Notes: Just a little something to tide me over until I update La Guerre [which should be up this weekend!] I'm not sure why, but this remix always plays in my head when I think of the air raid scene, and I automatically associate it with Hayffie. Check out on YouTube: I Am The People Of The Night (RAVE'N Edit) — Dzeko & Torres.
Debris was falling from the grey ceiling at such a fast rate, he could barely see a foot in front of him due to the dust. He should've gone down when everyone else was evacuating, but his conscience simply wouldn't let him lie still. So he ran out of the bunker against the shouts of some of 13's best and brightest.
He knew she hadn't come down. Haymitch's frantic calling a few minutes ago had met with no corresponding cries of his name or the overpowering perfume she insisted on wearing for even the simplest meal in the galley. Despite his attempts to the contrary, he found himself becoming fond of that floral stench. It was as much a part of her as her outrageous hair and the personality he'd spent the better part of a decade trying to drown out with the nearest source of liquor.
But things were different now. He hadn't told her anything about the rebellion. She couldn't have known, but somehow, she just did. Effie was more than a pretty face and fashion and whatever else filled her simpering head. He finally saw her as the real person behind the clownish mask and he'd been silenced by her blunt truth. Never even saw it coming.
Yet here they all were, holed up in the mythical District 13, trying like hell not to succumb to an air raid by the Capitol.
Effie was still nowhere to be seen and he was shouting at the top of his lungs as he searched every corridor, pushed through broken walls, and squeezed through pipes in search of her.
Another rumble threw him off-balance. He stumbled into a jagged corner and cursed the pain that followed. An eerie quiet followed the latest bomb drop as dust rose up and clouded his vision.
A faint whimper perked up his ears, his hands scrambling to dig the debris out of the way of the alcove that'd been hollowed out thanks to a toppled door.
"Effie?" he asked on a bated exhale.
The sound got louder, morphing into a cry he could only just make out: "Oh please, please help!"
That voice! It was definitely her.
A surge of adrenaline roared through his veins and blinded him to anything but the space in front of him. Haymitch dug and pulled, flinging pieces of grey drywall and broken pipes behind him until finally, FINALLY.
"Fuck, Effie," he swore.
Swooping down, both arms pulled her up and drew her against his chest so tight, he should've been worried about suffocating her. Nothing mattered, nothing but ensuring that she was alive. He wasn't aware that he was saying anything aloud, but he knew exactly what he was thinking.
"I thought I — don't fucking do that to me — I swear if — fuck, Effie!"
Drawing back out into the shattered corridor, Haymitch dragged her closely beside him, eyes flicking every which direction in search for the best way out of here. He was back there again, old memories resurfacing because of the rattling wires that threatened to give way above them. He saw nothing but a broad expanse of green, and no water in sight. All he could smell was the nauseating stench of a fire burning someplace off in the distance, a very real threat that reminded him of the many ways he could be killed unless he watched his step.
Effie was pulling against his arm, trying to shake him out of it. She pleaded futilely in his ear with each overly cautious step he took. At least she could breathe — just barely — but she couldn't turn and watch their steps too. Haymitch was out of it and she was terrified. What could she do to snap him out of it?
"It's okay, you're not gonna die," he murmured, blinking away the image, tugging her along, treating her as nothing more than another tribute he'd long ago watched die. This time he'd save her, he swore it. Under his breath, he kept repeating that she'd "be okay", over and over again, the pitch rising until he was at the point of screaming and his face was contorted in all the helpless horror he couldn't express in the arena. This time she's gonna live, his fevered mind repeated with each step.
"Haymitch, please!"
He froze. His arm still surrounded her, but it loosened a fraction, enough for Effie to wiggle free and pull his face down to be level with hers.
"Please Haymitch, come back! We have to — we can't just die here!" Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes even though she refused to let them fall. Her hand swiped irritably at them, leaving a trail of dust smudged against her fair skin.
The same tunnel vision returned. Instead of the adrenal surge pushing him to get her out of there, he focused so clearly on her face, it became the only thing he saw. Her mouth was forming words again but he couldn't hear them. All he could do was rest a hand on her dirty cheek and smile. They were in the middle of a fucking air raid and he was finally finding some twisted peace he hadn't been able to grab onto in more than two decades. Whatever this was, he didn't just shake himself out of it.
Effie's survival instincts took over and she tugged hard on his hands. She got them moving again, Haymitch still in a daze behind her. She threw a look over her shoulder every few steps to make sure he wasn't completely lost to her. That dazed look was still glossing his eyes but he was moving. That's all she could ask for.
Even though there was dust and extensive damage everywhere on the living quarters deck, the tremors had stopped for some time now. Maybe ten minutes already? She wasn't keeping exact count; it was definitely quiet for longer than each interval between attacks had been before, though.
Not far from the stairs leading down, she leaned against an entirely intact wall, her back crumpling against it the second she felt something whole and solid.
She couldn't help it; the tears started to fall and there was nothing she could do to stop them.
Haymitch slid down beside her, his hearing completely fogged up but his attention back in place. "Oh shit Effie, we made i — Eff?" Turning to see her in that state was disconcerting. He cringed internally at having to face it now, but he couldn't just let her cry it out without letting her know she wasn't alone. Sweeping an arm around her shoulder, fingertips rested on the dusty fabric before curling it into his grip.
"It's okay now, I think it's over. We'll just wait it out until the blast doors open again. Okay?"
Her weak nod beside him led to her head dropping against his, her hands digging into the front of his jumpsuit for something solid to hold onto.
What did you do in a situation like this? He wasn't a sentimental man by any means. The worst part of it was that he had feelings, he actually gave a damn more than he ever wanted to let on, but he was never sure how to express himself without it getting used against him. Again and again he tried to remind himself that they were in 13 now, that Snow couldn't reach this far.
But... hadn't that air raid just now proved that theory wrong?
"Please don't leave," came the soft whisper. His hearing sharpened enough to catch it and he let out a ragged breath.
"Not a chance, Princess. C'mere."
She shuffled and he pulled until she was huddled against him on his lap, her head tucked under his chin and hands balled up like an innocent child seeking comfort in a thunderstorm. Not that far from the truth, he mused, thinking back to her life in the Capitol.
She was raised to believe that the world revolved around her and her kind. That she was the epitome of perfection in her society. How he'd hated that part of her. Enough to sneer and rail at her at every opportunity, to make her life as his escort a living hell for years. The baffling thing was that she came back each year, without fail. Always punctual when she came to his house and forced him to make a decent appearance for everything she had scheduled out. Simpering and tutting, Effie became a staple in his life for a month out of every year, and gradually, without him even realising it, he'd come to rely on her steady presence. Before Katniss and Peeta came along, he might've continued to drink himself into a stupor, albeit just a little less each time. Her voice always chided him in the back of his mind, that disapproving look unsettling him more and more each time he gave in to the mind-numbing drunkenness that had him puking his soul out. So he found his reason to dig himself out of that hole. The revolution, winning this stupid war that had been waged the moment Snow had his family and girl killed.
He never told her any of it, and yet, she knew somehow. Rolling it around in his mind, he couldn't fathom how. Still couldn't imagine how intuitive she must've been.
"Thank you for coming back." Her breath puffed out against his neck and he pulled his arms tighter around her back.
"Couldn't just leave you here. I'd never hear the end of it," he quipped. Her laughter was tinged with the last of her tears, falling cold against his skin until they disappeared like so much of his misery.
When the rest of 13 poured back into the base, they'd eventually separated and gone back to their duties. Everyone helped with the cleaning up, Haymitch concentrating on any deck but the one he found Effie on.
He hadn't escaped a barbed warning from Coin and Katniss, the latter using much more colourful words he'd swear she picked up from him.
They were alive, though, and the Capitol was left without precise coordinates. Their weaponry was still intact. They'd live to fight another day, even more determined than before.
That was the essence of District 13, he thought. Resilient, persistent. Much like a mutt on a mission.
The thought was quickly shoved to the back of his mind. No need to dwell on something that made him think twice about his choices again.
It wasn't until about a week later that he was alone with Effie again. They'd wrapped up a meeting in Command, decided on Katniss' new direction, just generally waffled on about protocol, tasks, whatever other shit he deemed unimportant to his being there.
"Oh! Haymitch, you're looking well."
She was being polite, but he knew he looked like hell. Rolling out of bed and attending a meeting with Coin and the rest, all without coffee or liquor, dragged on his nerves. He tried to smile, though.
"Yeah, and you're lookin' very alive."
Shit.
He paused, she paused. They both looked down at the suddenly interesting floor, until she said softly in a shadow of the words she'd uttered a week ago:
"Because you came for me. I will never forget that. You didn't have to."
At that, he drew his head up and stared disbelievingly at her. "If you really believe that, then you're more delusional than I thought, sweetheart. I'm never gonna leave you behind if I have a choice." The animus in his voice threw her off, but she pulled herself together admirably.
"Yes, well... I am grateful regardless. My apologies, I have to be somewhere now —"
Haymitch cut her off with his grip on her arm; firm, but loose enough to shake off if she wanted to. Nothing like the hold he had on her during the raid.
"You silly bitch," he growled, pulling her into a kiss he hadn't planned. She was so close, he could smell that stupid perfume, feel the way she tensed, and then relaxed. Hear the light sound at the back of her throat that sounded suspiciously like a sigh. Her hands came up to rest on his shoulders, the tips of his fingers trailing the edge of grey fabric before falling to her waist. How had they gotten to this point?
That was a question he'd have to ask himself later, because she pulled back and her eyes fluttered open. The crystal blue he'd always grudgingly admired looked shiny despite the harsh light.
Her smile felt so alien in that moment, but it pulled a coil in his chest that had been taut for far too long.
"Thank you." With those two words, she dropped her hands and sidestepped, passing by him without a look back.
Oh, shit. Well-played, Effie.
His smile tugged at his mouth as he watched her over his shoulder. She'd be fine — and so would he.