A/N: Firstly, I do not own any part of the Hunger Games which all belongs to Suzanne Collins.

That out of the way, I will say that this is my first attempt at a Hunger Games story. I saw the film just over a week ago, then straight away went out and bought all of the books reading them in four days straight. I am a big Effie fan, hence this, but I don't plan on just writing about her but her in context which is what this was supposed to be. I am working on another one, a darker one which is already longer than this one, but this idea came into my head and I wanted to test it out. So be kind at my first attempt and we'll see how it goes!

This was originally going to be a straightforward Haymitch/Effie fic, but then it went a bit deeper than that so I'm not sure exactly what it is. Sorry if some of the details are slight off; they shouldn't be, but they might. It's set before, during and after the Hunger Games trilogy so if you haven't read them watch out!

I hope it's okay and that you enjoy it and will stop rambling now!

HBR

The way they came to be

Twenty three people were dead. The one that got away, who had managed to stay alive long enough to fend off the others, had seemed broken when they took him away. He was quite a small agile boy from District 6 only fourteen years old, but he was bleeding badly when the Capitol crowned him as victor.

It had come down to the last three: two huge and skilful Career Tributes and this small boy, who had been smart enough to dip in and out to avoid the worst of the fighting. The Gamemakers had decided to melt away the rest of the scene in the arena, leaving nothing but the cornucopia and a deserted wasteland so that the remaining tributes could make their final stand. It was bloody. The larger men, from districts one and two, began fighting at once. They were evenly matched, locked almost in a stalemate when the small boy who they hadn't thought to fight, not yet anyway, shot an arrow which pierced through both of their bodies. He hadn't killed anyone yet, and now he was victor. The media loved him, the dark horse of the games, but Haymitch could only think of the twenty three families who would never see their loved ones again.

It never got easier. People told him, every year that he helped the two District 12 tributes to train and formed a bond with them only to watch them die, that it would get better. He would have to face their parents in a few days. He had known them for years – poor, simple folk but happy with their lives. That would soon change.

Haymitch sat in an armchair in one of the vacant rooms where sponsors and mentors gathered to watch the games, a glass of liquor in his hand. One way to stop the faces of the dead haunting him that night would be to drink his way into a state of unconsciousness. He had discovered this technique a few years ago, and despite the fact that he was watching himself turn into a raging and embarrassing drunkard, he hadn't the will to care anymore.

'Excuse me?' It was a small, polite voice coming from behind him. Haymitch jumped a little, having thought that he was alone, and left his glass on a table as he stood and turned to the speaker.

'Yes?' His tone was hostile, but something caught him off guard as he looked at her.

At first, he saw only another Capitol woman dressed in an extravagant pink dress decorated with ruffles and bows, sporting a bubblegum pink wig of curls atop her head; but there was something else. Behind her heavily made up face, her eyes glistened the brightest blue. She was young, maybe twenty, but carried authority as if she had held it for years. It was an understatement to say that she was beautiful, though Haymitch shook the thought from his mind at once. She was part of the Capitol, whoever she was. She watched the Hunger Games every year, probably bet on who would die like they all did. The fact that he knew she provoked feelings which he had not had in years made him angry. She didn't deserve them.

'I was looking for the office of the Head Gamemaker, but I'm not quite sure where to go,' she explained. She must work for the games, Haymitch thought, which made her all the more despicable. He tried his hardest to shout something at her, to tell her to go away, but her eyes did not seem unkind. Maybe she was different.

'I can show you where it is,' Haymitch offered, his tone still on edge and displeased but mostly that was just to keep up appearances.

'Oh,' she said, 'I don't want to trouble you.'

'I don't mind,' he replied, 'I don't have anything better to do.'

They walked in silence out of the room and up two flights of stairs, her ridiculously high heels tapping as she went. When they reached the office, she turned to thank him.

'I'm Effie, by the way, Effie Trinket.' She held out her hand, which he took in his own. Her fingers were so soft, so warm, that for a moment he didn't know what to say.

'Haymitch Abernathy,' he managed after some time.

'Haymitch! I didn't recognise you,' she trilled, a hint of excitement in her voice. She was just like all of the others. 'I suppose I will be seeing you next year then. I'm taking over from the current District 12 escort; poor thing had to be taken to hospital. I'm not sure exactly why.' Her voice trailed off, but her winning smile returned. Haymitch did not think her cruel, but perhaps naive was the word to use.

'Great,' mumbled Haymitch, 'see you then.' As he walked away, he didn't know what to think. Every instinct warned him about who she was, where she came from and how she was raised to love and excite in everything he despised. She probably watched his Quarter Quell on the television and cheered as his friends died, though she couldn't have been more than eight years old. Returning to his lukewarm alcohol he decided to hate her, yet he already knew that he couldn't.

Xxx

The two tributes sat at the table in the dining car as they sped through the rolling hills on their way to the Capitol. Although it was only late afternoon, Haymitch had been drinking for most of the day and was not exactly talkative. He was fuming.

He had known that she would be at the reaping; it had been playing on his mind for the last few weeks. Sure enough, as soon as she had stepped onto the stage and taken her place he was speechless. Haymitch had greeted her with a smile but that was all that he could manage as he watched her, radiant as ever and taking his breath away without needing to say a word.

But as soon as Effie stepped up to the microphone, Haymitch's stomach turned over. It was as if she was enjoying it, her bright and bubbly tone brimming with excitement and anticipation as she condemned two children to their deaths. Of course the escort had to be upbeat and encouraging, it was part of their job, but Haymitch sensed that she was glad of what she was doing and the games were entertainment for her as it was for the Capitol's residents.

He stared at her across the room as the tributes finished their meal, and he knew that she could sense his eyes on her. Effie turned her attention to the tributes.

'Now then, tomorrow is a big, big, big day so you will have tonight to rest and recuperate. Any strategy meetings with your mentor will take place after breakfast, before we arrive at the Capitol just after lunchtime. All right?' The tributes nodded, still muted in their shock but not crying at least. It was unbearable when they cried. Haymitch scoffed at Effie's little pep talk, taking another swig from the glass of wine at his table.

'Something to say, Haymitch?' Effie asked, looking at him with those eyes which sent a shiver down his spine.

'Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,' he replied, though whether she understood him was a different matter. His words were slurred with the alcohol.

'What are you doing, Effie? Why are you saying those things when we all know what's going to happen, what always happens? You stand there, in your stupid heels with your ugly clothes acting as if you don't know. As if you don't know they're going to-'

'Haymitch!' Effie shouted, stopping him in his tracks. He was glad of this, as he could see now that the tributes were terrified. They knew what he was going to say: as if you don't know they are going to die.

'Why don't you two go to your rooms and change? There's a lovely shower if you'd like to freshen up and supper will be served at 8,' Effie suggested kindly. They left without a word, and Effie could hear the little girl who was far too young for this madness breaking quietly into tears.

Effie turned to Haymitch with fire in her eyes.

'What did you do that for?'

'You needed to be put in your place,' he fired back at her. 'You act as if this is all a game, as if it's an honour to die for their district when it's just sending them to their deaths.'

'Well what else am I supposed to do? The reaping is televised and the Capitol will not be pleased if I remind the tributes that they are probably going to die. If they can try to enjoy what time they have left before the games then it won't be as hard for them going in; surely you can see that?' It was a well reasoned argument, but Haymitch had never listened to reason.

'You seemed to enjoy it,' he spat, furious. 'It wasn't just for the cameras, no-one is that good at acting unless they believe in what they are saying. I bet you've watched the games all your life, rejoiced when people died and now you get to be part of it. Well good for you, I'm glad you are having a good time, but don't expect me to believe that you care.' He threw his glass at the wall, where it shattered into a million pieces and the conversation was over. Effie said no more and left, her head held high and dignified, though Haymitch could swear that he saw wipe her eyes with the back of her hand as she disappeared from view.

Xxx

They worked together for almost ten years, forging what can only be described as a hostile but working partnership. They spoke when they had to, and tried to keep the harsh words to a minimum; at least when other tributes were around.

Haymitch joked about her in District 12, calling her every name under the sun until even his colourful vocabulary was exhausted. Everyone knew that he hated her, deep to her Capitol-perfect core, yet they didn't know that he dreamed about her. He dreamed of a quieter life, one where alcohol seemed to play a less significant role in his day, where he had a nice clean house and a family to love. His children ran around happy, and the woman he loved came home to him every night kissing him until he was completely content with the world.

Of all of the people this woman could be, it had to be Effie. In his dreams he could not be mad at her. He seemed to understand her so much better, to accept what she did and why she had to do it though when he woke it was a different story. When he was forced to see her in reality, Haymitch remembered his dreams of them entwined in each other's arms and it made him angry at her for being so desirable.

Xxx

Katniss and Peeta were in the arena. Something told Haymitch that this time would be different, that District 12 might have a victor, and he was finally beginning to pull himself together long enough to help them. He had chosen her, but he still willed them both on and had hardly touched a drop since their arrival at the Capitol.

Effie knew as well as he did that this was their chance to coach a winner, and she was pulling out all of the stops. Haymitch watched her charming the sponsors and persuading even those who were supporters of other districts to give something to the star-crossed lovers; it was as if she cared, but he knew deep down that she was only doing it for herself.

That evening, Haymitch stepped out of the elevator onto the District 12 floor exhausted. It had been days since he had slept properly, and both of the tributes would be fine for a few hours. He looked at the liquor cabinet, mahogany and stained glass with an inviting glimmer about it, but decided against it. He needed to sleep properly if he was going to get them through another day.

He was halfway to his room when he heard something, something he had never heard before. Haymitch walked to the door of Effie's room and paused, listening to her muffled sobs through the thin wooden door. He smirked, thinking that she must be in trouble with the Capitol or worried about her job, but it felt wrong to laugh at her pain.

For some reason, Haymitch found himself knocking on the door. She stopped crying at once, and he could hear her bustling around the room at high speed. When she opened the door, Effie was a different woman to the cold hearted bitch Haymitch cursed about under his breath whenever she walked into a room. She had lost her heels, standing more than a head shorter than him with her wig askew where she had hastily tried to cover her real hair. Her makeup was smudged, her eyes red and puffy where she had been crying and sparkling with vulnerability. Haymitch's first impulse was to pull her into an embrace, but he resisted knowing all too well what her reaction would be.

'What's wrong, sweetheart?'

'Nothing,' Effie whispered, though she could not hold his gaze. 'I'm fine.'

'If I believed that, then I would believe anything.'

She was startled by his kind, clear tone and wondered if he had actually though to help her. Every day with him seemed like a battle, but as he stood before her she could sense no hostility, only concern. Unsure of what to do, she walked back into her room leaving the door wide open for him to follow if he wished.

Haymitch took a quick look around Effie's room to find it bear. No pictures of loved ones, no personal keepsakes, just a suitcase of clothes and a carrier of makeup. It was a sorry sight to see. He watched as she tried to quickly and desperately wipe her eyes, cursing as her wig almost came off in her hands.

'You don't need to wear that all of the time, you know,' Haymitch offered. Effie looked at him, fiercely at first but a deep sigh softened her features. She hadn't the energy to argue, and he had already seen her at her worst. What did it matter now?

With more will than she had ever needed to draw upon before, Effie removed the wig from her head and threw it back onto the bed, releasing long auburn curls which shone in the light of the moonbeams streaming through the window. Haymitch didn't know what to do, or to say; if he had thought her beautiful before, now there was no word for it. She was not completely unmasked, but she took his breath from his lungs almost choking him with her slender figure and flawless complexion. Swallowing down his feelings, he resolved to figure out why she was crying.

'I've never seen you cry,' he said stupidly, immediately regretting his words. A sad smile ghosted across her face.

'I thought you knew by now,' she remarked quietly.

'Knew what?'

'I come in here most nights during the games, and some nights before, to do nothing more than cry. Every time a tribute dies, I have to excuse myself or...' she trailed off, as if she had revealed too much.

'I didn't know that you cared,' Haymitch admitted bluntly.

'Of course I care,' Effie hissed back at him, hurt by the way he saw her. She wasn't heartless, even if the woman she pretended to be acted that way. She had thought that he would be able to at least see that spark of humanity behind her mask. 'I watched a little girl of twelve years old die today. I watched Katniss sing to her as her life slipped away and all I could think was that if it was my l-little girl, then-' It was too much. She covered her face in a last attempt to conceal her dignity. She is human after all, thought Haymitch.

He sat next to her, far enough away not to invade her space but close enough to offer comfort.

'Why do you do this, Effie? Why did you take this job if it brings you so much pain?'

'You think I had a choice?' Effie asked him ominously. He didn't want to press further, as he could feel the pain it would cause, but he put a hand gently on her shoulder. She was stiff, at first, but warmed quickly to his touch.

'You thought that I enjoyed the reaping,' she remembered, tears spilling delicately down her porcelain face as she spoke. 'You called me twisted for pretending, for not risking our lives by showing my horror at the entire charade. I can hardly live with myself as it is without you accusing me of that.' It stung him, as it had meant to, though she still felt a little guilty even if he had it coming.

'It's not your fault,' Haymitch assured her.

'But I watch them die,' Effie cried, 'every year I watch them die and for what? They don't deserve it yet I say nothing, do nothing to help.'

'There's nothing any of us can do,' he admitted.

'I hope that one day there will be,' she thought aloud. 'They can call me the Capitol Bitch until their faces turn blue in the districts, but I have the same dream that they do – of a world where we don't have to fear for our lives every day. But I don't think it's possible anymore.'

'Oh it's possible,' Haymitch promised, putting an arm around Effie and holding her close, 'it has to be possible.'

Xxx

Another Hunger Games, a Quarter Quell, and this time Haymitch knows that everything is at stake. Effie doesn't know about the rebellion which is about to break out any day now, of the war that will follow, but he is itching to tell her. Ever since that night one year ago, all of his ill feelings towards Effie have melted away and he can't help but care for her. He cannot tell whether she feels the same way, perhaps he will never know, but as long as she's safe then he will be content.

It is the first night in the arena, but most of the training centre workers have gone home or to watch it with friends; the place is almost empty. He finds her after half an hour of searching, alone in a room with nothing but a huge television screen staring at the images flashing before her.

'You all right, sweetheart?' She doesn't turn around, doesn't answer him because she knows that if she does then she will burst into tears. Haymitch stands next to her, noticing the blank look in her eyes as she tries to shut out her emotions.

'It will be ok,' he assured her.

'How?'

'Trust me, I just know.'

'Okay.' She didn't question him. Something told her that this man could be trusted, that he would keep her safe. A ridiculous thought, given that they were enemies not too long ago.

'How long,' she asked, her voice weak and shaky, 'how long do you think this will go on for?' She didn't mean the games, and Haymitch knew it.

'Not long now,' he told her. It wouldn't be, as long as the plan went as he had instructed. She turned to him, her eyes brimming with tears she would not shed for anybody else.

'Tell me it will be all right?' she asked him, a plea which would sound childish in any other world. He took her in his arms, holding her close and breathing in her scent; she smelt of sweets and honeysuckle.

'Of course it will sweetheart, I promise.'

It was a long time before they pulled away, and Effie looked longingly into his eyes. She reached up, without a word, and kissed him lightly on the lips. He was shocked at first, but did not pull away. It was heavenly, soft and comforting, and to him the best thing about a very cruel world. It was too brief. When she pulled away, they looked at each other for what could have been forever. Effie's eyes sparkled with tragedy; she just needed someone. Years of being strong, of suffering in silence, had worn away at her and now she needed somebody to care what she thought. Their lips met again, and Haymitch knew that the impossible had happened – she wanted him.

That night was the best of Haymitch's life, without a drop of alcohol in sight, as he just held his girl close. He liked the sound of that, his girl. She slept in his arms and he was the luckiest man alive. He told her how everything was going to change, about the rebels and the games, and swore to her that a better life would come from it. He promised that he would not rest until she was safe, in the world that she dreamed of where there was nothing to fear.

But it was all too brief. Within days, the war had begun and Effie was nowhere to be found. Someone told Haymitch that she had been sent back to her home, where she would be safe, and he believed them. The rebellion took up his time, but whenever his eyes closed he dreamt of her and prayed that someone was watching over her.

Xxx

It was all but over. The Capitol was falling, and Haymitch could finally envision the bright future he had once thought lost to the world. Sitting in the empty command room, Haymitch finished off his drink with a content look on his face. Plutarch Heavensbee came in with a piece of paper in his hand.

'There's just one last thing to discuss, Haymitch,' he said. Haymitch groaned.

'Can't I just go to bed? Please?'

'You could, but Coin would kick you back out again. It's nothing really; we just need to go over the list of prisoners. These are the people who the Capitol took as the rebellion broke out, those we think that are alive anyway, and we need to decide whether to plan a rescue mission.'

'Isn't it dangerous?' Haymitch pointed out in a bored tone of voice.

'Very,' admitted Plutarch, 'but we can't condemn them to their deaths without being sure that there is no-one of use amongst them. I'm not even sure if we could get them out, but the question is, do we try?'

He handed the list over to Haymitch, who skimmed across it in a glance. That was before he noticed her name. Sitting bolt upright in his chair, he stared at the last name on the list: Effie Trinket.

'WHAT!' His world was falling apart. Everything he had worked for, stayed sober for, had all been to create a new and better world for them both; and now he realised that in his own selfish struggle, he had left her alone at the mercy of those who would readily hurt her.

'I'm sorry?' Plutarch inquired, trying to stay calm in the face of Haymitch's angry stare.

'I was told that she was safe,' he shouted, trying to work out what had gone wrong 'someone told me that she had gone home and she was being looked after. It's the only reason...'

It was the only reason that he hadn't found her and taken her to safety himself. It was the only reason that he was fighting at all.

'Who do you mean, Mr Abernathy?'

'I mean Effie bloody TRINKET!' he roared, kicking back his chair.

'Ah, I see,' Plutarch replied far too calmly. 'I believe she was taken when she was found with a small group of Capitol rebels; not many of them about I can tell you. Very brave people. But they had been looking for her anyway, for information about Katniss and you and Peeta, who fortunately we had the chance to save.'

'We have to get her out,' Haymitch announced. He wasn't asking.

'I will see to it right away,' Plutarch assured him, sensing that this was not a matter for discussion.

After Plutarch had left the room, Haymitch broke down. He felt tears scorch his cheeks. He had not shed tears in twenty years. He wondered what would happen if they couldn't find her, if they watched while the Capitol was destroyed and found her chilled lifeless corpse amongst the rubble. Haymitch knew that he would not rest until he found her. He knew that the promises he had made a lifetime ago had been broken, the trust laced within those words fractured like broken glass. He would beg for her to forgive him, weep until she understood that he never meant for her to end up in harm's way. She was his everything, he knew that now, and everything was slipping away.

Xxx

The hovercraft moved swiftly, reaching the outskirts of the Capitol in less than an hour. Haymitch had calmed down, relieved that within a day of his outburst something was being done and he knew that she would be safe. There wasn't another option than for her to be safe.

'I can't imagine her in prison,' he said aloud, knowing that Plutarch who sat beside him owed him enough to listen.

'Poor girl,' he said, shaking his head.

'It's so dark and cold, and she's such a bright person. God, I wonder how long she's been there...' Haymitch pondered.

'I would have to guess at least a few months,' Plutarch admitted sadly. It hurt Haymitch more to hear said the things he feared most.

'But she'll be okay,' he muttered, trying to convince himself, 'she will be okay.'

'We have a group of medics coming with you so she will be in very capable hands.'

This simple sentence struck fear in Haymitch's heart.

'You...you don't think...' He couldn't even bear to say the words. If they had hurt her, tortured her...the thought hadn't even crossed his mind until then.

'She knew valuable information about the war, and was found to be a rebel herself,' Plutarch reminded him gently.

'No! No they wouldn't...they wouldn't hurt her, why would they hurt her?' Haymitch thought of Peeta, who they had managed to save from captivity, and the state that he was in. He was broken, and Effie had been there far longer. If she was alive, then what had they been doing to her?

Haymitch threw everything that he could lay his hands on across the room, screaming out in rage. The craft couldn't ever move fast enough. He wanted to run to her, the woman who made him want to fall asleep at night so he could see her in his dreams, but he couldn't and it was killing him. She had made him stronger, made his life bright when it had once been nothing but darkness, and the only thing his mind could show him when he thought of her was a bloody corpse of the woman he had known.

Xxx

When they landed, he ran through the fire to the crumbling concrete building across the street where they knew Effie was being kept. The rebel soldiers and medics ran after him, telling him to slow down and that it wasn't safe; he wasn't going to listen. Haymitch found a way into the ruined prison base, knowing that she would be on one of the lower floors. The dungeons. Every dead body he saw seemed to have her face, ever tattered dress the same pink she was wearing when they first met, but he forced himself to plough on.

As he descended, the smell of blood and mildew became almost unbearable. The cells were tiny and rancid, and every so often there was a room with simple the word 'electricity' or 'water' scratched into it; Haymitch didn't want to know what those were for.

He heard bombs raining down above them, and a sense of urgency quickened his pace. Hers was the last cell in the corner, marked with a cross which he didn't know the meaning of. He knew that he would die if she hadn't made it. He couldn't live without her.

Crashing through the door, he found her. Her wig was lost, her face without makeup and her clothes barely shreds across her pale body. She was thin, months of starvation eating away at her beautiful frame until there was little left at all. The cell was covered in blood, it was everywhere. It painted the walls, lay a carpet on the floor and covered every inch of Effie's rag-like dress. He couldn't bear to see how her skirt was ripped, wondering what they had done to her.

Haymitch sank to his knees beside her, his eyes unable to stand the horror he was forced to see. She was unconscious, somehow still breathing, but there were ugly mottled bruises of purple and black on her face and neck and cuts down to the bone over her arms and legs. There was a stitched wound on her abdomen, grotesquely infected, where someone had attempted to perform surgery and they hadn't done it well. He wondered what the cost of that had been, what they had wanted from her, and he wished that she would have sold them all to ruin to keep herself from pain.

Still, she was beautiful. The rubies of blood glistening across her face did not mar its unrivalled and ethereal majesty, and even in tatters she was his princess. He bent down and gently kissed her forehead, tasting the metallic tang of her blood at the back of his throat; it was so wrong.

'I...I'm so s-sorry Effie.' He was already begging her forgiveness, which would never be enough. His fallen angel, still as stunning as the day she had taken his breath away. He hoped that she hadn't forgotten her dream, the dream of a new world and a new beginning, because by God he would tear down the world to bring it to her. Effie Trinket, the woman who had stolen his heart and paid for it with her life. She was still there, but Haymitch knew there was no going back from here. He had ruined her.

He cried. He couldn't stop himself. He had sworn to keep her safe, but he had failed and he had sacrificed her life in his own pursuit of war. Medics rushed in, some coughing and spluttering at the horrific sight before them and shouting as more bombs shook the room. She opened her eyes for less than a second; the sapphire blue of her irises glinted in the half-light, and she tried to talk to him but her lips couldn't form the words. She fell back into darkness, unsure if this was another cruel trick by her captors or just the heavenly host delivering her to death. She hoped it was the latter; there was nothing left for her. She couldn't bear it any longer.

Xxx

Effie was in the hospital for several days, though she would not wake. Haymitch stayed by her side for every minute of it, refusing to eat, sleep or drink until he could tell her what he should have told her months ago; that he was in love with her. That he always had been, and that he wanted to marry her. As if she would take back someone who left her for dead.

Some days he cried, begging her to wake up, and other days he screamed at her until the doctors had to calm him down. Mostly he just sat beside her, whispering into her ear.

'It's okay, my love, I promise. You're safe now, like I said you would be. Please Effie, please don't leave me. I can't bear it, I can't live without you. Please come back to me.'

'It was close,' the doctor said after three days, coming up behind a bedraggled and sleep deprived Haymitch. 'She couldn't have held on much longer. Plutarch wanted me to tell you something.'

'What,' Haymitch rasped, knowing that he wouldn't give a damn whatever the doctor told him.

'The information she had, about everything...well it would have destroyed us. She must have kept her mouth shut, because Plutarch thinks that with what she knew the Capitol could have easily taken out our defences. She helped to win us this war.'

'Yeah,' Haymitch acknowledged, 'and look where it got her.'

He stayed, stroking her hair until he saw those dazzling blue eyes again; but they were changed. They were dull and frightened, almost lifeless. She refused, for a while, to believe that it was him. She kept saying, 'It can't be you, Haymitch. I dreamt about you every night until they took my dreams from me and told me you would never find me, so how can it be you?' Kissing her forehead, he held back the tears that he knew would break him.

'I'm here, my love, I came back for you,' he would tell her softly. 'They can't hurt you anymore.'

Her screams were the worst. Whatever they did to her, it came back in her nightmares and she woke up screaming and crying as though she was still being tortured. He kissed her hand and soothed her back to sleep, knowing that it would never be enough.

'Please,' he begged, 'please don't cry.'

'But...but it hurts, Haymitch, God it hurts!' And she would scream until they brought the morphling to take at least some of her pain away. She held desperately onto his hand, the only thing in the world that could keep her sane, and tried to block out the last few months of her life; the pain, the humiliation, the guilt as she watched those she loved die. It haunted her, as she feared it always would, but he was there when others weren't. It was a start.

Xxx

Katniss was going to do it. She was going to kill Snow and end the war. Effie had organised what needed to be done when she was released from the hospital, though she curled into a ball on a night and refused to sleep. Her future, that world she had dreamed of, seemed further away to her now than ever. Everyone else could be happy but she was still locked in her own little prison, forced to relive every second in her dreams. She would never fully recover. The doctors had said as much themselves, but Haymitch didn't care. He loved her more than he ever had before, and despite everything she loved him too. Even if she cried every time they kissed, they were tears which could be dried if only by him.

They sat in a small room, the execution playing out on the television behind them. Anarchy was breaking out; Katniss had killed Coin, but they didn't care. They watched the screen with blank expressions, wondering when it had all gone so wrong. But in a world of death and unhappiness, there can also be love. Effie held out her trembling hand and Haymitch took it in his own. They were together, just about, and that would do.

'I love you Effie,' Haymitch said quietly, his voice catching.

'I love you too. Haymitch?'

'Yes?'

'Tell me that it will be all right.'

'Of course it will sweetheart, I promise. It will all be all right.'

Xxx

Looking nervously from between the mountain of work I have to do... was it ok? Would really appreciate reviews, no matter how brief to see if I am any good at this lol. There are also cookies on offer!

Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed it!