Fly
Haymitch could not remember the last time that he was sober for a Reaping. It must have been years ago, before his own Games but he was sober now. He was itching to drink; to go up to his attic where a half full bottle of bourbon was stashed away from Peeta's prying hands. Haymitch felt wretched and he wanted to hide, ensconced himself from the world until everything was over and the world emerged as a better place but he didn't. He could not hide up there like some coward, not today and not ever.
He sat in the dark, the slow ticking of the clock telling him that the hour was drawing closer. Haymitch drummed his fingers against the table, staring at his front door. At any given minute, Effie would be walking up the walkway over to his dingy little house to ensure that he was ready for the Reaping.
The kids were with their respective families, spending their time quietly together. He was left alone, as usual. His eyes were drawn to the small figure in the distance. Haymitch squinted but all he could see was a blot of yellow - or was that gold? – he couldn't really tell nor does he particularly care what Effie wore for the Reaping. Haymitch watched as she drew nearer and stopped under the archway. Effie looked up briefly towards the sign - "Victor's Village" - almost as if in a silent prayer. Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, she marched towards his house.
Haymitch opened the door before she could even knock.
"Effie," he greeted, "what a sight for sore eyes."
After years of practice, Effie had mastered the art of ignoring his comments that were not worth the fight. Today was not any different. She walked in and for a moment she was lost. Haymitch watched as she wrung her hands together, glanced around the dark room nervously before finally, she dragged her eyes up to his.
"I have to do this," she whispered, "I'm sorry."
Haymitch was not expecting an apology, so he gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "You got to do what you got to do. You look hideous, as usual."
He was hoping the insult on her appearance would turn the tables and she would tell him off for being rude. Haymitch scrutinized her dress; the yellow and black of the thousand butterflies that adorned the garb. There were more of those insects that decorated her wig. Haymitch saw a couple of them too on her arm and quelled the urge to pick them away. Somehow, he doubted Effie would appreciate it.
He was drawn to her face, however. She lacks the usual enthusiasm that came with each Reaping and oddly enough, she didn't seem too pale. Haymitch stared at her and it took his brain a moment to realise that Effie wasn't caked with too much pale powder. Her skin almost looked natural. Odd, he thought.
She gave him a thin smile that did not quite reached her eyes and it irked him. He wanted the Effie Trinket he was familiar with – the overly optimistic bundle of joy – to be able to act normally, as though his name wasn't in Reaping bowl again. Besides, he had a precedent on how to deal with an eager, overzealous Effie Trinket but not one that looked as though she would rather be anywhere but District Twelve.
"I've always wish you'd made my life easier by being sober for the Reaping and look at you now," she said sadly.
"It's only fitting that I be sober for my own Reaping, don't you think? Ain't you proud, sweetheart?" he cocked his head to the side, waiting for an answer which never came. "Let's go."
Haymitch looked around his house for the last time. He doubt he would be coming back home again. In the weeks that follow, he would most probably be dead, he was sure. If it was Peeta's name that was reaped, he would volunteer and at his age, there was no hope for his survival in the arena. If he was not thrown in the arena, the only other place he would find himself in the coming weeks would be District Thirteen and subsequently dead by the end of the war, most likely. Either way the scenario played out, he would not be returning to this house any longer.
With a sigh, Haymitch took a step towards front door but Effie blocked his path, stepping close up to him. In a typical Effie Trinket fashion, she fussed over him. Effie brushed the invisible lint off the lapels of his grey jacket and gave it a little tug, fixed the top button of his shirt and corrected the collar of hid shirt. She stepped back, announcing that he looked presentable.
Katniss and Peeta were waiting along with two other Peacekeepers outside the outskirt of Victor's Village. The Peacekeepers escorted the entourage to the Square and just before they were separated from Effie, Haymitch held her back, holding on to her wrist lightly away from the cameras.
"Don't crack," he whispered.
He felt that it needed saying. Effie was quiet the entire walk from Victor's Village to the Square. Something did not quite sit right with her and Haymitch had an ominous feeling that Effie would do something that would not receive the stamp of approval from the higher ups in the Capitol.
Effie gave Haymitch a sad, lingering look before hurrying up the stage to the Justice Building. Haymitch took his place next to Peeta, staring out over the crowd but not really seeing them. What were the odds? He thought to himself. Except this time he knew the odds, they were fifty percent against him.
He wasn't aware if Effie had given her usual Hunger Games greeting but he saw her hand reaching into the girl's reaping bowl. It hovered uncertainly for a second and then she picked up the sole slip of paper in it.
"Katniss Everdeen," her voice wavered, a catch that Haymitch did not miss. It echoed loudly around the Square that had gone deadly silent, amplified by the microphone.
At that moment, Katniss turned to look at her, a lone tear streaming down the young girl's face and from the giant screen Haymitch saw the look on Effie's face. His stomach churned at the sight of her distraught face. He had never seen her that way at any Reaping before. Her lips were stretched out as she tried to suppress the tears that were threatening to fall. Her hands trembled as she held on tightly to the paper with Katniss' name. Her eyes looked distressed and apologetic, and he knew, he knew she was doomed.
This was what he was afraid off, what he had warned her about before the Reaping. She should have known to keep herself composed. Effie was always the one to remind him the importance of keeping up appearances on national television so how could she let herself slip like that?
This wasn't good at all. It will not go unnoticed. If President Snow let her off with only a warning, Effie should consider herself lucky. Don't cry, sweetheart, Haymitch pleaded desperately.
Haymitch was afraid for Effie and for Katniss who was looking at Effie steadily. He turned away. He could not bear looking at them any longer without feeling the overwhelming need to wrestle a gun out of a Peacekeeper's hand and protect these people.
He felt Peeta glancing at him nervously. He saw what Haymitch saw but his worry was predominantly for Katniss. Haymitch had a suspicion that Peeta did not understand the danger Effie had just placed herself in.
Haymitch's name was called out in a single breathe, a rush to end the horror of reaping the people she had grown to care for. He barely had time to react before Peeta volunteered in a heartbeat. His kids stood tall on that stage, flanking Effie on each side and almost as if they were of one mind, raised their left hand in a silent salute to say goodbye.
He stood to the side, temporarily forgotten which was fine by him. It gave him a chance to observe everything carefully. Romulus Thread stepped forward, his hand closed around Katniss' upper arm, attempting to drag her inside the building. Katniss reacted. "I get to say goodbye," she struggled. Prim Everdeen stepped out pushing valiantly against a Peacekeeper, calling out for her sister just as Gale Hawthorne approached her from behind to take her away.
Effie was completely unprepared for the scene unfolding in front of her. Her eyes darted around, nervous and petrified, her mouth opened in a silent objection at such rough treatment Katniss was receiving. Peeta turned tailed and rushed after Katniss. Haymitch made a grab for Effie's hand and tugged her inside.
The Reaping was over in less than five minutes but with all that had happened, Haymitch felt that it had taken years away from him. In the train, he sat slumped on a chair, pressing the glass of whiskey to his cheek. The sound of heels clicking against the floor told him that Effie had entered the car.
She sat across from him, eyes empty and troubled, never saying a word. The silence grated on his nerves and he forced himself to look up at her.
"Am I in trouble?" she asked the question finally.
Haymitch neatly avoided answering it. "I warned you," was all he had to offer on that subject matter.
"I'm sorry, I can't. I look at Katniss and – "
"You were caught on television, I saw you on the big screen and if I saw it, Snow's going to see it too," Haymitch told her quietly, wary of the bugs planted in at various places in the train.
Effie hung her head. Haymitch could tell how tense she was. It took her a few more seconds before she calmed herself down but he did not like the way she was staring at him. She looked defiant.
"Let him see it," her voice was hard but her eyes gave her away. Effie Trinket was terrified. "I do not condone –"
Haymitch frowned and shook his head at her. "No, now's not the time. You've held yourself together all these year, you do it again this year."
"I could do so much more. Why wouldn't you let me?"
Haymitch leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. For the first time, he looked her in the eye without any anger or annoyance, or an insult ready on his lips. He looked at her with a silent plea for her to understand, to back off from whatever crazy notion of justice she was entertaining at the moment.
"What did you tell the kids at the tour? Chins up, smiles on," I patted her knee. "Now's not the time for your recently discovered sense of humanity."
Her eyes blazed in anger. She held his gaze, neither of them speaking a word. He wasn't going to back down; he would do this until she understood that this was not her fight and he would not make it her fight. Effie gave a curt nod and stood up, adjusting the butterflies on her wig. His eyes followed hers as she left the room without another word.
Then it hit him - the significance of her dress. Waves of realization rolled over him at that moment, everything fell into place, a cacophony of disjointed truths.
He had long known that he couldn't blame her enthusiasm for the Games entirely on her alone. She had been brought up that way, it was the circumstances of her birth but what set her apart from any other Escorts was her willingness to work hard for her tributes and her faith in them and that was the first truth that he saw.
The change in Effie wasn't instantaneous. It took her a while but working behind the scenes of the Games had the unwanted effect of opening her eyes to things she was blinded to before. In her own eccentric ways, Effie tried to help District Twelve as much as she could. Over the years, he noticed how quiet Effie became when they lost a tribute but he had conveniently cast that observation aside, not wanting to deal with the implication of what that could possibly mean. Perhaps, he had known for a while now that Effie wasn't oblivious to what was happening and had wanted to do something to change the situation but she couldn't with him being drunk all the time. It would explain the incessant nagging for him to get sponsors, to help his two tributes. She did it for a reason.
Effie always had an eye for details and it was foolish of him to think that the unrest would get past her unnoticed. She must have known something was wrong and had tried to get it out from him when they were on the phone a few weeks back. She asked about the shortages of seafood from District Four or the lack of textiles from District Eight. Not wanting to expose that there was a Rebellion underway to the Capitol Escort, Haymitch had shut her down, giving her some pathetic excuse or another.
She could not talk about it on the phone with him, could not write a note to him in case it was found and she had tried to tell him the only way she knew how – through her peculiar fashion. Those butterflies were a symbol, as much as Katniss' mockingjay was a symbol of Rebellion.
I could do so much more.
She wanted him to know that she had changed, that perhaps she was not the escort he had first met years ago. It was a metamorphosis, a message for him. She could have worn that hideous yellow dress on any other day but she chose the Reaping to do so. In his mind's eyes, he saw her crying during the Reaping, saw the fear in her eyes when her mask slipped in front of everyone.
That foolish woman may want to help and align herself with him but Haymitch couldn't find it in himself to drag her in. He would rather let that escort remain as an innocuous butterfly in the garden of her home, flying amongst the colourful flowers with her own people, safe and sound from the danger he was embroiled in. If he dragged her in, he would run the risk of ripping her wings out and how could she fly then? How would she live and survive? She would be broken and it would be on him, and he would not have his longest friend, his loyal ally broken and tattered.
It was all for naught because in a few week down the road, Effie Trinket was held behind a cold, claustrophobic room for her mistake during the Reaping.
I had too many feels from the new Catching Fire trailer (read: Effie feels. Oh sweet God, Effie, come here don't cry) and the feels need to go somewhere hence, this fic.
Read, and review, thank you!