#and Katniss took a while to notice but now she and Haymitch keep track of all the paintings

[fangirlerastour]

In my head, Peeta teaches Effie to paint and then whenever Haymitch is out she starts to paint little stars or flowers or sunsets or whatever around the house in hidden corners, on cupboard doors, under the table etc and doesn’t tell Haymitch to see how long it takes him to notice. What she doesn’t know is Haymitch spots them after like the second painting but doesn’t tell her because he doesn’t want her to stop doing them

[javistg]

A Second Chance CH 3.

It’s been almost two years since I posted Chapter 2 but Chapter 3 is finally ready!

I want to dedicate this chapter to @mega-aulover, @567inpanem, @katnissdoesnotfollowback, @hutchhitched, @justajjfan, @thegirlfromoverthepond, @booksrockmyface, @albinokittens300, @animekpopxx, @alliswell21, @alwayseverlark, @nightlock-1989, @katnissmeowverdeen, @mandelion82, @norbertsmom, @rosegardeninwinter, @everybirdfellsilent, @thelettersfromnoone, @mrspeetamellark, @taylerwrites, @ameliaodair, @everlark-always, @emilia206 and everyone else who joined this year’s @everlarkficexchange. 

Thank you all for bringing inspiration back into my inbox, for reminding me of how fun it is to create something and to share it with this wonderful fandom.

Also, @theeverlarkingmoose this chapter is for you. Your words of encouragement made me want to go back and re-read what I had written. Everything started falling in place after that ❤️ 

Based on prompt 110: A time travel AU: Katniss from Mockingjay, (any part of the book, it's up to you), winds up back the day before her sister's first reaping. What does she do now that she knows what's coming? Now that she knows how Peeta feels about her, and she knows how desperately she needs him, and what they could share? What on earth could she, or should she, even do/change? And what is she should lose it all again? [submitted by @wingletblackbird For EFE 2019]

To read from the beginning, you can go to AO3 or FF.net

CHAPTER 3.

The tribute train speeds along, silently hovering over the tracks on its way to the Capitol.

Alone in her compartment, Katniss cries. The hope and joy from the previous day are gone. Sorrow and defeat fill her heart as she sits on the bed.

Clutching a bag full of frosted cookies against her chest, she tries to come to terms with the fact that the unthinkable has happened again.

Covering her eyes from the glaring summer sun, an effervescent Effie Trinket walked onto the stage and pulled Prim's name out of a giant glass bowl.

For the second time in her life, Katniss stepped forward and volunteered to take her sister's place.

The crowd parted to let her through. Prim cried. Gale carried her away.

A silent District 12 saluted their tribute. Haymitch interrupted the proceedings with his drunken antics, and a rattled Effie called out Peeta's name.

After finishing the Treaty of Treason, the mayor prompted the tributes to shake hands.

Sorrow, pain, and an unexpected dash of hope danced in Peeta's eyes as he looked straight at her and gently squeezed her hand. Comforted by the gesture she no longer confused with a nervous spasm, Katniss squeezed back.

The goodbyes at the Justice Building were just as bad as she remembered them.

Katniss had thought it would be easier. She had imagined that knowing she had a real shot at coming back would help her be more convincing, more generous.

She wanted to be kinder to her mother --who had already proven she was strong enough to keep on going while Katniss was away-- and to leave her sister with a sense of certainty, with a bit of hope to cling to.

But, as soon as Prim started crying, Katniss's fears took over, and her resolutions melted as quickly as a blanket of snow.

In the end, history repeated itself, and Katniss used up most of her time going over all the practical stuff Prim and her mother needed to know. Right before the Peacekeepers barged in, the three Everdeen women hugged and promised, once again, that they would try their best.

Once her family left, Mr. Mellark delivered his cookies. The baker was just as quiet this time around, but Katniss didn't mind. Instead of fretting over his intentions, she was grateful for his generosity and kindness.

The door opened again, and Madge came in like a whirlwind, holding out the mockingjay pin and talking about district tokens.

"I'll bring it back," Katniss promised as her friend leaned in to fix the bird to her dress.

Madge kissed her friend's cheek. "I'm counting on that."

Madge had barely left the room when Gale walked in.

His eyes were dark and stormy, but when he opened his arms, she walked straight into them.

Their breakfast that morning hadn't been as pleasant as the one she remembered. Instead of joking around and talking about escaping into the woods, Gale had been surly and quiet.  

To Katniss's relief, he hadn't mentioned Peeta or her stroll around the Meadow the previous afternoon. It didn't matter. His contribution to the meal, a day-old tesserae grain roll that could have only come from the Hob, spoke louder than any words ever could.

Gale Hawthorne hadn't been in the mood to stop by the bakery that morning.  

"Listen," he said, stepping away from their embrace to look at her face. "Getting a knife should be pretty easy, but you've got to get your hands on a bow. That's your best chance."

Katniss smiled. There he was, her friend, her partner, the man who was willing to put his own feelings aside, like he'd done in Thirteen, to help and support her.

No matter what, Gale had her back. Even if he wasn't thrilled with her right now, he would keep her family safe.

"You know how to kill," Gale insisted as they discussed strategies.

"Not people," she muttered.

"How different can it be, really?" A grim remark uttered in a moment of despair. She had never liked it but, after surviving two arenas, it made her furious.

"It's incredibly different!" Katniss yelled. Anger and dread danced in her veins as she remembered where she was headed to. "I'd be killing a person, Gale! A person! I'd be erasing their thoughts, their dreams, their—,"

"Listen," Gale grabbed her by the shoulders, "Catnip, you can't think that way. Not in the arena. You need to remember, only one comes out, right?"

Only one. The words were oddly familiar. Numb, Katniss nodded.

"Say it,” he pressed.

"They have to have a victor," Katniss whispered. Looking up into Gale's silver eyes, she repeated, "Only one comes out."

"That's it, and you can be the one. You can be the one who comes home, back to Prim, back to your mother. Because that's all that matters, right? They are all that matters."

"Right."

Pulling her back into his arms, Gale lowered his head to her ear and whispered, "You can do this, Katniss. Just… promise me, you won't let anyone distract you."

Anyone. He meant Peeta, of course. But Peeta wasn’t a distraction, he was her mission.

Clinging to his embrace to soak up his warmth, she promised, “I won’t.”  

A Peacekeeper walked in.

Always the nonconformist, Gale asked for more time. He was granted none.

"Don't let them starve!" Katniss cried out, panicked, as her friend was escorted out of the room.

"I won't!" Gale vowed. "You know I won't!"

XXXXX




By the time Effie comes to collect her for supper, Katniss's tears have dried up.




Resigned to her fate, Katniss follows her escort through the narrow, rocking corridor into the dining room where Peeta sits, waiting for them.




At the sight of him, Katniss's breath hitches. This is the Peeta she knows best. Capitol clothes, winning smile, and a touch of… heartbreak in his eyes.




That wasn't there earlier, Katniss thinks. What happened? As Peeta's eyes flit away, she suddenly remembers. His mother.




Yes, Mrs. Mellark just told her youngest son that he's not good enough to come back from the arena.  




She wants to run to his side, to wrap her arms around him, press a kiss on his forehead, and soothe his pain away.




She wishes with all her heart that she could tell him that the Witch and her bitterness don't matter, but she can't. Instead, she bites her lip, takes the empty chair by his side, and waits for Effie to start giving instructions.




The supper comes in courses. The starter, a thick carrot soup, is followed by a green salad.




Katniss is reaching for the platter with the lamb chops and mashed potatoes when Peeta leans into her side and casually says, "So… when you said you'd be at the back…"




Surprised, Katniss glances back at him. The teasing glint in his eyes brings a smile to her lips. "I guess I meant the front," she says, stabbing a lamb chop with her fork and dropping it on her plate. With a coy shrug, she adds, "I confuse them sometimes."




Peeta's retort is interrupted by Effie's shrill voice. "Oh! Are you two friends?"




Katniss freezes, but Peeta quickly comes to her rescue. "Not really," he says, ladling a dollop of mashed potatoes on his plate, "we go to school together, that's all."




Effie takes this news with a polite nod. Just as they're about to finish the main course, she speaks again. "At least, you two have decent manners," she says. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."




Katniss narrows her eyes. Over the last couple of years, she's come to appreciate Effie, but her comment still disgusts her. So, once again, she makes a point of eating the rest of her meal with her fingers and wiping her hands on the tablecloth when she's done.




Bewildered, Effie straightens up in her chair, pursing her pink lips in shocked disapproval.




Good, Katniss thinks with a satisfied smirk. Things are just as they should be.

XXXXX




Katniss's first day in the Capitol is almost an exact replica of her previous one.




Her prep team scrubs and strips every inch of her body, removing all her hair and leaving her like a plucked bird, ready for roasting.




Later, when Cinna walks into the room, Katniss rolls her hands into tight fists and, somehow, manages to stop herself from lunging into his arms.




XXXXX




The carriage ride around the City Circle is a huge success.  




While Portia is busy extinguishing the last of the artificial flames, Katniss reluctantly lets go of Peeta's hand.




"Thanks for keeping hold of me," says Peeta massaging his hand, "I was getting a little shaky there."  




"It didn't show," Katniss tells him. "I'm sure no one noticed."




"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you," he replies, looking boldly into her eyes, "You should wear flames more often. They suit you."




Then, he does it again. He flashes her that smile, the one she knows he saves just for her, genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness.




Warmth rushes through her, and she bites her lip to keep from smiling too widely. She used to feel so vulnerable whenever this happened --like Peeta was in control, and she couldn't trust herself around him-- but she knows better now. Peeta's not trying to manipulate her, he's just paying her a compliment, and he's damned good at it!




No warning bells go off. No thoughts of hidden agendas, or strategies, or games cross Katniss's mind. Only joy and affection propel her as she stands on tiptoe and kisses his cheek, right on his bruise.




XXXXX




When Katniss notices the red-headed Avox at the dinner table later that night, she doesn't even flinch.




With watchful eyes, she follows the girl's movements and tries not to think about Darius —or the way he looked at her the last time they saw each other in that same room.




Taking a bite of her cake, Katniss glances back at Peeta and wonders —just for an instant— if he ever saw what Effie called the "matching set" while Snow kept him captive.




The thought is too painful to even consider, so she stops poking at it and goes back to the conversation around the table.




Later, as she lies in bed looking at images of a slow trickling stream projected on her wall, she silently berates herself for her silence. Her original reaction hadn't really hurt anyone, but it had led to Peeta covering for her and showing her the rooftop garden.




She longs to go there now. It's the only place where she can breathe, and she's sure Peeta's there already, looking down unto the Capitol skyline. But how can she join him when no one in this timeline has shown her the way?




The answer is so simple it makes her laugh. The terrace isn't exactly hidden, and Peeta knows she's an illegal hunter who sneaks under an electrified fence every day. He won't question her if she says she just stumbled upon it while exploring the apartment.




Katniss steps into the cool, windy evening air. Twelve floors down, the Capitol twinkles like a vast field of fireflies. It's a familiar sight by now, but it still fills her with wonder.




Peeta's already there, standing by the railing at the edge of the roof. His eyes widen when he sees her approach.




"How did you find this place?" Katniss asks, trying her best to sound surprised.




"Cinna showed me," Peeta says. "You?"




"I did some exploring."




Katniss reaches his side, and they both turn to look out onto the skyline.

"You can practically see the whole city," Peeta says.




They stand there for a few minutes, enjoying the show of flickering lights, listening to the wind chimes behind them and the noises from the city below.




They're standing so close together that she can feel the warmth radiating off of him. A little closer and I would smell his scent, she thinks, hoping she could wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his shirt.




"A penny for your thoughts," Peeta asks.




Startled out of her reverie, Katniss laughs, "A penny? Is that the going rate in town?"




Peeta shrugs. "I guess. It's just something my grandmother used to say."




She's heard this before, back on their victory tour, but she still asks, "Which grandmother?"




"Grandma Mellark. She had tons of sayings, one for every occasion. She died when I was ten, but I still remember some of them." After a short pause, he asks, "How about you? Do you remember your grandparents?"




"No. I never met them."




Peeta turns towards her. The earnest curiosity dancing in his eyes tugs at her heart. "Never?"




Katniss shakes her head. "I know my mother's parents ran the apothecary up until a few years ago, but we never went there. I might have seen them on the street, but…"




"And on your father's side?"




"They both died before I was born. I don't know much about them, just that they knew a lot about plants and that my grandmother loved music. My dad used to say that she could remember any song after only hearing it once and that she had a beautiful voice."




Peeta's hushed words are almost lost in the din of the wind chimes, but they reach her all the same. "Just like yours."




She's about to contradict him but, when she looks up, her mind goes blank. Peeta's looking back at her with a tenderness and warmth that still haunts her dreams.

“I don’t sing,” she hears herself say.




"But you used to,” Peeta says, “back when we were little.”




It's almost like being back in the cave. Her skin tingles, her heart soars.

Flustered, Katniss asks, "You remember that?"




Peeta looks away. His cheeks turn beet red as he softly admits, "I do."  

Her heart's hammering madly against her rib cage now.

For an instant, she thinks he's going to tell her the story again, the one about their first day of school and the teacher asking her to sing; but he does no such thing.

Keeping his eyes on the horizon, Peeta straightens up and pushes himself away from her and the railing.




Disappointed, Katniss turns away.

Deep down, she's also relieved. As much as she wants to regain the closeness she once shared with Peeta, she knows they're not ready yet.




Unlike her, Peeta doesn't know what their future holds. He likes her well enough, but they're training for the Games. He still needs to keep his distance from his district partner.




Satisfied that she's done plenty for one night, Katniss stretches her arms over her head and fakes a yawn. "We should get some rest," she says.




"Yeah. Tomorrow's going to be a big, big, big day!"




Katniss laughs. Peeta's impersonation of their escort has always been pitch-perfect.




They climb the stairs together. When they reach the corridor that leads up to their rooms, Peeta whispers, "Good night, Katniss."




The words wrap around her heart, soothing her like no morphling ever did. She's still savoring them when she whispers back, "Good night, Peeta."




XXXXX




It's a little before ten when Katniss and Peeta step out of the elevator and into the Training Center. The other tributes are already there gathered in a circle around Atala, the head trainer.




As soon as the tall woman starts to talk, Katniss tunes her out. She's heard the little speech twice already. She doesn't need to listen to it again.




Beside her, Peeta lets out a small sigh.




He's frustrated, Katniss thinks. She considers reaching out to squeeze his hand but stops herself, knowing that Peeta probably won’t welcome the gesture right now.

She can’t blame him, not after the morning they've had.




The discussion over their individual skills at breakfast had been slightly less contentious this time around, but not by much.




After mentioning Katniss’s abilities, Peeta had still brought up his mother's hurtful parting words.




Katniss had been less cagey. She had managed to keep the bread incident out of the conversation, but Peeta's comment about the effect she had on people had —once again— raised her hackles. Not because she had felt insulted, lile the first time, but because she’d been reminded of everything she’d lost.




As she saw the old Peeta willing to give his life for her, she couldn’t help but think of the other version of him; the version she had left behind in District 13. That Peeta hated her. He had gone through hell and back to be with her and now he wanted her dead.




Who knows? She bitterly told herself after Haymitch dismissed them. Maybe this magical effect of mine doesn't last very long. Maybe, one day, the whole country will wake up and hate me too.




XXXXX




While Atala reads down the list of the skill stations, Katniss can't keep her eyes from flitting around the room.




Marvel. Clove. Cato. Fox-face. Thresh. Rue.




Her chest tightens. These are the faces that haunt her dreams. The voices that echo in her nightmares.




Katniss bites her lip to keep from screaming. Her palms are clammy, her heart is racing, but she doesn't move an inch.




This is the hardest thing she's had to do so far, and she needs to get it right. She can't let the others see her distress.




Slowly averting her eyes, she reminds herself, My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me, but I came back.




Katniss breathes. In. Out. In. Out.




Her heart rate is almost back to normal when she finishes. I came back to make Snow pay.




She's still lost in her thoughts when Peeta nudges her arm and makes her jump.




His expression is sober. "Where would you like to start?"




Katniss looks around at the Career Tributes who are already showing off, clearly trying to intimidate the field. Then at the others, the underfed, the incompetent, shakily having their first lessons with a knife or an ax.




"Suppose we tie some knots," she says.




"Right you are," says Peeta.




XXXXX




They spend their morning trying out different skills.




Now that she knows what type of arena awaits her, Katniss realizes that the stations are full of clues. The kinds of ropes they use at the knot-tying class. The mud, clay, and berry juices available in the camouflage section. They all seem so obvious now that she knows they'll be going to a forest.




When they reach the medicinal plants' section, Katniss stops short. The last time she was here, she practically skipped it, but she's on a different mission now, so she walks in and makes sure Peeta follows.




A big screen shows pictures of plants with a brief description underneath.




Katniss flips through the crisp images until she finds what she's looking for: the leaves Rue used to treat her.




"These are great!" she enthusiastically tells Peeta. "They fight off infection, bring down swelling, and numb the pain. They're handy when you've been stung by insects or bees. You have to chew them up into a pulp and spit them on top of your wound."




Peeta wrinkles his nose. "Spit them?"




"Yeah," Katniss confirms, "Otherwise, you won't release their properties. My mother would use other methods, but…" Lowering her voice, she adds, "Sometimes you don't have a lot of options when you're out in the woods."




Apparently satisfied with her answer, Peeta nods. After glancing around to make sure no one is listening, he whispers, "Have you been stung many times?"




"Only twice," Katniss admits, "I immediately pulled the stingers out and put the leaves on top. It wasn't so bad."




Peeta's eyes are locked on the screen as he says, "Maybe I should stuff my pockets with these if I ever find any in the arena. You know? Just in case."




"It won't hurt," Katniss agrees, holding on to the hope that he will do just that.




XXXXX




On the second night of her training, Katniss decides to go back to the rooftop.




Peeta is already there. He's sitting on a bench by the flower beds with a sketchpad propped up against his bent knee. The little bundle of pencils she gave him back in District Twelve rests by his side.




She can tell he's distracted, so she clears her throat to make her presence known.




"Hey!" Peeta calls out. He looks tired, but his smile is sweet and welcoming.




"Mind if I join you?" she asks.




Peeta pats the empty seat next to him, and Katniss walks over.  




A small sigh escapes her as she sits down. Her daytime routine hasn't been as tiring this time around, but she's still beat.




"Nice pad," she says.




"It's Portia's," Peeta runs his fingers along the edge of the paper in a reverent caress. "She said I could borrow it."




Anticipating her next question, Peeta tilts the pad in her direction.




Katniss gasps. The angle of the image is one she cannot place, but there's no doubt in her mind, Peeta has painted her woods.




Reaching for the corner of the pad so as not to smudge his drawing, she asks, "Where is this?"




"It's the view from my house."




Katniss narrows her eyes, the bakery is in the center of town, but Peeta hasn't included any buildings in his picture. "Your house?"




"There's an attic that we use for storage. I like to go up there sometimes. It's higher than most buildings in the district, so you get to see all the way out into the woods."




Katniss stares at the drawing and tells herself not to cry, but it's not easy. Not when Prim and District Twelve are so far away, not when Peeta is opening up to her in ways he never did before.




"Do you like it?" Peeta asks.




The nervous tremor in his voice tugs at her heart; she reaches for his arm and gives him a reassuring squeeze. "Of course I do! Peeta, it's extraordinary! Prim's right. You're very talented."




Peeta shakes his head and accepts the compliment with a quiet, "Thank you."




Letting go of him, Katniss settles in her seat, resting her back against the wall and stretching her legs. Nodding to his pad, she says, "Go on. Don't let me interrupt."




Peeta starts drawing again.




Katniss watches, mesmerized, as his hand dances over the paper, making the blank page bloom with delicate strokes of color.




They stay like that for a while, side by side on the bench, wrapped in peaceful silence, enjoying each other's presence and silently wishing for more time.




XXXXX




As soon as the anthem is over, Katniss makes a beeline out of the Training Center lobby and onto the elevator bank. Moving swiftly, she veers into a car that does not contain Peeta.




The crowd slows the entourages of stylists and mentors and chaperones. Soon, Katniss finds herself alone with only other tributes for company. No one speaks.




The elevator stops to deposit four tributes before she's alone. One quick breath is all she has time for before the doors open on the twelfth floor.




Peeta has only just stepped from his car when she slams her palms into his chest and pushes him towards the wall.




Peeta loses his balance, but the wall breaks his fall. A few inches away from him, an ugly urn filled with fake flowers stands on its pedestal, untouched.  




With Peeta safely out of harm's way, Katniss grabs the urn and smashes it on the floor, shattering it into hundreds of tiny pieces.




Good, she thinks as she takes a step back, I've always hated the damned thing.




"What was that for?" Peeta says, aghast.




"You had no right! No right to go saying those things about me!" Katniss yells at him.




Before Peeta can say anything, the elevators open, and the whole crew is there, Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, and Portia.




"What's going on?" says Effie, a note of hysteria in her voice as she notices the broken urn and Peeta slumped form against the wall. "Did you trip?”




"No," says Peeta pushing himself off the wall to straighten up, "Katniss broke it after she shoved me."




Haymitch turns on Katniss. "Shoved him?"




"This was your idea, wasn't it?" Katniss answers, "Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country?"




"It was my idea," Peeta cuts in. "Haymitch just helped me with it."




The hurt in his eyes guts her, but she can't back down now. This is how she reacted the first time around, and as hard as it is, she knows she has to stick with it.




"Yes, Haymitch is very helpful. To you!" she yells.




"You are a fool," Haymitch says in disgust. "Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own."




"He made me look weak!" Katniss says.




"He made you look desirable! And let's face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!" says Haymitch.




"But we're not star-crossed lovers!" she says.




Haymitch grabs her shoulders and pins her against the wall. "Who cares? It's all a big show. It's all how you're perceived…"




As Haymitch prattles on about sponsors, Katniss tunes out. She doesn't need to be convinced of anything. She already knows their strategy is the right one.  




As soon as Cinna steps into the conversation, Katniss softens. "I should have been told, so I didn't look so stupid," she grumbles.




"No, your reaction was perfect. If you'd known, it wouldn't have read as real," says Portia.




"She's just worried about her boyfriend," says Peeta gruffly, eyes locked on the shattered urn.




Katniss fixes him with a deadly glare. "I don't have a boyfriend."




"Whatever," says Peeta. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides, you didn't say you loved me. So what does it matter?"




As the words sink in, an old familiar darkness envelops her. This, right here, is what has caused so much pain between them.




Even after all this time and everything they've been through, she has never been able to tell Peeta how she feels about him. Just as she's never told Gale that he's nothing more than a dear friend.




This silence, this reticence, has hurt Peeta over and over again. It's the reason why he pushed her away after their first Game and why President Snow was able to twist his mind and convince him that she was a mutt programmed to kill him.




I need to do better, she thinks. This time around, I need to do more.




Feeling all eyes on her, Katniss turns to Cinna and asks, "After he said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him, too?"




"I did," says Portia. "The way you avoided looking at the cameras, the blush."




The others chime in, agreeing.




"You're golden, sweetheart," Haymitch adds. "You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block."




Worried that she's going to burst out in tears, she forces herself to acknowledge Peeta. "I'm sorry I shoved you."




"Doesn't matter," he shrugs. "The urn got it worse."




Portia and Cinna's goodnatured laughter diffuses the remaining tension.




"Come on, let's eat," says Haymitch directing everyone towards the delicious smells wafting in from the dining room.




XXXXX




The roof is not lit at night, but as soon as her bare feet reach its tiled surface, she sees his silhouette, black against the lights that shine endlessly in the Capitol.




There's quite a commotion going on down in the streets, music and singing and car horns. Katniss knows she could slip away now without Peeta noticing her; he wouldn't hear her over the din, but that's not what she wants.




Her feet move soundlessly across the tiles. She's only a yard behind him when she says, "You should be getting some sleep."




Peeta starts but doesn't turn, just gives his head a slight shake. "I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all."




She comes up beside him and leans over the edge of the rail. The wide streets are full of dancing people. Squinting to get a better look at them, she asks, "Are they in costumes?"




"Who could tell? With all the crazy clothes they wear here." Turning to her, he asks, "Couldn't sleep, either?"




"Couldn't turn my mind off," she says.




"Thinking about your family?"




"Not exactly," she admits a bit guiltily. After going through two arenas, she's not as worried about Prim and her mother as she once was. She knows they can cope without her. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course."




Facing him, she says, "I really am sorry about before."




"It doesn't matter, Katniss," Peeta says.




"I was just upset that you would share something private like that…"




Peeta nods. "I know."




"And, also… I just don't get it. I mean, why would you give me an advantage like that? You're going to need sponsors too, you know?"




Peeta shakes his head. "It won't make a difference. I've never been a contender in these Games. Not really."




Katniss reaches for his hand. "Peeta, that's no way to be thinking."




"Why not? It's true." With the gentlest of touches, Peeta runs his fingers over the back of Katniss's hand. "My best hope is to not disgrace myself and . . ." he hesitates.




With a small squeeze, she silently encourages him to continue.




"I don't know how to say it exactly," Peeta finally says. "Only . . . I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?"




Katniss swallows thickly.




Once upon a time, she stood there and told him that she didn't understand and —most importantly— that she didn't care. But she's a different person now. She knows exactly what he means and why it matters.




Although she knows what he's getting at, she still needs him to complete his thought. Shyly, she asks, "Do you mean you won't kill anyone?"




"No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to . . . to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games," says Peeta.




Her chest tightens at his words. Being back in that moment with him reminds her of everything that’s gone wrong in her life.

Before her mind can wander back into the dark recesses of her pain, she says, "The thing is, Peeta, you're not. None of us are. That's how the Games work."




"OK, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me," he insists. "Don't you see?"




Katniss nods. She sees, she knows, she understands. What's more, she still can't believe she was ever so blind.




She inches closer to him so he can hear her over the ruckus of the city and the wind chimes.




In her mind, she repeats the little speech she's prepared for this moment. Every year they throw us in an arena and tell us to kill each other, and we do it. But there's a part, deep inside of us, that they don't own, a part that refuses to be pushed around and that will stand up and say, "enough, this is a line I won't cross."




But, once she opens her mouth, the words that slip from her lips are quite different, "I don't have a boyfriend."




Peeta blinks. Once. Twice. "What?"




Katniss bursts out laughing. "I'm sorry, I just…" Bewildered, she covers her face to hide her embarrassment and silently reprimand herself for losing her focus.




With a shake of her head, she straightens up. Her earnest eyes meet Peeta's. "I get what you're saying. They are forcing us to fight for our lives, but they don't get to decide how we go about it, right? We do. At the end of the day, it's up to us. We choose who to attack and who to help, when to face danger and when to hide. "




Peeta nods. "Right." Looking out into the sprawling city, he adds, "I just hope I can make the right choices, you know?"




Katniss sighs. “Yeah, me too.”




Leaning against the railing, Peeta tilts his head to look at her. The playful glint in his eyes is something she hasn't seen in a very long time. "So, you don't have a boyfriend."




Katniss shakes her head, chuckling at the absurdity of the topic.




"What about the guy who took your sister away at the reaping?"




"That's Gale."




"Uh-huh," Peeta's head bobs up and down as he nods. "And Gale is…"




Katniss looks up at him. He's so open, so pure, right now that all her thoughts about plans and strategies melt away. "He's just a friend," she says.




Peeta's smile forms slowly, warm and genuine, a little flirty even. It makes her whole body tingle. "Just a friend, huh? Does he know that?"




Katniss's jaw goes slack. Back in the day, she would have answered with a resounding "yes, of course, he does" but, that answer doesn't really fit the situation. She knows that now. So, instead of throwing her righteous indignation at him, she asks, "What do you mean?"




Peeta shrugs. "I don't know. It's just… I thought you had something with him."




Genuinely intrigued, she asks, "Why?"




"Um," Peeta fills his lungs with crisp Capitol air. As he pushes it out, he says, "You seem to spend a lot of time together. Whenever I see you around town, you're either with him or with Prim. I used to think he was your cousin or something. You favor each other. But then... there was the look."




Katniss frowns. "The look?"




"Yeah." Peeta's shy smile makes another appearance. "He kept glaring at me the other day when we met up by the Meadow." The shocked expression on her face makes him chuckle. "I'm surprised you didn't notice."




"Well," Katniss reaches for the end of her messy braid and begins twisting it around her finger. "I wasn't focusing on him."




Peeta's lips part, but no words come out.




Blushing, Katniss turns to face the city again. "Gale and I hunt together. Our families are close. That's it."




Peeta's gentle touch on her elbow gets her attention. Kind, soft eyes gaze straight into hers when he says, "You know, Katniss, what I said earlier—,"




Impulsively, she leans forward and kisses him, stopping his words.




It takes Peeta half a second to react. In one fluid move, he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her to him.




His lips meld with hers in a slow, sweet dance.  




After months of pain and sorrow, Katniss finally feels joy. Closing her eyes, she forgets the world and kisses him with abandon.




Peeta's free hand makes its way to the back of her head, where he buries his fingers in her hair to keep her there, rooted in his arms, anchored to him.




Elated, Katniss hums her approval.




This kiss is like the cave and the beach all rolled into one. It's like every happy moment they've ever shared together, every smile, every touch. It's like coming home after a long day, like finding her soul.




That familiar stirring inside her chest, warm and curious, comes back to life. It fills her entire being with want and need, pushing her to explore more. Blindly, she follows.




Holding on to his broad shoulders, Katniss pulls him even closer, pressing herself against his chest until she can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, beating against her own.

Smiling, Peeta begins raining kisses over her cheeks, her nose, her forehead.




Her skin tingles. Her pulse races. Her heart soars.




I'll keep you safe, she promises, holding on to him like she did back at the beach, back when they were surrounded by mutts and enemies and lies.

With one long sigh, Peeta finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to hers while they both catch their breaths.

In that brief moment of glorious harmony only one thought goes through her mind. Peeta. Every heartbeat is like a reminder. He's back, he's here, he's mine.

Glancing up, she finds his eyes, dark and dazed, and she knows. Whatever this is, Peeta feels it too. He always has.  




"Katniss—,"




"No," she interrupts again, placing her fingers on his lips to quiet him. She hates what she's about to do, but she doesn't have a choice.




She takes a step away from him and immediately feels lost. "You have a plan for tomorrow, right?"




Peeta's face falls at the sudden reminder of why they're there. He nods.




Reaching forward, Katniss brushes the hair back from his forehead in one last tender caress. "That's what you need to focus on, OK? Just think about—,"




"Staying alive?" Peeta finishes, a crooked grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.  




Katniss cups his cheek. "Exactly." Her heart skips a beat when he leans into her touch, but she still insists, "This doesn't change anything that happens tomorrow, Peeta. It can't."




"I know," he says, covering her hand with his and pressing a kiss to her palm. "It just changes everything that's happened until today."




Katniss bites her lip and nods. Peeta's right. Even for her, things are dramatically different now. There's so much more at stake. She knows where they stand, and she's no longer running away from him and the things he makes her feel.




Rising to the tips of her toes, she kisses him one last time. "See you tomorrow," she says.




Then, she walks away.

[ellanainthetardis]

A much needed - and calmer - talk today! Let me know your thoughts!

[ff] or [ao3]

Chapter 55 :  No Good Choices

The door to the Training Center’s roof was already open and Haymitch groaned a little, not keen on sharing the place. He fumbled with the lighter, the cigarette already wedged between his lips… What he wanted was some peace and quiet, to escape Effie’s shrill voice as she babbled into the phone to arrange whatever it was he was supposed to be doing next.

According to the colored-code schedule she had passed around that morning on the train, the afternoon was supposed to be free. There would be a party in the evening, obviously, but for now his time was blissfully his and he wanted some fucking space.

Leaving the Districts behind was a relief. Two and One hadn’t been as bad as he had feared but he would never understand the people who lived there, the glorification of victors, the academies to train possible tributes… He had been very welcomed there. The victor who had won twice…

He pushed the door open and emerged in the soft cold. Winter was mild in the Capitol and he hadn’t bothered bringing up his coat. The sweatpants and the long-sleeve shirt were a bit too thin but he ignored it. He could deal.

It was sickening how happy he was to be back in the city. He wondered if it was a Stockholm syndrome thing, if he had been conditioned without his knowing… Or maybe it was simply that nothing in there made him feel like he had been tossed into a larger version of his arena. He would have to face the Presidential Mansion again but…

Problem for another day.

He walked close to the edge and studied the city spread at his feet, letting his eyes roam on the colorful beads of lights spread everywhere around them… ‘What is your favorite thing in the city?” Caesar had asked him earlier, after he had been done greeting his fans at the station, smiling, waving, signing and taking pictures… Haymitch had shrugged and smirked ‘My girl’. He and Effie had kissed, he had deepened it, she had pretended to be embarrassed and had rebuked him, they had bickered, everyone had been happy with the footage. The Welcome To The Capitol interview hadn’t been the most difficult thing he had faced during that Tour anyway.

The cigarette still unlit, he turned around to survey his surroundings and found what he was looking for on the other side of the roof. There were small movements in the garden and he eventually spotted the boy sitting between two potted trees. Haymitch hardly ever went into the garden. He knew it had been the kids’ corner but he preferred the bare part of the roof, with its concrete low wall. It was there that he and Effie usually discussed difficult things, safe from bugs but not bothering to pretend this was anything but what it was. The garden would have made it feel too much like a stroll.

He hesitated for a long moment before finally walking over.

Peeta must have seen him as soon as he had arrived but he hadn’t made any sign that he was there so Haymitch was probably not welcomed. But… The passive aggressive dance they had going on couldn’t go on. Not only was it painful to have the boy glaring at him behind his back, it would only get more difficult as the years went by. Twelve only had two victors now and two victors meant they would have to work together at some point, there was no point making it harder than it ought to be. He knew the kid didn’t understand his behavior. He knew he was hurting him. He knew he had made a poor job of explaining himself.

He also knew nothing could be like it used to be with Peeta.

He knew himself and he knew his limits.

He had meant what he had told the kid. He looked at Peeta and all he saw was Katniss.

He lowered himself on the ground facing the boy, right in front of a patch of jasmine. The smell was strong and maybe it was another reason he didn’t like the garden. It reminded him too much of his arena. His first one.

Peeta’s eyes tracked his every move but the kid didn’t say anything.

Haymitch plucked the cigarette from his lips and turned it over between his fingers, not quite sure how to start.

“Give it a few years and maybe you’re gonna get it.” he said slowly, keeping his gaze firmly on his hands. “I’ve been at this for twenty-five years. It’s… a lot of dead kids. It gets you… numb after a while. It ain’t that you stop caring but you just…” He licked his lips. “You learn to recognize who’s got a chance and who doesn’t, so that helps… That helps prepare you, yeah? You know they’re already dead. They just don’t know it yet.”

He chanced a glance up at Peeta. The boy was staring at him, listening. It was already something he supposed.

“Thing is… Before you… Twenty-three years… I only got maybe… two who had a real shot.” he continued with a shrug. “Kids from Twelve… Don’t need to tell you they’re at a disadvantage, yeah?” Peeta gave him a brief nod so Haymitch went on, torturing the cigarette between his fingers so badly it would be too battered to be smocked. Waste. Then again, it was the thing in the city. Waste was expected, they could always buy more. “Last year… Can’t describe how I felt when I realized I got not only one but two kids who had what it took to get to the finish line.”

“You chose Katniss.” the boy said, breaking his silence for the first time. It wasn’t entirely an accusation. It was the kid who had spilled his feelings for her and had asked him to do whatever he could to bring her back after all. Sure, Haymitch had already made up his mind at that point because as charismatic and charming as Peeta could be, Katniss had the guts and, ultimately, it was having the guts that kept you alive.

“’Cause she had what it took.” he muttered. “And you’re… You’re soft, boy.” He raised a dismissive hand before the kid could protest. “Ain’t an insult. You’re a good person. It’s a rare thing nowadays.”

Peeta sighed. “You’re not a bad man, Haymitch.”

That was debatable and not the object of the conversation.

“Thing is… The star-crossed lovers thing… I convinced Seneca it would be a great twist but I knew they would never go for two victors.” he admitted. “Not after what Katniss had done with Rue anyway. That was…”

“I saw the footage.” Peeta cut in.

“You saw part of it.” he corrected. They hadn’t showed the whole thing at the Recap during the Crowning and they had been careful to never air it again. Katniss might have told him but he hadn’t seen. “It was powerful, boy. And dangerous. Chaff only made it worse when he sent her a loaf of bread…” He shook his head. “Changed all the rules.”

“It was brave.” the boy snapped.

“Yeah, it was.” he chuckled bitterly, rubbing his forehead. “Brave and stupid and fucking inspiring. That was the point, yeah? Can’t tell you how much me and Effie were already sweating by that point… Then, the berries…” He closed his eyes and then shook his head. “The berries were the nails in our fucking coffins. But you were both alive and all the Districts were grumbling and… When Cinna told me about the rebellion, when he brought me in…” He swallowed hard at that memory. “I really thought we had a shot. With Thirteen not being as dead as I had thought… There’s always been rumors floating around but I didn’t believe it. Not until Cinna showed me and I thought…” He sighed. “They were gonna use the girl either way. She was supposed to be their Mockingjay but I only trusted them as far as I could throw them. Didn’t want her to become their martyr. And Snow… Snow was breathing down our fucking necks.”

“No good choices.” Peeta said slowly.

“No good choices.” he confirmed. “I threw our lot where I thought I could keep you both alive. Freeing Panem from the Capitol… Well, ain’t gonna lie, it would have been a nice bonus. Everything I’ve always wanted. Revenge and everything. But… I chose the rebellion ‘cause I really thought it was the only way to protect the two of you.”

“You could have told us.” the boy insisted. “You’re always keeping things from me.”

“If I had told the girl…” He made a face. It would have been a disaster. “She was already figuring some out anyway. The less she knew, the safer she was. Same for you. Same for Effie.” He shrugged. “I tried, kid.”

“And then?” Peeta asked.

“And then everything fell on our heads ‘cause Thirteen bailed out and I was glad I had kept you out of the loop.” he confessed. “Thought you would be safe. Both of you. Really did. Should have known better.” He accidentally dropped the cigarette but made no move to pick it up. It left him with empty hands though. “I wanted to save both of you, Peeta. I’m… I’m sorry I failed. I still think… Me going in was the best solution. At least I got you out. It probably ain’t much of a comfort to you but at least I got one of you out.”

Peeta studied him for a long time and then averted his eyes. “But you can’t look at me anymore.”

“Give me time.” he requested quietly. “I know it ain’t fair. I know you’re angry. But… I loved that girl.”

Saying that out loud was like tearing his chest open and clawing his heart out. He took a deep steadying breath but it smelt too much like jasmine, it smelt too much like being trapped.

He fumbled in his pocket with shaking hands, came up with an empty packet of cigarettes and crumpled it angrily.

“I know.” Peeta said at last. “I loved her too.” There was so much pain in his voice that Haymitch started compulsively tearing the packet apart in small little pieces. If the boy noticed his littering, it didn’t seem to bother him. “I’m sorry about what I said the other time. And I’m sorry I was a jerk.”

“I was a jerk too.” Haymitch admitted. “Just… It gets too much.”

“I understand.” the boy offered. “Going back for a second time… What you had to do in there… I understand. You’re probably doing well considering.”

“Yeah.” he snorted bitterly. “Considering.”

If you didn’t count regularly trying to boil himself to death in the shower.

“I’m impressed you didn’t start drinking again.” Peeta commented.

“Nothing to be impressed about.” he grumbled. “Want to. Every day I think I’m gonna cave.” He averted his gaze and stared at the oddly shaped potted tree on the left. “Can’t afford it. Can’t slip. Effie… You… Can’t risk my family again.”

Peeta seemed to perk up a little at being called family and that was good because that had been the aim. Unfortunately, it also made the boy frown. “Why again?”

His mind flashed to the Everdeen’s living-room, to the fresh burning gashes on his back, to brushing the subject with Katniss when he had tried to convince her that…

“Remember my Games?” he asked, forcing his voice to sound even and failing miserably.

Understanding dawned on Peeta’s face. “The force field.”

“The force field, holding Maysilee’s hand while she died, that I went looking for a way out of the arena in the first place…” he shrugged. “I was stupid and naïve. Lost everyone I cared about.”

“I’m sorry.” Peeta said and Haymitch shrugged. It wasn’t the boy’s fault. The kid hesitated and then it was his turn to look away. “When I got back to Twelve… Everything was different. Thread had expulsed Katniss’ family from the Village, they were staying with the Hawthornes. Mrs Everdeen…” He shook his head. “If Prim didn’t force her to feed, I’m not sure she would remember. She’s… She’s not here anymore. Her eyes are always empty.”

“She’s been through a lot.” he remarked.

“Yes, maybe, but…” the boy sighed. “Prim is a good kid but she’s thirteen and she shouldn’t have to take care of her mom like that. If I hadn’t taken them in… I don’t know how they would have fed themselves. Prim was planning on trying to sneak to the woods, to do what Katniss used to and that would only have ended in disaster. Twelve’s really not a nice place to be right now. Thread… Well, to be honest, he’s fair. He applies the law to the letter but the law’s harsh and people are starving.” Peeta shrugged. “I didn’t want to deal with all that. I kept thinking if you’d been there…”

“If I had been there, I’d have been drunk and useless. Would have gotten myself flayed on the whipping post for illegal moonshine.” he pointed out. “Ain’t good at taking care of people, kid. You’re better at mending things than I am.”

Peeta shrugged again, clearly not convinced. “Can you try calling now and then? I’m not saying I need you to call every two days like Effie does but… Maybe just once a month or something… Just check in. Prim would like that. She misses you.”

“Yeah.” he promised slowly. “Can do that.”

He would tell Effie and made sure she would force him to follow suit.

He could repair things.

“Good.” the boy nodded.

“Can’t ever be your mentor again.” he muttered awkwardly. “You get that, yeah?” It could never be like before, not with his guilt his treacherous memories, but it could be… better than this hostile relationship full of things unsaid – well, he supposed most of those things had been said now. “It’s just… That’s too much.”

“But we can be friends.” Peeta stated firmly, with the calm of a man who had been forced to grow up too quickly.

“Friends.” he repeated. “Yeah. I can do friends.”

They didn’t have to be best friends, they could be friends who sometimes exchanged phone calls and who saw each other once a year – twice maybe – to watch kids get murdered. Nothing he hadn’t done before with younger victors.

That was manageable.

[alliswell21]

and if you may ... 49 too .. “Im too sober for this” .. Please ? Thank you ::!!

😊 another awesome prompt: 49. “I’m too sober for this”

Warning: mentions of underage drinking

Sorry this came out so freakishly long. Enjoy.

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

As Senior resolutions went, mine was daring, brave, empowering and completely futile.

Since my best and only friends Gale and Madge graduated the previous year and left to pursue their own paths, I saw a chance to reinvent myself. It was gonna be the greatest thing since sliced bread!

I was gonna let lose, let my hair down (literally! Who wears braids to school everyday in their senior year anyway?!?). I was gonna brake some rules and be known as: Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire!.

I had it all planned out.

I was going to shed my quiet, goody-two-shoes, hermit persona behind and become this easy going chick all the cool cats wanted to hang out with, and to my credit, I succeeded pretty much on everything I’d set out to do except the single most important thing of all...

But I’m nothing, if not persistent, hence my current situation, holding a flashlight, illuminating a doorknob, as a group of classmates try to break an entering in the school building after hours.

Real smart stuff for Katniss Everdeen, formerly sensible person.

”Come on man! What’s taking so freaking long?” Asked Marvel Quaid impatiently.

”Almost,” Says Annie Cresta still tweaking her bobby pin into the lock to Dr. Abernathy’s office.

Finnick Odair, Annie’s boyfriend and the father of this half baked idea of a prank, slaps Marvel’s shoulder with the back of his hand, telling him cockily, “Hush dude. You’re throwing my girl’s mojo. Besides, hasn’t your mother told you that patience is a virtue?”

”Ugh... just hurry it, will ya? I’m with twitchy here. Being at Abernathy’s office during the day is bad enough,”

”Johanna, when have I ever fail you?” Asks Finnick at his best friend with a pointed look, then he grins mischievously, “Plus, once we’re inside, will celebrate by raiding old man Haymitch’s liquor stash!” He wiggles his eyebrows at that.

”Wait... what? Nobody said anything about drinking the stuff! I thought we were just switching it with water. This is crazy Finn!”

”Shush it Peeta! Not a good time to act like a chicken shit!” Johanna whispers harshly. “I knew you were gonna wimp out half way!”

Peeta puffs out his already prominent chest, and frowns angrily a Johanna, “I’m not wimping out of nothing!” His intense blue eyes fix on mine for a second, but as usual, the moment I look back at him, they fleet away, returning to Johanna next to Finnick. “I’m just saying, that with every passing second, it’s more obvious this prank wasn’t thought through. That’s all. Plus, we already drank Annie’s dad’s liquor cabinet, I’m pretty sure stealing the principal’s cheap vodka and drinking it in his office is like... a felony or something.”

I’ve been watching Peeta pretty much my whole high school career. It’s not that I just noticed him, it’s just that I just became aware of how much I noticed him when he was around. With Gale’s towering frame out of the way, distracting me, I finally realized I’ve kept track of this blue eyed blonde, ever since I was a tween, and he fed me his own bread the day my father died. His one act of kindness set him apart from everyone else, and Ive finally come to terms with it. But for all my observations of the boy with the bread, I can say he does look a little green right now, but a coward he totally is not!

I let a long breath out, scratching my nose with my free hand. ”I’m too sober for this,” I didn’t actually mean to say it out loud, but it’s true, and it’s out.

”Wait until we’re drinking Abernathy’s poison, baby, that’ll take care of it right away!” Says our resident meathead, and designated muscle, Cato Alexander. His voice is so greasy, and obnoxious I scowl at him in disgust, but Peeta surges up from his hiding spot, to crouch in front of me, facing Cato. I think he’s trying to shield me from his leering eyes.

”Yeah, well, I still think we should stick to the original plan of just dumping it all out and switching it with water, and get the hell out of here ASAP.” Peeta grunts, more than says.

”Abernathy keeps his ‘secret’ stash under lock and key, though.” I offer. “Wiress told me he’s even putting some alarm system in place, because he has the bottle in the same place he keeps the final exams.”

Johanna rolls her eyes, blowing a bubble with her gum, and finally runs a hand through her spiky short hair. “Come on Brainless, that was just Nuts, being her nutty self. There aren’t any alarms here. Old man Haymitch is an angry drunkard, not a paranoid one.” Her gum pops and she chews on happily.

”Done!” Crows Annie triumphantly.

”I knew you could do it, Hon!” Says Finnick sporting that lovesick face he always has when speaking to Annie. He kisses her in the lips, and Johanna makes pukey faces at them while the rest of us try to look away uncomfortable.

”Dude, get a room!” Says Marvel.

We all slip into the open door on tip-toes, and come to Dr. Abernathy’s desk. There, where drawers used to be at one time, it’s a safe, with a digital keypad.

”Great!” Whines Marvel, “Deciphering this code is gonna be harder than guessing what’s in Mrs. Sae’s mystery meat stew!” He says throwing his arms in the air.

”I knew this was a bad idea. We suggest we just get out of here right away.” Says Peeta sweating profusely.

I can see Johanna’s mouth open to tell Peeta off, but whatever nasty comment she was gonna make we never found out, because all hell broke lose in the blink of an eye.

It turns out the old drunk was a bit paranoid after all, and Wiress Martin’s tip about the alarms was good. We tripped the silent system as soon as we picked the lock. It took the police all of five minutes to flood the school.

They caught Johanna first, then Marvel. Finnick was in top notch physical condition, and too fast for the cops, but Annie tripped and fell and when he came back to help her up, they too got apprehended. Cato ran off like a headless chicken screaming “Abort! Abort!” at the top of his lungs, until he fell silent. I’m not sure what happened to him. As for myself... I was standing there in the middle of the room, frozen. Then like in slow motion, Peeta started yelling at me.

”Run! Katniss, run! What are you doing? Run!”

When I don’t move, he pushes me out the door, when that doesn’t work, he grabs my hand and drags me with him, but although I’m great at track and runs, I’m not match for the rush of adrenaline he seems to be having, so he finally turns around, throws me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of flour, and off we go out of the building.

I’ve gather my wits enough to know we are out of their reach, but also that we have to come back and give ourselves up before someone rats us out. And someone will. I don’t trust Marvel or Cato.

”Peeta,” I call. “Peeta, we’re safe now. You can put me down!”

It takes me punching his back several times to get his attention, but he stops, and puts me on the ground gently. Then, out of the blue, his lips crash against mine in a passionate, all consuming kiss, I’ll be hard pressed to ever recreate with anyone else.

”You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” he mumbles over and over between kisses, all the while his hands cup my face, then smooth down my arms, around my back, cradle my head.

We break apart heaving for air, our foreheads resting against each other.

” I’m sorry for overstepping.” He finally breathes out, “but that was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me, and I live with Winnifred Mellark.” He chuckles raggedly. It’s no secret his mother is a piece of work witch that used to hit her children until they grew too big and wide to intimidate anymore. “If at some point, you feel the urge to slap me in the face, I’ll take. Gladly. I deserve it.” He chuckles again, “It was worth it.”

”What was worth it?” I ask dizzy.

”Finally plucking up the courage to kiss you.” He pulls away from me, for once in his life, his eyes aren’t avoiding mine. As he stares at me, hungrily, he adds, “I figured we have to go back and face Principal Abernathy sooner or later, which means my mother is gonna find out about this debacle, and she’s probably gonna try to kill me. I figured, if I’m gonna die, I rather die knowing what it felt like to have finally let you know how much of a goner am I for you.”

”Oh,” it’s all I can say.

He’s starting to get anxious at my lack of response, he’s blabbering some nonsense about having a shot at being friends and whatnot, but his frantic backpedaling won’t do, so I do the only thing I can think of, and grab his biceps for balance and surge up to shut him up with another kiss.

”We’ll go back there together,” I tell him against his lips.

He nods, not letting go of me, “Together.”

We will go into this as one.

[allonsysilvertongue]

Wiping History

“What will happen when we get to your arena?” she demanded. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.“ 75 arenas and one colossal task for Effie Trinket. Hayffie. Post-MJ. Previously

4. The Old Colleague

For the second time that day, Effie checked her watch as she hurried down the third floor corridor of the Parliament that Plutarch had so graciously given to her for the duration of the project.

Inwardly, she cursed Enobaria for being the reason she was running late.

The phone call Effie had placed to the victor of District Two had been disastrous from start to finish.  For starters, Enobaria had not been pleased at all that Effie had her contact details much less knowledge that she had moved to District Five.  Of course, Effie had tried to explain that any information pertaining to her whereabouts she received from Plutarch which in itself was a mistake because the woman blew her top, going off about being tagged even after President Snow had fallen. Truthfully, Effie did not think there was any surveillance on any living victors except that the Government kept information on where they were currently residing.

Effie was not easily intimidated not even by a woman with fangs but she did grow tired of being on the receiving end of her tirade. When Enobaria finally slammed the phone down after Effie managed to get a word in regarding the arena, Effie let out a breath in relief. She took Enobaria’s ‘do not ever call me again or I’ll rip your throat out’ to simply mean ‘no’.

Some people just wanted to live in peace without being dragged down memory lane and she could certainly respect that.

Effie pushed open the door to the meeting room and hurried in, quickly noting that nearly everyone was present, including Barron Holland, the leader of their demolition team. She nodded at each of them in turn, apologising for being late.

“I was not expecting you here, Plutarch,” Effie remarked.

“Oh, just the off-chance that I was around the area and as it is I also have some excellent news to share,” Plutarch smiled. “Haymitch Abernathy will be joining the team. I have since officially appoint him as representative of the victors as a whole.”

If Effie was the kind to groan outwardly in displeasure, she might have done so. The only indication that she was in any way affected by the news was by the slight clench of her jaws.

“From my visit to Twelve a few days ago, I had the notion that he might be,” Effie said when Cressida turned to look at her questioningly. “He said something to the effect of wanting to see the destruction of the arena through.”

“Perhaps he does not trust us to do the job,” Plutarch chuckled. “But be that as it may, it will make for a good publicity.”

“No,” Effie disagreed firmly on that. “This will be difficult on the victors as it is. We do not need to make a spectacle out of it. Cressida and Pollux will film what is necessary for their post-war documentary with the interest of preserving this as part of our country’s history – that is all and nothing more.”

A murmur of assent rippled through the room, and Barron who came from a district seconded her decision for which she was grateful.

“It is too short a notice for Haymitch to attend this meeting but I trust that you will keep him updated?” Plutarch said in a clipped tone.

“Yes, certainly,” Effie nodded. “Plutarch, I need your word that there will be no camera crews except for Cressida and Pollux when each of these victors arrives in the city. If the public noticed that they are here so be it, this project would hit the papers soon enough, but I will not have them hounded by the press. I gave them my word and now I need yours.”

Plutarch, she noticed, looked as if he had swallowed something sour. It was not every day that he was talked to in this manner by anyone, much less her but those victors are hers and she would protect them while they were here to the best of her ability.

“Of course,” Plutarch bowed before excusing himself from the meeting.

“That went better than expected,” Cressida commented.

“Yes, I am glad he did not argue on it. He controls the media and if I do not draw the lines….”

They spent the next half an hour going through the procedures with Effie giving Cressida full creative control on her plan for the documentary.  From Cressida’s history with the victors, Effie trust that she would have their best interests at heart and thus gave her permission to interview the victors as long as they consented to it.

“The hovercraft should leave for the first arena as scheduled,” their pilot updated. “We’re planning for two arenas per day. If any of the arenas are situated close to each other, the plan is to do more – at which point, I will advise you accordingly.”

Effie nodded.

“We’re on track,” Barron chimed in. “My team is ready, and the explosives are stocked.”

“Haymitch should arrive before then,” said Cressida.

“He will,” Effie assured.

That was another thing she needed to arrange. He would need some place to stay and she certainly was not going to offer the extra room in her apartment to him.

XxX

Haymitch arrived one day before the day the first arena was scheduled to be destroyed. He hopped off the train with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his hair messy from the wind and his clothes a little rumpled from the journey, and just like that, at the sight of him, her heart skipped a beat.

She hated how traitorous her heart was.

“Sweetheart,” he greeted, his smile was cocky and smug as if he won something just by being here.

Still, she was not an idiot. On any other circumstances, Haymitch Abernathy would not have been happy to have to set foot back here in the city but since he was here on some personal challenge that he had set for himself, and because he knew she really did not want him here, she figured it was the exception.

“Haymitch,” she said cordially. “I never thought I’d say this but welcome back.”

He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“I’ll be gone as soon as it’s done," he said and then looked her way. "And you'll be coming home with me this time 'round."

He was so certain, so confident but Effie said nothing to that.

She spent the entire car ride staring out of the window wondering just how he was acting as if the argument they had on the day he brought Katniss home didn’t happen. That scene was still fresh in her mind even after all these months, and she could remember how hurt she felt when she found out he was leaving her again or worse, the betrayal that twisted in her heart when she learnt of his vote.

The feelings had dulled with time and she had months to think it through. Haymitch had never done anything without a reason, she understood that. Still, he could at least have told it herself instead of her finding out from Johanna.

You forgave Johanna, a voice whispered. She voted yes.

Except of course, Johanna didn’t leave her behind twice and because of their history, she somehow held Haymitch up to a certain degree that she did not impose on Johanna.  With Haymitch, it was the cumulative events and she had been exhausted, hurting and angry.

“You excited?”

“What about?” Effie turned her gaze to him.

“Working together again – you and I.”

“Could it be that the position has reversed?” she asked, referring to years before when she had been eager to work together with him.

He narrowed his eyes and she went back to staring out of the window until they reached their destination.

"What's Clemens getting outta this?"

"I am not privy to the details," she answered truthfully, "but he has run out of favours and I'm certain he knows it will be in his best interest to cooperate. Now," she turned to him just outside of the door of the place he would be staying for the coming weeks or months, "are you completely sure that you want to do this?"

She was still trying her luck to dissuade him but he had always been as stubborn as her.

"Yeah."

With that, Effie turned the key and pushed the door open. She had managed to rent the place on a short notice and billed the expenses to the project's finances. Considering that she did not have much time to look around, she was still proud of this place. It came completely furnished, granted the furniture were a little mismatched from her taste but one cannot really be choosy right after the war. There was one bedroom and an adjoining kitchen. The living room had a two-seater sofa, coffee table and small television.

He let his bag fall to the floor with a thud and surveyed the place.

“You'll be staying here until the end of this project. The faucet in the bathroom sink is not working unfortunately, a burst pipe or something," she waved her hand and she had used that little fact to ask for a reduced rent. She could be very adamant when she wanted to. "Other than that, everything works as it should be. I trust it is to your liking?”

“I'll stock up a couple bottle of booze and everything will be right as rain,” he shrugged.  “You'll tell me where I can get the alcohol, yeah? This place's changed."

She produced a map of the neighbourhood and he smirked.

"Always prepared," he chuckled, taking the proffered map from her. "Where are you staying?”

Effie held her tongue and then duly released the information to him. Sooner or later, he would find out.

"There," her finger tapped an area on the map, "about ten minutes' walk from here."

"So that it'll be easier for you to come over and haul my ass out of bed in case I'm late?" He teased.

That had certainly been one of the points she considered when choosing this place but she merely smiled at him.

“You want me to walk you back?” he asked, startling her.

“I will be fine. Thank you for the offer.”

Haymitch sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Don't do this, Effie. Don't talk to me like... I'm a stranger."

She looked away and that was when she saw the glint of gold under the sleeve of his shirt. It was the bangle she had given him during the third quarter quell and he was still wearing it after all this time, even when he had no reason to.

"See you tomorrow, Haymitch. Nine am. Do not be late."

With that, Effie closed the door behind her and let out a trembling breath.

Haymitch isn't the only one who can be protective. Effie can be protective over her victors just as well. Now that they're both here in the same place, tell me what you think!

[madeofpurestarlight]

If This Was A Movie, V

// While Effie Trinket is Hollywood’s darling and all her dreams seem to be finally coming true, Haymitch Abernathy is drinking himself into an early grave and shuts the world out completely. However, Plutarch Heavensbee decides it’s time for his comeback. The two main stars can’t stand each other and tension builds up soon, but as they dive in deep into this project, somewhere between shooting love scenes, fighting on-set, fighting off-set, opening up hesitantly and helping their younger colleagues deal with everything this world brings, they grow closer and closer, until one day they realize they’re not pretending anymore. | Hayffie Actors AU //

“A HELPING HAND”

i.

NOW

 The camera flashes were blinding. The rush was overwhelming. The reflectors were too bright and the place was too crowded. It was all extremes and there was no time to take a break from them when she stopped before the entrance to the red carpet area and took a deep breath as if she was the nineteen-year-old girl attending her first premiere again.

She was in the movie for exactly three minutes and forty-seven seconds back then and everybody looked at it like it was the greatest achievement Effie could get in her life, but it wasn’t enough for her. It wasn’t what she knew she could reach, and it definitely wasn’t all she would get. She was too determined than to settle with supporting roles and living her life out on Broadway. She wanted the world to lie at her feet. She wanted men to lust after her and she wanted women to strive to be her. She wanted the cameras, she wanted the leading roles, she wanted this shiny red Dior gown and those skyscraper Dior heels and her name on the list of nominees.

She had it, all of it, and she still didn’t feel any pride or happiness or even satisfaction, because the only person she wanted to share this with wasn’t here.

“Are you even coming to the party later?” Johanna asked and sleeked her electric blue long-sleeved velvet dress that was tight in all the right places and made the usually street-style oriented young woman look like a goddess with its long veil and diamond-decorated choker made of the same material. She measured Effie with her wide, cynical chocolate eyes and sighed, finally cracking some mercy upon her. “Have you been like this the entire time?”

“It’s just harder for me now,” Effie old her quietly. She was very well-aware of what she looked like. She looked defeated, and there was no point in hiding it in front of Johanna. The disappointment was too big to hide. “I just hoped…”

“Hope,” Johanna spat and took Effie by her arm, not exactly gently, and walked her a few steps away to make space for the other celebrities to enter the carpet. “Trinket, you’re one hell of a drama queen. He’s not here – so what?” She frowned, put her hands on her hips and jerked her head towards Katniss and Peeta who were waiting a few yards away, laughing at something on Peeta’s phone, and towards Finnick, Annie and Mags who were in a lively conversation with Plutarch. “We are here,” she hissed, “so light the fuck up. Don’t spoil it for us – besides, you deserve to enjoy this. You did your job well even without him, so you can carry on with that now.”

Effie stared at Johanna in genuine and rightful shock. “Johanna-“

“If he came, I’d gladly stick something up his coward ass, anyway, so it’s maybe better that he’s not here.” Johanna took Effie by her wrist and squeezed it tightly with a mischievous smirk. “C’mon. Let’s show him what he’s missing.”

“Johanna,” Effie cracked a genuine laughter, “thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, just stop keeping me,” the younger woman tugged at her wrist, “they’re waiting for us.”

ii.

 BEFORE

 April, Venice

 Effie let the hot water drips trail down her soaked hair, naked spine, pearly-white arms, long lean legs and pool by her pink-painted toenails. She saw her reflection in the shower’s glass door, her mascara was running and so was her nose, because despite her best attempts, she still didn’t get rid of the rigor that had taken over her when she got out of the freezing, filthy water.

God, she was so angry. It was just genuine, hot anger, directed at no one else but Haymitch Abernathy who, if she had the opportunity, she’d gladly repeatedly hit with something into his head. There was no one she had ever felt so much whole-hearted disgust for.

He had tried. After she had ran away from the trailer, following her fit of rage, he went after her. He had tracked her down to the costume trailer where she had chosen to hide, and tried to talk to her. However, in her eyes, he was the originator of everything that could possibly go wrong, and it had only ended up in a heated fight that went on for whole long minutes and had apparently amused the hell out of everyone in earshot. He told her she was an arrogant bitch, she told him that he was just a drunken good-for-nothing and they have mutually sent each other to go screw themselves. He was the one who walked out on her this time, and she didn’t even attempt to stop him.

Why should she? He missed up big time. She had spent thirty minutes under the shower and she still felt dirty and chilled to the bone. He had ruined the entire shooting day – one day that was going to cost everyone time and money, not that there was already exactly an excess of either. It wouldn’t be nearly as bad if she knew that he was sober. But no – he had to come there with that arrogant expression on his face and a cup of some Virginia-style Irish coffee and blasted about having it all together. Sure thing.

The filming was a disaster so far.

She violently turned off the water, already sick of the tangerine-scented shower gel she had been covering her whole body in for the last half an hour, reached for her puffy white towel with her monogram that she had brought from home, wrapped herself in it and walked out of the bathroom.

While she curtained the window and started drying herself, she noticed, in the corner of her eye her phone that was lying on the chest of drawers by the window.

Of course, Effie thought of Seneca daily. Not all the time, but often enough to make her feel regretful. By the pool, where she liked it the most and where he could have been sitting next to her or where she could watch him while he was swimming; before she fell asleep, because she knew that if he could be here, he’d be falling asleep next to her, under the same blanket, breathing the same air, their bare skins brushing against each other; when she was walking around the set and thinking of how everything could have been so very different, had he still been here.

She liked Venice but she couldn’t wait for the filming to finally move to Florence, where she’d get much more shooting time. She needed to distract herself and there was no better way to do than to fully immerse herself into her job. Now, that she had nothing much to do, she was more likely to get consumed by her ever-present melancholia – and to give into her tendency to be obsessively watching what was going on back home.

The surprising answer was simple – nothing.

Olivia Royston, her publicist and long-time friend, managed to handle the past few rocky weeks gracefully and with a clear mind, something Effie was incapable of lately, too heartbroken and too worried about her career. Now, everything seemed to be settling down and though she knew that real acceptance still wasn’t in her ability at the moment, the worst was finally behind her. Getting to go away for some time was helpful and the one thing she kept in her mind was that the public’s short-term memory is very bad. They might dig out some dirt from time to time or bring it up again when enough months have passed and they were lacking their banner headlines, but nobody really cared.

Except Seneca’s fiancée, of course.

Fiona Winchester has reached out to Effie many times – after Seneca’s death, after his funeral, and after she had learned that they have already casted Haymitch into Seneca’s role and that Effie was the one to help them organize this. She has called Effie many things, starting with whore, and definitely not stopping at a hyena who was just using Seneca for his fame and was still trying to profit from his death. Effie’s publicist, her lawyers and her management were supposed to handle this, but Effie knew what it felt like to be in Fiona’s shoes – she had been with Aiden for five years, after all.

So, truth be told, she was more worried about what Fiona’s rightful anger could do to her career than the public’s fleeting opinions.

True to the credo that no news are also good news, she decided to put all her worries to rest for now and had strictly forbidden herself to try to contact Olivia. After all, if things got bad, she’d know.

She put on a baby blue sundress and a brownish cardigan and started blow-drying her hair, but stopped half-way through, put the dryer back into the holder, sprayed on some perfume, put on some mascara and blush and left her room in determination.

That determination hadn’t left her even after she realized that she had no idea where Haymitch’s room was. Running around the complex looking for him wasn’t what she was willing to do just to get to yell at him, but then she imagined slapping him and it had not only slightly improved her mood, but also reinforced her resolve. Besides, there weren’t that many places where he could be. It was either the cafeteria, the lobby, the pool, the internet café or the pool bar. Or maybe he had stayed on the set, but under no circumstances was she going back there today. It was too humiliating.

There was no trace of him in the café or the lobby, so she headed out. When she walked into the pool area, Peeta and Finnick were already there, sitting on a bench. Finnick was sitting with his back straight as a ruler, with his head up in the air and a dead serious expression on his face while Peeta was drawing something into his sketchbook and had a small mischievous smile on his cracked lips. His freckled face lit up when he looked up and saw her.

“Effie,” he said and Finnick looked over as well, “do you wanna join?”

“Thank you, Peeta, but I am actually looking for someone,“ she said, but out of courtesy walked closer nevertheless. She looked over to Peeta’s lap where he had his pencil case and a paper with the drawing. “Now that is a piece of art.”

“What?” Finnick reached for the paper and whisked it from Peeta’s hands who was trying to take it away from him with a chuckle. “I said a portrait! That’s a caricature, boy. I’m offended, you know? I’m leaving now.”

“See you,” Peeta was still laughing when Finnick got up and dramatically ran his fingers through his reddish locks.

“I’m now going to find a better company.” He turned to Effie and did something like a curtsy. “Not that there’s better company than you, but here my personal portraitist is incapable of doing his job, so I have to act aggrieved now. See you at lunch.”

He left them there alone, disappearing into the cafeteria where he headed straight to the dessert section where he winked at a ginger girl in the hotel’s white uniform.

“Sissy,” Peeta laughed and raised the sketchbook. “I might sometimes come draw here. It’s quiet. It seems like we’re the only guests in this whole place.”

“I am actually fine with that,” Effie admitted and watched him open the sketchbook and a glimpse of a few drawing and doodles have caught her attention. “Would you mind if I had a look?”

Peeta’s ears and cheeks turned crimson. “I don’t know, I mean- I don’t mind, but… it’s nothing much, really.”

“I’m sure you are very talented,” she said when he gave the notebook to her.

The very first drawing was a sketch of a sculpture by a rosebush. It wasn’t colored, but the shading was brilliant, and it had an atmosphere and came across pretty realistic. In the right corner beneath it was Peeta’s humble signature. The next few pages were similar scenes, and then there was an unfinished picture of the St. Mark’s Basilica and the St. Mark’s Square. Peeta had a significant sense of detail – the people in the streets, the ornamentation of the church, the atmosphere. He bothered to draw each face and each ice cream con and every old cobble.

“What are you saying, they are great,” Effie argued genuinely and handed it back. “I am being serious, this must have taken you so much time and effort.”

“Thanks, but not really,” he replied, still blushing badly, “it kind of just finishes itself. It’s a relax.” He paused and then he seemed like he wanted to add something, but Effie’s attention was distracted by a sight that deeply concerned her. Peeta’s eyes followed her gaze through one of the many huge French windows that were the partition between the pool’s sitting area and the inside bar. “Is that-“

“Yes,” she gritted through her teeth.

“He doesn’t look well.”

“That’s nothing against what’s going to happen to him once I get him.” Effie was up within milliseconds and already on her way to the bar with Peeta in tow.

The bar was empty, with no one but Haymitch sitting at one of the stools, not exactly stably, with three empty whiskey glasses surrounding the fourth, full one, and judging by his state, she could tell that it wasn’t only three whiskeys that were running through his veins now. One look at the abashed bartender, a short dark-haired woman with tattoos covering her neck and arms, and she knew.

“It’s okay,” she told the bartender quietly and approached Haymitch from behind, who was saying something that was hardly eligible and to be honest, Effie felt like she didn’t necessarily need to know. She hit his back and didn’t even bother to make it gentle. “Seriously?”

He turned around violently, spilling the whiskey in the process. His face gave away the fact that he was hardly keeping it together, and when he saw Effie and Peeta, his expression shifted towards annoyed. “Hey, Trinkeeeet… came for a drink?” He turned to the bartender. “Two more!”

“Ignore him,” Effie said sharply and gripped Haymitch by his biceps while looking over her shoulder. “Peeta, have you got any money here? He’ll give it back to you later…”

“I wrote it on his room,” the bartender informed them in a strong Italian accent, shaking her head. “It’s eleven in the morning. Is he okay?”

“He won’t be soon,” Effie promised her. “Thank you.”

Together, her and Peeta threw Haymitch’s arms over their shoulders and went on their journey to the elevators, hoping no one was going to see this mess.

“Trinket,” Haymitch put his face way too close to her own, his lips nearly touching her ear which prompted a shiver down her spine, his breath smelling like liquor and held-back vomit, “let’s have a drink… Plut- Plutarch wants us to be friends… are we friends Trinket?”

“I’m going to kill you,” she answered his question simply.

“Haymitch, are you alright?” Peeta asked when the older man let out an ugly drunken hiccup. “Are you getting sick?”

“Yeah, this whole time,” Haymitch’s legs entangled and he temporarily lost his balance, nearly taking both Effie and Peeta with him, hadn’t it been for Peeta’s strong arms holding him up. “I’m sick of everything… I’m sick of this all… and of you, Trinket…“

“Yes, and you are an absolute darling, aren’t you,” she fired back absent-mindedly, looking over the lobby. No one, but the receptionist was there – she gave them a curious look, but didn’t say anything. The elevator took insanely long to come – way too long, because Haymitch obviously was getting pretty sick.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna-“

“No!” both of them let out, and the elevator came just in time – they got in, smashed the button with the third floor, the door closed and Haymitch’s stomach did some akin to a backflip. The next second, its content was all over Effie’s yellow dress.

“YOU IDIOT-“

“Effie-“ Peeta’s fingers touched her arm as he reached out to her over Haymitch’s shoulders in a calming gesture.

“I can’t believe this,” she lashed out, pushing Haymitch away just when the door opened. To their great relief, this hall was empty as well. Peeta was definitely right about the place being very calm. “I’m going to murder him. Which room is it?”

“I don’t know,” Peeta turned to Haymitch. “Which room?”

“I don’t know…” he hiccupped again, gripping their shoulders tightly. “I think… I don’t know… I’ve gotta-“

“It should be on the card,” Effie said and reached into the pocket of Haymitch’s jeans.

“You didn’t even let me buy you a drink and you’re sticking your hand in my pants?”

Effie was about to spat something in return, but she just got the card and pulled it out. “Twenty-four.”

They stumbled with their drunken co-star a few doors back and clumsily put the card into the code reader. Together, all three got into the room and Effie let Peeta lead Haymitch directly into the en-suited bathroom form which she could hear the typical sounds following a heavy drinking and shut the door behind her.

She took a defeated look at her dress. She smelled like liquor, vomit and the expensive clothes were ruined for good – she certainly wasn’t keeping them after this. His room was messy, she had expected that, but it was also dirty and she was disgusted by it, almost as much as by what he had just done to her dress. There was a pool of whiskey and shards of a broken bottle by his bed, which was probably what had lead him into the bar. After silently cursing him, she entered the bathroom to see Peeta helping Haymitch out of his dirty clothes covered in whiskey and vomit stains.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Peeta threw Haymitch’s shirt into the sink and turned on the water in the shower. “You can go put yourself together, I can manage it here.”

Effie pouted at the prospect. “Are you sure? I shouldn’t leave you here like this…”

“If there’s a problem, I’ll let you know,” Peeta promised. “I’ll stay with him for a while. He shouldn’t be alone. I’ll order him some coffee and something light to eat. It’s going to be alright.”

“Fine,” she agreed finally, fully aware that it didn’t take that much to persuade her and she wasn’t even feeling too bad about it. She walked over to Peeta to caress his arm gratefully and bowed down to Haymitch who was mumbling something she couldn’t properly make out. Just as she was about to tell him that he was going to regret this tomorrow day, he threw up again. “Okay,” she stood up straight and adjusted her clothes, quite uselessly, considering their state. “Thank you so much, Peeta. I’ll come check on you two once I… get rid of this,” she waved at the horribly smelling stains on her dress and left the bathroom.

Once she closed the door behind her, she faced Plutarch.

“Effie-“ he eyed her up and down questioningly, taking in the stains on her dress and the angry flush on her cheeks. “What happened? Isn’t that Haymitch’s room?”

“Yes, he…” she hesitated for a second, “he got sick. Peeta is there with him.”

She could see the suspicion of the worst dancing across his features, so she had chosen to elaborate. “He ate something bad. He’s going to be okay, just minor food poisoning, I’d say.”

“Oh God…” Plutarch sighed heavily and rubbed his temple. “Is he going to be okay? I need him to be fine, we’ve got two more scenes to do here…”

“He’ll be perfectly fine by tomorrow,” Effie reassured him promptly, “trust me, it’s nothing serious. He just needs to get it all out and rest. Peeta said he’ll tell me how he’s doing.”

“Where did you two even disappear?” He asked angrily. “I was just looking for you. I thought you would both come back once you put yourselves together, and then Cressida comes and says that you have both decided to just-“

“I’m so sorry, Plutarch,” she interrupted him sternly, “but I can’t work with him. It’s just beyond me right now-“

“Effie, you are an actress,” he hissed. “For the love of God. You don’t have to like each other, though I’d prefer it if you did. But just do your job. Get over your egos. I’m sorry about what happened this morning, but listen to this – I don’t care what is going on between you two, I don’t care if you show up drunk or sober, I don’t care if your mothers died, I don’t care if-“ he inhaled sharply when he realized he was raising his voice a little too much. “Whatever happens, you two are going to be on the set tomorrow morning, exactly at eight, ready to do what you have promised me to do. Are we clear?”

Effie felt the blush appearing on her chest and neck, but decided to keep decorum. “Very well,” she said quietly, “I will make sure of that.”

“Okay. I’ll come take a look at him later.” He measured Effie with one more doubtful look. “I just hope it wasn’t the lobsters.” With that, he turned around to disappear in the elevator.

iii.

Haymitch hadn’t appeared during dinner, which wasn’t surprising, and when Effie asked Peeta, he said that he was still asleep. Peeta took Haymitch’s card with the words that he didn’t need it right now anyway and went to check on him every two hours. Effie went with him after dinner, in a clean salmon dress, with a glass of water, a bowl of chicken soup she had ordered to her room, and a bottle of Advil.

He was lying on his stomach, in a stained white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, and these clothes were drained with sweat. His facial muscles were jerking and he was shaking in his sleep. When she carefully placed the back of her hand on his forehead, she grew worried. “I think he has a fever. Maybe we should call someone.”

“Wait,” Peeta said and ran out, leaving the door cracked open. From the hall, Effie could hear a knocking and quiet voices.

While she waited, she watched the man in the bed. He was repelling and the mere look at him made her so angry. This was exactly what she was so afraid would happen. This was what they could have expected to happen. She’d gladly slap him all over his face and she just wanted him to get better so she could accomplish that.

“We’re back,” Peeta announced when he rushed back into the room with Katniss at his feet. She had her hair in a loose side braid and her grumpy face and a phone in her hand were clear indicators that taking care of Haymitch Abernathy wasn’t what she had planned to do this evening. “Katniss’ mum is a nurse. She knows what to do.”

“Actually, I don’t. I’m not a nurse,” the girl replied moodily, setting her grey eyes on the sleeping Haymitch. “What happened?”

Effie sighed. “He got drunk. We don’t know how much he had, but I don’t think it’s normal to sleep for so long, and he looks like he has a fever, so…”

With a resigned grunt, Katniss walked over to him, pressed her hand against his forehead like Effie previously did, put her palm on his back to feel his fitful breathing and looked over to them. “How much does he drink?”

Neither of them knew the answer. “He has problems with this, we all know that,” Peeta said, “he was supposed to get somewhat sober before coming here.”

“But he drank today,” Effie added, rage taking over her once more when she remembered that day.

“It could be withdrawals, but I’m not sure.” Katniss got up and started typing something on her phone. “Maybe he knew he was falling into it so he went to get something to drink and had too much. He should be fine, but I’ll ask mum.”

“I’ll tell Chaff,” Effie decided. “Thank you, Katniss. Maybe we should leave him be for now. We’ll see in the morning.”

Katniss nodded without much concern and put the phone into the pocket of her corduroy brown pants, already on the leave. “Someone should check on him before going to bed.”

"Thanks,” Peeta said, but Katniss was on her way out of the door and didn’t pay any attention to his gratitude. “And sorry for bothering.”

Effie folded her arms over her chest and pouted. “Is everyone from the South like this?”

“I’m not,” Peeta chuckled lightly. “I’ll check on him before I’ll go to sleep and if he’s not better tomorrow morning, we’ll tell Plutarch what happened and will take him to the hospital or something.”

“I’ll come take a look at him, too,” Effie said defeatistly, uncomfortable with the thought of letting the boy look after this absolutely unpredictable man on his own. “Just knock on my door when you’re going.”

The whole filming was, indeed, already a disaster.

iv.

 The night was ink dark, soaked with the smell of drying rain on the concrete and filled with wet fog, leaving petite drops of water on the windshield, rearview mirror and the battered bodywork. The wipers were still on, running frantically from one side to the other and his eyes followed them. He couldn’t remember how to turn them off.

He saw the front lights in his peripheral vision, but his reactions were too slow. The rough leather of the steering wheel felt slippery beneath his palms, even though they were sweaty, and the highway in front of him was, he could swear, winding, but, and he was almost sure of that, there weren’t supposed to be any corners or curves.

But there was someone else, someone who was touching his face, his neck, who was whispering something to him, and they somehow didn’t fit into that narrative, but they weren’t changing it, either. This narrative always led to the same ending.

The second car was way too close but his body wasn’t collaborating with his brain’s confused orders. He originally wanted to press the brake but it was too late; so he just pulled the steering wheel, but there was a crash nevertheless.

The last thing he heard was the crunch of tires, someone’s screams and a deafening blast; the last thing he felt was the gravity-defeating force that launched him through the windshield.

 v.

 His whole body jerked and his eyes shot open. His vision was blurry, but he located a ceramic bowl and a glass of water on his nightstand. The windows were cracked open and there was a clean shirt for him on the chair beside the bed. The room smelled like disinfection and flowers. It took him a few seconds to realize that he wasn’t in Richmond and that he wasn’t in a hospital, either, and that there were no fresh flowers. The smell was vaguely familiar, though.

[ellanainthetardis]

Twelve, its landscapes, its graveyards and its victors... Let me know your thoughts!

[ff] or [ao3]

Chapter 51 :  Lifeline

Haymitch wasn’t really aware of shaking off Effie’s arm but he was alone when he advanced in the narrow path between the freshly new dug graves. There were always new graves in the graveyard, that was the thing. Twelve wasn’t a huge District and lifespan wasn’t long. He had often wondered if there would come a point when the balance would tilt and there would be more dead people than newborns, if they would go extinct. Not that the Capitol would let that happen. They would move people from other Districts, the coal mines were too precious to be abandoned.

The graveyard was closer to the woods than to the town, almost overlooking the Seam, and it was more difficult to ignore the memories of the arena there. He licked his lips and buried his trembling hands in the pockets of his brand new coat, trying hard not to think that that coat was probably warmer than any blanket a family in the Seam could afford

Tombs were pretty simple in Twelve. The only fancy ones were the victors graves and he carefully didn’t look in that direction for now. Stone was too expensive, even for people from town, and most of the time, families made do with a simple wooden cross or a huge boulder, coffins were already an extravagance. With snow covering everything it was hard to keep track on what – or who – he was stepping on.

It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for, though.

The grave was unassuming, lost between two others just as insignificant in appearance. There was a wooden cross that was dangerously tilting to the left and that he straightened by the force of habits. It had been a while since he had come there. The carvings on the wood were nearly faded.

He was hyper aware of Effie standing two feet behind him and he felt stupidly self-conscious. He didn’t even know what he was doing there truth be told. He had come a lot at first, in the months following his first victory, then he had stopped coming because there was nothing for him there. The grave was just a grave. They were dead and nothing could change that.

He hadn’t even been there to bury them.

Space was always a problem in the graveyard. There had been talks of starting another one on the other side of the District but they had never gotten the green light from the Capitol or something. It seemed so surreal to have to secure permission from bureaucrats at the other end of the country to bury their dead… If he had died as planned… If Effie had managed to get in touch with Undersee… They would have put him in there with them. They would have dug up the grave and tossed his coffin in there and added his name on the cross and they would finally have been reunited and…

And he had survived them.

Again.

It was jarring to realize he had spent more time alone than with them. It was jarring to realize in a few years he would be older than his mother had been when she had died.

He outstretched his arm behind him, reaching for he didn’t know what.

At least until a hand slipped in his and he felt her come to rest against his side, warm and alive.

“Hello.” she said brightly, because of course she was that sort of people who talked to graves. Of course. It made him smile despite it all. She was just so… Effie. She must have caught his amusement because she frowned. “What is it?”

He shook his head and pressed a kiss against her forehead just because he could. “Never change, sweetheart.”

She seemed a  bit puzzled by that but dismissed it, leaning heavily against his side. “Do you think they would have liked me?”

His instinctive answer was no because he hadn’t even liked her at first and she was an escort. They might have grown to be alright with it but he doubted it would have been a love at first sight kind of thing.

“You’re an acquired taste.” he deadpanned and got his arm whacked for his trouble. She immediately winced in pain and glared at her injured hand as if it had personally insulted her. They needed to take care of it, wrap it before it could swell. He gave a last glance at the grave, not feeling much of anything. He missed them, that was the thing, but it was a pain he carried around everywhere and all the time, not something he felt specifically when he was standing in front of their last resting place. It was hard to say what his family would have thought of his life choices. He hoped they would  have understood. He wasn’t foolish enough to think they would have been proud but he hoped they would have understood. “Let’s go.”

She hesitated. “Do you mind if… I would like to visit the victors patch.”

He shrugged, a bit reluctant but unwilling to refuse her that much. He led the way.

Katniss’ grave would have been hard to miss even without him as a guide.

The victors patch was nothing more than a somehow empty spot at the left end of the graveyard where tombs actually looked like mausoleums. Twelve’s only victor before him hadn’t lasted long, he wasn’t sure what the man had died of but his grave had been there for as long as Haymitch could remember and was starting to crumble because nobody cared enough to take care of it. Katniss’ was brand new and clearly regularly seen to.

The snow had been cleared from the white marble and it was hard to miss her name in golden letters, the dates or the proudly displayed Victor of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games. That was standard, he figured. There were two marble slabs placed on top that had clearly been exported from the city and he wondered how much of that had been Effie’s doing. One of them was engraved with a sober ‘Beloved Daughter, Beloved Sister’, the other had a picture and a single ‘Beloved’. It was so obviously from Peeta that Haymitch’s heart clenched. Someone had also placed a bow and an arrow on top of the grave – that was most likely the Hawthorne boy.

He hung back while Effie approached, not quite sure he had any right to be there at all. The corpse in that tomb was only there because he had fucked up. He should have gotten from under that tree more quickly. He should have protected Katniss better. He should have been the one getting his head split in two. He should have…

“Hello, dear.” Effie whispered, placing her hand at the edge of the grave. Her fingers were quivering and Haymitch averted his eyes, staring at a bird hopping around a few feet away. “I miss you very much.” Effie’s voice cracked and he took a deep breath. “I am so very sorry.”

He knew she was crying and it was too much for him.

He turned on his heels and stalked out of there, only breathing again once he had passed the graveyard gates. He had always found it very ironical that they were so similar to the Village’s. He leaned his back against the stone wall and felt around his pockets by reflex, looking for the packet of cigarettes he always seemed to carry around nowadays because he was apparently unable to live without poisoning himself. They were empty. He kicked the wall with a curse and rubbed his eyes.

Fuck but he missed the girl. He missed her so fucking much.

He had been clinging to his guilt for so long that it was all he had let himself feel. He hadn’t realized how much he missed her. He hadn’t realized how much…

His eyes were red when Effie finally walked out of the graveyard but if she noticed, she didn’t comment. Perhaps because her mascara was a bit smudged.

“We should go to the Village.” she suggested as if nothing at all had happened, sounding cheerful and just as bubbly as that new escort except it sounded extremely fake to his ears. “Or did you want to look around the Seam?”

“The Village’s good.” he muttered.

They walked fast and in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

The Victors’ Village was the same as ever and he felt the same dread walking past the gates as he always had before. It had been a prison for a long time. A self-appointed one, perhaps, but a prison nonetheless.

The fountain was still there, still broken.

The same stray tabby cat disappeared behind the corner of a house at their approach.

The grey sky still looked as if it was about to come down and swallow them whole and he still wasn’t sure it wouldn’t be a good thing.

The streets were deserted and empty and depressing.

“Haymitch!”

The voice was too young and too girly to belong to Peeta. It took him aback and he turned around just in time to see Prim drop her school bag and rush toward him.

He braced himself for the attack, certain little fists would soon barrel into him and harsh words would be shouted – and he wouldn’t deny her, he had no right to deny her.

He braced himself but he was unprepared for the collision and he stumbled back, almost falling down on his ass. He caught her because he didn’t want her to hurt herself even if she was bent on hurting him. He thought that was what she was trying to do at first, strangle him. It took him a couple of minutes to realize she was actually hugging him.

And when he understood that…

He hugged back. Too hard probably but she didn’t protest, she simply buried her face in his neck, he could feel her cold nose against his skin. He thought she might have been crying a little too but he was too stunned to do more than hold her.

He met Effie’s eyes over the girl’s shoulder, adjusting his grip on her so she wouldn’t fall because her feet were dangling a few inches over the ground. His escort didn’t look particularly surprised but she was teary and she hastily looked away.

“Why didn’t you come back?” Prim asked after a moment.

“I…” he hesitated.  “It’s complicated, sweetheart.”

“Peeta says you thought we would hate you.” the girl insisted, letting go of his neck. He made sure her feet were back on the ground before letting go, pulling a little on one of her braids by reflex. She batted his hand away just like old times and it was so… odd.

“Don’t you?” he cringed, confused.

Maysilee’s family, his old friends… Nobody had wanted anything to do with him after his Games.

Prim studied him with eyes that were far too old and wise for her age. She looked sad and tired. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Effie had said it on countless occasions.

Peeta had said it a couple of times.

Alina had tried to make him understand.

But it wasn’t until he heard it from Katniss’ sister’s lips that he thought he might eventually believe it.

And damn it if his eyes weren’t burning again.

“I missed you.” Prim declared, sneaking her arms around his waist and hugging him once more. “Don’t disappear like that again. You’re family. She would never have wanted… You’re family, Haymitch.”

He hugged her tight again, feeling more humbled and grateful than he had ever felt before in his long life. That girl… She was something. He understood only too well why Katniss had been ready to give her life for her.

After a few minutes, Effie discreetly cleared her throat.

Prim startled and moved away from him, wiping her cheeks to greet the Capitol properly. It was a lot more subdued but the girl seemed happy enough to see her – what he got from the conversation was that Effie had been sending a lot of care packages to Twelve in the last few months and that the care packages involved clothes and girly stuff nobody really needed.

But that was Effie’s attempts at comforting a young girl, he supposed.

“Let’s go home.” Prim declared, grabbing his sleeve and not leaving him much of a choice in the matter.

“You still live here?” he frowned. He hadn’t thought they would have been allowed. In fact, he had been fairly sure Thread would have showed up as soon as Katniss died to chase them out of the Village.

“Prim and Mrs Everdeen live with Peeta now.” Effie informed him, sounding a bit put out. “Do you even listen to me when I talk?”

To be honest, he tended not to when she talked about Twelve. She called Peeta regularly, he knew that much, but since it upset him, she tried not to do it when he was around. And when she talked about it… He didn’t always pay attention.

He wasn’t that surprised though. Peeta was a good boy. He wouldn’t have let Katniss’ family starve in the Seam.

“Mom’s sick again.” Prim informed him. “She might act as if you’re not there. Don’t mind her.”

Sick was a nice euphemism for depressed, he was sure. He wasn’t certain he was ready to find himself face to face with Aster Everdeen. He had planned on avoiding it if he could help it.

It might have been the coward’s way out but he stopped dead in the middle of the street. The girl was looking at him expectantly, as if she didn’t really understand why the delay. Haymitch’s grey eyes darted around…

“I… I want to check my house first, yeah?” he said, jumping on the first excuse he could find. “You go ahead, sweetheart. I’ll catch up.” He saw Effie pursing her lips but he wasn’t in the mood for her lectures so he waved her off. “You too. I’m just gonna…”

“I will go with you.” she cut him off. “You said you would tend to my hand anyway.”

“The kid can do that.” he countered, looking at Prim. “She hurt her hand, you can take care of it, yeah?”

“I would rather you do it.” Effie insisted before the girl could agree.

Prim’s gaze traveled from the escort to the victor and then she forced a smile. “I have to go home or Peeta is going to worry. I’ll tell him you’re here. Don’t be too long. We can have tea! I think he baked some lemon cakes this morning.”

“Lemon cakes, how lovely!” the escort exclaimed, gently ushering the girl in the direction of Peeta’s house. “We won’t be a tick.”

They were more than a tick and he was annoyed with her. He glowered all the way to his house and scowled when he realized he didn’t have his keys – not that he should have cared about that because the front door was open, just like he had left it when he had left on the day of the Reaping.

It had been six months. He expected his house to be dusty and smelly.

It had never been as clean or fresh. It felt a little like walking into it for the first time when everything had been so impersonal and cold.

“Peeta pays your housekeeper so she keeps coming. He employs her too now, I believe.” Effie explained without needing his prompting. “I think he was trying to do something nice for Katniss’ friend.”

He couldn’t really protest that, now, could he? Hazelle sure needed the money.

The living-room, the kitchen… Even his bedroom… Every room he walked in felt foreign. The stuff was his but it was too clean, too tidy. He liked his chaos. He liked that he had managed to make Effie’s apartment a little more disorganized.

This house he had never really managed to call home was not even his house anymore.

He would grab his books, he told himself, because they were the only things of value he had left and then he would never put a foot back in there.

The first aid kit was in the bathroom where he had left it the last time. He found a salve of something that should do well enough for her bruised hand and grabbed her wrist without much care. He wasn’t gentle either when he rubbed it in.

She didn’t complain.

It irked him up all the more.

Her behavior had been stupid in the first place and he was still furious about that. She was reckless like she never used to be. It was dangerous. They couldn’t afford reckless moves anymore.

He wrapped her hand in gauze, making sure her thumb was secured, and then he glared at it instead of letting go. He had known coming back to Twelve would be difficult but it was worse than he had thought. He longed for the city and its pretences, the easy distractions and the loathing he could bathe in because those people were ridiculous and it was easier to judge. But was he so different from them when he had left his home behind for…

Effie was suddenly in his space, her mouth brutally crashing on his… It didn’t take much more than that for him to give a shape to his anger. The kisses were violent. He bit down on her bottom lip hard enough that he tasted blood and she reciprocated by digging her teeth in the soft flesh under his jaw. The pain was sharp, almost too thrilling.

He shoved her against the wall.

She grabbed the coat he had never taken off and tugged him closer but he didn’t want to play by her rules. It only took him a second to clasp her wrists high above her head, pinning her in place with his hips while he unbuttoned her coat so he felt less like he was about to fuck a polar bear.

Fucking Capitols.

“I hate you.” he snarled and she drew in a sharp breath. When was the last time he had told her that? Months. A year. More? The words hurt but that was good. She should hurt. He had survived for her. He had branded himself a traitor for her. He had given up on everything he was, everything he stood for. He…

He kissed her hard, tightened his grip on her wrists, slipped a leg between hers… He groaned when she sucked on his tongue, getting lost in the way she was grinding against his thigh, searching for friction, searching for… He brought his leg up, propping his knee against the wall, pressing his thigh against her core to the point it must have been uncomfortable, preventing her from rubbing herself on him, keeping her in place.

He liked that she never simply surrendered. He liked that he had to earn that. He liked that sometimes she just refused to give in until he had thoroughly fucked her and even then she wanted to be in charge because she was just that bossy. There were days when he humored her, let her play with him like she wanted. Today wasn’t one of those days.    

He searched her eyes, looked for any hint that she didn’t want this because he was wary of hurting her, always wary… But she didn’t look afraid or reluctant. She was always game, that was the thing with Effie, she always wanted to please him. Sometimes, he thought she would never protest, not even if he took it too far.

“I want your lipstick on my dick.” he stated.

She shivered, either aroused by his crudeness or by the prospect of him walking around all afternoon with that ugly shade of peach on his privates. He let go of her wrists, stepped back, and watched her sink to her knees without a second of hesitation.

She struggled with his pants and he undid them for her, not gone enough to risk her hurting her hand further. Then her mouth was there, warm and wet, and he closed his eyes, stumbled back until he could lean against the sink, forcing her to crawl forward to follow him.

He had planned on fucking her mouth mercilessly so he surprised himself when he didn’t grab her wig. Clearly, it surprised her too.

“Tell me what you want me to do.” she hummed, giving him a teasing lick from base to head.

He told her. And every time he asked for something, she did it without question.

“Good girl.” he whispered from time to time, because that was what he always said when they were playing it rough and she was that submissive. He was fooling himself into thinking he was in charge at that moment though. She could have easily had him flat on his back and he would have let her ride him. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. He didn’t know who he was. He didn’t know… “Swallow.” he demanded, knowing she wouldn’t mind, knowing also that if she didn’t want to she would simply move back. She didn’t though. She took him whole in her mouth, almost choking when he finally came.

She coughed when he pulled out, quickly wiping her mouth on the back of her good hand, because there was one thing she hated and it was him seeing her drooling. Not sexy at all, she had claimed once. It was in a way, though. There had been a time when he had loved to make her drool around his dick, to fuck her mouth so hard tears would come to her eyes… It had made him feel powerful to fuck the Capitol. It still did to some extent and… It troubled him how violent and cruel his urges toward her sometimes got.

He pulled her up to her feet and embraced her tight.

Why was he still using her like that?

She meant so much to him. She meant everything. And yet there he was, using her to pass his frustration on… If his mother had still been alive, if she had known how he was treating his wife…

Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? She wasn’t just his escort anymore, hadn’t been for a long time, and he had put a ring on her finger and… You simply didn’t treat your wife like that. Not in Twelve. In the Capitol maybe but he wasn’t Capitol. Unless he was. Unless they had changed him so much that…

“It’s alright, darling.” she hummed, her good hand combing through his hair. “I enjoyed it.”

He didn’t think she was lying but he wondered how she could enjoy it. She deserved better. More.

“Tell me what you want.” he mumbled in her neck.

“Nothing.” She frowned, he heard it in her voice. “We really should…”

“No.” he cut her off. “Tell me what you want. Please.”

He would have dropped to his knees if she had ordered. He would have eaten her out or fingered her or anything she asked for. He didn’t like it when she got him to submit but maybe at that moment he needed it, needed her to take control, needed to make this even because…

He really didn’t want to be the brute who took and never gave.

He was dysfunctional but he didn’t want to be an asshole.

She relaxed in his arms and he tightened his embrace, planting soft kisses along the side of her neck.

“Tell me you love me.” she requested softly.

Here, in that house, those words were more difficult to utter. He hadn’t quite become used to saying them but they came out now and then when they were in her apartment. She said them so liberally, so freely… He had slowly grown comfortable with offering them back. They came out on their own volition sometimes.

They weren’t as frightening as before because they were a pact between them.

He loved her and so he stayed alive.

She loved him and so she stayed alive.

But there, in that house where everything was loneliness, pain and death…

He closed his eyes and breathed her perfume, let her presence soothe the fears he couldn’t quite suppress… He pretended they were elsewhere. At home. And it wasn’t until he had thought the word that he realized that it was what her apartment – their apartment now, he supposed – had become. Home.

“I love you.” he mumbled at long last. “I’m sorry.”

For being a jerk, for being so weak or for taking without giving he wasn’t sure. She could take her pick.

“Do not be.” she chided. “I told you a hundred times already… If I weren’t willing, I would let you know.”

He kissed her hard but not as brutally as before.

“I don’t deserve you.” he muttered awkwardly against her lips, a bit too genuine.

She must have picked up on it but she chose to laugh it off. “And don’t you forget it. Now… Try to make yourself presentable again. We really should go.”

She tried to salvage her smudged make-up while he tucked everything back inside his pants, making sure nobody could tell what they had been up to.

He was a little more relaxed, at least. And yet he remained jumpy even when they left his house to go to Peeta’s. He had prepared himself to see the boy again but the moment the kid opened the door, everything came rushing back.

Promising Peeta he would get Katniss back to him. The axe in Katniss’ head. The blood on his hands.

He hugged the boy back after a second too long, his mind flashing back to the present with a stomach churning speed. Effie was loud and at the top of her flamboyant self, commandeering attention. She was doing it on purpose, he figured, so he could blend a little more in the background, let her handle the situation.

He was grateful for it, even if her high-pitched bubbly act gave him a headache.

Prim appeared around five minutes after Peeta had ushered them to his living-room – so similar to before, it caused Haymitch to lapse again, it made him panic quietly in his corner not to be able to tell when he was, before the Quell, after the Quell… It all blurred together until the teenager put a stop to the ringing in his ears by declaring regretfully that her mother was too tired to come down. Peeta and Prim exchanged a long look but neither of them elaborated on what that meant.

Someone, he suspected the girl, placed a cup of tea in his right hand and a lemon cake in his left. His mind was riveted to the painting that was hanging over the fireplace. It was Katniss in front of a sunset with the woods as a background and Haymitch wondered why Peeta was torturing himself like that, making himself look at her every day, making himself remember when…

His hands were shaking too badly and he spilled some tea on his thigh. It was hot but he didn’t feel the pain, not really.

He did feel it when Effie’s hand casually fell on his leg and rubbed the tension away as if she knew perfectly well what he was thinking. Maybe she did.

He felt remote.

It wasn’t long before the conversation circled back to Katniss.

From small talk to the heavy subjects.

Was six months really enough for the boy and her sister to talk about her so casually? To reminisce about her without feeling that heart crushing pain?

Haymitch couldn’t.

He couldn’t even think about her without wanting to scream.

He woke up at night with her name on his lips, a despair too huge to be borne and a pain in his chest so sharp he often collapsed in Effie’s arms and let her pretend she couldn’t feel his tears burning through her nightgown.

He closed himself off to their voices, refused to listen, refused to laugh with them at how stubborn Katniss had been, refused to share memories, refused to do that thing they called mourning. He didn’t want to mourn her. Once you mourned people, they were in the past. Forgotten. He couldn’t forget her. He couldn’t stop seeing her face. He couldn’t stop…

“And how are you doing, Haymitch?” The question came from Peeta and the boy sounded guarded, almost too formal as if he was talking to a stranger and not to… him. That was his fault, Haymitch supposed, he should make more of an effort. Things between them were… weird.

He realized belatedly that it was the first time he had been addressed directly since he had stepped inside the house. Effie’s hand was still on his thigh and he covered it with his, clinging to her like to a lifeline. That was what she was anyway. His lifeline.

“I’m good.” he forced himself to answer, to lie.

“Are you back on the booze?” the boy asked casually.

“Peeta!” both Effie and Prim snapped at the same time.

“What?” the kid shrugged. “It seems like something I should know. I’m still his mentor, right?”

“That’s enough, I think.” Effie said, a bit cold.

“I ain’t.” he answered, studying the boy, trying to figure out why he was so obviously angry at him. “Took up smoking though.”

“That’s a very Capitol poison to pick up.” Peeta commented, not bothering to hide his resentment anymore. “How are you enjoying living there?”

“It’s not that bad.” he replied defensively. “And it’s far from this shit hole, which is always a plus.” That was harsher than he had intended and he regretted it because Prim looked down, clearly a little hurt by that remark. He squeezed Effie’s hand, grateful when she got the message loud and clear. She got them out of there with a lot of flair and air kisses, making Peeta promise to be ready at seven sharp the next morning for the prep team she would send. Haymitch fumed but kept his peace until they had reached the Village’s gates. “What’s his problem?”

Effie pursed her lips, clearly irritated, but he wasn’t sure it was the boy’s behavior that had annoyed her. “I do not wish to be pulled in the middle. I would rather you work out your problems on your own.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed and then he shook his head. “It’s all about the girl, anyway. He hates me because…”

“No.” she cut him off firmly. “It has nothing to do with Katniss. Not for him anyway.”

That was all she consented to say on the subject. He was tense and furious once more by the time they reached the train but this time sex didn’t seem like an appealing way of solving the situation. He let her run along to entertain the stylist and the future escort or to make sure everything was ready for dinner because god forbade her schedules went through the window, preferring to retreat to their room – her room, technically.

He needed a shower.

His skin was crawling.