10.

"Haymitch no," she said. She should get a sign, she thought; it felt like she said those words about a hundred times a day and for as many reasons. This time it was, "I have a wedding to plan."

"You what?" he looked at her suddenly, in abject terror.

"Oh yes," she smiled brightly. "Plutarch thinks a wedding would be just the thing to inspire the District, and so –"

"God. And you were going to tell me this when?"

She smiled at him for a moment far too sweetly before relenting –

"Not ours –" she shook her head, laughing gently – "Honestly. You and Katniss are as bad as each other, both convinced everyone wants to see you get married. And who would you be marrying, pray tell?" She grinned up at him, eyes flashing, until he turned and looked away before she caught him blushing.

"Finnick and Annie, obviously" she clarified, turning back to the pile of white she was attempting to work with – "It's a nightmare. I have the whole thing to plan, a dress to make, people to arrange, I'm going to absolutely –"

"Love it," he finished for her, with a groan. This time it was her turn to blush;

"Well. Maybe a little."

-x-

When the wedding came, Effie spent most of it stood to one side; doing her utmost best to make sure the bride got all the attention whilst beaming to herself proudly all the while. At one point she may have just started to utter a little sniff when Haymitch rolled his eyes beside her and sighed.

"You cry at weddings. I might have guessed."

"I am not crying!" she hissed back – "I – have something in my eye."

"That makes you sniff."

"Shut up, Haymitch."

"What kind of wedding is this anyway?" he moaned later, as people milled about amidst the fairy lights, smiling and congratulating in what was entirely the nicest way Effie had seen since coming to the District. For herself, she was sat primly on a chair, arms clasped a little smugly in her lap as she surveyed the prettiness of the hall that had, after all, been almost entirely her own doing. Haymitch could not help but smile to see her, with so many shimmering gold accessories that one could hardly tell she was wearing the usual grey underneath at all. He was rather impressed with her efforts, though he was not about to say so.

"Seriously. Where's the drink?"

"You –" she leaned across the table at him – "Are common, uncouth and ill mannered."

"And yet." He shrugged, looked down at her hands on the table and mumbled, "You – wanna dance?"

"With you?" she made it sound desperately scathing, whilst grinning from ear to ear.

"No, with President Snow! Yes with me, my ill-mannered, uncouth self."

"Of course," she stood up, almost bouncing, taking his hand in hers. He was half tempted to kiss it and prove that he could be gentlemanly after all. He squeezed it tenderly instead.

It felt strange, they both felt it; to be able to do this in public, even though it was just dancing, gentle and almost shy. She rested her head on his shoulder and he curled his fingers around hers and it felt almost ridiculously daring, given the habit of so many years of not doing the slightest thing within view of anyone that could have been construed as them being together. It was strange and not entirely possible to really know – that the danger was no longer there, that they were in fact something – whatever it was – that people could notice and it would not kill them.

All that concern, he thought – and it did nearly kill her. I will not let it happen again. He swore it to himself firmly as he – still half surreptitiously – kissed the top of her head. Where are we going? he wondered – how can this end? It seemed odd to be thinking about something that should be so petty with a revolution breaking out around them. But it was this, this petty concern that set his insides to shivering in fear, clenching in a need to know. It had always been easy to ignore the future – easy enough through a decent haze of drunkenness. But he no longer had that excuse, that cushioning to fall back upon, and the floor, when it hit, was hard and shocking. It took the breath from the lungs and the fight from the heart. It was so much of what he had been trying to avoid for so long that it shook him now. Nobody would ever imagine, he thought, what the real fights look like. That a battle can rage silently inside a couple on a dance floor fiercer than anything out there in all the warring districts.

Effie knew. She had always known. She suspected right now she might know through his silence exactly what was going through his mind and she was right. She understood it because her fights had always been undertaken like this, in silence and in the gentle, apparently congenial bustle of a crowd. The battles that counted were not just picked out by the sound of crashing metal and exploding buildings, they were found amidst the chink of glass and the light birdsong of meaningless chatter. She nuzzled in and tried to say in silence, I know, I understand, I have lived with this always. She hoped that he knew that she knew and she hoped that she knew what she did correctly.

-x-

Not until much later that night did either of them speak of the battles they had fought while the wedding swished and shivered around them, and when they did it was clear no victor had been announced from thee challenge.

"Where do we go now?" she said, because she knew that he would not – "What happens after?"

"After what?"

"After the revolution. When it all goes back to normal. What do we end up as?"

"You're assuming it will go back to normal. Whatever that means."

"We won't be down here forever. Something will happen next and when it does –"

"When it does, whatever it is will decide a lot of what we can't, I guess."

"That's your answer? What happens just happens?"

"Yeah, why not?"

She shook her head –

"That's not for me. I want to know. I want to choose."

"Sweetheart, the future's not a victory tour, you can't just schedule it in and hope it all goes to plan."

She almost but not quite snorted –

"Even the victory tour did not go to plan. It's not like that at all. We can decide where we lay our – affections. Loyalties, if you prefer." She blushed and though he did not see he could feel her face grow warm in the dark.

"I'm not going to live in the Capitol, if that's what you mean."

This was all she had really wanted to hear –

"There. You see. You have chosen." She snuggled in smugly, secure in this now.

"I don't think I –"

"Haymitch –" she smiled – "Shh".

She had heard all she needed to, and she would keep it. If he thought their future location was what was up for debate, he had chosen more than he would tell her in words – he had considered her a certainty and not a thing up for question and for now, that was more than enough.

_x_

There's only one or two chapters of this one to go now I think! After that it's part three: domestic bliss and fluff section! :-)