"Don't choose him over me, E! I'm not going to stand there in public and see you confirm the rumours," Caesar yelled at her, when she finally returned that night. She was exhausted. Haymitch had become quite violent and vulgar when she'd gotten him from the cab and into the training centre, where he could spend the night – or at least some of it until she had to hurry him along. The Victory Tour wasn't over.

"C, I'm not choosing any- Rumours? What are you talking about?"

"Look, I know I might not be the most exotic personality and I certainly don't…"

"What rumours, Caesar?" she cut him off.

"You and that drunk,"

"Haymitch?"

"Yes, … Half the city is dawning over your imperfect love. Which is reflecting on me, making me look like the old pig and you looking like a freedom fighter,"

"You seriously think I'd …"

"It doesn't matter what I think! It matters what they think," Caesar pointed to the big panorama window of the city, where the lights showed that the Victory party had taken to the streets. Celebrating another engagement, eating the fake emotions between Katniss and Peeta raw. She didn't understand a thing.

"Caesar, you know I wouldn't…" Effie sounded hurt. Well, she was hurt.

"Of course I do, E," Caesar said and sat down with a resigned look on his face. His hand placed itself on his chest.

"My job is to take care of the tributes along with their mentor. In Haymitch's case, he couldn't even take care of a pair of stupid geese if he wanted to, so I have to take care of him too, for all these years he's been all the children had. There are no other victors, not until now. And they changed the quell to kill them,"

"Effie!" Caesar looked at her with fright, as she uttered words, not suitable for any ears.

"That… That's just what I think," She realized she'd spoken too much. She regretted it, but somewhere inside her something clicked. She couldn't stay here. Katniss and Peeta: They'd won, it wasn't fair for them to go back in. Haymitch, he'd killed twice the amount of children than anyone else. They had to live with it – for what? For sport. And if they rebelled now, she would be one of the bad guys.

"You better save those thoughts as only thoughts. Remember when we talked about you not having the power to do anything exceptionally stupid?" Caesar warned her and he suddenly looked as if someone was poking him with burning iron, his face grimaced by pain.

"C! Are you okay?" Effie asked, quick to be at his side.

"Yeah, just … Just give me a minute," he asked "and a glass of water would be great,"

She got up and walked slowly to the kitchen. She couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, they shouldn't be fighting. His heart couldn't bear the excitement. What would happen to him if she left him?

"Where were you?" he called from the other room, as she walked back, "At the party, when you disappeared?"

What was she supposed to say? She couldn't tell him about the revolution, it would be too risky. And she didn't doubt Haymitch wasn't kidding with the death threats.

"I was … With-"

"Haymitch?"

"No,"

"Don't lie to me,"

"Alright yes, but not doing whatever you think,"

"Then what?"

"The guy was drunk as hell, he wandered off. His actions are my responsibility, I'm not going to just let him vomit all over Snow's mansion, no matter how much I wanted to myself,"

"Again with those thoughts, E," He didn't believe her for a second, but he let her off. She felt bad lying to him, but there was no way she could get Plutarch and Haymitch to trust a man so involved with the games. Neither would she if she was a part of the rebellion.

"Sorry, here's your water," She put down the crystal glass in front of him, thinking about nothing than the rough edged clay cups at Haymitch's house in Victor's Village, which she'd so often filled with water to nurse him back to life after a hangover. She was disgusted with herself and Caesar. They lived so extravagantly in a penthouse apartment high above the city. There was avoxes assigned to do everything for them and none of them ever had to even touch dirty dishes or laundry. The sunken faces of the district children, starving without end were echoed in everything they ate, every bit of food they threw away.

She'd never ever wanted to talk to Haymitch before, but after bidding her husband a good night she left their apartment to check on him. Mentioning his name to Caesar was beginning to seem like cutting the fuse on a giant bomb shorter.

"What then, princess, couldn't sleep on your silk sheets?" Once again he didn't really get all the bitterness he wanted into his voice, so it actually could sound sweet, if it wasn't coming from him.

"Be honest with me, Haymitch: What would happen to people like Caesar and I, when this thing, you're planning happens?" She said without even flinching at his comment. She realized she'd been crying and probably looked like a mess.

"You die," Haymitch said like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Oh well, maybe not him, but you do. People from 12 recognize you. Flickerman is sometimes spoken of positively since he's good at getting our tributes to look great,"

"So Caesar's safe?"

"Not if he's as ill as you say he is,"

"Beside that?"

"My best guess would be yes. Our goal is not to kill anybody from here, but casualties and hatred is always factors,"

"If I join you?"

"You are?"

"If?"

"Then I'd personally make sure no one touches one plastic hair from your wig," Haymitch promised, suddenly speaking with a passion she hadn't heard him express before.

"Now why don't you tell me, why you look like that?" he added.

"Marriage isn't a piece of cake," she replied grimly and echoed the usual bitterness in his voice.

"I guess not, when it's with you," he sighed and refilled his glass, thereafter he looked at her for a moment, before he took a second glass from the tray and poured her half a drink. Initially she shook her head, saying no to it, but not long after where wasn't much left of the bottle, split between them. Haymitch opened a second one, but Effie was already so drunk she could barely hold the glass still.

"I have … No … Idea why I married him, Haymitch," she said with some trouble.

"Me neither, princess," Haymitch replied laughing at her condition.

"I mean. I was expected to. Everybody expected me to marry him, and now … Now everybody expects me to leave him and stay with you,"

"Wow, hold that one. I didn't get the memo,"

"Me neither,"

"Ha, you. You're way below my standard," Haymitch mocked her and filled her glass again.

"I know," Effie took the verbal blow like an already crippled puppy, just slightly contracting in her haze of liquor. He could have hit her with brute force and she wouldn't care.

"I dare you. To take that wig off," Haymitch suddenly said.

"No," Effie replied. Even drunk her insecurity and pride wouldn't leave her alone.

"Do it,"

"You sound like him,"

"Then you should do as your husband asks of you," he said in a fake Capitol accent.

"Shut up," she said in her best Haymitch-voice, the alcohol aiding to the authentic value of the impression.

"I'll take off my wig, if you tell me the story of your quell," she said with what was meant to have been a challenging voice, but in reality it was more like a sad mix of way too cliché adult film speak and a teacher testing students in a pop quiz.

"You need to take of more than your wig to hear that story," Haymitch replied.

"Get up. Get up! Trinket, get the fuck out of my bed," Haymitch voice was panicking and she opened her eyes, groggy to the morning and stared at him for a while, without realizing where she lied.

"What. Happened?" he asked breathing deeply between each word.

"I-"

"Wait. No, don't tell me anything,"

"I have a headache,"

"You are a headache,"

"Haymitch, shut up," Effie said and rubbed her temples. She couldn't remember ever having been so hangover as she was now.

"You can shut your pretty face as well, Trinket,"

"Flickerman,"

"I thought we sorted that out last night,"

"You don't remember last night, Haymitch,"

"Neither do you,"

"And I'm grateful," She looked at her watch. They had plenty of time, which was worse than no time. She would have loved to be able to tell him to hurry up and get dressed so the awkward silence slowly

"Can I say something… Before we go back to that… relationship we usually have?" he asked. She nodded.

"You should wear your own hair more often. And less make-up suits your face. Now, done," Haymitch made her blush red with embarrassment and it didn't take long for her to jump out of the bed, do the walk of shame to the bathroom, pulling the covers from the bed tightly around her, but still seeing the mentor's eyes follow her every move.

"Take a compliment, princess," he yelled after her, when she'd closed the bathroom door. The mirror showed her something horrifying. She rarely saw herself without make-up and wigs. It was only when Caesar forced her to take it off and look at herself she did it. She could do make-up blind and preferred never to see her own face. It was much too depressing. Humiliating even, now that Haymitch had won one other thing to tease her with. Her blue eyes stared back at her and not long after she ended up vomiting the small meal she'd eaten last night up. Her throat hurt like crazy and she felt so nauseated, that for a moment she felt as if she was going to faint. It never happened though. She dried up, washed off and then went back to looking in the mirror. Haymitch was still half-yelling half mumbling stuff outside the room and his words mixed up with her thoughts. What did happen last night? Well, it wasn't very hard to guess, since they woke up in the same bed. Did he remember anything? She didn't really. You should wear your own hair more often. Effie laughed at her reflection, while she brushed the blonde hair. Luckily she had everything in the bathroom here. The servants made sure of that. She could look like herself in no time. Except she didn't know where her wig went.

"Caesar, I'm so sorry. I was so exhausted from everything that I just fell asleep here," She waited for his reply from the other end of the line, but it was dead silent.

"We didn't do anything, C, I swear to God, please don't believe all those nasty rumours," The lies heated her face up.

"Rumours, Effie. You shouldn't feed the rumours. Come home so we can talk about this,"

"I'm not coming home, C, we have to go to 12, the train leaves in less than 2 hours,"

Haymitch looked at her, like she was an interesting piece of artwork in a gallery, best observed passively and silently.

"You better have a really good explanation ready when you get home, young lady,"

"Don't call me that, I'm not your teenage daughter!" Effie whimpered. Haymitch involuntarily jolted with the glass in his hand.

"I call you whatever I want, you're my wife, damn it, you should try to act like one, sometimes. You whore!"

Effie slammed the phone down onto its holder. She was shaking with repressed tears. Whore. The word resonated in her mind, coming back with even more power than before. Prostitute. She looked at Haymitch and suddenly felt the urge to hit him. To beat him up, until his face was nothing but a bloody mess, like they sometimes saw during the Games. He must have seen it in her face, for he quickly grabbed a knife from underneath the pillow.

"I ain't to blame in this, sweetheart," he said looking directly at her. She fell apart. It wasn't pretty and she had no intention of showing this to Haymitch.

"What exactly are you going to do with that knife?" she asked.

"I don't know, I'm still contemplating my options here,"

"Then stab me and see what happens," she heard herself say. Haymitch got up, still holding the knife, though less aware now.

"What did he say to you?" he asked and came closer.

"Told me to come home, start acting like a wife. He called me a whore," Effie didn't know why she could lie so easily to Caesar and still feel crumbled when Haymitch asked her questions.

"Well, from his point of view, you are a whore," Haymitch said without much encouragement.

"And from your point of view?" Effie asked.

"Why do you care?"

"Tell me,"

"You're an unhappy woman, who should never have married the first and best guy to ask her out on a date. You think you love him and try to force yourself to believe it, but the sad fact is that you're not even in love with him anymore. And I think he knows,"

His words hit hard, but it felt good. It felt good to have the stone lifted from her heart.

"You're still afraid of losing him though. Because you have no fucking idea about who you would be without him controlling your life. You are so naïve, you can barely function,"

She closed her eyes, her hangover still clouding her mind.

"I'm sorry about everything, Haymitch," she said.

"Let's keep it as a memory and nothing more, what do you say?"

"I want to join your side,"

"I never thought otherwise," Haymitch commented with a smirk.