Chapter Text
Effie was barely twenty when Plutarch came back into her life, a knowing smug smirk on his lips, and an all-knowing look in his light eyes. Her old friend pulling her even deeper into a world she reluctantly entered for Prosie’s sake.
And now, at twenty years and nine months old she finds herself standing outside the only occupied house of twelve’s victor village. The windows shut closed, curtains pulled tightly closed, the image of complete abandonment meeting her as she laid eyes on the slightly old structure. Managing to shake off both the rest of the prep team, consisting now of Prosie and Vitus, both asked to come back and assist since it was their tribute that won. Both, naively, cannot see anything than the great honor of them being selected. All she can see is a noose hanging over all of their heads. The peacekeepers were harder to shake off but she manages it, even though she can still feel their eyes from the other side of the road, by the ornate steel door of the village.
She shakes her head slightly; a couple of pink strands fall from her perfectly made hair. Hand trembling as she knows on the door. She waits for a few minutes, mostly for politeness’ sake. She knows very well she is not going to get any response from the house’s occupant. Opening the door she is struck with the scent of alcohol, it reeks, soaking the walls, the floors, the furniture. Haymitch’s half smile as he told her “He wasn’t much of a drinker himself” last summer pierces through her heart.
Effie walks slowly, eyes scanning the rooms as walks deeper in the house. She finds him slumped on the kitchen table. One hand gripping a half empty bottle of some clear liquid, the other clutching a large knife. blade glimmering in the morning light sneaking in the room through some gaps in the shut blinds. Her hand shakes a little as she gently peels the knife from his hand. When sleeping she can no longer see the traumatized teen she came face to face with all those months ago after his victory. If she tries, not this hard, she can still see him right there, same curly blonde hair, same sharp cheekbones.
She shakes her head, few more strands coming loose, she really should have used more pins. Walking to the counters she places the knife down gently, careful not to make too much noise as she walks around, picking up dirty dishes, throwing spoiled food, filling a glass of water. Her moves methodical as she places the glass of water down at the table, just slightly out of Haymitch’s reach, before she tries as gently as she can to wake him.
He awakens with a gasp, arms thrown around, ready to strike, ready to kill really if she had left his knife in his hand. Completely lost in a world of anguish as he fights his way back to the reality. His eyes open wide when they fall on her, a small gasp leaving his lips as he tries to distinguish if what he’s looking at is real or not.
She starts talking, voice steady as she offers her condolences for the tragic loss of his family, of his girlfriend. She spews the same propaganda the capitol fed everyone about their deaths, feeling horribly her throat closing as she utters the word appendicitis. She can’t help but notice how he doesn’t say much, a slight nod, a bite of his lip. Single word answers to most of her questions and instructions alike. She can’t help but fear that the light in his eyes was completely extinguished this time.
Her hand is gentle as she helps him up from the table, his feet a little unsteady, hand gripping hers as he walks to the stairs, not letting go as he walks upstairs, forcing Effie to follow him all the way to his bedroom. She offers to help him cut and style his hair, her eyes falling on the curls reaching his chin, her cheeks start hurting from smiling, almost maniacally, for so long.
He agrees, a little reluctantly, before he disappears to the bathroom, leaving Effie standing awkwardly in the middle of his bedroom. The smile she fought so hard keeping on finally falling, her cheeks having some trouble returning to a natural expression. She turns her head to the other side, sometimes she wonders what he might be thinking of her, does her constant smiling and naïve persona angers him? do they make him resent her maybe? Not that he would ever show it, he was kind like that sometimes. But she cannot help it but wonder a little.
While she waits for him to finish with his shower she starts walking about mindlessly. She busies herself with picking up some of the clutter, empty bottles go to the small can in the corner, dirty clothes get folded and placed with care on the chair by the fireplace. The movements so mundane make her wildly beating heart calm down a little.
When he enters the room again, he looks so much better, not well, she notes with a sorrow, but better than he looked when she saw him downstairs.
“I think a simple trim will be enough.” She says gently, her hands gripping lightly his shoulders.
He shrugs, “If you think so.” He mutters, his eyes focusing on the corner where the pile of empty bottles lays.
Effie couldn’t help but fear she wasn’t at all prepared for what she had signed on.