For back-it-up-elizabethbanks. Thank you for all of your kind words, you made me cry. So this one's for you.
One of the nurses that had been working in Thirteen ever since he left the school there four years ago led Haymitch Abernathy to where Effie Trinket lay in her bed. The nurse had noticed Haymitch about the District and, like everyone else, he noticed the determination in the old Victor. The way his skin had yellowed by the day, the way his eyes had sunken into his skulls. Everyone noticed. One of the Capitol ladies, Octavia she had said her name was, asked him once in a very quiet voice whether Haymitch was dying.
But never had he seen defeat in his eyes, or nerves. But as he led Haymitch to Effie Trinket's room, his eyes were wide and alert and he was visibly shaking.
"Are you alright, Mr Abernathy?" he asked politely as he walked alongside the aging man.
Haymitch didn't even glance to the side. "I'm fine." There was a pause, broken only by the sound of the footsteps, and then "how is she?"
The nurse cleared his throat uncomfortably. "She only just made it, I'm afraid. She's out of danger for now, and we're keeping her stable, but don't expect her to be…" He paused as they reached her door. Through the slit of glass in the otherwise metal door Effie Trinket was just visible, lying in a bed surrounded by machines and medicines, needles poking through her pale skin on her hands and arms. "Normal."
The nurse didn't want to leave Haymitch as he looked as though he might throw up, but there were other patients that needed help. So, with a steadying hand to guide him through the door, the nurse left Haymitch to face what he most feared. Her illness. Her pain. The possibility of her death.
Haymitch closed the door quietly behind him and staggered towards the bed, his breath already shallow. He was panicking, he didn't know what to do. He hadn't expected this. He had expected a few bruises, maybe a cut or two, a little bit of weight lost, but this? Not this.
Before him lay little more than a skeleton with skin. Her bones were visible in her hands, at her elbows, her once beautiful collarbones now stuck out painfully under her light skin. A monitor connected to a wire that went under her thin hospital gown was measuring her heart rate, which appeared to be slow. No, this couldn't be happening. Not Effie. Not her, not now. He fought for her, he sent soldiers to die so she could live, he was willing to send innocent people in to the heart of the Capitol just so she could be freed. No, this couldn't be the end.
But as he looked at her closed eyes, her sunken face, he knew it was a real possibility. Although she was alive now, she might not be soon.
"C'mon Eff," he whispered, sliding his fingers under hers on the bed. He wanted desperately to hold her hand, but goodness knows what that drip was sending through her veins. He didn't want to dislodge anything that might help her get better. "C'mon Effie, do this for me."
The only sound that answered him was the steady bleep of her heart machine. Mustering all the strength within him, he grabbed the chair that stood at the head of the bed and dragged it to her side. His joints aching and his limbs still numb, he sat down and slid his hand back under hers. There, he just looked at her. And the more he looked, the more he felt as if his heart was breaking. No, not breaking, that was too mild of a word. It was as if his heart was being twisted, twisted and torn, dragging every nerve and artery with it as it was ripped from where it rested.
"Effie, please, just open your eyes," he said quietly, his voice cracking. He could hardly bare it, sitting there, powerless to help her now. "I need to see you look at me one more time."
Her eyes stayed closed, and he felt his own eyes prick. How could this happen? Why her? For all he knew, she was dying. He would sit here until the life left her if he had to, but he wouldn't be around to live a life without her.
Maybe she would live. Maybe she would open her eyes and see him sitting there, refusing to move because moving would mean spending time without her and he couldn't do that, not now, and then she would be able to see the sunlight again and walk around in the fresh air and hold his hand back like she used to and fall asleep on his sofa with her shoes discarded somewhere in the kitchen.
But just in case…
"You know sometimes doctors reckon people in comas can hear what's going on around them. That's what Chaff told me one time when we were in the Capitol, at some party. You were at that one, I think you were draped across Seneca Crane's arm. I drank a lot that night though, so I can't remember. I think I drank so much because that was shortly after I met you for the first time, but you already had a fiancé, which really hacked me off. I'm not sure if you're in a coma, or if you can hear me, but there are some things that you should probably know."
Her hand was cold underneath his and so he leant forwards to cover it with his other hand, gently so as to not dislodge whatever it was pumping into her body.
"I remember the first time I ever met you. It was at some silly party and you were wearing a long purple dress that clung to every inch of you. I couldn't take my eyes off of you. And then when we were introduced and you announced that you were the new Escort I was put out. You were so beautiful I had hoped I could take you home that night, but the fact that I'd be working with you for goodness knows how many years meant that I couldn't. After an evening spent talking to you I knew I wanted to keep you close to me. I wouldn't say I wanted to marry you right away or anything, but I knew I wanted to keep you. But I remember for the first few years you actually drove me crazy and at one point I'm fairly sure we hated each other. I remember after one party you got especially mad at me because I might have accidentally pushed Seneca Crane into a bowl of punch, so you threw your shoes at me when we got back to the apartment. I think I still have a scar on my shoulder from that actually. But I always wanted you, you know. Despite what I've told you thousands of times, I can't replace you. And I never stopped caring about you. You're my best friend Eff."
Talking was helping, but it was also hurting. Here she was, the most important thing in his life, and she had suffered weeks, months of torture that had left her a broken skeleton, fighting just to stay alive. It was like a physical pain, seeing her like that. And he was sharing these moments that over the years had turned into memories and Haymitch couldn't help wondering if he would ever make memories with her again. Her silly ways; her frilly clothes, tall wigs and haughty accent, he had grown accustomed to them, they were part of his life. His words were catching in his throat as he talked and tears flowed down his cheeks.
"I mean it though, Eff. Youre… you're my best friend. And I can't, I just can't imagine living without you."
All the emotions he had been feeling over the past weeks, failing to get her out of the Capitol the night he left, seeing Peeta's deterioration and Portia's execution, knowing she was probably next, wondering if she was even going to live, wondering if she was going to die in front of his very eyes, they were all pouring out now. His whole body was shaking with his sobs as he leant over her hand and placed kisses on her cold skin.
"Please Effie, please don't leave me!"
Beside him, the heart monitor began beeping faster. Not a lot faster, just back to a normal rate. Under his lips, her fingers were beginning to stir. Small differences that he didn't notice as his terror at losing her finally took a hold of his body. He slumped back into his chair for support as he felt his whole body give out.
"I just… I love you, please... just live!"
Through his sore eyes that were streaming with tears, he didn't see hers flutter open very slowly. Over his sobbing he couldn't hear her groan as she awoke.
She lay silent for a moment, completely unaware of her surroundings and situation. Right now, all that mattered to her was the man sitting in the chair across from her. Who was he? Something told her she knew him from somewhere. One of the man's hands was covering his eyes, but his lips looked familiar. As she studied them, she could almost feel them on her own. This man… who was he? She didn't recognise his clothes, but the dark hair on his head, scattered with grey here and there looked familiar, and her fingers twitched as she ached to touch it.
"Oh God, Effie," he cried quietly, his fingers wet from hot tears. "Effie, please… I just love you!"
"Haymitch." Her lips formed the word before her mind even made the connection between the man and his cries. But as soon as she said it, she remembered. Of course it was Haymitch! But why was he crying? She had never seen him cry. What had happened? Peeta, Katniss, how were they? And the Capitol? What of them? Why was he crying? Haymitch didn't cry. Seeing him in such pain, she wanted to cry herself.
"Haymitch?" she asked nervously, her voice very sore from the lack of use for so long.
His head snapped up, his eyes wide in complete shock. "Effie?" he asked incredulously, pushing himself uneasily out of the chair and pulling his hands from hers, touching her cheek very gently.
"Haymitch? Is it really you?" she asked, her voice wobbling. She thought she would never see him again. "Is it?"
"Well who else do you think would be willing to sit here listening to you snoring?" he replied, raising an eyebrow in an attempt to put her at ease as his heart was beating fast.
"Don't joke with me," she replied, her eyes welling up. "Please."
His voice dropped but his smile didn't fade. "Yes, it's me." And he leant forwards to place a delicate kiss on her forehead. She closed her flowing eyes at his touch. He was here. Maybe everything was going to be okay.
Her eyes were still closed when he pulled away rather suddenly. She forced her eyes open just as he had wrenched open the door and bellowed, to no one in particular, "Effie Trinket is awake and needs assistance NOW, SO SOMEONE GET IN HERE!"