Hi everyone ! And we are with a brand new hayffie story ! There are thirteen chapters in all and it should be updated on every Sunday.

Thanks for Akachankami for the beta-reading!

I hope you enjoy this first chapter!

Memory Lane

1.

The humming of the hovercraft's engine was barely audible. Her ears couldn't quite pick it up, she could only say it was there because of the small, almost undetectable, vibration under her feet. She had to focus to feel it.

It meant the silence was total.

From the moment the hovercraft had taken off in the Capitol, neither she nor her traveling companion had opened their mouth.

She had been tempted to break the silence at some point, fill it with pointless chatter until it died. She feared stillness for some reason. She had remained mute because she wasn't sure what to talk about. She thought she might also fear empty small-talk.

Her eyes fell on the red suitcase next to her right knee. She had insisted on her luggage staying with her, feeling the need to keep her meager possessions close. The case was well-worn, the red a little faded. She brushed her hand against the traveling tag hanging from the handle on top. Effie Trinket. She retraced the elegant cursives with her thumb, caressing the name.

"We're here."

She startled and looked up at her traveling companion, not without some mistrust. He was a plump man, elegant both in the way he dressed, talked and interacted with people but also in the way he moved, as if everything he did was going to be observed and analyzed. A showman, she would have concluded if it weren't for the businessman attitude he often displayed. The wispy white – or maybe pale blond – hair was carefully arranged on top of his head but couldn't quite hide the fact he would start going bald in a few years.

He should wear a wig instead of trying to hide it, she thought.

"Miss Trinket?" the man insisted, offering her his arm.

Her distraction had been enough for the hovercraft to land without her notice, it seemed. She glanced through the window to find a meadow – or she thought it was a meadow, the grass was withered or maybe brand new, she didn't know.

She stood up carefully, immediately closing her eyes against the vertigo. Her head was spinning but she soldiered on, grabbed her suitcase and reached for the man's arm. He was looking at her with something akin to sympathy but she simply figured – and not for the first time since he had showed up in her hospital room the day before – that he was simply impatient to get rid of her.

She wanted to let go of the suitcase and press a hand against her head – to steady it or touch the gauze on her brow to make sure it wasn't all a dream, she wasn't sure – but he didn't give her time to do it. He was already steering her towards the hovercraft exit.

"You will be able to rest in a very short moment, Miss." he said. "I assure you, you will be quite safe, here."

She had no other choice but to trust him so she simply nodded, mindful not to move her head too much, and forced a bright smile on her lips. That part was easy – the smiles came easily, as if she was used to pretend being happy.

After a whole day spent in a hospital room and a three hours long trip by hovercraft, the natural light of the autumn sun was blinding. She paused at the top of the exit ramp and let go of the man long enough to shield her eyes.

"Plutarch!" a gruff voice barked, almost making her jump again.

The voice belonged to a man who was clearly not pleased. She tut-tutted quietly at the state he was in : brown pants frayed and stained at the knees, a grey coat that had clearly seen better days, a tangled heap of dirty blond hair that had obviously been cut haphazardly around his chin, the thing covering half his face was a hybrid between a beard and stubble as if he had changed his mind halfway through shaving. The grey eyes, though, were bright and very much lively.

"Don't start shouting just yet, Haymitch." Plutarch retorted, nudging Effie down the exit ramp of the hovercraft.

"Effie!" a younger man cried in delight.

She had barely put a foot back down on real solid ground that she was engulfed in a warm embrace. The young man had broad-shoulders, very defined muscles, tousled blond hair, a laughing smile and bright blue eyes. He seemed very pleased to see her – or at least she thought he was pleased to see her and not actively trying to suffocate her.

"You're holding her too tight." a young woman grumbled, tapping on the man's shoulder.

He released her with an apologizing smile but she didn't have time to ponder the thought. The young woman – grey eyes, an expression between a scowl and a sulk on her face, and a neat braid of dark hair falling on her shoulder – pulled her into a hug of her own. She smelled like pines and grand natural open space. It brought tears to Effie's eyes but she couldn't have said why.

"You're hurt." the young woman frowned when she finally let go. Her fingers reached for the white dressing on her forehead but dropped halfway there.

"Nothing serious." Effie offered, sounding a lot more reassuring than she felt.

"Are you sure?" the young man insisted. "Plutarch said you were hit by a car. He didn't say you were hurt though."

"I'm surprised the wig didn't cushion the fall." Haymitch snorted.

"Wigs aren't in fashion anymore." she countered before she could think better of it. She glanced at Plutarch, uncertain, and he nodded discreetly.

"Too bad for you." Haymitch scorned.

"Haymitch." the youngest man said – she wanted to call him a boy but it made no sense – and there was a clear warning in his voice.

"Yeah." Haymitch rolled his eyes. "You're staying with me, sweetheart. If you have a problem with that, you can hop back up in that hovercraft and deal with your own mess."

The very idea of flying back to the Capitol sent her heart racing in her chest. Yet, she couldn't impose.

"If my presence is inconvenient…" she ventured, looking at Plutarch in dismay. He had sworn she would have a place to stay in Twelve and if that wasn't true…

"Don't be ridiculous." the young woman snapped. "And don't mind Haymitch, you know how he is."

"Do I?" she whispered but she was ignored.

Clearly, Haymitch was displeased with the whole arrangement. He rounded on Plutarch with narrowed eyes and jutted an accusatory finger in his chest. "Explain. You were more than fishy on the phone. You said it wasn't really an accident."

Plutarch looked distinctly uncomfortable. "You accepted to take her in the time necessary to…"

"She's part of our team. She can stay, that's not the problem." Haymitch cut in, waving her safety away with such carelessness Effie couldn't help but bite her bottom lip in concern. Haymitch went on, either not caring at how heartless he sounded or not caring about her feelings. "You said she wasn't the first one and the others were dead."

She was glad for the protective arm the younger man wrapped around her shoulders. He, at least, seemed concerned about her well-being. The young woman looked stricken too.

"You never told us that!" she gasped.

"Because I don't have all the facts." Haymitch grumbled, glaring at Plutarch. "Spill."

Plutarch sighed and folded his arms in front of his chest. "You already know some former escorts and Gamemakers escaped the Purge, like me and Miss Trinket."

"Nobody was going to put you on trial." the younger woman snorted, as if it was the best joke.

Plutarch nodded at her with a conniving smile. "Quite. Others escaped Coin's Purge, be it through connections, money or because they had done things for the rebels at some point. There were four escorts left last year, Miss Trinket is the last one alive today. Two former stylists who worked for the Games were found dead and there was the small matter of the gas leak at the Presidential Mansion. It all looks like a series of accidents."

"But it's not." Haymitch declared, looking resigned. "Who's behind it?"

"A small group of Coin's loyalists, we think." Plutarch shrugged. "We have no real trail to speak of for now. We stopped their attempts at pirate broadcasting but couldn't locate them. Beetee is working on it as we speak."

A dark cloud had settled on the group at the mention of Coin.

Everything had been explained to Effie the day before, when she had woken up in her hospital room. She was lucky, they had said, it could have been much worse.

The young man's arm fell off her shoulders and he reached for his girlfriend, entwining their fingers with a blank face.

"Are the kids in danger?" Haymitch hissed. "If they're Coin's loyalists…"

His grey eyes fell on the young woman and remained there long enough that Effie understood his real concern was for the girl.

"I don't think they will go after victors for now." Plutarch shook his head, holding his hand up in a reassuring gesture. "I'm fairly confident they don't have the manpower. Everything points to a small group. They always chose easy targets. Nevertheless, Johanna is already in Four with Annie and I sent a small protection unit there this morning. I extended the same courtesy to Enobaria but she refused our help. As for you three…"

"We don't need any strangers." the young woman was quick to argue. "We can look after ourselves."

Effie watched as the three of them exchanged a look for the next several seconds. They seemed to be having a silent conversation of sort.

"I wouldn't send strangers, Katniss." Plutarch rebuked the young woman gently. "Give me some credits. I will handpick the team myself."

Katniss…

Effie's headache was quickly getting worse and she shuffled on her feet, hoping to relieve the pressure building behind her eyes.

"We will take the team." Haymitch said. Katniss started protesting loudly but he waved it away with a scowl. "Suck it up, sweetheart, it's not up for debate." He turned to Plutarch. "Victors' Village is full of empty houses, they can stay in one of them but make sure they know who they answer to."

Plutarch nodded his assent.

"What about you?" Katniss asked with a scowl of her own. She obviously wasn't pleased at Haymitch's decision, Effie surmised. "Aren't you in danger too?"

"I have my bodyguards." Plutarch smiled, gesturing at the men in dark suits who had remained in the shadow of the hovercraft. "I'm too big a target." His amusement died quickly and he became serious once more as he turned to Haymitch. "I assure you I am certain they won't go after victors, that's why I wanted to leave Miss Trinket with you but if you think it's too big a risk…"

"She's staying." Haymitch spat, glancing at her.

His eyes roamed from the bottom of her shoes to the top of her head and she couldn't help a blush, a bit too conscious of what she looked like. The suitcase Plutarch had brought to the hospital contained neatly folded clothes and toilet products, she had chosen a dress at random, too out of sort to care at the time. The dress was yellow and too thin for Twelve, she would have been shivering if she hadn't been so utterly exhausted. As for her hair, she had tried to brush it but she was sure it looked like a bird nest of unruly curls.

"What about the driver?" the young man asked. "Didn't you catch him?"

"The driver?" Plutarch frowned. Then he lifted his eyebrows in sudden comprehension. "Oh, the driver wasn't trying to kill her. According to witnesses, Miss Trinket jumped in the middle of the road."

There was more than a single gasp at that announcement.

"It's not a performance I shall repeat anytime soon." she joked.

"The Capitol is under camera surveillance…" Haymitch said.

"She was chased by two men, that much was clear. They were wearing hoods. No identification is possible." Plutarch shrugged.

Haymitch sighed and looked at her again, with a smirk this time. The smirk was an improvement, she decided. She liked the smirk.

"So you're being tailed and the first thing you do is jump in front of a car?" he chuckled. "You've got a death wish, Princess?"

"Don't call me Princess." The rebuke was instinctive and made her pause.

"Glad to see some things never change." he scoffed, the smirk only growing deeper. "Still an uptight bitch, I see."

She stepped back at the insult, pursing her lips in distaste.

"Haymitch!" Katniss hissed.

"You, mister, are rude." she declared. And she was to stay with this man? She turned to Plutarch. "I don't think this is going to work. I should go back home. I should…"

"Miss Trinket…" the man sighed. "I already explained…"

"But… But…" she stammered. "The doctors said a familiar environment…" Her head was ready to burst and she grasped the handle of her suitcase with both hands. "I really do not think this is a suitable solution. Obviously, there has been some mistake and…"

She only stopped when a hand grabbed her wrist, not tightly enough to hurt but firmly enough to steady her. She hadn't seen Haymitch move. Then again, her sight was cluttered by dark moving dots. Perhaps, she thought distractedly, she was about to faint. She supposed it was a common enough occurrence with people who suffered from a concussion. Never mind people with a concussion who had been abducted and moved to the other side of the country.

"Breathe, sweetheart." Haymitch ordered.

She did.

And she only felt the better for it.

"What's wrong with her?" Katniss asked Plutarch, suddenly cold and defensive.

It took several seconds for Effie to realize the young woman was angry on her behalf.

"Ah, yes… I might have omitted a small detail…" Plutarch cringed, clearly uncomfortable. "You see, she hit her head quite hard and…"

"How much do you remember?" Haymitch asked her, without leaving room for the man to finish.

Was she that obvious?, she wondered.

"How… How do you know?" she stuttered, completely out of sort now.

She didn't know who those people were, she barely knew where she was and the only thing she knew with any certainty was her name – and then again, she only knew for sure because it was written on a traveling tag in what might or might not be her handwriting.

"Well, you didn't slap me, for starters." he snorted but there was no amusement in his voice. His grey eyes were cold when he glanced at Plutarch. "There's always another shoe with you."

"I think we should take Effie home." the younger man cut in, taking her suitcase away from her hands. It was a kind gesture but it made her distraught both because it was the only thing she knew for certain belonged to her and because she was using it to keep herself upright. She didn't fall though, even with her really shaky legs and the pounding in her head. She couldn't, Haymitch was keeping a solid grip on her.

"Katniss." he called.

Effie tried not to mind when the younger woman took his place.

"Lean on me." Katniss whispered.

Effie wouldn't have been able to do anything but. Katniss looked frail, skinny even, but she was surprisingly strong, each of her steps was sure, her hands were confident when they guided Effie away from the odd meadow they had landed on.

Haymitch stayed behind and their retreat wasn't quick enough for her not to hear the exchange between him and Plutarch.

"You're sure they won't come after her here?" Haymitch asked.

"They're moving their way up to more glorious targets." Plutarch replied. "A lot happened in the last two years. She works as a secretary for one of my friends, she lives in a single bedroom apartment in an unfashionable part of town, she wears prêt-à-porter… There's nothing glorious about Effie Trinket anymore."

"Don't mind him." Katniss declared, guiding her further down the path leading to a small town. "You're glorious enough for us."

"There never was anyone more glorious." the young man added cheerfully.

It was a very silly statement but it made her feel better nonetheless.

"My apologies…" she said, looking the young man over. She very obviously knew him and yet…

"Peeta." the young man offered with a kind smile.

Peeta…

Bread…

The connection made no sense and she let it slide, glancing back over her shoulder in worry. The meadow was far behind now and the roads in town were uneven, full of potholes. People looked at them when they passed by but only for a second or so, they didn't seem to care.

"I hate to impose." Effie started again. "I might very well put you all in danger and your friend obviously…"

"Haymitch is very happy to see you." Peeta chuckled, lifting her suitcase so it wouldn't roll in a puddle of mud. "Don't let the grumpy face fool you. He's been frantic ever since Plutarch called."

"He even forgot to drink himself into a stupor." Katniss snorted. She squeezed Effie's hand.

"You're not imposing, Effie." Peeta insisted. "You're family."

"Family…" she repeated. She might vaguely look alike the young man but that was it.

"Not by blood." Katniss corrected. "But none of us has any blood relatives left anyway. Doesn't count."

"It doesn't." Peeta nodded, and, just like that, the matter was dropped.

By the time they reached the slope leading to the Victors' Village, she felt strong enough to walk by herself. Katniss never wandered far anyway, ready to catch her if she stumbled.

The Village looked gloomy even with the pale sun shining overhead. It was enclosed by high metal gates that gleamed in the autumn light, houses were identical and only a handful of them looked to be lived-in. There was an imposing fountain in the middle but the marble was crumbling and the water seemed to be stagnant. Leaves were floating on the surface, carried away by the wind.

"I've been here before." she whispered as they guided her towards the very end of the village, in a part clearly deserted by everyone.

"Yes." Peeta flashed her a smile. "See, you will get your memory back in no time at all. You're lucky, I have some experience with that."

He winked at Katniss who rolled her eyes but didn't comment.

"What is that racket?" she asked, as they neared a house that looked just as abandoned as the others. Honking and quacking… Some poultry, perhaps.

"Geese. Haymitch's latest project." Katniss sighed. "And it's a pain. Noise day and night, better get used to it."

"Sorry about the state of the house." Peeta apologized, pushing the front door open and carrying her case inside. "We did what we could but it was short-noticed. I made sure the guestroom was clean."

On her way upstairs, Effie barely glimpsed more than the hall and the living-room and, yet, she wondered if it was a house or a dumpster. Bottles on every available surface, trash on the floor, a heavy coat of dust on every piece of furniture…

Katniss looked unapologetic as she led her to the guestroom. It was slightly less dirty than the rest of the house, Effie admitted. Peeta left her suitcase next to the bed and wiped his hands on his pants.

"Bathroom is on the other side of the corridor." he told her. "It shouldn't be too bad, Haymitch usually uses the one en-suited in the master bedroom. I can try to clean it a bit if you…"

"No, no, don't trouble yourself on my account." she rushed to reassure him. "You did more than enough, I assure you."

"You should rest." Katniss abruptly declared. "We will see you later."

The young woman didn't leave Peeta much choice but to follow as she grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room.

"And don't worry! You're safe here!" the boy added before disappearing down the stairs.

It was just as well, she thought, as she heard the turbulent young people slamming the door on their way out. She was… overwhelmed.

Nothing was familiar in the room.

The hazy idea that she had been in the Village before had completely disappeared before she could put her finger on the memory.

She was in a strange place, alone, and she was a foreigner to her own self.

She was allowed to be overwhelmed, she told herself, and yet dwelling on it wouldn't help. She took a deep breath before the tears could start falling freely down her cheeks, and explored her new surroundings.

The bedroom was cleaner than the rest of the house but not by much. The dusting was very superficial and hasty. There was next to none decoration or personal touch : a double bed with a pale blue cover, two nightstands, a dark wood dresser facing the bed and a wardrobe against the wall, not far from the door. On the opposite wall there was a window.

She caught her reflection in the golden-framed mirror hanging over the dresser and she sighed in dismay at her own appearance. She supposed she ought to change the dressing on her wound, the doctor had warned her about keeping the stitches clean. She wondered if it would leave a scar. It certainly wouldn't be the first, there were scars all over her body. She wasn't sure she minded terribly not remembering how she had gotten them in the first place.

She made her way to the window and opened it with some difficulties. There were no blinds, she would need curtains…

She passed her head through the open window, trying to get a sense of her surroundings. The geese were still honking on the other side of the house, out of sight, and the streets of the Village looked deserted.

"Not sure leaning out of a window when you have a concussion is really safe, sweetheart."

She knocked her head on the upper side of the window.

"Ouch." She rubbed her pounding head and glared at him. "You scared me."

"Maybe being hit by a car did knock some sense into you then." Haymitch chuckled.

There was no real amusement in his voice though and the way he was looking at her was more worried than mocking. It was such a discrepancy with the way he had treated her ever since she had gotten off that hovercraft…

"We must be very close friends for you to host me at such a short notice and in such circumstances but your behavior…" she frowned.

He remained silent for a while, staring at her with such intensity she was starting to feel ill-at-ease.

"You weren't very impressed with me last time we talked." he said at last. "You kicked me out the door."

"Why?" she asked.

She certainly must have had a reason. She didn't feel like an irrational person, she thought she must be a very sensible one.

"Long story, sweetheart." he smirked. There was an edge to it, something bitter in the corner of his mouth, that convinced her that particular explanation could wait.

"Do I usually allow you to call me pet names?" She folded her arms over her chest, confident she didn't.

He leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms too. "Yes."

"Liar." she accused.

"How would you know?" he challenged.

"I do." she retorted.

They stared at each other for a few seconds until Effie couldn't quite take it anymore and opened her suitcase, intending to put her things away. The project was short-lived, however – when she opened the drawers, dust rose in clouds, making her cough. She closed it again very quickly.

"To the risk of being rude…" She cleared her throat, not without sarcasm. "Would you mind if I did some cleaning while I am here?"

His laugh was rough. He looked surprised at himself, as if he had forgotten he could laugh.

"Not here for five minutes, you already want to take over the house and boss me around." he scoffed. "You're sure you lost your memories?"

"I lost my memories, not my personality." she snapped back. "And I will not live in a pigsty. I don't think you should either. I'm doing you a favor."

"Whatever, Princess." he shrugged. "Just don't touch my booze."

Booze.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

It didn't bear well.

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