I'm back for my final update of 2013. How excitement. Many thanks to Em, as usual (who actually beta-ed live, in a moment of proof that not everybody you meet online wants to crazy murder you)

Unfortunately... I still don't own THG

TRIGGER WARNING: PTSD flashbacks and reactions to dreams.


Her wig was perfectly in place. Her makeup was exquisite, and Cinna had certainly outdone himself with the butterfly motif on her dress. She took a deep breath, willing her roiling emotions to subside. She turned to Peacekeeper Thread. "I'm going to need to see the Victors before the Reaping," she announced.

"That's not possible," Thread replied, the casual way he dismissed her ruffling Effie's feathers and making her all the more determined. "They're in the custody of Peacekeepers now and will remain so until the new Tributes are determined."

Effie bit back her retort about the Victors not being criminals and therefore not needing to be in anybody's custody but their own. "Did you see Haymitch Abernathy last year?" she asked crisply. "He made a mockery of the entire ceremony, carrying on the way he did. Given that he will likely end up representing this District again this year, I'm going to need to personally ensure that he's not going to disgrace us in front of the entire nation." She raised an eyebrow, daring him to challenge her. "I have my orders from Plutarch Heavensbee personally, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist."

Effie prayed to any deity that might be listening that her bluff wouldn't be called. She couldn't recall the last time she spoke to Plutarch beyond attending the annual Escorts briefing at the Gamemaking Headquarters, let alone him giving her personal orders regarding when she could speak to Tributes. Thread glared at her. "You get five minutes," he growled.

Effie only nodded in response. She began to pace the length of the room, quietly repeating the mandated script she'd memorised for the event. It was just another Reaping, she swore to herself. She could do this without bursting into tears. She could.

The doors swung open and she saw them. They all looked utterly miserable as they were shepherded into the room.

Effie shot them something as close to a smile as she could manage, moving to stand in front of them. "I just wanted to see you, before the madness unfolds," she told them.

"Hi Effie," Katniss murmured, her voice raspy. The smudgy black rings beneath all their eyes spoke volumes. Effie really just wanted to hug the three of them and force them to run away, never to be found again and never to be thrown into the Arena.

"I'm glad you're all ready to bring glory to District Twelve again," Effie announced stiffly. Katniss scoffed and Peeta took her hand, squeezing it gently and nodding discreetly to Thread.

Effie took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, trying to project a confidence she truly didn't feel. "Eyes bright," she reminded them, tutting sympathetically as she brushed the pink scar on Katniss's cheek, earned when she stood up to Thread. "Chins up," she flattened a wayward lock of hair on Peeta's head, her words a hollow rendition of the Victors' Party all those months ago. "Smiles on," she breathed, reaching to adjust the collar of Haymitch's coat. She desperately wanted to reassure him. She wanted to have all those ridiculous conversations about what they were after her last visit to Twelve, and fight with him and laugh with him and kiss him. She mentally suppressed all those thoughts. They wouldn't help her today, when she was trying so desperately not to lose her cool. She offered him a tiny smile. She could tell he'd been drinking, but he was sober enough that he wasn't going to throw up on stage. Effie would almost welcome that kind of distraction.

"That's time," Thread announced, standing at the door.

"Yes, thank you," Effie snapped, turning to glare at Thread. She resisted the urge to remind him that she was the one who had written the running order for the day, and she had years of experience with broadcasting live around Panem, but she feared that he would retaliate by taking out his rage on some poor District Twelve citizen. She turned back to her three terrified Victors. "Let's just do this as quickly and painlessly as possible," she suggested.

"I need a drink," Haymitch muttered as one of Thread's band of thugs came to remove them from the building to walk through the crowd. His knuckles brushed against Effie's as he walked past her, his grey eyes burning into hers as he strode out the door, jaw set.


Effie sat in her bedroom compartment on the train, checking for any correspondence from the Capitol regarding protocol changes to the handover of Tributes to the Capitol for training. Appearance was everything now. She couldn't afford to have Katniss and Peeta look anything less than subservient to the rules of the Games. They had to follow every law to the letter. She looked up from her tablet when there was a knock at the door. "Peeta," she greeted him. "What can I do for you?"

Peeta walked into the compartment and after closing the door, he stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"Is something the matter?" Effie prompted him. She'd never seen Peeta behave like this. In her experience, he was always confident and well spoken.

"I like the idea of the tokens," he started. "You're really kind, Effie."

"I think it's about the only truly kind thing I can do for you, given the circumstances," Effie responded. She leaned over and turned up the soft music she had playing in the room. She assumed that Snow had bugged her room and she didn't want to play right into his hands.

"I wanted to maybe make a suggestion for my token, if you don't mind? But if you've already decided, I can just go," he suggested, his manners impeccable as he looked over at the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet as if he was about to turn tail and run.

"Not at all," Effie responded. "Peeta, please sit down," she offered, gesturing to a stuffed bench seat that sat next to her window. She pressed a button on the desk and requested that an Avox bring two cups of hot chocolate to her room. The poor boy looked beside himself, so Effie dismissed the thought of too many calories and took a sip from the small cup of happiness. "This is your token, Peeta. Tell me exactly what you want, and I'll make it happen."

Peeta hesitated and then pulled several photographs from his pocket. "Do you think you could have these put into something? I don't mind what," He asked, handing them to her.

"That shouldn't be a problem at all," Effie responded. Her heart broke just a little bit more when she saw the photo of Gale Hawthorne, who was most decidedly not Katniss's cousin. "Oh, Peeta," she sighed.

Peeta put his cup down, head resting in his hands. "I think it's time we stop pretending. She never loved me, Effie. She just wanted to live."

Effie closed her eyes, willing the tears away as she cursed the Capitol and every twisted sycophant who contributed to the conception of the Games. She put down her own cup and sat on the bench seat next to him, pulling him into her arms. "I'm so sorry that you're being used like this Peeta," she whispered in his ear.

Peeta clung tightly to her, his face buried into her neck like a small child would with their mother. Effie rubbed his shoulder gently, realisation washing over her. She'd only had the pleasure of Mrs Mellark's company a few times and she could say unequivocally that the woman was the least maternal human she'd ever met. Effie could only hope that she could provide the motherly comfort that Peeta so sorely needed. "You don't have to answer me," she whispered, "But why did you volunteer? You didn't have to go back in."

"I don't mind dying," Peeta replied, his voice soft. His grip on Effie's waist loosened, but he didn't pull away. "I won't be leaving anybody behind that would be destroyed by my loss," she could hear the smirk in his tone. "I saw Haymitch take you back to the train station, the morning after the Quell announcement."

"Of course you did," she huffed, her cheeks reddening.

"If I die, Katniss is free to have a life of her own choosing, not dictated by what President Snow and the circus that is the Games demands. And if Haymitch were to go into the Games and die, it would hurt you, and you haven't done anything wrong."

Effie gave a sad sigh. "I don't know if that's true," she replied, the tearful faces of all the children she'd Reaped dancing through her mind like a macabre ballet. She pulled away and cupped Peeta's cheek with her palm. "You are a good man, Peeta Mellark," she told him seriously. "And if Katniss can't love you for that, then she's a damn fool."

Peeta's eyebrows rose at Effie's language. She only tilted her head, daring him to say something. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Now bed, young man," she ordered. "We're arriving in the Capitol tomorrow and if you fall asleep during basic training, there will be consequences."

Peeta actually managed to laugh at that. "Thank you, Effie," he said, holding eye contact with her as his pale eyes bored into her soul. "For everything."

"Tell me if there's anything else I can do for you."

"I will," he shot her the first genuine smile she'd seen all day. "Good night, Effie."

Satisfied that she'd completed all her work related tasks for the evening, Effie sat down at her vanity and began the process of stripping off the Capitol. She exchanged the extravagant dress for a soft cotton sleepwear and a neatly tied dressing gown, tidily slipping her jewellery into their designated boxes. After peeling off the eyelash extensions she'd spent hours gluing on, she wiped away the happy painted face of a District Escort.

It wasn't until she began sliding the wig pins from her hair that she heard her compartment door open and close again. "Hello Haymitch," she greeted him, her voice soft. They were finally alone. There was so much she wanted to say, so many conversations she'd practiced having in her tiny flat in the Capitol that she now had no idea how to broach, so she simply continued her nightly routine, placing the wig pins in the top drawer of her vanity and lifting the wig from her head.

"A token, huh?" Haymitch asked. He'd made himself quite comfortable on her window seat, leaning against the edge with a leg propped up so he faced her, swirling the ice in his half empty glass of whiskey.

Effie stood to place her golden wig on its stand. "I know you think I'm just a silly little girl with an eye for shiny things," she told him. She sat back down and pulled off her wig cap, sighing with relief when her blonde hair swung free. "But when I completed my schooling to be an Escort, one of the things firmly impressed upon us was to not be associated with our Tributes beyond merely being their shepherds from the District to the Arena." She picked up a brush and began to work out the snags in her hair.

Haymitch made a noise of understanding.

"It may seem ridiculous to you, but this is my statement. My way of making it clear that I stand with my Victors," she put her brush down and strode across the room. "All of my Victors."

She wanted to touch him. He was right there in front of her and she could feel the tension buzzing under her skin. "You look good," she murmured, "Given the circumstances," she added on hastily.

Haymitch reached out and grabbed her wrist, tugging so that she was sitting on the window seat with him. "Blame Peeta," he grumbled. "After the announcement, he decided that we needed to throw the rulebook out the window and train for this thing." He took a sip of his drink. "I'm pretty sure he was trying to kill me."

Effie ran her hand down his shoulder, her hand stopping to squeeze his bicep. "I can't say that I'm complaining," she raised an eyebrow, daring him to say something in response. He only smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I don't want to talk about the Games," Effie told him. "I'm going to have to deal with so much press coverage and scheduling and it's all going to be so much more intense because of the Quarter Quell and I just want to spend a few hours denying that the whole fiasco is happening."

"Fine with me," Haymitch responded. He leaned his head back against the wall of her bedroom. "I just want to sleep for a year," he sighed.

"I'm not keeping you awake, am I?" Effie asked. She knew that he probably hadn't slept properly since the Quell announcement and she just wanted him to be able to rest and be granted peaceful sleep. "You should get some rest," she decided, standing up to walk him to the door.

He didn't move. Effie raised an eyebrow. "Is something the matter?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "Which side of the bed do you prefer, Princess?" he asked.

Effie's jaw dropped, "That is an awfully forward question, don't you think, Mr Abernathy?"

He stashed his glass on a side table, standing and stepping in front of Effie. "I can't help myself, Princess," his fingers began toying with the sash that kept her robe tied together. "I'm from District Twelve. Did you expect me to be anything other than uncouth?" He pulled the sash of her dressing gown, pushing it open to rest his hands on her hips.

Effie was desperate to maintain her outraged affront, but truth be told, she had no complaints about his presence in her room, or her bed. Any doubts she'd had about their night together were temporarily quashed when she felt his lips on her cheek. "I don't want to be alone," he breathed into her ear.

There was no way he'd ever let himself be more vulnerable than that. She cupped his face in her hands. "I suppose you can stay," she decided. She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. "Providing you actually sleep," her thumbs brushed his cheekbones. He looked exhausted to the bone. "And you conduct yourself like a gentleman."

"Not making any promises, sweetheart."


It was the thrashing that first disturbed Effie's slumber. She looked over at Haymitch, who was still sleeping, but it was far from sound.

She hesitated. She didn't know whether or not to wake him… she remembered her grandfather telling her something about giving the person having a nightmare a heart attack if you woke them.

"No… please…"

God, that did it. Effie couldn't listen to him sound so defeated and scared. She grabbed his shoulders. "Haymitch," she said clearly. "Haymitch, you're dreaming."

Her words did nothing to ease his whimpers. She shook him firmly. "Wake up," she commanded.

It happened so quickly that she barely had the chance to blink. Haymitch gave a bloodthirsty scream and then she was on her back, pinned down by his body, one hand wrapped around her throat. His eyes were dark and cold. She'd never seen him look so murderous. She clawed at his hand, trying desperately to get him to loosen his grasp. "Haymitch, stop," she choked out. She managed to reach for a book on her nightstand, clipping him across the head with it in the hopes of waking him up from whatever trance he was in.

As quickly as it had happened, Haymitch sprung away from her and bolted out the door.

Effie coughed and wheezed, rubbing her throat as she sucked down air. What had even happened? She was shaky with adrenaline as she stood. She needed to go find Haymitch. Effie assumed that the bar car would be the first place to look. If she didn't find something to do, she was going to crumble into a thousand tiny pieces and sob until her eyes bled.

She stepped outside the door. Haymitch was sitting on the floor outside her compartment, head bowed, a bottle dangling from his fingertips.

"Haymitch," Effie sighed.

He looked up at her. "I am so sorry," he whispered. "I don't know what happened. Effie, you have to believe me, please."

"I do," she promised. "I do believe you. Now come on," she reached a hand out to him. "Come back inside, please."

He shook his head, taking a sip from the bottle with shaking hands.

"Fine," Effie replied. She sank down gracefully to sit opposite him.

"Go to bed, Effie," he sighed. She'd never heard him sound so defeated.

"Absolutely not," she responded tartly. "I'm not leaving you alone, and you're refusing to come inside, so I suppose we're at an impasse."

"Fine," Haymitch replied. He turned away from her, taking another long mouthful from the bottle.

Effie fiddled with the hem of her nightgown. She shuddered when she heard whimpering echo down the hallway. It sounded like Peeta was dealing with nightmares of his own. Effie tipped her head back to rest against the wall. This was going to be a long night.

"I'm not some Capitol piece of china that will shatter at the slightest touch," Effie whispered. "You're not going to scare me away when you show me the ugliest part of yourself."

"I could have killed you…"

"Just like my people could have killed you? My people who tried to kill you?" Effie asked. "Haymitch, this isn't your decision to make. I don't want to walk away." She stood up and moved in front of him, offering him her hand. "Come inside," she requested, offering him her hand.

The look he gave her shattered her soul all over again. He reached out and took her hand. His fingers tightly twined with hers, they stepped back into his room. The second the door shut, Effie wrapped him into a tight embrace. "You're okay, Haymitch," she whispered. "I'm not scared of you."

"What if I do it again?" He asked, his voice thick with unshed tears. "What if there's no book to hit me with next time?"

"I'll make sure I have a paperweight beside the bed at all times," Effie replied. "Or I'll wake you up by tickling your feet."

He pulled back to look at her. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I hurt you." His fingers gently traced the marks on her neck.

"I'm tougher than I look," Effie assured him. "I know my limits, Haymitch. I would be a deplorable human if I left you because you lost a leg or your kidneys stopped working. The Games wounded you, Haymitch. I won't abandon you for something entirely out of your control."

Haymitch pulled away from her, moving towards the bathroom. Striding back into the room, he placed a cold compress from her medicine cabinet against her throat. "At this time of year, the only way I ever get any sleep is if I drink 'til I pass out." He cleared his throat. "Victors have a mandated session with a psychiatrist, just to make sure we don't snap and kill people outside the Arena," he mentioned, trying to keep his tone casual. "He mentioned that I might have reactions like this when I'm stressed."

"Did he suggest any ways to cope with it?" Effie asked, reaching up to hold the ice pack to the worst of the bruising.

"Pills, like Katniss is supposed to take," he shrugged. "A whole lot of good they did me. He also said that I shouldn't go straight back to sleep, because I could fall right back into the same dream." He scratched the back of his head. He wanted to admit that he knew drinking wasn't a healthy coping mechanism, but for the last twenty-five years, it had been the only constant in his life. He'd been drinking less lately. The gruelling training routine Peeta had been putting him through had been hard enough without adding a pounding hangover on top. He drank enough to take the edge off, but that meant that he only managed a few hours rest at best. He supposed the five hours sleep he'd managed over the past week, the amount of stress he was under because of the Quell and everything happening with District Thirteen, plus the decreased alcohol in his body had pushed him over the edge. He hated that Effie had to bear the brunt of it all.

Effie sat down on the bed, propping up her pillow against the headboard and sitting back. She patted the empty space next to her. "Lay down, Haymitch," she suggested. "You don't have to sleep. Just come lay with me and we'll talk about something completely insignificant."

Haymitch hesitated. He really shouldn't. The safest bet was to go back to his room and drown his sorrows in expensive whiskey. But the idea of just lying with Effie, with her soft skin and candied citrus smell… that was far too tempting to pass up. He placed the bottle on the bedside table, crawling onto the bed and laying his head on her lap. "Now what?" he asked.

Her fingers started that tantalising weaving in and out of his hair. "Now we choose something to talk about," she decided.

He stayed silent for several moments. He'd had no time for something as trivial as small talk when he was just a kid from the Seam, and his skills had hardly improved over the years. "You have freckles," he stated.

"You seem far more amused by this than my mother was when she saw them," Effie murmured drily. "She had a fit when she realised I'd been in the sun long enough to get them." Effie rolled her eyes. "There had been a school trip to the seaside and there was a Victor who had chosen surfing as his talent after the Games. My best friend was madly in love with him,"

"Had she ever actually spoken to him?" Haymitch interjected.

"Manners, Haymitch, don't interrupt." Effie sassed him. "Of course she hadn't. But when you're sixteen years old that hardly matters," she added. "Naturally we had to sit on the beach from dawn til dusk, watching him surf, praying that he'd notice her and realise that they were meant to be. When I look back on it, I'm completely certain that he was interested in men and that's why he didn't pay a speck of attention to either of us. And that is the story of my freckles."

"You sure it wasn't you who had the thing for him? Imagine, little Effie Trinket crushing on a District boy," He teased, his eyes slipping shut, almost purring at the sensation of her nails gently scraping against his scalp.

"It was Euphemia in those days," Effie responded. "I thought using my full name made me sound more grown up."

"Seriously?" Haymitch interjected.

"I only changed it because I didn't want the pronunciation bastardised on TV," she admitted. "And more importantly, no, it was not me. There's only ever been one Victor to capture my attention."

"It was Julius Lucas, wasn't it?" Haymitch asked.

Effie wrinkled her nose. Julius was the oldest living Victor. He was from District Six and had been at least in his fifties the year of Haymitch's Games. "Yes, yes it was Julius," Effie replied seriously. "I think it was the way that he spits his tobacco that first drew me in." Her free hand came up to tenderly cup Haymitch's cheek. "I never, ever once found you even the slightest bit attractive. You can rest assured of that."

"Good," Haymitch replied. "Because I always thought you were a pain in the ass."

Effie let a smile creep over her face. The banter was still there. That at least felt normal, but she didn't bother hide the affection in her tone. From the smile that twisted onto his lips, he felt the same way. "Just try and rest, Haymitch," she urged him.

His breathing had become deep and even and she didn't know how much longer he'd be able to resist falling asleep.

"What if I hurt you again?" He mumbled.

"Don't borrow trouble, Haymitch," she whispered. "Just rest for a few hours. I'll protect you."

A few moments later, he was out like a light. Effie touched the bruised skin of her throat. She was no fool. She knew it had been a damn close call earlier that evening. But he needed her. She couldn't walk away; he would only self-destruct. She'd systematically destroyed so many lives just by doing her job. Perhaps this was a way in which she could rebuild one.


So... if you choose to follow me on tumblr right now, you might be lucky enough to get selfies of me and Em (my awesome beta) getting white girl wasted, so, there's that (brookemopolitan dot tumblr etc)

Would love to hear your thoughts!