a/n: very short; my second foray into they Hunger Games/Hayffie world. there was a "headcanon" post on tumblr that suggested if Haymitch had been subject to the torture of the Jabberjays, he'd hear Effie screaming while she was tortured; my friend suggested someone write a fic on it, and i envisioned the Capitol using Jabberjays as instruments of psychological torture (somewhat like dementors). so: here we have Haymitch getting Effie out of the dungeons, right as the final Mockingjay battle takes place.
He discovered he cared about her when they got her out of hell.
He had grumbled and growled about an infiltration mission; he had cursed and complained about risking his life to rescue that damned Effie Trinket, but somehow—he'd been convinced.
It was after the planning and the secrecy, the subterfuge and the catastrophic near-misses, it was when they were in the grim and murky dungeons of the Capitol, with the scent of victory in the air, the final battle of the war raging above them in the heart of the great sin city, when he saw she was tagged for death, that he'd realized he cared about her. They had her in a cell, chained to wet walls that dripped with something foul—she had no make-up, no cotton-candy pink clothes or glittering gold nails—just red skin and raw, chapped lips, and a dark, un-colourful look in her eyes—blue, he noted, was their natural colour, and now they were haunted with torture, before he realized there was screaming all around him—
Jabberjays— there were Jabberjays in her cell, half-starved things, crazed things, rabid things, pecking at her, surrounding her—mocking her and bullying her—he wondered what Effie heard when they harassed her—a loved one, the sound of the canon as her tributes fell? When he arrived, broke into the cell with a ragged band of liberators, the feral birds turned to him, and it took him precious moments to figure out it wasn't the real Effie screaming—not this dehydrated, broken Effie in front of him—
It was the birds.
The Jabberjays, the damn birds.
The damn birds, opening their vile mouths and shrieking at him, mimicking screams, psychologically attacking him, echoing hoarse, terrified, pained female screams of despair and suffering:
Haymitch! Haymitch! Haymitch!
It was her voice—Effie's voice, begging, pleading, relenting, surrendering, suffering—and he was overwhelmed, confused, his mind obscured with the sound of her screams, and he didn't understand why he'd hear her when this mental weapon was used on him, except it seemed he'd been too drunk and too blind to realize that there was one woman in the world he might bat an eyelid for in mourning, and it was her—
The birds shrieked, until the cacophony was too loud, and he dropped to his knees and covered his ears, blood pounding in his head, stunned by the revelation—all this time she'd been the escort and he the whiskey-sodden victor, and somewhere under all that cotton candy pink and white burning liquor, it was she who had kept him alive.
The Jabberjays screamed—they targeted him, flew at his face, clawed at him, and he mustered some strength from the bottom of his soul to push them away, to block them out—the chained and broken Effie stared at him with vacant apprehension, and the birds, the goddamn birds—
Haymitch! Haymitch! Haymitch!
He stood and stumbled forward, crouching and taking to sawing at her chains with his knife—they were rusted, and he bore down with his strength. He broke her loose and started to drag her out—with no care for comfort for the moment—he had to get away from the birds.
There was no strength in her to walk, and he grunted, swore violently, and picked her up. Her forehead knocked against his, then her head fell against his shoulders, and she cried out hoarsely.
"Haymitch," she whispered softly.
Haymitch! Haymitch! Haymitch!
The Jabberjays screamed.
it's meant to be quite jumbled and chaotic, considering the state of both individuals.
let me know what you think!
-alexandra
story #176