This is my version of the goodbye scene between Effie, Haymitch, Peeta, and Katniss in Catching Fire and what happens afterward. Some of the dialogue will be off just because I've only seen this twice (so far), but I hope you enjoy anyways! I rated this T because I didn't think it quite qualified as an M, but it is a little risqué towards the end.
"It didn't work, did it?" Effie whispers as I enter the waiting area. I shake my head slightly as she paces the room, avoiding eye contact with me.
"It's not fair, Haymitch." And for the first year since Effie and I began working together, I notice a change in her. Before the 75th year, she was nothing but outrageous outfits, gaudy jewelry, and capitol nonsense, but now I sense something more. From the tears she almost shed at the reaping and the looks of despair I sometimes catch resting on her face, I sense a woman worth saving. This rebellion is going to wreak havoc on the capitol and I'm getting her out.
I can't pinpoint when it happened, but there was a shift in our relationship; I suddenly started caring about what happens to her and wanting to protect her.
"No, it's not." I brush a strand of hair from her eyes.
"What do we do now?" she asks, so innocently and defeated.
"We go say goodbye to the best tributes that we have ever had the honor of mentoring."
She nods quietly, swallowing sharply, trying to keep up the joyous façade for the sake of Katniss and Peeta. As we walk quietly down the hall, I notice she has a death grip on two little black boxes.
As Katniss and Peeta come into sight, I realize that this might be the last time that either of us sees them alive in person. The plan is to save the girl, but God only knows what could happen in that arena between now and the time we're supposed to rescue her.
I want to save them both, hell, I wish I could save everyone, but the star-crossed lovers take priority over anybody else in this arena. She is a total pain in the ass, but I guess that is why I care about her so much. Katniss is like me in that she is stubborn and angry, but she is strong and the most driven girl I've ever met. Peeta is compassionate and wise beyond his years. His conscience is old, yet he is just a boy. Both too young to die.
"Baby bomb was brilliant, unfortunately the games are still on," I announce and watch Katniss and Peeta shrug, reluctantly accepting the inevitable.
"Here," Effie shoves the black box into Peeta and my hands, "for the boys."
We all look at her questioningly.
"Something gold, remember. I have my hair and Katniss has her pin, and now a gold bracelet for you," she says as I open the box before turning to Peeta, "and the gold medallion that we talked about."
"Thank you," Peeta says, while I give her a courteous nod, suddenly realizing that for once a piece of jewelry might actually save a life.
"We're a team," Effie sighs, tears on the brim of her eyes, "I'm so proud of you, my victors," She embraces both of the kids.
"You two deserved so much better," Effie cries, "I'm sorry." The sorrow on her face is unbearable and all I want to do is make her pain go away; make the tears and the crying stop, which is what I do. In that instant I lean over gently and place a hand on her waist and another on her cheek to kiss her. It is only a few seconds long, but it is gently passionate.
"Why don't you go get started on getting sponsors," I command gently and Effie just nods, too in shock to do anything else. The tributes smile, but don't say a word. When she leaves I hug the boy because I will miss him and to be honest, we might not be able to save him.
"Thank you for everything, Haymitch," he says. I pull away and look into Katniss's impassive eyes.
"Any last advice?" she asks, stoically.
"Stay alive." And then I turn to walk away, but am stopped by the sound of her voice right before she wraps her arms around me.
"Remember our deal," she whispers, "Peeta gets to live." I just nod my head and walk away.
The rest of the evening is filled with mingling with the airheads of the capitol, but needless to say, we are productive, gaining several sponsors before the games even start. At about 9:30, I notice that Effie is missing, so I take the elevator up to the suite to find her.
"Effie?" I holler through the flat, "You're missing all the socializing fun." No response, but I guess she usually doesn't respond to sarcasm. And then I hear her quiet sobs coming from the bedroom.
"Effie," I say calmly, while slowly pushing the door open. In the middle of the room, on the floor, is the escort of district 12. Her usual peppy aura is replaced with red eyes and tear-stricken cheeks and an overwhelming sadness that crowds the room.
"I want him dead," she sniffles.
"Who?"
"Snow….and anybody who is putting our kids back into that arena. I want them dead"
"What happened to the Panem today, tomorrow, forever crap?" I chuckle darkly.
She gives me a death glare before taking a swig of a bottle of liquor and then starts laughing hysterically.
"Look at me. I've been drowning in all of these capitol riches, when the districts have been starving. Not only that, but they have to send two children to be murdered every year and for what? To feed the government's sick obsession with power and control?"
She yanks the wig off of her head, letting luscious blonde curls come tumbling onto her shoulders.
"I don't need these either," she says, on the verge of a yell, before ridding herself of all the jewelry, throwing it at the walls.
"You need to calm down, sweetheart," I say, slowly moving a little bit closer to her.
"Ha!" she shouts, with a maniacal grin on her face, "I've been calm all these years because I've been a fool; an ignorant, oblivious, self-centered fool. And now I know why you drink and why you can't stand my presence," she says before throwing a lamp at the wall and breaking it. She moves about the room with reckless abandon, shoving the books of the bookshelf and flinging the pillows at the wall, before sinking to the floor, amongst all of the mess, trying to scrub all of her makeup off.
"Get it off," she screams, vigorously wiping her face with her hands. I run to the bathroom to grab a wet washcloth. Effie takes it and cleanses her face of makeup and when she finishes she takes a moment to catch her breath. And then she starts to cry.
I sit down next to her, pulling her into my lap, where she buries her head into my shoulder. Slowly, the violent sobs cease and are replaced by the quiet shudders of the relentless tears that continue to fall. I pull her to her feet and find a tissue box, which she takes gratefully.
"How are you not angry?" she yells out in a voice dripping with sadness that could break any heart from a mile away.
"Sweetheart, I've got 25 years of pent up anger. I just drown my rage in excessive amounts of alcohol."
And then I see her, not the capitol act that she puts on for the cameras, or the fake shallow personality that she uses to mask herself from the tributes. With her face bare of makeup and honest feelings pouring out of her, I understand why I've always been so intrigued by her. Throughout the years, a part of me always hoped that there was something more to the district 12 escort, but as time went on, I stopped looking for those redeeming qualities. I honestly believed that she had some, but she abandoned her moral values and buried them deep. Effie acted like the trivial, materialistic character that everyone took her for, so then she became that character and it wasn't until last year that her real self was found again. Katniss and Peeta uncovered the human in Effie behind her annoying, yet affective defensive mechanism.
"Show me," she demands, tossing the tissue box aside, "show me your rage, Haymitch."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I'll break you, you fragile capitol girl." Her brows furrow and a frown forms on her face just as a perfectly manicured hand slaps me, hard.
"I'm not fragile."
"Yeah, I gather," I say, touching my cheek tenderly, "still not going to do it."
"Why not?" she says, her voice a little louder.
"Because I'll ruin you and not in the sense that you might think," I respond in all seriousness, "you are pure and unscathed, but the moment that I mark you or get even remotely close to you is when you will lose that clarity."
"You're a coward, making excuses for yourself." Rage and pain fills her eyes. She shoves me hard with both hands, making me stumble backwards. "What do you have to lose?"
I swallow hard, but don't say anything.
"Let me help you," she pleads, "if not that, then help me."
We stare at each other, exhaustion plaguing both of us. I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around her, pulling her body into mine. My lips pressed hard to hers as I allow my hands the liberty to explore her body. I finally pull away and grab her wrist, dragging her roughly to the bed and then toss her onto it, mercilessly. I climb on top of her and straddle her waist before removing my shirt. She immediately begins feeling my chest and clawing at my torso, which is not extremely muscular, but surprisingly toned for my age. Effie does most of the work in removing her clothes, considering it includes about ten different layers and segments. When we are both completely naked, I pin her arms above her head with one hand, the other nearly bruising her breasts, while feverously trailing kisses along my neck and jawline.
"Show me," her voice breaths. And so I do. I plunge deep into her, making her understand my fury towards the world, the capitol, and everything that has ever caused me pain. She wails, holding onto the headboard for support. With every thrust, I strip her down even more, breaking any of the last remaining barriers that she had, just before we collapse.
For a brief moment, all that could be heard in the entire suite was the sound of us trying to catch our breath, but then she breaks. Effie begins to cry like I've never seen her cry before.
Hey, if you even remotely liked it, please drop a review. I like to hear what my readers have to say about my work.