t go back to that, to casting blames. She needed him too much to waste time hating him for something that had been out of his control.

As he had said when they had first discovered she was pregnant, it was too complicated to start laying blame at everyone’s door.

She had forgiven him for failing to rescue her sooner.

“I was feeling better.” she sighed. “Lately… I… I thought maybe it was over. That I could truly put it in the past. Peeta and Katniss are doing so much better… Even Annie… Johanna is Johanna but even she looks content and…”

“You can’t compare.” he chided her. “Look at me… I’ve been in limbo for almost twenty-five years.”

“But you are better.” she argued. “You are sober and more confident about the baby that…”

“I’m scared shitless about the baby.” he scoffed. “And being sober… It’s not that easy.”

“I know.” She regretted making that comment. She knew it wasn’t easy. He was good at sparing her – because she was pregnant, she suspected – but he had days when his temper got the better of him. The tremors in his fingers frustrated him, the headaches and the thirst… “I am sorry, that is not what I meant. I mean… You are not afraid you are going to harm him.”

“Sure, I’m afraid I’m going to harm him.” he shrugged, pressing a kiss against her head. “I’m afraid I’m gonna fuck up and the boy will hate me. I’m afraid I’m gonna be the worst father ever. I’m afraid I’m gonna relapse and let him down…” He let out a deep sigh. “But if you’re asking if I’m afraid I’m ever gonna beat up my kid or try to murder him, the answer’s no. ‘Cause that won’t happen. And I’m not saying that ‘cause I’m confident about the baby, I’m saying that ‘cause I’m confident about you kicking my ass if that ever happens. I trust you to protect the kid from me if need be. I trust you more than I trust myself.”

She took that in stride and then scoffed. “You would never hit our child.”

“You’re sure of that?” he challenged bitterly.

“Of course, I am.” she retorted. “I would not be with you if I thought you were that sort of men.”

“And you think I would be with you if I thought you were that sort of women?” he mocked. “The way you’re sure I would never hurt him, I’m sure you would never do it either.”

Something uncoiled in her belly and she felt the tension leave her shoulders.

“And you will stop me.” she declared. “If I snap and go crazy… If I try to…”

“You won’t.” he cut her off.

“But if I do, you will stop me.” she insisted, the dream still too present in her mind for her to dismiss it. “Because, right now, between you and me, I am the most unstable. And I need to know…”

“No one is ever going to harm our child on my watch.” he interrupted again. “If that’s what you need to hear… Fine. I’ll stop you.”  

She managed a shaky smile. “Alright, then.”

He ran his fingers through her hair. “You haven’t had a contraction in a while… I think we’re safe.”

“We should still call Larcher first thing in the morning.” she commented. She took a deep breath and realized she didn’t need the handkerchief she had kept close to her face. “I feel better.”

“Good.” he smirked. “You wanna try to go back to sleep? I can make you some chamomile…”

She shook her head, snuggling as close to him as she could with her stomach in the way. “I did not mean about the nightmare, I meant… about everything.”

“Even better.” he snorted. “See? I give great pep talks. Don’t know what Katniss was complaining about all those years…”

She chuckled because she couldn’t help it – and she didn’t want to help it either, it felt good to be happy. She pressed a kiss against his jaw, making a note to tell him to shave the following morning. Scruffy stubble was all well and good but she drew the line at unkempt beard.

“You are not a monster.” she whispered. Because that was what his little speech about victors had been about. And it was a recurrent enough fear of his.

He was silent for the longest time. Snowball’s soft snores were lulling her back to sleep when he spoke. His voice was rough, as always when he was battling with his own feelings.

“Your guard, the one I killed, I made it last and I enjoyed it. The things he was saying about you… The things he said he had done…” He clucked his tongue. “I don’t even regret it.” He shook his head. “The Games… What I did in there… That’s something that happened to me… That was kill or be killed… But… I happened to other people too. I happened to the tributes I killed, to their families… The moment I forget that… ”

He didn’t finish his sentence but she understood what he meant anyway. Calling himself a monster, accepting his actions… It was his way of making sure he never crossed a line he would never come back from.

“I love you.” she offered as if the words had some magical properties.

“And I’m grateful for that.” he admitted, in a rare show of hand. “I’ve been grateful for that for a long time ‘cause that’s more than I ever deserved. What we have right now… It’s more than I ever thought I would get. Look…” He hesitated for a second, took a deep breath. “I’m not an optimist but I really think we’re gonna be alright, sweetheart. I’m even pretty sure we’re gonna be happy.”

She smiled, stroking her stomach. “He will turn our life upside down.”

“In a good way.” he promised.

“Of course.” she hummed. “I never thought I would have one of my own, you know… Even before the war… Before the doctors said…”

“Don’t remind me about them.” He rolled his eyes. “Bunch of incompetents.”

“Perhaps it is a good thing they were.” she pointed out “I would have stuck to birth control otherwise and we wouldn’t be expecting Aidan.”

He grumbled some things she didn’t quite catch but that certainly weren’t niceties for the doctors. Then he cleared his throat. “He’s a bit of a miracle.”

“I like that.” she grinned “Our miracle.”

“Our son.” he said proudly.

He liked saying that out loud, she had noticed. As much as the words had freaked him out at first, he now uttered them at every opportunity. Our boy. Our son. Our shrimp. He would be a doting father, she had no doubt of that.

“Our son.” she answered with no less amount of pride.

She loved the sound of that too.

[ellanainthetardis]

Ah, me and my nasty cliffhangers... :p I promised angst for this story remember? Well, now I deliver...

{FF] or {AO3]

16. Twenty-two Weeks (2)

Effie watched Snowball growling at her feet while she waited for the butler to bring the phone to her mother. She could hear Haymitch moving upstairs and she hoped, for the puppy’s sake, that his shower would be brief. The dog looked unsettled.

She dragged a chair away from the kitchen table with a small frown so she could sit and pat his head without having to crouch or wriggle in ways that her stomach would have made difficult.

“What is the matter with you, my pretty baby?” she cooed. “You are one very unhappy puppy tonight…” She scratched him behind the ears and down the side like he usually liked but instead of rolling on his back, he stubbornly remained lying on top of her feet. “Are you sick?” she hummed. “You better not be sick, I warn you. I will be very sad if you are sick.”

“Euphemia?” her mother asked in her ear, clearly taken aback. “Who is sick? Is it your… victor?”

Elindra still couldn’t help but pause before referring to Haymitch. Effie swallowed back a sigh though. Credit had to be given where credit was due and her mother had been very good at keeping her opinion about Effie’s choices to herself lately. Since the trip to Four, she even seemed to have definitely reconsidered her stance on Haymitch being a disgrace to the family. He could be quite charming when he wanted to be and it seemed he had managed to put a spell on her parents during that dinner.

“No, no. We are fine.” she hurried in reassuring her. “It is simply our…” She stopped and winced because for the numerous calls they now exchanged every week, she had yet to explain the new addition to their household. “Mother, I did not tell you, did I? We have a puppy now.”

There was a very long pause at the other end of the line and then Elindra repeated in a detached, casual tone. “A puppy.”

“Yes.” she grinned and she didn’t have to fake the cheer in her voice.

She had grown very attached to Snowball in the short amount of time he had been there. She tangled her fingers in his fur, combing the long hair free of the numerous knots. She needed to brush him again. Haymitch wouldn’t do it. He said she was ridiculous and soon she would have him perfumed and groomed like a Capitol dog. Since Haymitch was good about taking him for walks, cleaning up his mess and training him, she didn’t mind the grooming duties. Snowball was a darling anyway. He loved it when she brushed his fur or gave him baths.

“You never said you wanted a dog before.” Elindra was obviously wincing. “I thought you preferred cats. They are much more refined pets.”

“Snowball is a big cuddly toy, Mother.” she chuckled. As if he knew she was talking about him, the puppy lifted his head and looked at her with his shiny dark eyes. “You cannot look at him and not fall in love.”

“If you say so.” her mother sighed. “I cannot say dogs are in fashion, right now. Well… Perhaps the small ones. As accessories.”

“Actually, I called to thank you for your package.” she said, sensing a change in topic was in order. The boiler suddenly stopped making noises and she figured Haymitch was done with his shower. She automatically patted the dog’s head, silently mouthing at him to be patient a little while longer. The puppy placed his head on her knees, staring at her. “It was really thoughtful of you and I love everything. Did you know we have not bought any baby clothes yet? You bought him his first outfit.”

“My little Eustorgio deserves only the best.” her mother declared in a very pleased tone. Elindra did like to be first in everything.

“Eustorgio was vetoed.” she announced.

“Pity.” Elindra commented “Tell me, how are you? Are his kicks still strong? How is the nursery coming along?”

By the time she was done with the small talk, Haymitch was back downstairs, bundled in his coat and scarf and Snowball was making such a racket she could barely hear her mother.

“Are you certain you needed a puppy?” Elindra sighed as Haymitch tried to convince the dog to go outside. “It seems awfully untrained.”

“He does not usually behave like this.” she frowned, as Haymitch struggle to drag him out to the backyard. It seemed the geese were at it too and her frown deepened even further. She waved when Haymitch closed the back door with a long suffering glance.

She tried not to read into the puppy’s strange behavior and the geese’s honking but she was suddenly acutely aware of being alone in the house. She was having one of those strange moments when a place that was otherwise safe and comforting now felt treacherous and suffocating.

Her breathing quickened as adrenaline flooded in her veins, her senses were hyper…

She knew she would have a flashback or a panic attack if she went on in that fashion. She also knew it wasn’t good for the baby so she focused on keeping her breathing even.

“I hope you did not yet buy a stroller, Effie, because I found the most perfect thing.” Elindra told her, oblivious to her sudden distress. “It is a pram that can double as a stroller later on. And to topple it all, it has dirt-track driving wheels so it should be very practical in your District. I ordered it. It should be delivered sometimes in the next two weeks. An insufferable delay for a delivery but that is what you get for living so far from the Capitol.”

“You should not have.” she remarked, subdued.

She was safe and this was ridiculous, she repeated to herself.

“Are you displeased?” Elindra asked, a bit on the cold side. “I just wished to help. I could cancel…”

“No, I am not displeased, I meant you already did a lot for us.” she replied. “You do not need to keep sending gifts.”

“You need a pram and a stroller and you need something that will work on unpaved streets.” Elindra pointed out.

“Yes, but…” she tried to argue.

“Simply say thank you, Euphemia.” her mother sighed. “I have every right to spoil my grandson, do I not?”

She figured Haymitch would have a different view on that but Effie knew it was pointless to argue. Elindra would simply take offense and she was enjoying being on good terms with her mother for once – for the first time in forever, probably.

“Thank you, Mother.” she answered. “I mean it.”

“Well…” Elindra huffed, maybe a bit embarrassed by how genuine Effie sounded. “You are very welcome. I do wish… I do wish to…”

She did wish to make things right between them, Effie understood that. “I know.”

“Good, good.” her mother breathed out. “I am terribly sorry, darling, but I must dash now. Your father is taking me to a fundraiser tonight and I am simply nowhere near ready yet.”

They said their goodbyes and Effie was left alone in the silent house. She had never had any problem being left alone in their house before. She loved their house.

Still, she had learned to listen to her instinct long ago so she headed straight to the living-room to grab the scarf she had left there with a half-cooked plan to go to the children’s until Haymitch came home. It was almost time for dinner anyway and it was the children’s turn to host it – not that she was ever responsible for the food, that was mainly Peeta and Haymitch’s territory; Katniss hunted it, she purchased whatever wasn’t in the forest for the girl to pick up and the boys cooked it, she deeply loved that system.

Her hand was closing on the scarf tossed over the armrest of the chair closest to the fireplace when she felt it.

The prickling at the back of her nape.

She knew she wasn’t alone.

She whirled around, half expecting to have gone crazy, half praying that she would be alone and it was simply her imagination playing tricks on her. She dropped the scarf, her hands flying to her stomach in a meager form of protection.

She recognized the man instantly.

It was the one from the grocery shop, the one she had seen several times around town and the reason why she didn’t mind Haymitch’s overprotective tendencies so much. Clay, she recalled, his name was Clay.

She remembered his daughter also. Leyla had been thirteen and not one of their cutest tributes. Effie had known she had no chance from day one. The child had been nice though, well-mannered, polite, with a keen eye for fashion… She had loved the dresses and the…    

“What are you doing here, Clay?” she asked, keeping her voice poised and calm. It wouldn’t do to lose her mind. It wouldn’t do to give him any reason to get angry.

The man hated her, it was written all over his face.

And why shouldn’t he? She had reaped his daughter.

How long had he been lurking around? It explained the geese honking and Snowball’s strange behavior. Brave faithful Snowball…

“Saw you in town today.” Clay snarled, waving his right arm around. She took a step back when she realized he was holding a knife. “You’ve got no shame, right? Parading around with that stomach when our kids are dead?”

His eyes were shifty. He was drunk or he had snapped. Possibly both.

“I am sorry.” she sincerely offered. “I know it does not make it alright and I know it won’t help you grieve but I am deeply…”

“You shut your mouth, you stupid whore.” he hissed, taking a threatening step forward. Effie took two back, her eyes darting around, searching for a weapon, searching for something. They fell on the open box on the coffee table and the knife she had never handed back to Haymitch. Clay was still ranting, slowly inching closer… She took her chance and circled around the armchair, trying to keep some distance between them. “My Leyla’s dead. Her mom… She killed herself. I’ve lost everything and you…” He shook his head. ���You should be dead too. You don’t get to have any of this. You don’t get to have a family. You don’t get anything!”

Her thoughts had been running around in all directions as she slowly but surely gave in to panic however they came to a screeching halt when she realized what would likely happen. He wasn’t just there to hurt her. He wanted her dead.

Her first thought was for the baby in her belly, the baby that would die with her.

The second went to Haymitch and what he would feel if he came back home to her dead corpse. It would destroy him. He wouldn’t be able to go through that a second time. He would lose it. He would start drinking again if he didn’t do something even more stupid.

It wasn’t just about her… Yes, losing her would probably be a hard blow, but the child? He wanted the child so much… He was excited about it. He had accepted the fact he would be their boy’s father and he was looking forward to it. The lost child would be the icing on a cake of horrors.

She couldn’t bear the thought of Haymitch going through any of that.

“You cannot hurt my family.” she whispered, tightening her hold on her pregnant stomach.

Her family.

She had gone against the Capitol for her family once. She had bought golden tokens and had taken a stance. She had borne months of torture and isolation. She had begged for her guards to hurt her instead of Peeta and Johanna. She had done things she never thought she could do.

She had survived.

For Haymitch.

For the children.  

“You won’t hurt my family.” she repeated, stronger.

“You don’t get to have a family.” Clay spat. “Mine’s dead. Because of you.”

“You do not understand.” she retorted calmly, fear suddenly deserting her as she lunged for the knife on the coffee table. Her fingers closed around the smooth handle. It was heavy and unfamiliar in her hand but it was Haymitch’s and it had protected him in the arena so, in some twisted way, it was comforting. “I won’t let you.”

Clay stared at her for a while and then burst out laughing like it was the best joke he had ever heard.

Perhaps it was. She was standing there, almost six months pregnant, one arm wrapped around her stomach, a knife she didn’t know how to wield properly in her free hand…

She could feel her baby moving though and it was all the incentive she needed.

She would protect her baby with everything she had.

She wouldn’t die, couldn’t die, because that would mean losing their child.

“I will kill you.” she warned, her voice breaking a little. “Please, do not make me kill you.”

Clay was still laughing. “I think you’ve got yourself confused with our traitor victor…”

Nobody should ever underestimate a mother, she thought. The length she would go for her children – all of her children… She realized just how far at that moment. She had suffered before and she was prepared to suffer again. But kill, now… Killing was a new thought, a new urge, one Haymitch had claimed feeling in the past and she had never really shared.

They had different views about what protecting someone meant. She shielded when he preemptively attacked. She didn’t like violence. She never understood why he always had to make a show of strength.

She did now.

“He is not a traitor.” she snapped. “Without him President Snow would still be alive.”

“Bullshit.” he sneered “I’ll get to him too, you know… But you first. I want him to see you dead.”

“Haymitch did nothing to you.” she hissed.

“He should have brought her back!” Clay shouted. “He saved those kids, why not my girl? She never hurt anyone, my Leyla…”

“She was a darling.” Effie agreed softly. “She would not want this. Please, Clay…”

“Don’t you talk about my girl!” he growled.

He pounced on her.

His knife slashed the air and she barely had time to duck out of the way to avoid getting stabbed. She felt the burning bite on her shoulder and arm, she felt the blood dampening her woolen sleeve… It didn’t quite register.  

He came at her again and she did the only thing she could think of, she barreled into him with a pitiful war cry, hoping against all odds it would carry to the children’s house and they would come running to her help. He dropped his knife in her surprise attack and she readied hers to strike without giving him time to react, beyond any clear thoughts now.

He grabbed her wrist and twisted it. Haymitch’s hunting knife fell to the floor but she wouldn’t give up. She scratched at his face with her nails. They struggled with each other for a moment until she tripped over the open box…

She went down, crashing on the coffee table that broke under her weight, cushioning her fall a little… She didn’t have time to register any of it. Not the shock and not the pain.

Clay was straddling her hips, his hands wrapped around her throat… So tight…

She couldn’t breathe.

She felt around for the knife.

There was only room for one thing in her mind.

She needed to protect her baby.

[mollywog]

Found the post that inspired this!

They defy structure. They need and are needed in equal measure.

I picture the Victors of District 12 as the found family where each assumes they’re the most responsible of the trio

[mollywog]

It’s a found family with a loose structure; Their roles are constantly shifting - Haymitch is the mentor but Katniss and Peeta care for him as much as he cares for them:

Haymitch is sometimes the parent - sometimes the child - sometimes the pet

I picture the Victors of District 12 as the found family where each assumes they’re the most responsible of the trio