Christmas
Effie used to love Christmas.
Or, she does, just not this year. Just not now. Christmas isn't that fun stuck in a hospital bed. She didn't even know it was winter in that blasted cell - yeah, it was cold, but it was cold in the summer and it was cold in the winter. It wasn't until she opened her eyes and wrestled a newspaper out of Plutarch's hands that she saw that it was early December. Poor fool happened to be the one to bear the brunt of her emotional breakdown the moment she realized she was in captivity for six months and not six years as she had thought she was.
And now it was the twenty-fourth and she was alone. Even Plutarch had someone to spend the holidays with.
Of course, someone else had to be alone too, and if she wasn't mistaken, he would be around somewhere in the city. Probably chugging whiskey and eggnog somewhere, or working overtime. Plutarch had mentioned that in one of his daily visits to her. The damned drunk was getting more done for the Rebellion than he had for her in all these years they had spent together.
For that, she was oddly proud.
Effie twiddled her thumbs as she watched the news cover the city's celebrations this year. Not much, not really. Not even the last of the Capitol citizens could make burning rubble in season.
"Christmas alone?"
Speak of the devil and he shall come. Haymitch Abernathy stood at the door with a bottle of wine and two glasses in hand. She hadn't meant to, but a smile tugged on the corners of lips and he saw it. She thought she saw him smile, too.
"You too, Haymitch?" she whispered, sitting up to allow room for him to sit. Drawing her legs together, she crossed them and huffed. She was tired, but not sleepy. The past year has taught her the difference.
He made way towards her, making a point to turn off the television hanging from the ceiling. "Don't watch the news. Shit's depressing," he said as he sunk into the bed next to her. He gave her a glass and tilted the bottle towards her. "Care to do the honors, Princess?"
She rolled her eyes. Her fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle and lightly, swaying it slightly. "I can't drink. Doctor says it's not good for me right now." Regardless, she popped off the cork and handed it back to Haymitch.
"I believe you were also told you couldn't smoke in the Training Center, but yet I remember you doing so that last night," Haymitch pointed out. He poured two glasses and handed one to her, then he sat his on the nightstand by the bed. He looked at her, waiting for a reply, but one did not come. She only stared at the wall ahead of her, her eyes moving rapidly as she sucked in a sharp breath.
Then, she exhaled.
"Well, I was six months sober, so you can't pull that on me," she said, her tone grim yet teasing. She smiled sadly, sipping from her glass. "Six months gone, and your welcome is a bottle of wine. Should have known, you daft drunk."
There was a silence. He pursed his lips together. She watched him battle between patronizing her or continue their teasing banter.
Then: "Are you okay?"
There it is. That damned question every single person who passed through that door asked her upon seeing her in bed, IVs hooked up and bruises scattered on her skin. But out of all people, why her? Of course she's okay. Why don't they go ask someone more deserving of that question? Why her? She's more than fine, just shaken, not stirred. Beaten, but able to get up. Scared, but not lost.
She bit her bottom lip. "I'm always okay."
Haymitch drew in a breath and combed his fingers through his hair, "Effie -"
"My parents are dead," she said suddenly, effectively snapping whatever he was going to say in half.
"What?"
He wouldn't know. Not how they were shot in front of her for being relatives of a traitor. Not how they left their bodies there for days until they stank and stank and stank and they were forced to bring the corpses out because rats were coming to feed on not only them but the barely living confined in the cells around her. Not how she cried for days and days and days until they had to sedate her before she did something stupid. Like kill herself. Or kill someone.
"They were killed," she said simply, forcing the tears away. She wouldn't cry for anyone anymore. She wasted all her tears in six months flat.
"Oh...I'm sorry."
They both drank from their glasses and sat in silence.
"Tell me about your Christmases," Haymitch asked at once. When she shot him a questioning look, he just shrugged and said, "I was too poor to have one when I was a kid. And I've never bothered with it after. Yours must've been festive, I assume, so tell me about 'em."
"I spent every Christmas with my parents...well except for the last two and.. this one. The last one I spent with Parker. Parker Trevin, you remember him? My boyfr- my ex-boyfriend. "
She swallowed at this. Killed, too, right in front of her. Even though they weren't together anymore...well, what does it matter? When a person is shot in front of you, that's painful no matter who. Still. Haymitch didn't know that. So she continued, "We hung Christmas lights and we baked cookies. But I've always done that, since I was a kid. I think what made it special was that we were snowed in, so I didn't go to the gala in the Centre that year. Parker and I just watched movies. It was nice, y'know? I think I was happy."
Haymitch stared, still, and it bothered. She wasn't going to break. She wasn't glass. She was okay.
She's always okay.
"Lights and cookies, eh?" Haymitch made a face as he poured more wine into their glasses. Amused, he cracked a smile and said with laugh, "Christmas sounds alright to me. Shame I've never had one. What do they call today, Efs?"
"Today?"
"The twenty-fourth."
Effie laughed, too. "Christmas Eve."
Haymitch dipped his head and chuckled. His dimples were cute, Effie decided then.
"Well, hell, look at that, Effie. My first Christmas Eve and I spend it with you. You should feel special."
She couldn't help but match her smile to his. "Tell me how Christmas is outside. In the city."
He narrowed his eyebrows. "Now?"
She nodded. "Right now."
He struggled to start. "There's...fire. And crumbled buildings. And homeless and -"
Effie closed her eyes and shook her head. "No...bullshit it. Please. Make it beautiful. Make it normal."
He shifted in the bed and started again. Haymitch's voice was no more than a whisper. "There's lights outside, hanging from the buildings, and...you can smell the cookies baking. It's red and green and, it's the good shades of them. There's children, laughing, and they're happy. Everyone is happy. And you're at home with your parents and Parker and you're happy, too. It's a good Christmas. Better one than one in a hospital bed with an old drunk."
"I don't mind the one with you."
"You're delusional, Trinket."
And there was a mutual laughter to fill the silence.
"You're the only one I remember clearly," she whispered. "Katniss and Peeta faded after awhile, and Plutarch was barely in my life to begin with. But you. You were always there with a bottle." She smirked. "Still are."
He removed the empty glass she was twirling in between her fingers and set it on the nightstand next to his. "I take it you don't hate me anymore?"
"I stopped after the fourth year we worked together. Too much of a second home for hate to thrive."
"I'd say we made progress. Look at us, spending a holiday together."
She looked up at him. "Yeah, look at us."
"Mm."
"I'm tired."
"Then I'll go and let you sleep."
"No, stay."
"What?"
Her fingers made their way to his wrist and tugged him closer. She hadn't meant for that to happen. Well. Not really. She murmured, "Stay," once again, this time her words frayed at the edges and her eyes watering at the thought of spending Christmas alone with her nightmares.
She thought he heard him say, "Okay."
Then it was warm at her side and she thought he said, "Happy Christmas," too.
And though it didn't have lights and cookies as it usually did, she thought it was a happy one indeed.
A/N: Please leave a review.