It had been months since he'd seen her face. He'd resigned himself to the idea that he probably never would again; after all, the trend in the Capitol was to kill the Mockingjay's suspected conspirators, not simply imprison them. Despite all the odds, however, there she stood.

Her face was in its natural state, void of the makeup she usually caked on it, and there was no wig atop her head, either. The plain, golden hair she'd always hidden beneath them flowed freely. She was clad in a basic blue dress, no doubt borrowed from one of the District 13 residents.

"Effie," he greeted her simply.

"Haymitch," she replied. Her usual sparkle was missing; she seemed exhausted.

"You don't look like you."

"This is what I always look like, Haymitch, just a bit more…enhanced."

"You look—tired." He wanted to say good, but for one thing, that wouldn't be like him, and for another, she really did look tired.

"I suppose I am. It's been a long few weeks."

"What—" he approached her carefully, "What did they do to you?"

"Nothing too awful, but I'd rather not discuss it. Not—not yet, anyway."

He was perplexed. Here he stood, looking at the very same woman he'd known for years and years, and yet she was not the same woman at all. She looked older. Perhaps it was her eyes; they had seen many things too terrible to recount, and it had scarred her. Before, she'd been like a shiny new coin, but now it was as if someone had left that coin out in the rain and tarnished it. A part of her was broken now. That's what it was…

…she was more like him now. He hated it, and he hated them for doing it to her.

"I know it was you," she said after a few moments of silence.

"You know what was me?"

"This. Me being here, them keeping me alive. I know that you fought for me, and I just—" Her voice broke. He'd never heard her so unsure of herself before, and it was unsettling. "Thank you."

Something inside him stirred. Over the years, this woman had found ways to aggravate him he didn't even know were possible, and yet, she'd also brought a kind of light to his darkness that he couldn't explain. Somehow, even the moments that she frustrated him the most were better than any other memories he had left. "Anytime," he finally said.

"Why?" she asked softly. "All these years, I never got the impression that you'd stick your neck out to save me."

"A few years ago, I might not have," he replied honestly.

"So why did you?"

"I guess all this has changed me…and because when I'm around you, I don't feel as miserable as I usually do."

"Was that a compliment?" she asked in disbelief, managing a small smile.

"It was just the truth. You're a royal pain," he moved closer, "But I was miserable when I thought you were dead, and when I heard you weren't—"

"I didn't think I would ever see any of you again," she interrupted. "Everything I thought I knew was turned completely upside-down because of you and everything that's happened in the last year, and I'm glad. I was awful, Haymitch, I know that now. I was blind, but I'm not anymore. I see things more clearly than I ever have."

"Does that mean you're ditching the crazy clown makeup and wigs?"

Effie couldn't help but smile at that. "It'll be hard to get used to."

"I could get used to it."

With that, he pulled her in close and met her lips with his own. She smelled of flowers, and tasted like honeyed wine. When they finally came up for air, only one syllable came to her mind. "Wow," she whispered as she exhaled.

"Wow," he agreed. She was not someone he'd ever have imagined feeling anything but contempt for, but they'd both done a lot of growing up recently. He'd already imagined a world without her in it, and he'd come to the conclusion that that was not a world he wanted to be a part of. Things were far from perfect, and he knew they never really would be, but the war was over. The Hunger Games were over.

She was here, they were alive, and that was enough.

A/N: I'm undecided on whether I'm continuing this. Let me know what you think?