Title: Reap and Sow
Disclaimer: I do not own Hunger Games or its characters. That right belongs to Suzanne Collins.
Warnings: Angst, Violence, Death, Sexual Situations, Coarse Language, Torture, Rape
Rating: R
Pairings: Effie/Peeta (friendship), Effie/Haymitch (romance), Effie/Katniss (friendship), Peeta/Katniss (romance)
Date: 5/14
Word Length: 4, 833
Summary: Effie Trinket learns about the true face of the Capitol and the ruthlessness of President Snow. If she can survive prison with Peeta long enough for help to arrive, she might just escape hell with her life. Might.

NOTE: There are some spoilers. If you have not read the other two books, please, do not read any further. I don't want to ruin it for you. If you have read the books or just don't care, continue on! And I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Welcome to Your New World

When Effie was a little girl, she saw her whole life spread out in front of her; an endless parade of shopping and cotillions, cocktails and delicacies, and comfort. For a while she was happy.

She spent her youth doing what every finely brought up Capitol girl did. She learned to play the piano, and she studied literature, language, and history. She went to parties with her parents, celebrating the annual Hunger Games; making bets with girlfriends and raising money for gifts to their favorite tributes.

And she met boys. Lots of them. And they all loved her.

Everyone who met her loved her. She was more than proficient in oration and her exceptional poise was a gift her mother had instilled from daily lessons. In the eyes of the Capitol, she was an exemplary figure, and people celebrated her above all others around her.

It was only natural that she would become an escort for one of the districts. Her parents had been so proud. Friends and strangers were rife with jealousy when they heard. Although, when it was found that she would be the escort to District 12 there were more than a few snickers.

She never bothered though. She viewed it as more of a doorway. A chance to work her way up to a more coveted position; escort for Districts 1, 2, 3, 4, or 8. Her mother was happy. Her father was happy. That was all that mattered.

Then, she met Haymitch Abernathy. He was everything that she had been brought up to despise. Unkempt, coarse, unrefined. The only notable thing that he had ever done was win the 50th Hunger Games; two years before her own birth.

The first time she had met him, he had swaggered into the room, a cocktail in his hands. He had glanced around at the lavishness of the dining room, his eyes moving over the crystalline chandelier, over the plush chairs and the large screen television. He had come to a surprising halt in the middle of the room when his grey eyes had locked onto her. A low curse had met her ears, and he threw back his drink, which made her grimace with disgust. She made a move to speak a word of indignation, but was silenced by his glare.

"So. You're the new executioner for District Twelve."

She gasped, her cheeks heating up. His voice was gruff, but told her many things about his personality. Some of which she liked. Most of which she did not.

"I beg your pardon? I am the new escort for the District. I am not an executioner" She moved toward him, her hands on her hips, trying to play down her annoyance.

He only smirked, and moved toward her. "Sweetheart, you might as well be. The poor districts understand better than anyone that the only thing that comes out of these damn 'games' is death."

She huffed. "Well. That will change. I guarantee you that. When I'm through with this District, people will applaud my name, and the names of our victors."

He chortled, and moved closer. Maybe a little too close.

"What makes you think we'll have victors?"

His breath smelled like whiskey.

"Well…" she suddenly did not understand why it was so hard to gather a breath "with your help we can have the tributes up in shape before you even know it."

He smiled, his eyes dancing. But she had gathered no comfort from this. It was too cold. "You're either really stupid or really opportunistic to think it will be so easy."

Her cheeks were burning with indignation as she stepped closer. So much closer in fact that she could smell his scent. Alcohol, fresh air, and dirt. "I beg your pardon…" she spluttered.

He tried to hide a devilish grin, but failed. She looked up into his eyes, and just as she was about to give him a piece of her mind, something changed. His face grew softer. And before she even knew what had happened, he had wrapped his hands around her waist and kissed her.

It was soft. Gentle. Almost….why did she like this?

He pulled away. Smiled. SMILED at her. "It'll be a pleasure to work with you Effie Trinket. G'night"

And before she could do anything; slap him, shout at him-he was gone. She stumbled backward, almost tripping over her heels, her fingers grazing her lips. And blushed.

Maybe being the escort to District 12 wasn't so bad.

Except…it was worse than she had ever anticipated.

The feeling came over her slowly. The first two games were enjoyable. Haymitch sobered in preparation of the two tributes, his grey eyes shining like she had never seen them in the days before their arrival. And when they arrived, she genuinely enjoyed spending time with them. Getting to know them and taking them around the Capitol on tour was always one of the highlights of the week. She enjoyed her job.

Until they died.

And then she would mourn. Watching the screen piteously as they each died gruesomely. And each time they did, she would shed a few tears, her heart breaking for the two tributes who had been her…friends. She went to their funerals not just because it was her duty but because she was genuinely sad that they were dead. By their graves, she would plead with them for their forgiveness, asking them to do what she could not; to forgive her and not hold her as accountable as she wanted to hold herself, and go in peace.

Then she and Haymitch would walk slowly toward Victor's Village and she would spend the evening with him, reminiscing, planning for the next year's game. Promising that she wouldn't let the upcoming tributes die like this years had.

Except they did.

Every single year was the same. She and Haymitch would anticipate their arrival, making sure the train cars were designed for their comfort. Haymitch reviewed the rooms to make sure there were touches of home recognizable to the children. She tried to make sure everything was perfect. She made sure that they already had a few interested sponsors for their tributes.

Every year they greeted them. Helped them train. Tried to get them ready. Tried to get to know them. Every year she had to watch them die. If it was any consolation, they usually never made it away from the Cornucopia. Never had to suffer in the arena, or have to feel the intense hunger and fear other tributes had to face.

Haymitch gave up hope first. The pile of bottles in his room grew with every year. He became sober later and later, and stayed sober less and less of the time. He stopped giving all the helpful advice so freely. Stopped trying to put on a face for the children, stopped being amicable with her. Stopped coming out of his room. He grew angry with her.

Though she knew she didn't deserve that, she knew why he hated her so much. She picked the names. She worked for the Capitol. In effect, once a year, she played God. She found herself slowly loosing hope in her district. She realized one morning that she rarely gave a genuine smile for a tribute anymore. She didn't feel any excitement anymore for her job. She started to spend only the time that she had to with the children. Tried to not talk to them about their family and their interests while also trying to convince, not only them but herself as well, that they could trust her to keep them alive.

Life went on like this, and in this time, twenty tributes from District 12 died. Effie was now 30.

She had just started to think about an early retirement where she could try to find something to take away the images of her tribute's innocent faces when she called out two very unlikely names:

Katniss Everdeen
Peeta Mellark

And she finally had hope. They were good. Better than the tributes from her first year, ten years ago. They had a fighting chance. She could tell that Haymitch saw it too. And although she felt regretful for not doing as much as she knew she could, she realized she would do more now. And Haymitch finally helped.

Behind closed doors.

The love interest Katniss and Peeta had helped them. Though, she didn't know why she had sudden bouts of jealousy when she thought about them and the love they shared. It was easy to play the cards with the citizens. When they won, she jumped for joy and then sobbed into her hands in relief. And for once, Haymitch sitting right next to her was a comfort instead of an annoyance. And the gentle touch soothed her slightly.

She had never given anyone as big a hug as she had Katniss and Peeta when they walked back into the apartment. She had never showed this side of her to anyone—including Haymitch, who stood flabbergasted in a corner before joining in the celebration. It felt like they were a family. And everything was going well.

The victory tour was tense, but wonderful. She finally had an accomplishment under her belt. And she had friends who understood what her job really was like. She no longer had to go and visit grave sites if she wanted to talk to her past tributes. She no longer had to feel guilty when thinking back on them. Because both of her tributes lived.

President Snow wasn't happy. But she didn't think that anything could be done about what had happened. She felt incredibly, undeniably happy once more.

Until the third-quarter quell. When only past victors could be chosen. For the rich districts, this was cause for celebration. They were rife with victors. And they could spare one or two. But she couldn't bring herself to get up that morning. It was a struggle to lace up her dress, to adjust her wig and put on some makeup. Because when she drew the names out of the bowl, it would be her friends this time that she was sending to the arena.

She would lose no matter what.

It was perfectly clear that both tributes could not come back alive this time. Katniss was going back into the arena. And although she was sad that she would potentially loose her one girlfriend from a district, she was more concerned about the boys. Because if she chose wrong, Haymitch would be going. And she didn't know what she would do if she didn't have Haymitch to help her, to comfort her, to sit by her and make jabs at her so that Peeta and Katniss could smile.

When she read out Haymitch's name, she almost fainted. Until Peeta stood up and offered himself as tribute. Although sad, she felt a sense of relief. Haymitch had become her friend. Without him, she didn't know if she could do this. Even though Haymitch told her he was convinced she could do anything.

Which had made her smile.

Haymitch's friends in the competition insured that Katniss and Peeta had some protection from the start of the games, which was beneficial since all the other past victors were friends with each other; they were more willing to kill Katniss and Peeta because they did not really know them. And the 'star-crossed lovers of District 12' campaign worked wonders for the crowd. Though she held her breath throughout the game. Praying silently as Haymitch watched with her that somehow they would both get out of this alive.

Except something was up. Haymitch wasn't his normal aloof self. He was confident, but shifty and left for long periods of time without telling her who he was going to see. At first she feared it was President Snow. He was a ruthless man, and unhappy with her. But as the secret meetings grew longer, and he returned more smugly than when he had left, she knew it was not Snow. It was something else. So, because he wouldn't confide in her, she helped in other ways. When people were looking for him, she made up alibis. When they kept coming back, she made up pressing matters.

She had a horrible suspicion that she had brushed off cavalierly. Surely he knew what a rebellion would do. Not just to the country but also to herself and the district. She could get thrown in jail, executed, at the very least lose her job. And the district could be starved, or worse…bombed. It had happened before. And Snow was trigger happy to do it again. However, when the shield around the arena had exploded, and the air lifter had arrived and carried Katniss and two other tributes out of the arena and away from the Capitol, she knew. She knew.

Even before the banging on the door began.
Even before the power had gone out and the emergency lights had turned on.
Even before she heard the sound of splintering wood.

That Haymitch had started something unprecedented.

And he had left her by herself.

Internment Camp

The prison was located on a secluded island off the shores of a large lake, far from the city and its anxious, uninformed citizenry. Standing on the rocky beach, the waves crashing onto the smooth pebbles, Effie finally understood what being a prisoner would mean. In her mind, she had imagined what it would be like, but in her head it was more romanticized.

In her mind, she was going to defiantly step out of the hovercraft, walking steadily toward her doom, her back rigid and chin high in the air. People around her would stop and stare in wonder at her, unable to understand how she could be so fearless. She would show Snow that she was not afraid of him. That he could not break her. That she would be free and safe and that Katniss and Haymitch would save her and then she would help to kill him. Then, in a prison cell with only a tiny barred window for light, she would sit, munching slowly and methodically on the food guards provided to her, refusing to talk, refusing to break to their will. Waiting for reinforcements from the rebels to break her out of the city prison, where she could then effectively lead a rebellion through the city.

She hadn't expected to be dropped into the middle of nowhere. The mountains surrounding her on three sides were brown and red, pointing high in the air like rusted knives, ready for helpless victims to fall upon their sharp peaks. The river feeding into the lake thundered as it made its way around a canyon, the rapids whipping up the water into a frenzy. Such inhospitable land, she did not know existed outside of the games. A few scraggly trees stood rooted in the dirt near the water's edge, providing no respite from the blistering sun overhead. This was where The Prism was.

The prison itself was only three stories high, made of solid black granite. An ominous chimney belched black smoke into the air, the smell revolting as it burned her nostrils. She was surprised. For all the political prisoners that had been seized around the Capitol—almost half of the intellectuals and more than two thirds of the media—it didn't look like there would be enough room. And the long lines of new arrivals like herself—men, women, children, the elderly— waiting to enter only seemed to solidify her confusion. The guard gripping her forearm must have sensed her confusion.

"Floors one through three are what you see now. They're processing and…recreation. Prison cells make up floors four through nine…all below ground where nothing but the drip of river water and the dampness of the ground can keep you company. And if that isn't enough, floors ten through fifteen are for interrogation."

Her breath hitched. It was massive then. And all below her feet. How many twisting corridors extended into the river bed? How many were already inside? How many were being tortured, driven mad right now? How many were being starved? Did she know anyone inside? Where was Peeta? Cinna? What would happen to her?

The guard shoved her hard, and she stumbled forward, glancing behind her angrily. "Come on bitch, I don't have all day to spend admiring the countryside. I got three more shipments of prisoners to get through before I can go home to my family."

She chuckled a little. So naïve. If he did anything wrong now. If any of the citizens did anything wrong now. They would be ending up here with her.

Her first step was the hardest one to take. Her heart was beating out of her chest, sweat starting to trickle down her brow as she moved ever closer. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion as she made her way toward the gaping gate. How could anyone not try to stop this? Someone, anyone save her! And yet she walked calmly forward. She tripped only once in her flats, but she kept her quickened pace, pretending that instead of walking toward her hell she was really walking toward Katniss to talk to her about something.

Katniss. Where had that hovercraft gone? Where was Katniss now? Did anyone know that she was being forced to her death? If she was right, this prison was off the record. If she died, or was murdered, then her body would be disposed of via the chimney. That was what it was for. To get rid of the evidence and keep away the dampness.

…...

The lobby of the prison was ornate. Not as ornate as the public viewing room for District 12 during the games, nor as ornate as her own house, but it was nicer than what she expected it to be. White-gold marble floors extended in front of her, broken up by large brown pillars that looked as if they had come from the mountains themselves. Tables and chairs were interspersed around the room, and a fireplace filled the room with warmth.

She was pushed into a long line, where prisoners with the last names S-Z were being processed. It took a while, during which time she had the opportunity to think and to watch.

The prison was methodical, and if she was hoping for a chaotic mess, then she was disappointed. As people were processed, a guard loomed beside them on their right, and as each clerk swept their hand to the right, the guard would grab their prisoner, and drag them toward two heavy metal doors. Some would scream for help. Some called out messages of hope or laughed in derision of Snow and his clear fear of the opposition. Most however, were silent, and kept their heads down as they were dragged away.

What would she do when her time came? Would she scream and carry on and make a scene? No. It was not in her nature to make a fool of herself. Doing so now would go against everything she had been brought up to respect and hold dear. Besides, if she did decide to scream, to cry, to kick and try to run, then she would at best make herself a target of torture later on, or would be executed instantly. She had already seen a few prisoners be carried away toward a black door. She knew the signs. If the clerk saw that the prisoners name had been highlighted in pink, they were going through the two metal doors and presumably, down to the prisons. Those who were highlighted in blue were getting taken through a set of mahogany doors and up a set of stairs, though their fate was unknown to her afterward. And if they were highlighted in yellow…well…nobody wanted to be highlighted in yellow. Because if they did, the clerks faces scrunched up, and they rang a bell. And the room fell silent as they watched the guards drag the victim away and outside, where only a few seconds later, screaming could be heard and then, after only a few pauses, a gunshot.

It was almost her turn. The child in front of her was being swept aside, dragged toward the doors leading upstairs, while she cried in fear, her eyes and hair wild, a dark spot evident in the front of her dress: urine.

"Name?" The clerk had a gruff voice, and sounded almost bored with the job assigned to him.

"Trinket, Effie."

The clerk nodded, and swept a grimy nail down the ledger. As he looked, she glanced around the table. A glass bowl reminiscent to the one she used at The Reaping was by the edge of the table, filled with gold and silver rings, necklaces, and earrings. Two closed ledgers lay at the opposite side of the table, closed and glossy. Presumably they had been unopened as of yet, but since the ledger her name was in was almost to the end, it was clear that the next would be in use shortly.

The clerk craned her neck upward and squinted through his dirty spectacles. "Occupation Effie Trinket?"

She cleared her throat, "escort to District 12"

The clerk nodded, and then wrote something down on a piece of piece of paper. "Please prick your finger and place your print on the pad for verification."

She looked down at her finger, grimacing before glancing down at the pin positioned at the edge of the table. Slowly, she lowered her finger toward the table, a lump in her throat and her legs shaking. Now she knew what the children of District 12 went through during The Reaping. The prick only hurt initially, and when she had placed her finger on the electric pad, she sighed in a sort of relief the pressure provided. There was a low buzz, and then a soft beep.

She was expecting something else, but what she wasn't sure. Her finger was bleeding, the blood pooling out of her pricked finger into a little sort of round bubble. She was so intent on watching her own blood, having never seen it before, that she did not notice the clerk signal toward the guard. She only noticed that it was her time when she felt the guard's hard grip on her forearm.

She held her breath. Where would she be taken? She hadn't noticed the color beside her name, and she mentally kicked herself for not being more thorough. Was she headed upstairs? No. She was lead passed that door without a second glance from the guard. The door leading outside was in the opposite direction, and so she figured she was not going to be executed right away; a small relief in a burgeoning nightmare.

The doors ahead of her were thrown open by the two guards stationed at its entrance, and she was pushed inside roughly. "Welcome to prison, whore. I hope you enjoy your stay. It's funny. Before this, I used to watch you on the television. You used to lead those little brats from the coal district to their deaths. Now, I get to lead you to your own. Isn't life funny?"

Every word was callously spoken, and every word made her blood turn colder in her body. She wasn't getting out of here. She had known that, but it had been in the back of her head, easy to be distracted from by her other thoughts and feelings. Now that she was here though, it was the only thing she could think of.

The stairs she was led down were dark, and she stumbled a few times against the slippery, rough stone. Industrial lighting was dispersed intermittently along the staircase, leaving great patches in darkness. As she went deeper, the light became brighter as the natural light from the doorway disappeared and was choked out. Another thing she noticed; the walls were becoming slimier. Which meant they were going deeper underground, and were now probably below the lake.

She counted six turns in the stairwell, which meant that she was on the bottom floor of the cell section of the prison. Presumably, that meant she was more valuable, because the closer to the bottom you got, the closer to the torture center you were.

Which meant she would have the privilege of enjoying a nice, long stay.

The metal door at the landing squeaked open in protest when the guard unlocked it, and as soon as she stepped inside she had the intense urge to vomit. To say that it smelled unkempt would be an understatement. The whole hall smelled like urine, sweat, and vomit. From either side of her, along the wall muffled sobs echoed. But when she searched out for their owners, she was met by only solid metal doors. Whoever was lamenting, they were on the other side of the door.

"You're in good company slut. You're in a hall full of past Hunger Game victors, their mentors, and uncooperative escorts like yourself. You probably know half the worthless scum that live here."

She processed the information slowly. Her friends could be in here. Peeta could be in here. Maybe if she was lucky, she would catch a glimpse of him in passing one day. If she did, maybe she wouldn't have so much anxiety about where he was—or more importantly—if he was alive.

"Sector Twelve, Cell 9865. Welcome to your new living quarters, Effie Trinket. Enjoy your stay."

The gate swung open slowly, and almost in slow motion, she was thrown inside. She lost her balance as she crossed the threshold and as she collapsed her arms pin-wheeled, before she struck the ground hard. The air left her with a whoosh and she cracked her head on the cold floor, the room becoming fuzzy and out of focus for a few seconds. So she lay there, staring up at the ceiling, at the one naked bulb shining its weak light down upon her.

Blinking, she slowly sat up, looking around her. There was a metal bed in the corner of the room, with some damp, dirty hay atop it for her 'comfort'. In a corner of the facility, farthest from the door was a rather large bucket, where she assumed, she would go to the bathroom when she needed to. Though, by the smell in the hall, she guessed that the buckets were not washed out frequently. Vowing to go to the bathroom only when necessary, she stood up, wrapping her arms around her waist.

She was alone.

District 13

Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Effie. He had forgotten to tip her off. He had forgotten to warn her about what was to happen. Purposely, he had tried to keep her out of knowing what his plans were in the first place—to keep her safe and from harm so that nobody could hurt her—though he knew she suspected. She had been making excuses for his long periods of absence for ages. As if he hadn't been aware of her help. She was always helping him. Always caring—even if sometimes it came off as overbearing.

And he had forgotten her.

She would be at a prison now. She would have by now been processed . At this second, she may be in the middle of an interrogation. Or a torture.

And oh, God. If she wasn't alright, if she wound up dead and gone by the time he had her back in his arms…he wouldn't be able to ever forgive himself.

Because he loved her.

And she was alone.

So, I hope you like it. This is my first Hunger Games story, and definitely my longest chapter. This story will be written, I just have to somehow find the time to write since I'll be working at a camp this summer, and so will be really swamped with work. Hopefully you all stick around. Please, give me a review telling me what you liked and didn't like. I realize the character is a little OOC. I'm sorry :/

Till Next Time!

ASG