I know that this is the first post in a very long while, for which I can only apologise. A lot has happened with my life and I considered abandoning the end of this story all together; but I decided to complete it, if only for myself.

I am well aware that this chapter is not my best, and probably has continuity errors or what have you, but I don't have access to my previous notes so I apologise.

I thank everyone who has read and reviewed this story, and can promise that at some point the final chapter will be posted. I have known for months the exact nature and layout, almost word for word, so it won't be hard to write so even if I take a while to get it down it will come. I know that for my own reasons, I want to finish this story so please be kind. I am not claiming that this is as good as usual, and it isn't, but the last chapter will be better. This one has presented a great deal of obstacles so I just made the decision to get it down as best I could.

I won't beg for reviews, but I always like to hear what people think as long as it is not unnecessarily critical.

I can only say sorry for the wait, and thank anyone who bothers for reading, and whatever anyone says I will finish this for me and for the person who asked me to finish it despite not having posted in months. That person, a guest, spurred me on so thank you very much.

Anyway, rant over, so here you go. Last chapter won't be as long but will be up eventually. Soon I hope but I won't promise in case I have to break it. IT WILL GET FINISHED! One day, lol. Hopefully soon xD

Thanks,

Chapter 21

She was alone again. Effie knew that it would be hard even to make it through the night, so she shut herself off; in spite of the cold and the dull ache of her still healing wounds, she felt nothing. Even her emotions, which often seemed to run wilder than the crashing white water of rapids, had been tempered. Besides, she wasn't sure what to feel. The fear of it all – of her uncertain future, of losing Haymitch, of coming to terms with what she had done – all of it meant nothing now, and had simply become too much of a burden to bear.

So she lay down, facing the wall, and trying to take every minute, every second, as it came. Effie heard people enter her cell, heard their words as they tried to speak to her, but she ignored them. The food and water they brought her was left untouched in the corner of the room.

With no way of knowing how long she had been there, Effie felt lost. She tried not to let her mind wander too far but the memories of the past few years were strong and powerful, and difficult to fight against. Just one night, she had to tell herself. One night and then…

She didn't know what would happen to her. It was one of the many mysteries which surrounded and enveloped her life, suffocating her until she began to drown beneath them.

One night, and then at least I will know. At least I will know what the rest of my life will come to. At least I will be able to accept my fate…whatever it is.

Xxx

When he left the prison block, Plutarch felt as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders; perhaps he did. It was over, for now, and yet it was all just beginning. He had thought, dared even to hope, that the death of President Snow had ended the troubles of Panem. A year on and nothing had really changed.

Yes, people could say that they were free, but they were almost as powerless as before. Children were no longer taken to fight to the death, but the damage caused by the war and the poverty it left behind meant that many families did not have enough to live on – people were still dying. The country could not be rebuilt fast enough to fulfil the growing requirements of the millions who depended on it. And now this…

The last year of work had been destroyed in a matter of weeks. No-one was happy, few were safe, and there were so many questions left unanswered; this new beginning was almost worse than what it had left behind. There was little hope of a world where things were better, as there had been in the last seventy seven years – this was the supposedly 'better' world.

Effie had been one of the very few Capitol citizens who had fought against the oppressors during the war, and it had cost her everything. By the time they had pulled her from her cell, she was almost gone. Some had said she should be left for dead; after all, there was a war still raging above them and there wasn't a lot left to save. She had been a big part of what they were rising up against, some thought, and they didn't even want to try.

But Plutarch had insisted. He had not known Effie well, but he had known her enough to be able to see that she had only been doing what she had to in order to stay alive. Her position was not given to her as a reward, but as a duty and had she not fulfilled it well then she would already be dead. Her gentle heart, beneath the wigs and makeup everyone else saw, had given her the courage to stand up and say no – and this had led her to where she was today.

He felt partially responsible for what had happened to her since they saved her from that cell. Plutarch had ensured that she was looked after, that she had a job and the means to start a new life, but he had assumed that she would be safe in the Capitol. There had been rumours before of a resistance to the new order, and he knew that Gray Freeman had never been captured as much as he knew that he had been the one to implement Effie's torture, yet he had never considered that they would come after her.

Now, Plutarch was left wondering if there was anything that he could even do to help her. She was fragile, a danger to herself but not to others, and the walls were closing in on her. He knew that if Effie lost the chance to recover from this, lost the rest of her life because of something she had no control over, then he would not be able to forgive himself.

It was just outside the entrance to the prison where Plutarch met with Haymitch.

'Haymitch,' Plutarch started gently, knowing that he would have to remain calm when the inevitable occurred.

'Where is she?'

'I don't think-'

'WHERE IS SHE?'

'Effie has been confined to a cell,' Plutarch explained, 'as I am sure you could have guessed.'

'I need to see her,' Haymitch insisted, trying to push past him. Plutarch stopped him in his tracks, noticing how drawn and tired he looked in a crumpled suit which seemed to have been slept in.

'I am afraid that won't be possible,' he told Haymitch gently.

'If you think for one moment that I am going to just leave her alone in there, then you don't know me at all.'

'You can't see her,' repeated Plutarch, 'but I assure you that she's okay.'

'How can you say that?' Haymitch hissed. 'She couldn't even stand when they carried her out of the hospital.'

'I know, but the fact is that you will do more harm than good if you were to visit Effie tonight.'

'What do you-'

'I mean,' Plutarch continued, 'that she has a hearing tomorrow, one which will decide whether she is tried in court or admitted to a psychiatric facility as General Atkins has suggested. Trust me when I say that she needs you elsewhere.'

'She…she's not strong enough,' Haymitch croaked, clearing his throat. 'She needs me in there, I know it.'

'And the general knows it too, which is why she will use it against Effie. Look, a trial will last a day at most if it comes to that; no judge would convict her when presented with the evidence, the case will just be dismissed. If we can get through this hearing, then in a week or two you can both be free to do whatever you want and get the hell out of this place.'

Haymitch breathed heavily. He knew that Effie needed him, he could almost feel her reaching out to him, but he also didn't want to admit that he needed her too.

'Did you see her?'

Plutarch nodded.

'Only briefly, but I told her how what she needed to know about tomorrow and made sure that she was in no immediate danger. She had a message for you.'

'She did?' Haymitch felt his heart skip a beat.

'She said that she was sorry,' Plutarch recalled, 'and that she doesn't regret it. Do you know what she means?'

'Yes,' mumbled Haymitch, though he shook his head, 'but she has nothing to be sorry about. I wish that I could go through all of this for her. Does she have to be present tomorrow?'

'I tried to persuade the judge to hear the evidence without the need to disturb her, but he would not listen. I don't think he realises the extent of her recent illness.'

'It's going to be too much for her, after everything; it'll break her,' Haymitch said mournfully.

'Give her a chance,' Plutarch assured him, 'she might be stronger than you think.'

Xxx

Haymitch didn't sleep a wink that night. He lay in bed alone, staring at the ceiling and wishing that he could feel Effie's warmth beside him. It had all happened too late. There was probably a time when they could have been comfortable, even happy together, but it seemed to have long past. If he had confessed his feelings earlier, if she had never become engaged to that horrific man…but then, he had needed what had happened to her, to them both, to occur in order to realise what he felt. It was a circle which never ended. She would have been better off had she never had the misfortune of meeting him, that was for sure.

He had been told that the hearing would be a simple matter. General Atkins would state her case, and the judge would ask her questions. Plutarch had promised that he would be there to argue against Atkins, though he had warned that it was likely the judge would want to question Effie himself before making a decision. It was mostly informal, though Haymitch had been ordered to keep quiet to avoid being in contempt of a courtroom.

When morning broke, Plutarch knocked on his door and escorted him to a car which would take them to the justice department in District 2. They rode in silence; neither wanted to say anything, knowing that it was pointless. Arriving an hour later, Haymitch walked into the tall white building with an emotionless face. He could hear his own heart pounding against his ribcage.

Both men were led into a room with a head judge's table on an elevated platform at the front. Before it were two benches, one for each party, at equal distances from the judge's table at opposite sides of the room. There was no jury, nor anywhere for spectators to sit as the hearing was not open to the public.

The only other thing in there was a small glass box at the back of the room, containing a small chair with a few steps leading up to it. It was not quite a box, with an open top and wooden flooring, but the glass walls made it seem more like a place to confine the person who would stand there, the accused – Effie. Haymitch hated to think of her standing there, knowing how much she hated to be locked in anywhere after what had happened to her. She had spent all night in a cage, he remembered, and swallowed heavily at the thought.

An officer came in and whispered something into Plutarch's ear.

'She's here,' he said to Haymitch once the officer had left. 'I'm going to go and make sure that she's all right before they bring her in, okay?'

He barely had the energy to nod, but somehow he managed it. Watching Plutarch walk away, Haymitch knew that he would have given anything to be in his place, going to her side when she needed him the most.

Xxx

Effie barely remembered anything before the courtroom appeared before her. She must have slipped into some form of light sleep, as she didn't even hear the guards entering her room; she only realised that they were there when they began shaking her lightly by the shoulder.

She remembered falling, though it felt as if this memory was little more than a dream she could not quite recall. Effie was still unsteady on her feet, but these guards were kinder than those who had brought her there. They did not force her forwards, never pushing her faster than she was able to go, and allowed her the dignity of making her own way supported rather than carrying her in their arms.

Someone must have helped her out of the drab grey hospital gown and into a loose fitting long black dress witch sleeves to cover her scars. She didn't say a word as everything was going on around her. Getting lost in her own little world was easy, almost too easy, and becoming a habit she knew that she would have to kick.

Effie remembered a time when she wore clothes of the finest silk, so bright that she could light up a room when she walked in. No-one had ever really told her that she was pretty, so she had felt the need to make herself into a walking statement with her fashion. It was not quite as radical as some of the other Capitol residents but her clothes were always radiant, uplifting in a manner which matched the sparkling personality she showed the world every day.

Part of her wished that she could go back there, to that world where everything was ugly and treacherous but simpler. The world was a darker place, but she had never had any hope that it would get better so she had survived. It was the hope of something more once Snow had finally died which had hurt her the most – the hope which died, taking part of her with it.

Effie Trinket wasn't really who she was anymore. If she looked in a mirror, she would see a sullen and distant woman with pale skin and thin hair trying to shy away from the world. That wasn't Effie. Effie was someone whose skin shone, accented with makeup of purple or green and with clothes to match. She walked into a room exuding confidence and all eyes rested upon her. Effie was gone. Who she was now…was anyone's guess.

The scratches on her arms, inflicted by her own hand though she could not remember how, were a reminder of this, of the fact that she was no longer the woman she had once been. No-one asked about them, not even Haymitch, and she wasn't sure whether she could have answered if he had. It was a sign of her weakness, she knew, as well as her guilt. She feared that they would never fade.

Her hands were not bound as she rode in the back of a black car to the justice building. She was no danger, everyone knew, and there were enough people surrounding her within the vehicle and in surrounding cars to stop her if she tried to run. Why would she run? It seemed ridiculous to her. What was the point in running away when there was nothing and no-one to run to? Haymitch, perhaps, but he didn't need the hassle. Effie knew that he deserved better than her, and it only made her sad to think that he couldn't see it himself.

When she arrived, Effie was helped slowly into the building though her strength was enough that she could walk a fair way with someone to lean on. She sat down outside the room where her fate would be decided, breathing deeply to try and get enough oxygen into her system. It was only a few seconds later that Plutarch came out with a gentle smile on his lips to see her.

'How are you?'

'Alive,' she replied. It was the only honest answer she could give.

'They said you hadn't eaten anything.'

'I wasn't hungry.'

Plutarch ushered the guards back, so that they could talk with a little more privacy, and knelt before her so that their eyes were level.

'You have to get it out of your head that you are not worthy of life,' he whispered calmly. They both knew he spoke the truth. 'You have nothing to feel guilty about, nothing to fear, and I swear to you that there will be a life for you outside of this place, wherever you wish to go.'

'Thank you,' Effie answered dryly, though her eyes could not quite meet Plutarch's.

'We all have our burdens to bear, and yours I cannot deny is greater than all of ours, but that's what makes you human. That is what makes you better than them, because you care enough to bear that burden.' He took her hand and squeezed it lightly in his own. 'Don't let them win.'

Xxx

Haymitch felt his heart skip a beat when he saw Effie walk slowly into the room with Plutarch Heavensbee. He came and sat beside Haymitch, but the older man's eyes were only on her. She ascended the few steps into the glass box, and supported herself on the wooden side as she was forced to remain standing.

'Could they not get her a chair?' hissed Haymitch.

'I asked, but clearly they did not listen,' Plutarch assured him.

General Atkins entered with the judge and Doctor Andrews, each of whom took their seats. Haymitch felt his heart sink a little as the doctor sat beside the general, looking almost apologetically at him as he did so. The judge was a tall, elderly man with greying hair and a kind look in his eyes. He seemed as unconvinced by the whole situation as they all were, but Haymitch hoped that wasn't because he had already made up his mind.

'I hereby begin the hearing concerning Miss Effie Trinket,' he announced as if he had said it a thousand times before.

'We are here to ascertain whether she is mentally fit enough to stand trial, not whether she is in fact guilty of her alleged crimes though it is likely there will be questions pertaining to their nature and origins. This hearing will be informal, though I do expect compliance and order from every party in the court. Now, General Atkins will make her opening statement.'

The general stood and gestured thanks to the judge, taking out a small piece of paper.

'Effie Trinket is a woman who stands accused of a very serious crime; the crime of taking a life, and nonetheless the life of the President of Panem.

'It is easy to see that Miss Trinket has been through a great deal of hardship since the beginning of the war which shook us all. She attempted to rebel within the Capitol, despite being with child, and was, due to this, arrested by the authorities which resulted in the loss of her unborn baby. After her rescue and recovery in hospital, Effie then suffered from severe bouts of depression and post-traumatic stress, which resulted in her taking a mild form of nightlock over an extended period.

'Gray Freeman, a man known for his part in the war and the more recent rebellion, then attacked and eventually took Miss Trinket captive which led to her being charged with killing the President. Since her freedom was acquired, her health has taken a dramatic downturn and I submit to this court that as a result of her experiences Miss Trinket is not fit to make decisions, and is not only too frail to stand trial but has been so damaged by her experiences that she requires long term care in a psychiatric facility where she can be kept under the justice system's watchful eye in place of a formal sentence.'

Haymitch felt his hands curl into fists. Most of what she had said was true, he could not deny, but the way she had said it made Effie seem like someone who simply broke. It wasn't as if she was asking for Effie to be helped by a mental health professional, Atkins was trying to have her sentenced without the help of the courts who would not hear such a weak case. She was using psychiatric care as a form of imprisonment, he could see it in her eyes.

'Very interesting,' the judge pondered for a moment. 'Why do you think it is, General Atkins, that Effie committed the crimes she is accused of? Is it because of her mental health issues?'

'In a way, your honour, 'she said smoothly. 'I believe that because of the stress caused by her previous experiences, and the pressure which was weighing heavily on her shoulders, that she chose to work with her captors due to her lack of clear judgement.'

'LIAR!' Haymitch screamed, getting to his feet. Plutarch tried to drag him back into his seat, but he was having none of it.

'You knew about Nooka, you knew she had no choice!'

Effie watched him with tears in his eyes, the name of the man she had once worshipped bringing back those most painful of memories.

'Calm down Mr. Abernathy or I will have you removed from the room,' the judge warned. Reluctantly, he returned to his seat.

'President Heavensbee, would you like to explain what was meant by Mr. Abernathy's statement?'

'Yes your honour.'

'As it is now widely known, the man to whom Miss Trinket was once engaged was always working very closely with Gray Freeman and President Snow. His relationship with her was, to him at least, more of an assignment to keep an eye on her, which led to her capture. When Effie was taken again by Freeman, he needed her access to Paylor in order for her assassination to be carried out. Therefore, he and Nooka formed a plot to convince her that his life as well as her own was endangered by her lack of participation in the scheme.'

'And Miss Trinket had no idea that he was working with them?' the judge asked.

'No your honour,' Plutarch replied. 'She had assumed that he had died in the war, that he himself had been arrested as she was and killed, so when she saw him again she assumed that he had never been released and was still at their mercy. It was revealed to her afterwards the extent of his lies.'

'What has this to do with General Atkins' point?'

'It means that Effie did not make this decision using some warped lack of judgement, or because she was impaired mentally from her past experiences. She feared for a loved one, someone she thought was in danger and had no reason to believe otherwise, and made a rational decision as we all would in that situation. If the entire case is built on the assumption that her actions were caused by impediment rather than impossible circumstances, then I see that the case is closed.' Plutarch took his seat once more and gave a reassuring look to Effie, who half smiled back at him.

'Well, General Atkins?' the judge responded, turning to the general who was looking suitably irritated.

'I of course accept the facts Mr. Heavensbee has stated,' she said graciously, though through gritted teeth, 'but the fact remains that since those experiences mentioned by him and her treatment at the District 2 hospital, her mental health has been assessed and called into serious question.'

Effie's heart sank again as the smile flickered from her face. She wasn't going to let this go. She could see it, hear it in the general's tone of voice; she had more, and she wasn't giving up without a fight.

'Go on,' the judge invited.

'After the traumatic events of the shooting of President Paylor, as well as the dreadful revelation that her engagement had been a façade, Miss Trinket must have suffered mentally to some degree. This combined with her incarceration in poor conditions and the wounds inflicted upon her by those guarding her meant that she was very vulnerable. After a difficult escape, resulting in her being shot, she was taken to hospital and told that as a result of her injuries she could no longer bear children. The health evaluations after these facts came to light, observed by Doctor Andrews, show the extent of her psychiatric problems.'

'You are the doctor?'

'Y-yes,' stuttered Doctor Andrews nervously as he stood from his seat.

'And is it correct that you took responsibility for Miss Trinket's care whilst she was in hospital?'

'Yes, but-'

'Please Mr Andrews, just answer simply,' the judge pressed. 'Can you describe the degree of injuries she presented when she arrived?'

'Well the gunshot wound to her shoulder meant that she lost a lot of blood,' Andrews explained, 'but there were signs of severe abuse over an extended period. The internal damage, caused by beating and kicking I assume, was so great that her heart failed at one point and her womb was too badly damaged to save. Effie also had a number of scars and contusions from wounds old and new, most of which attributed to the great loss of fluids.'

It was as if she was reliving every second of it in a flash. Every kick, every punch, every time they had held her down as she screamed for them to stop – she went through it all again as the doctor described it. Effie felt the cold metal of the knife against her bare skin and heard the thud as her bones cracked beneath the pressure of a fist. She closed her eyes, gripping tightly to the wooden side to steady herself. Dizziness clouded her vision, making her head spin, but no-one seemed to notice. She was just the pathetic little woman, probably crazy as well as broken, and nobody cared.

'It says here,' the judge said, looking at the notes before him, 'that there was evidence of self-inflicted injuries. Is that true?'

'Yes, your honour,' the doctor admitted, 'but we cannot gather how she got them, and Effie herself can't remember. To say they are self-inflicted is not to say that they weren't gathered fighting off an attacker or during an escape attempt. The evidence there is inconclusive.'

'Regardless of this, your honour, the facts on which this appeal was made are based during her recent recovery from these injuries, as the doctor well knows,' Atkins interrupted.

'Did you observe some degree of traumatic stress or a mental illness, when you assessed her progress Doctor Andrews?' asked the judge, leaning forwards slightly in his chair.

'I…yes, I suppose,' he mumbled.

'Can you please elaborate?'

'Well I do not think that these particular afflictions are such that they cannot be fixed with a light course of medication or some form of therapy-'

'The facts please, Mr Andrews,' the judge insisted.

'As is to be expected, Effie suffers from night terrors. Her nightmares, whenever she sleeps, are so deep and real that she relives her past experiences in her sleep. This means that she does not often rest at all, and when she does she has to wake after a few hours, but this is something commonly associated with typical post-traumatic stress.'

'There are…only a few other problems I see with Effie's mentality. She cannot be left alone. When she is alone, particularly without the care of Haymitch to whom she has grown close, she panics and cannot handle the situation. It is somewhat more than a simple panic attack, however. Within minutes, Effie can break down to the point here she sees hallucinations, images of the dead and people who cannot possibly be there, and becomes somewhat of a danger to herself.'

'Is she violent in these outbursts?'

'She can be difficult to manage,' Andrews agreed, 'but she does not try to harm others. The more dangerous aspect of her rage and confusion when she is in this state is that she is liable to hurt herself, which she has been known to do.'

'Thank you, Mr. Andrews,' the judge said, allowing Andrews to sit down. 'I feel that this case is simpler than it first seemed. I cannot think why this poor woman should endure a full trial, as it is clear at least to me that she meant no harm. The fact that after everything she has been through she is not coping is unsurprising, but I fear that her dependency on others and the threat to herself untreated is far greater than can simply be dealt with alone.'

Effie's heart stopped. She knew what he was saying; that it was over. She was not being blamed, as far as she could tell, for what she had done but the judge was sentencing her to life in a padded cell. Because she had not had a trial, she could not simply be released if she got better. It could be years before they thought about letting her go, and how would she live until then? It wasn't a life she wanted to lead.

'Please, your honour, let us explain a different side to this story,' pleaded Plutarch, standing up in protest. Haymitch stood up with him.

'She just needs some help, that's all,' Haymitch insisted. 'I can help her, we can all help her; she doesn't need to be carted off to some nuthouse, it's not where she belongs. It'll kill her!'

'I understand your concerns but this matter-'

The judge stopped in his tracks as he watched Effie falter. She stepped back a pace, her legs dangerously wobbling beneath her as her head became heavier and heavier. She heard the sound of screaming, though whether it was from her own lips or the dark corners of her mind she could not say. All she remembered after that was the thud as her broken body hit the floor.

Xxx

Haymitch ran to her as the judge called a recess and Plutarch took him to the side for a word. He pushed passed the guards and knelt beside her, making sure that she was still breathing before allowing a little relief to take over.

'She's cold,' he realised, taking her hand in his own, 'get her a blanket.' Guards ran in all directions at once.

It was seconds before Effie's eyes flickered open, glistening as though riddled with tears.

'H-Hay-'

'Shh, it's okay someone has gone to get help.' The doctor had moved around him to take Effie's pulse and check that she was not in any immediate danger.

'D-don't n-need,' Effie managed feebly before pausing to take a deep breath. 'J-just tired.'

Haymitch rubbed the soft skin of her hand with his thumb, kissing it gently.

'You never needed to say that you were sorry,' he whispered. 'I'm sorry. I've let you down. I should have done more…'

'Y-you…' started Effie before coughing violently, 'y-you saved me. S-so many w-ways. N-never be sorry.'

'I think that she's just in shock,' Andrews explained.

'From what?' asked Haymitch.

'The fall. She probably just fainted given her lack of food, water and sleep; she'll be all right in a few minutes.'

'She should never have been brought here,' muttered Haymitch. 'She should never have had to go through all of this.'

Xxx

Plutarch came over a few minutes later. They had decided not to move Effie until she felt a little stronger, allowing her to get up at her own pace.

'How is she?'

'Okay, we think,' Haymitch told him. 'This hearing should never have been held. She wasn't ready.'

'I know, and I've explained as much to the judge. I've persuaded him to question her, when she's ready of course, before he makes his decision.'

'I…I don't think that she's up to it,' Haymitch admitted.

'He'll be gentle, I've warned him,' Plutarch said, betraying a hint of a smirk. 'Trust me, we have one shot. I've had an idea and it can only work if he speaks to her.'

'I'm ready,' Effie said weakly, pushing herself into a sitting position slowly.

'Woah, you shouldn't sit up too quickly,' Doctor Andrews warned her.

'I'm fine,' she lied, 'I…I need this to be over with.'

'Can she sit down, somewhere next to us?' asked Haymitch. 'I need to make sure she's okay and she can't stand in here any longer.' Plutarch looked almost too pleased with his suggestion.

'Of course.'

Xxx

Effie sat beside Haymitch, trying to give the illusion of strength whilst holding Haymitch's hand beneath the table. She would indulge in his comfort for now; she needed it more than ever before. General Atkins seemed frustrated by the slowing of events, even daring to suggest that Effie had faked her collapse in order to prolong the trial. After that statement, she had been ordered by the judge to sit down and be quiet or leave the court room.

Her heart was racing, pummelling against her ribs with vigour like a drum. She gripped Haymitch's hand tighter as the room settled, and the judge turned to her. He seemed far less intimidating when Effie herself wasn't looking from behind the glass.

'So, Effie,' the judge said gently, as if speaking to her alone would cause her to break, 'do you understand why this hearing has to be held?'

'Yes,' she replied simply.

'I have heard from different sources what you have had to endure; can you put it into your owns words for me?'

'It's…like nothing else. I can't bear to think about the memories, because that means I have to admit that it all happened. I don't know how I survived, in all honesty. I don't know what I'm still doing here.'

'How do you feel now?'

It was a question that she had feared, as she didn't quite know the answer herself. Effie felt tears sting her eyes.

'I'm not sure how to feel,' she tried to explain. 'I…I suppose that I am lucky to be alive, but I…I don't… I feel like I don't quite deserve to be here. I blame myself for President Paylor's death, of course, and I'm not sure how to move on from it. I'm not sure who I am anymore.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'I'm not the person I used to be. I'm not the Effie who ferried tributes or wore pink because she needed to prove who she was…I need to figure out who I am now.'

'I see; I think that is something we can all relate to in a way,' the judge smiled sympathetically. 'Do you accept the things Doctor Andrews has said, about your recent panic attacks?'

'I do,' Effie accepted. 'I…I won't pretend that I'm okay, because I'm not. I can't just forget everything that has happened to me, and I don't think that I ever will. But I have someone, someone who can keep me strong and even if I depend on him this is just the beginning. He can help me survive. I don't deserve your sympathy, I don't want my sins to be forgotten, but I don't think locking problems away can solve them.'

'Well said,' agreed the judge. Effie couldn't help but let a tear slide from the corner of her eye. Haymitch wiped it away with a gentle hand.

'I think that this hearing has run its course,' he said eventually. 'I have taken what you have all said on board, and although I do not feel that Effie should be punished for the last traumatic two years of her life, the question of her continued wellbeing must be considered.'

Haymitch put his arm around Effie and pulled her close, feeling her body trembling beneath his touch.

'In order to ensure that Effie has the best care in the company of the people who care for her, I charge Doctor Andrews to oversee her progress for at least the next two years. During this time, Effie will be cared for by Haymitch Abernathy, her primary carer, and they will be free to go wherever they please. I do not think that a trial should be held, and will have the charges formally dismissed. Effie Trinket, you are free to go.'

She couldn't quite believe it. Her body was numb, her mind even more so, and it took a deep embrace from Haymitch to bring her around. She found herself clinging to him, never wanting to let go, and starting to cry. Atkins stormed out, not saying a word. She had lost.

'Plutarch, thank you,' Haymitch said as the president made to leave. 'You suggested this, didn't you? When you talked to the judge?'

'You won't ever need to thank me; I owe it to you both. Just…be happy, on my behalf will you?'

Xxx

Haymitch and Effie took a car back to the hospital, as he was concerned how pale she was after the day's events. She was unsteady on her feet now, and struggling to keep her breathing steady.

'I'm fine, Haymitch,' she insisted as he gently helped her onto a bed in a private room.

'I know, I just want to make sure.' She looked so tired, barely able to keep her eyes open as her head hit the pillow.

Before he could move away, Effie reached up and kissed him softly.

'I love you,' she whispered, 'I can finally say it. I love you.'

'I love you too sweetheart. We're free, we can do anything.'

Effie looked up at him with sad, distant eyes as if she was puzzled.

'Can we?' she asked, her lower lip wobbling. For whatever reason, she still couldn't believe that it was possible; was that because it wasn't?

Haymitch had no time to answer before Effie's eyes closed. He pulled a blanket over her fragile body, pulled up a chair, and held her hand throughout the night.

Surely now, they could find something. They could do anything; go back to District 12 and live a simple life never having to want for anything. They could be happy.

Couldn't they?

So there we go, hope it wasn't too painful to read. Thanks for your time and if you want to leave a comment go ahead. I wasn't pleased with it entirely, given the format of the trial and everything, but I had to go with what I had.

Thanks