Plutarch Heavensbee was convinced that Haymitch spent far too much time alone in his empty house and that it was by no means a healthy way to live. So he made it his mission to keep Haymitch in the Capitol for as long as he could whenever the man came by for official business.

Haymitch hated those official businesses that involved Paylor pushing papers trying to pass a new bill all in the name for a better Panem. That one time he promised to help became another and then yet another until he found himself being an unofficial government figure. He didn't know what he was doing but if Paylor and Plutarch liked whatever half-baked nonsensical opinion he gave each time they came looking for him then he wasn't going to question them much.

As it was, he had just managed to escape from Plutarch and had taken a rather long road, not his usual route just to avoid being tracked down by that infuriating man. He found himself at what was once the Training Centre. In its place was a sprawling, impressive shopping mall.

Haymitch stood across the street with his hands in his coat pocket, watching the crowd as they entered and leave the mall. He wondered how many of them actually remembered what the ground they stood upon meant at one point of time; if the number of children trained to kill and die there meant anything to them like it did for him, those agonising weeks he spent wasting his youth (and the better part of his adulthood) at the Penthouse mentoring kids without much hope of saving them, the friendship he had with the other Victors especially with Chaff or the countless argument he had with Effie Trinket over really trivial, mundane matters like the choice of colour for his tie.

For a drunk, Haymitch remember things well even those memories he'd rather not have, memories that only contributed to his nightmares. With a shake of his head, he walked away. He kept his head low, pulling his coat tighter around him to ward off the chill of the wind. On the rare occasion when he wasn't too drunk and was able to control the motor movement of his feet, Haymitch actually enjoyed walking. It gave him a chance to think and internalise his own thoughts.

A car screeched past him, jolting his awareness back to his surroundings. The city centre was far behind him. He realised that he had entered into an unfamiliar neighbourhood area in the Capitol. Haymitch stopped by the junction, craning his neck around to figure out where he was while he waited for the green man to come on.

A woman stepped up next to him, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. Haymitch glanced down at her briefly, contemplating if he should ask the stranger of his current location. As if sensing his gaze, she turned and smiled politely at him. They both did a double-take at the same time.

"Effie?"

"Haymitch," she breathed out in surprise.

It was so unexpected that for a long while, Haymitch did nothing but stare at her. Nobody's heard from her for years and to cross paths with her at such a random traffic junction in an unsuspecting neighbourhood was too great a coincidence. He'd been at the Capitol more times than he could count since the Rebellion and not once had he caught sight of her. There were times when he asked himself about her – if she was alright, if she'd found her footing and was leading her life as well as she could, if she was plagued by nightmares as he was, if she'd forgiven him for leaving her in the Capitol and allowing her to be captured and he wondered if she was alive because if no one's ever heard from her then who really knows her fate?

She was different, in a lot of ways, and not just because she was no longer painted in pale powder and bright eye shadows that usually matched her wigs. Effie looked tired and exhausted. She seemed troubled, almost fidgety. Her eyes darted back and forth from him to the traffic lights, waiting for it to turn green and when it did, she hurried past him without a goodbye.

"Woah, woah, Trinket, slow down," he called out, taking long strides across the street and pulling her by the elbows.

Effie gave him a pointed look and he released his hold on her. "It was nice meeting you, Haymitch, but I – I… need to get back."

"You stay around here?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Ah. Didn't expect to meet you here. This neighbourhood doesn't seem like the sort you'd live in – not grand or anything."

"As if your house is any better?" came her snarky reply.

"Fair point. Congratulations," he offered, nodding towards the swell of her belly, "for the baby. Went missing for years and look at you; married and with a child."

Effie kept quiet, giving him a faint smile. The situation was becoming increasingly tense and it felt as though he was grasping at straws trying to get somewhere with the woman in front of him. Since when did talking to Effie become so difficult? She always had something to say, some observations about his appearance that she had to make to complete her day but there was nothing, only the uncomfortable silence as she waited for the moment when she could quickly depart.

"So… who's this unfortunate person you've managed to bribe into spending the rest of his life with you?"

She looked annoyed but Haymitch was beginning to get the feeling that this topic made her uncomfortable. Effie shuffled her weight from one foot to the other and picking on the flesh of her palm.

"Just because you have to bribe a woman, if you ever wanted to settle down, doesn't mean everyone else have to," she replied coolly. "Anyway, this has been nice. I best be going home. Goodbye."

He was slightly taken aback by her attitude. She was more short-tempered and … angry which was curious in itself. Haymitch spun around and cut off her path. "What's your rush? We haven't seen each other in six years."

"It must have been a very peaceful six years for you," she gave him a tight lipped smile. "As I recall, I'm not exactly your favourite person."

"You're not," he nodded. "Aren't you going to invite me up to your house? That's the polite thing to do, isn't it? You're all into those manners shit."

"Haymitch," she sighed. "Let's not… Let's not do this. You and I – we may have a working history together but there's nothing between us anymore. We're not escort and mentor. You've never liked me so I don't see why we have to do this. The Games are over; your war's won and just… let me live my life."

"How long have you prepared that speech, Trinks?" he smirked. "There's nothing? Really? We're not going to talk about where you've been all these while? You weren't at any of the celebratory parties they insisted on throwing every anniversary of Snow's death."

"You were looking for me?" she raised a cynical eyebrow.

"Yes – No, I meant no. I just can't help but notice that an irritating shrill voice was missing at every party I've attended. You know that voice that's always hissing telling me not to get drunk? Yeah that one."

Effie tried to hide a smile. "I have my reasons for not attending."

"You're different," he remarked after a while. "Haven't seen you around in ages thought you'd be happy to see I'm alive and haven't died from alcohol poisoning. As much as you were a pain to be around with it's good to know you're doing okay after …you know, after…," he waved his hand carelessly indicating a time, years ago when she went through the ordeal of being imprisoned.

Effie nodded, looking back at the rotating door of her apartment building. Haymitch knew when his presence was no longer welcome.

"You better go then, stranger," he said, finally. "I've a train to catch, anyway. Oh, and tell your husband good luck. Any guy who is stuck with you would need all the luck in the world!"

He laughed and walked off. He was nearly around the corner when he heard her called for him. Haymitch turned, waiting for her to speak up.

"Maybe… Would you like to come up for a cup of tea?"

He frowned. "You were against that a few minutes ago."

"Do you want a hot drink in this cold weather or not?" she snapped.

XxX

"You look big," he told her as they rode the lift up to her apartment.

"Thank you, Haymitch. You really do know how to make a woman feel better," she muttered.

"Anytime," he smirked. "But you really look like you've swallowed a planet."

She rolled her eyes, mumbling something about him still being extremely rude as she fished through her handbag for her keys.

For the second time that day, Haymitch found himself surprised. Her apartment was small and had none of the exquisite, high end furnishing of her previous apartment. It was warm and cosy but just as the neighbourhood was not a place he thought Effie would ever live in; the apartment reflected none of Effie's personality. It was bare and felt more like a temporary lodging than a place one would call home. There were no photographs or personal items to indicate that it belonged to her, that she lived here.

Upon her invitation, he seated himself on the armchair and from his seat Haymitch surveyed the place with marked interest. Effie was preparing the kettle for tea in the adjoining kitchen and adjacent to it was a small bedroom. The door was half open and he could see the single, neatly made bed in the centre of the room. That alone convinced Haymitch that there was more to the story than he knew. A single bed.

Effie reappeared a few minutes later, carrying two cups of hot tea. His eyes strayed to her empty ring finger.

"He's not home?" he tested. "Your husband."

Her pupils dilated when she heard the question, the cup in her hand hung in mid-air as her movements stilled. Effie followed his gaze down to her hand, at the finger where a ring should have been if she was married.

"I didn't say I was married," she said quietly.

Haymitch frowned, his mind thinking back to their conversation on the sidewalk. It was true. She said nothing about being married. It was something he assumed when he saw that she was pregnant. "The child's father?"

Her demeanour changed. She was stiff and brusque when she replied, "it's really none of your concern, is it?"

"You're gonna raise the child up on your own, then?"

Effie started blinking rapidly, trying to get rid of the tears that had gathered at the corner of her eyes; tears that clung like dew on her long eyelashes. Haymitch shifted in his seat. He should never have asked because now they've entered into a territory that had quite clearly evoked an emotional response from her and emotions were not something he was equipped to deal with.

"I wish I was," she whispered, wiping an errant tear with the back of her hand.

"You wish - " he broke off in confusion. If she wanted to raise the child then it made no sense to him the fact that she was acting as though there was something preventing her from doing so.

"I'm not – I'm not the mother," she said haltingly, staring at her cup of tea. Haymitch waited for the admission that he sense was coming. "This isn't my baby."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm a surrogate."

Alright, I'm pretty sure people are sick of me by now but ... BUT... I was reading this article on Baby Factory in India when this story popped into my mind. So I had to write it down and I thought I'd just share it. If you're interested to read that article, I'll share the link with you, too.