Chapter 25: Endings

Weeks, months, years pass, and Haymitch and I fall into a dysfunctional rhythm. We grow together, then apart, then closer than before. I write scripts for shows Plutarch sends me, as well as become a nurse at one of District 12's newly opened hospitals. During training, the blood and gory sights I would witness would rattle me, sometimes making me cry, but Haymitch was always there to assure me that I can pull through it.

"You're Effie Trinket." Haymitch had said. "What the hell can't you do once you set your mind to it? You're the most annoyingly determined woman I know."

"What about Katniss?" I asked.

"Yeah, well, she would be, if she knew what she was doing half of the time." I didn't ask him to elaborate on what he meant by that, but instead sulked up to my room to study for my exam. Remembering Haymitch's words in my head, I passed exceptionally well. When I told Haymitch, he handed me a bottle of whiskey in congratulations. On an impulsive decision, I took it, and drank it all. The next thing I knew, I was waking up with the worst headache of my life. I was also naked, wrapped up in bed sheets, and had bruises lining my body.

"I should have known you'd be a hyper drunk." Haymitch said with a smirk, glass of whiskey in hand, at the end of my bed. I squinted at him, trying to make my vision balance. A groan escaped my lips.

"What I didn't figure was that you would be so rough. Got a lot of frustration out, Princess?" I could hear Haymitch's laughter even after I covered my head with a pillow, a blush on my cheeks. As I put together in my mind the things that happened the night before, I told myself that I'd never drink a full bottle of whiskey again.

As the years passed, it wasn't the last time we were together, but every other time, I made sure that I was sober. Our relationship was dysfunctional, with neither of us coming right out and saying how we feel. We didn't have to. We knew by each others actions.

We listened as Katniss and Peeta each came to Haymitch's house, trying to get us to side with them on matters such as marriage and children. They seemed to stay at odds on these subjects, but as the years passed, Peeta usually prevailed.

"Katniss, stay awake, honey, please!" I said to her, cupping her face into my hands. "Do you hear me?" Katniss nodded, squeezing Peeta's hand as tight as she could. Moments later, a baby girl was born into the world. A few years later she was back in the same hospital bed, giving birth to a baby boy. The joy didn't last long for me, however. While Katniss and Peeta had their hands full with two children now, I had my hands full with Haymitch. It seems that all of those times I told Haymitch he was drinking himself into an early grave, I had been right.

I look at Haymitch in pity as he finishes another one of his coughing spells.

"Let me hear your heartbeat." I say, putting my head on his chest. His heartbeat is irregular. Again. I move away from Haymitch and turn, trying to wipe the tears away.

"I didn't know that the fact that I'm still alive was that upsetting." Haymitch says. He's trying to make a joke to lighten the mood, but it's no use.

"I'm taking you to the hospital. Your skin is turning yellow, even though you're not going through withdrawal. You're coughing and wheezing, you have an irregular heartbeat, you're losing weight and you're getting weaker. I'm not stupid, Haymitch. I'm a nurse now. Your liver is failing." Haymitch frowns.

"Well what do you expect doctors to do if something inside me is failing, Princess?" Haymitch asks. I roll my eyes.

"I'm worried, Haymitch. About you. Please let me admit you." I beg him to go, but Haymitch refuses, even as the symptoms get worse. As the months go on, Haymitch has to stay in bed, too tired and weak to get out. I cut off his alcohol, and I'm not sure if that helps him or hurts him even more. Daisy and Rowan stop by sometimes along with their parents, which whether he admits it or not, seems to cheer him up.

"Are you going to die?" Rowan asks suddenly. The question startles us all, except for Haymitch, who smirks.

"Rowan, dear, it's not polite to ask questions like that." I say, giving a worried look to Katniss and Peeta. We've all been wondering that question ourselves.

"It seems like it." Haymitch says to him, which makes Rowan frown. I quickly assure Rowan that he wasn't being serious, although everyone can tell that he was. Peeta excuses them all to leave, and after goodbyes are said, I wait until I hear the door close to speak to Haymitch.

"Don't scare the children like that." I say seriously.

"It's the truth. Katniss wouldn't want me to lie to them. Peeta, either." Haymitch coughs, and I pat his back.

"You are not going to die. You're a victor. Victors don't die, that's why they're called that. That's the whole point of the word."

"Nobody's a victor forever, Effie." Haymitch says, and I wince, knowing he's right. We stare at each other for a moment as tears well up in my eyes.

"What am I supposed to do then? Huh? Did you even think about me?" I say angrily, and I take to organizing syringes on the end table by his bed.

"What's there to think about?" Haymitch says. He doesn't say it meanly, but his words cut in a way only he can. I fling the syringes on the floor and slap the end table.

"We've been through too much to die now." I yell.

"You're not the one dying, Princess." Haymitch notes. "I am. I'm here on my death bed and we both know it. I should have been here over 30 years ago."

"Don't say that." I say quietly. "There's a reason you survived."

"And what's that, Princess? To help the rebellion? To help Katniss and Peeta? Or maybe we should get sentimental here. Was it so I could meet you?" Haymitch says mockingly, but then his voice turns cold. "Life doesn't have a purpose. We're all just thrown here, and when we die, we die."

"What about Katniss and Peeta, then? Are you saying they don't have a purpose either?"

"Katniss and Peeta were just two kids trying to survive who got caught up in the politics of a horrible place. They're where they are today by chance, that's it." Haymitch's tone is harsh, but sad, and I can't stop the tears from spilling over.

"You don't believe that. I don't know what you do really believe, but it's not that. It can't be that. I also know that you can't come all this way just to give up and die now. You're a victor. Maybe victors die, but I know they don't die without a fight." I tell him. Angry, I gather up the syringes from the floor and leave, slamming the door behind me.

The argument we had prompted him to finally admit himself to the hospital, where they take better care of him than I ever could if he were to stay at his house. Two months later, on a late summer afternoon, Haymitch has a stroke. Even with the advance medical equipment, his body is too worn out and damaged to handle the stroke, and with a final squeeze to my hand, Haymitch dies. My reaction is immediate, but I can't seem to remember much of it, because the doctors didn't have to go a long way to get a sedative.

I'm put in charge of his funeral, and for a day I honestly believe I can't handle planning it, much less attending it. But I do, no matter how difficult it is. Because I'm Effie Trinket, and I can do anything when I put my mind to it.

The day of the funeral, I'm expecting a small service. Katniss and Peeta, Daisy and Rowan, and maybe a few others from the Hob. Plutarch sends his regards through letter, as does Johanna, Annie, Mrs. Everdeen, and there's even a small note attached on the back of Mrs. Everdeen's letter from Gale. When I get to graveyard, however, what I find is truly touching.

A crowd of people are there, formed in a circle around Haymitch's casket. They seem to be dressed in the best clothes they can find, which briefly reminds me of Reaping Day. Immediately throwing away that terrible thought, I politely maneuver my way into the middle of the circle with Katniss, Peeta, Daisy, and Rowan. Daisy and Rowan seem to have some sort of flower in their hands, while Katniss and Peeta each carry a bottle of liquor.

A few guys, Peeta included, help lower Haymitch's casket into the ground, and Peeta and Katniss place their bottle of liquor on the top. Daisy, eyes puffy from crying, hands me a single, purple flower to place into his grave. I hold her hand as the three of us place the flowers in his grave silently. Then, while Peeta and the rest of the men shovel the dirt into the grave, the people of district 12 do something I haven't seen since the war. Holding three fingers up, they hang their heads in mourning. Katniss, staring at the grave, holds three fingers up. Daisy and Rowan look around curiously, then hold three fingers up, too. Once Peeta's done, he slips his hand into Katniss' and holds his fingers up as well.

Tears spill over as I shakily hold up three fingers, using the other hand to silence my sobs. We all stand like that for a few minutes, then slowly, one by one, people leave. Peeta takes Daisy and Rowan home as Katniss and I are the last two standing by Haymitch's fresh grave.

"He loved you. So much. All of you." I say to Katniss, whose eyes never leave his grave. "No matter how much he may have said or acted otherwise, he did. I know it." Without even acknowledging me, Katniss turns to walk away. She takes a few steps before turning around.

"Effie?" Katniss says. I turn to face her. "You too." I give her a sad smile. I sit down by his grave, crying for what seems like hours. Maybe it was. It feels wrong to live in a world where Haymitch isn't here. I keep expecting him to walk up and laugh at his own grave, and mock me for crying. Maybe this was all a sick joke. Maybe I'm just having another nightmare. As I get up and walk back to the house, I realize that he's not coming back. He's not going to be there ever again. My nightmares get worse.

I tend to go to his grave often, because without him the house is lonely. I always suspect he's around the corner, drinking and ready to give me a smartass comment. Plutarch calls to ask if it would be alright if a crew came to District 12 for footage of Haymitch's house, but I refuse. He wouldn't like a documentary to be made about him, much less TV crews coming into his house. Plutarch doesn't seem too happy about my answer, but surprisingly, he doesn't pester me too much about it. Maybe he sensed that now wasn't the time to argue with me about it. I get sad at that thought. Arguments were our thing.

Haymitch's death still gets a lot of attention, however, and I couldn't turn on any news channel for days without seeing one of the headlines as 'Quarter Quell Victor Dies at Age 64'. They talk about how tragic it is that he died so young, but what would they know about tragedy? Some days, I'm convinced I can still feel Haymitch next to me when I wake up, as if we were together the night before. Just like old times. But he's not.

It gets easier, over time, and I watch as Daisy turns into a beautiful teenager. Katniss usually sends her over when Daisy needs makeup help or a girl's night out, which I don't mind at all. Katniss was never good at those things, something that Katniss and I both knew. Despite Daisy being a complete girly girl, she still knows how to hunt, and it seems she has developed her grandmother and late aunt's talent for healing. I help her get an internship at the hospital, where she astounds people with her talent almost daily. Rowan, on the other hand, reminds me of Katniss all over. He gets just as much joy out of hunting as Katniss does, and I frequently see them hauling game bags around town. He also has a talent for painting, probably from Peeta's influence. I even have a few of his paintings hanging up in the living room.

I frequently write letters to Haymitch, as I find it clears my mind. I tell him about events that are happening, and how District 12 is thriving. I wish he could see it. It's better this way, I always remind myself. Now he can rest, healthy and free from nightmares and his dependence on alcohol. This doesn't change the fact that I still miss him. I don't know many things about love, but I'm pretty sure I loved him. I think he loved me, too. Maybe we never said it out loud, but our actions were enough. That's what I tell Daisy, too, when she asks.

The End