Chapter Text
It all happened so fast. Oddly, so much destruction and horror could come from a simple raised hand and three fingers extended. But Effie had been in this job long enough to know symbols were no simple thing.
They were acts of war. Treason. Something to cut off at the neck before it had the chance to grow legs and run.
She’d been quickly ushered into a room in the mayor’s household as Peacekeepers swarmed the area. She fell back against the wall as the door locked behind her from the outside, hyperventilating. After a few minutes of panted breaths, the room around her returned to color.
Effie took stock of the room for the first time, realizing she must’ve been put in the mayor’s office. The desk had papers haphazardly organized, somewhat fresh ink stains on the wood, and a small lamp illuminating what appeared to be reports on crop production.
Effie, trying not to be nosy but also entirely uninterested in the inner workings of farming, set the papers aside as she sat down at the desk. She stared at the notecards falling from Peeta’s pockets as he, Katniss, and Haymitch slipped past the Peacekeepers and household staff. She shook her head as she stared at the crumpled cards, words she’d taken great care to string together but never voiced, staring back at her.
Effie knew this victory tour would be more aimed at its goal than others in the past. While she didn’t know quite what that goal was—she could see it. It was evident in the bags under Haymitch’s eyes, the tenseness in Peeta’s shoulders, and the fear in Katniss’ gaze as she observed the crowd.
If Effie’s speech had been better, could it have prevented the death of that man’s life outside?
Her thoughts were interrupted by voices outside the door. One was low and stern, and the other was gruff and agitated. She breathed a sigh of relief, having no doubt who the latter voice belonged to.
After a minute, the low voice faded, and she could hear heavy footsteps walking down the hall away from the office. Soon after, the door was unlocked, revealing a disheveled Haymitch on the other side. His jaw was still clenched from his interaction with the Peacekeeper.
Effie stood, rushing to him. “Are the kids alright?”
Haymitch nodded. “Shaken up, but fine.”
She ran a hand over her face, sitting back at the desk. Effie wanted to wash away what she saw to eliminate the screams in her mind. However, if she hadn’t managed to get rid of the screams of children all these years, she probably wouldn’t be able to banish these sounds either.
When Effie opened her eyes, she saw Haymitch watching her from the doorway. She quickly looked away, refusing to give into that gaze that was becoming far too common. It was like he was waiting for…something. For her to break? To ask about what he and the children were whispering about? To wake up from a delusion she could never completely let shatter because its demise meant uprooting her entire life?
“They won’t let us outside yet,” Haymitch told her. “Not until it gets dark.”
Effie nodded, stacking up the crinkled cards uselessly. “Makes sense.”
“Does it?”
She exhaled. “No. None of this makes sense, Haymitch.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Do you want to make sense of it?”
“No.” Haymitch nodded, and Effie couldn’t tell whether he was disappointed or pleased. She picked up a blank piece of paper from the desk. She concentrated her thoughts as she held it out in front of her. “A love forged in the crucible of the Games.”
“What?”
“That’s what Peeta should say in their next speech.” She grabbed the pen on the desk. Haymitch walked closer, standing behind her to see what she was writing with such urgency. “We want to focus more on their love story, right? We must convey that it was because of the Games, not despite it.”
“Yeah, that’s good.”
“Something about how love unites us all.”
“It helps us through the shit we have to deal with.”
“Love allows us to bear hardships, giving meaning to our lives,” she wisely rephrased.
“Better, write that down.” She did so, writing the sentence onto the paper. Haymitch tapped against the desk, and his head upturned in thought. “Maybe more about how each tribute serves a common purpose.”
“Their deaths maintain the strength and glory of Panem.”
“Can’t have honor without the loss.”
“Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.”
Haymitch huffed. “Look at us, writing award-winning propaganda.”
Effie chewed on her lower lip, setting the pen down. “Peeta will have to do most of the talking.”
Haymitch placed his hands on the chair behind her. “They need to hear it from Katniss if we want them to believe it.”
“I can try coaching her more. She needs to hide her emotions before they surface on her face.”
“You got a lot of experience in that field, do you?”
Effie looked over her shoulder, lips curled into a devious smile. “Oh, darling, you have no idea.”
Haymitch’s eyes glinted. “Probably better that way, eh?”
Effie took a deep breath, dragging her eyes away from his gray, entrancing one’s back to the paper. “I would like to connect the victors and vanquished in the speech. But is that too on the nose?
“Yeah, but so is politics.”
Effie flexed her fingers, which were starting to ache, and gave a small smile. “Good point.”
Haymitch’s eyebrows furrowed. “You alright?”
“Just a hand cramp,” she said, waving him off.
He grabbed her writing hand in mid-air. “Here.”
He kneeled, taking her hand in his. He started massaging it gently. Working over each knuckle, putting the right amount of pressure on each finger, and pressing his thumb into her palm until the soreness started to subside. It was almost…sweet, which was not a word out of hundreds she would use to describe Haymitch Abernathy.
Effie arched a brow at him. “Do I dare ask how you got so good at this?”
He smirked. “Probably not.”
Effie settled back in her chair, watching Haymitch intently focus on her hand. She hated how often his attention drifted—the alcohol taking him away in a haze. She preferred moments like this, where she would see him clearly through the fog and feel his presence firmly in the moment.
However, the moment they were in the midst of was certainly not good.
“Will all the crowds be like that?” Effie asked.
“I’m not sure. They’ve cut off a lot of communication between the Districts. I don’t know how far it’s spread.”
”Am I wrong to say I hope it hasn’t spread far?”
“Depends on what you mean by wrong ,” Haymitch said, eyes turning away from her hand and scanning her features. He raised his other palm to her cheek. “You ain’t the only one who’s afraid, sweetheart. That’s what this is all about, right? Calming minds so Snow doesn’t create a reality even more fucked up than this one as punishment.”
Effie squeezed the hand that was still in hers before letting it go. “We’ll, shall we go over the speech? Not like we have anything else to do while we’re stuck in here.”
“Oh, I could think of a couple of other things.”
The smack Haymitch got to the head was entirely earned.
So was the kiss that followed not soon after.