Tremendous thank you to XmadlyinloveX, Deadlyrose70, AlexMichele, Minerva-Amantine, ErinAbernathy, ShortySC22, NintenGirl2002, All For Jesus, SassMonster, HogwartsDreamer113, Savysnape7, The Hunger Games-My Life, Guest, Gdreams, emily, Right Hand Blue, lovingtheboywiththebread, reppad98, DrGiggles, Ameliaxox, MayFairy, Demigawdz of Asia, Guest, xxsyastachexx, Abby and Liv Snigglebottom, sportygirl23, and homicidalhufflepuffs for the lovely feedback messages you left last chapter. And, of course, much gratitude to those who followed and favorited as well. Seriously, this story would not be being updated more often as it has been without all of your support. Ending on that note, here is the next chapter.
Chapter thirty four: Something Old, Something New (Part One)
After much evaluation, the doctors determine that my recovery is well enough along that I no longer need to be under constant surveillance. So, ironically falling on my third week anniversary of my arrival here in District Thirteen, I am discharged from the clinic in the early hours of the morning with nothing more than an identification badge, a wheelchair, and of course, the baby.
It's an uneventful, quiet sort of farewell from the colorless hallways of the ward. Not so much as a hug nor even well wishes of good luck are offered as Haymitch wheels me away, Olive cradled in my arms. Yet, even though I am one for the utmost usage of manners, I take no offense to the lack of friendliness shown to my departure. In fact, as the elevator doors close behind us, blocking any final glances of my previous home for the last several days, a sense of relief washes over me that I am unable to describe. A sense that, even Haymitch much share mutually with me, is one of the highest hopes that there will be no returning to this section of Thirteen for the reminder of our stay-however long that will initially be.
"You're awfully quiet," Haymitch tells me after a few moments, interrupting the soft hum of the elevator as it begins to descend. "Not that I'm complaining or anything like that."
I look to Olive who lies stationed in the crook of my arm. She looks back to me, her eyes still quite large in comparison to the rest of her face and her hair considerably lighter to when she was first born. I cannot help but offer a small smile, dangling my index finger in front of her tiny hand until she takes a hold of it in her own grasp. My chest rises with a breath as I turn slightly towards Haymitch, my gaze meeting his own.
"I'm not sure what you want me to say," I reply, most of my attention still directed on the baby. "Then again, I'm not quite sure if I know what to say either."
Haymitch nods absentmindedly, his fingers drumming lightly on the handles of the wheelchair. No words are exchanged as we pass the fifth and then the fourth floor and its only when the lightened numbers on top of the elevator door pause on three does he open his mouth again.
"She's been quiet too," Haymitch says in reference to Olive. "Not cried once this morning. Not even when I woke her up to change her. Kid handles the early morning better than I can."
"Don't jinx it," I warn, unable to suppress the soft smile that now forms on my lips. "I'd rather not have her wailing all of the time. It's rather upsetting not knowing what is causing her distress when she is unable to communicate verbally. Perhaps I'll work with her on that soon."
"She's a baby, Princess. It's going to be much longer than "soon" before you can do that," Haymitch scoffs.
"You know what I mean," I say as I readjust Olive's position in my arms.
"Can't ever assume that with you."
I throw him a sideways glare as the elevator doors glide open to a thankfully empty hallway where no one could possible catch my rather unpleasant expression. Haymitch, either ignoring or not even taking note of my annoyance towards his comment, merely begins to push the wheelchair from the elevator to the floor without so much as a second of hesitation.
We go in silence down the long corridor, Olive taking to sucking on my finger for whatever reason she sees fit as we go. Babies are curious creatures and though, maybe months ago I would have found this finger sucking utterly repulsive, I cannot help but feel a sense of adoration towards this gesture now. Maybe it helps that it is my own daughter rather than the child of a stranger. Whatever the case may be, motherhood has definitely altered some of my previous preferences.
"Home, sweet home," Haymitch mutters, inadvertantly breaking the trance I am in. "Or, whatever the hell you want to call it anyways."
My gaze lifts from Olive to the dark, metal door that now sits in front of my path. It's simple, nothing that could possibly hold anything too exciting behind it. However, in curiosity, when I turn my head in either direction, I notice for the first time that several of these sorts of doors line the hallway in complete uniformity. Exact replicas of one another, almost apartment like. I look back to Haymitch, watching as he mutters to himself while digging through his pockets until his hand reemerges with what appears to be a keycard. He slides it through a thin slit near the doorknob and much like any other mechanical door I've come across, it clicks and Haymitch takes the knob and flicks it open.
It's a sight that I am neither expecting nor really that prepared for. Something that should have been given away to me by Haymitch's previous choice of statements and yet, was not. A bedroom. Or, most of one at least. A large bed with somewhat white and sort of pressed sheets, two pale wooden bedside tables each complete with a primitive looking lamp, and far off to the side what appears to be an old bassinet that somehow seems to stay up despite its legs looking riddled with age. But that's all. No kitchen. No living room. No other space. Just simply a bedroom.
"Tried to make it look as nice as I could," Haymitch says as he pushes me inside. "But damn place is sort of stingy with things if you haven't figured that out yet."
My left cheek burns slightly and I suddenly realize that I've been chewing on it absentmindedly. An old habit of mine, along with nail biting, that is my way of coping with difficult situations. For a few seconds, I say nothing, some part of me subconsciously hoping that this is not where I am expected to stay for however long. I inhale deeply, trying to formulate something that would not sound incredibly rude.
"Are you sure the crib will be safe for the baby?" I ask slowly, eyeing the ancient piece of furniture with distaste. "It looks…used."
"Of course it's used," Haymitch replies tersely. "Nothing here is brand new, Thirteen doesn't tend to waste things just because they've been used or," he pauses. "Reused. But they told me that it was still safe and I've tested it a few times myself."
I look to him in shock and he rolls his eyes.
"With a stack of newspapers, Princess, not with my body. I'm not brainless." He inhales deeply, rolling his shoulders. "Anyway, nothing's gonna happen to her if she sleeps in it." And before I have a moment to react, Haymitch gingerly lifts Olive from my arms and looks down at her. "Isn't that right, Half Pint?"
Olive merely moves her head a little to the side, her large eyes staring up at Haymitch without much focus. He chuckles softly, shifting her in his hold as he looks to me, an expression of smugness on his features.
"Even the kid isn't scared," he says. "You shouldn't worry either."
The corners of my lips twitch, a frown threatening to appear. "I have every right to be concerned about what my daughter—"
"Our," he corrects.
"Our daughter sleeps in," I say firmly. "You should as well. I find it rather concerning how relaxed you are about this. What if she falls through or it topples over or completely collapses in on her? Then what, Haymitch?"
"I told you I tested it," there's agitation in his voice now. "Several times."
"And what if this is the time it actually does break?" I continue. "How can you be so certain?"
"I'm not," Haymitch snaps. "What the hell do you want me to say, Effie? What will convince you or make you feel better or just shut up about this?"
"I don't know, Haymitch!" I cry out, throwing my hands up in the air. "I don't…I just don't know. Alright? Everything is just moving so fast, I can't even think straight. I'm exhausted and sore and this," I motion vigorously to the room. "Is not what I had in mind. None of this!"
Olive whimpers softly in Haymitch's arms as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. He looks to me, lips pursed slightly as he rocks her gently. I can feel my heart pounding against my chest, my hands trembling in my lap. Suddenly every fear, every worry that had not plagued me previously in the past three weeks had washed over me in one, full blown tidal wave. This is not due to an unacceptable crib. This is a panic attack.
"This isn't just about the crib, is it?" Haymitch asks quietly.
I shake my head, resting it in my hands. "No. No, it's not…" I lift my head a little and look at him. "It's everything."
His chest rises, a look of uncertainty forming on his features. "Like what?"
"Before I had schedules, orders, directions—I was in charge. And then I was pregnant and I could determine what I did and how I did and she was safe. Olive was fine. But now…now we're out of the hospital and Haymitch," tears stream relentlessly down my cheeks. "I don't know anything about babies or being a mother. Now you and I, we're alone in this. And—and this stupid crib," I swallow hard, struggling to recollect myself. "Haymitch, I can't do this. I can't. I know nothing. I'm unprepared. I'm not ready. I'm not in control!"
"Effie," Haymitch replies after a few moments. "Do you think anyone is ready to have a kid?"
"I…" I sniff, wiping ungraciously at my nose with the back of my hand. "How am I supposed to know the answer to that?"
"They aren't. No one ever is. Doesn't matter how old or young you are. How rich or poor you may be. Where you're from or what background you might have. None of that changes much. None of it reflects what type of parent you'll be. Or," he adds, "if you're ready or not."
I rub underneath my eyes, catching the last few stray tears that slip down my face. Hormones. Exhaustion. Stress. It had been so long since I had truly broken down in front of Haymitch like this. I take a deep breath and one more for safe measure. Slowly, my heart begins at beat its regular rhythm; the heat from the hysteria dying down with it. I blink, my eyelashes wet and heavy as I look to Haymitch more clearly now.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," I exhale. "I haven't felt the same since…"
"Since what happened," he finishes, knowing full well I mean my imprisonment. "I know the feeling. Sort of."
I nod, wringing my hands together slowly as I glance towards the back wall. Is it so wrong of me to wish that none of this had ever happened? That I was still clueless Effie, the escort of Twelve, without a care other than my job? I was happier then. Even if it were a false happy, I was still okay.
"It won't ever go away," Haymitch continues. "The memories, I mean. I'm being honest with you, Princess, this sort of thing will stick with you. I'm not going to sugarcoat it for your comfort. But I will say that it'll get better than it is now. With time. The nightmares will fade. The anxiety with it. And like most of us had to, you won't have to go through it alone."
Olive makes a small noise and Haymitch looks down at her. He offers a genuine smile, an expression nearly rare to him as he brushes the tips of his fingers down the side of her face. She blinks, wriggling just the slightest in his arms and he snorts, assumingly amused by this strange gesture.
"You have us. Olive and me," he says finally, lifting his gaze from the baby. "Maybe not the best form of therapy. We both come with our own unique burdens but no family is perfect. Not any that I have met anyways. But it's better than being alone. I understand that now."
There is not strain on my part to hide the smile that now crosses my expression at his words. We are dysfunctional, a word that is used very mildly when describing our relationship. But we are family. Something that has so much more meaning to me now than it did when I lived with my late mother. I merely nod in response to his words, struggling to find my own reply when there's a knock on the door.
"What?" Haymitch calls out, his voice lacking any enthusiasm. "This better be good. I requested today off weeks in advance. I have—"
"President Coin is calling an urgent meeting, sir," a voice I do not recognize replies. "She requests your presences at this time."
"Any meeting can wait," he retorts. "I don't hear any bombs or—"
"She requests that you come now, sir," the voice interrupts. "Or any necessary measure will be used to make sure you attend."
Haymitch curses vulgarly under his breath, his face resuming the expression I remember so well from Coin's first visit. Carefully, maneuvering Olive securely in one arm, he helps me up slowly with the other and makes sure that I'm safely on the bed before handing the baby to me.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles, a look of sympathy quickly flashing across his face before it's replaced by one of annoyance. "I have to go. Coin's consequences for not abiding orders are never mild. Hasn't happened to me but Gale Hawthorne has seen a punishment or two since his arrival here." He straightens up, hair slightly askew against his untrimmed face. "I'll be back when I can. I'll see about getting a better crib for Olive if I find the right moment in a conversation to bring it up."
He leans forward, looking as if he is about to say something else but instead, reaches towards Olive and gently brushes the light wisps of her hair down with the pads of his fingers.
"See you later, Half Pint," he says to her. "Try not to give your mom any trouble when I'm not here to help you with it."
He looks to me, his lips forming a half smile as another knock sounds from the door. His eyes roll, mouth uttering the ungodly words I hope never to hear Olive repeat before he finally turns, leaving me alone with the baby as he exits the room with so much hurry I haven't the chance to wish him even the simplest of farewells.
I find myself staring aimlessly at the door from which Haymitch left from. Some small part of me hopes that there is a chance he will reappear at any given moment. However, that faint glimmer of optimism fades away as the seconds drag into minutes and the door stays shut tight. Olive makes one of her tiny noises from within my arms and as I look down at her, readying myself for if she cries, I realize that this is the first time that I am truly alone with her. No nurses monitoring me from far off rooms. No call buttons nor anything to alert anyone if there is a sign of trouble. Completely, visibly alone.
My gaze is unfocused as I watch the small infant nestled in my arms. She doesn't squirm much nor really move in the slightest, just merely looks up to me with an expression as indistinct as mine must be. I inhale deeply, fear twisting in my stomach at every possible thought of how something could go wrong during Haymitch's absence.
"Hopefully your father will be returning soon," I murmur, knowing full well that this gesture is utterly ridiculous as she cannot understand me. "Let's try to behave until then, yes?"
Her small fingers curl and uncurl against the fabric of her charcoal gray onesie, drool glossing her pouting lips. I take to shifting her lightly in my arms, making sure her head is properly supported while watching ever so vigilantly for any sign of distress. When there is none, my pulse begins to slow, relief covering the fear at a gradual pace.
"This was not what I had imagined for when you were born," I tell her quietly. "Then again, I'm not too sure what I had in mind but certainly a one roomed living space was not at the top of my list."
More drool bubbles from her mouth and surprisingly, I find myself unfazed by this. Without truly considering it, I take the edge of my sleeve and wipe away at it, ignoring the damp stain it leaves on my clothing's fabric. My eyes fall to her face, looking once more for any signs of distress but noting instead how it seems her eyelids droop down and her breathing slows from its usual rapid rate. Perhaps she will soon fall asleep. Something we both, I know, truly need.
"But I assume it's better than having nothing," I say softly. "And it's no commendable service on my part for that. Haymitch, your father, did most of this. The home, I mean. And I'm sure if there had been anything better, he would have gotten it—or tried at least."
It's comforting in thought at least, to speak to her even though she cannot respond or comprehend this conversation. She really is a good baby, not crying as frequently as most do during the day. Being somewhat decent during the night. Perhaps Haymitch and I are lucky. Or maybe it's just a phase and the worst is to come. Whatever the case, I take moments such as these not for granted, enjoying what peacefulness I can, while I can.
"He's rough around the edges, your father, but he means well." Her eyes are nearly closed by now but I continue to speak, under the impression that perhaps it's my talking that is lulling her unconscious. "He's a good man with a good heart who has just been through a lot. But he cares for us. You and I. Even if I do find his nickname for you highly inappropriate."
The urge for slumber begins to come over my own body now as if Olive's is contagious. I inhale deeply once more, watching bleary eyed as the baby breathes slowly, lips slightly ajar as she sleeps deeply.
"Maybe soon we'll be able to leave from this dreaded place. Away from all of these worries. These troubles. Then maybe we shall be allowed to return home. Go back to District Twelve." For what reason I'm continuing to speak, I'm unsure, but I do so nevertheless. "You'll like it there," I assure her. "There's this meadow that isn't too far from the house. Very pretty. Natural. Colors that not even the Capitol can recreate. Maybe we'll take you out there when you're older. If you promise to keep your clothes unstained, of course..."
With exhaustion, my mind grows hazy, my words becoming slurred with my thoughts. The conversation tapers off after that, unconsciousness becoming unsettled with me as I slip in and out from it, always waking to check on Olive. She continues to sleep seemingly more at ease than I. At some point, whether it is day or night—I'm uncertain—the room's door creaks open and a figure steps inside silently.
My eyes squint, focusing on the dark figure who stands much taller than I across the room. I know it must be Haymitch and yet, my mind is too wary to confirm such a conclusion on its own.
"Haymitch?" I mumbles, sitting up a little against the pillows.
"Yeah," the voice that replies sounds as tired as I feel. "It's me. Did I wake you?"
"It's alright," I say quietly. "My rest wasn't as peaceful as one might hope."
He grunts in response and through the darkness, I watch as he makes his way over to the bed, something cradled in his arms. When he sits down beside me, I cannot help but gaze curiously at what he holds, ever so mindful of the baby still asleep in my own hold.
"She been good?" Haymitch asks quietly, nodding towards Olive.
"She's slept most of the time you've been away," I inform him, not tearing my eyes from what he holds. "What do you have there?"
There's a soft rumpling of parchment as Haymitch shifts, moving the large object onto his lap as he retrieves something smaller from on top of it.
"Went to the clinic after Coin's meeting to see if they had any other cribs," he mumbles. "They refused to issue us another one without proper verifications that the one we had was unfit for usage. But," and he holds out an object towards me, no bigger than a playing card. "They gave me this."
Careful, as not to jostle Olive, I take what he holds out to me and peer down at it. Through what little light is in the room, I can make of the outline of a figure. Looking closer, to my surprise, I recognize the tiny body of Olive. Her hair as dark as it was when she was born. Her skin slightly blotched and wrinkled as most newborns seem to be soon after birth. The one and only picture I have seen of my daughter since her birth.
"Haymitch," I breathe. "What—"
"They said that District Thirteen requires an image for each citizen's information file. After they did Olive's, by some stroke of luck, an extra copy of her picture was made and when I went to check on the crib, they let me keep it." Haymitch informs me. "Thought you'd like it or something."
I hold the picture gently between the tips of my fingers, marveling at how much Olive seems to have grown since then. Something that I know I will treasure for the rest of my life. I look to Haymitch, my smile probably nearly invisible through the dark room.
"Thank you," I murmur. "It's beautiful."
"Don't thank me yet," Haymitch mutters, now seeming to direct his attention to the larger item, a box, on his lap. "This is also for you."
My eyes gaze at the box as Haymitch lifts the lid from it, tossing the top effortlessly onto the floor once it's removed. Rather roughly, he pulls out something that much resembles a dress from it's center, the material identifiably a dark shade even in this lighting. He holds it up towards me, a musky smell wafting through the air as he does so.
"And this is from President Coin," his voice is edged with distaste as he speaks. "Something that she expects you to wear tomorrow to Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta's wedding."
"A wedding?" I ask, my throat burning slightly from the dress's stench. "I do love weddings but I don't even know Finnick Odair much less Annie." Both whom had become victors in my early years as an escort. Both whom I had surprisingly not paid too much attention to at the time.
"It's to be filmed," Haymitch says quietly. "And you, me, and even the kid are expected to attend."
"For what reason?" I ask, still very shocked about this unexpected invitation. "Why is it so important that we attend? What interest are we?"
Haymitch is quiet for what feels like the longest moment in existence. Then, through the silence, I hear him draw a long, unmistakable breath. My heart automatically begins to pound, fear rising within me when only moments before, I had felt at ease.
"Coin called many of us today to inform us of what is to come in the next few weeks," he says slowly. "Tomorrow, Finnick and Annie's wedding will be a rather large part of it but not for the sake of their marriage."
"Then for what?" I venture, unsure if I even desire to know the reason.
"Final interviews," Haymitch replies, his voice holding a strange combination of exhaustion and anger. "Johanna Mason's. Katniss Everdeen's. Your's. Other less prominent individuals that Plutarch and Flavia seem fit to speak to," he pauses. "Tomorrow is the end in the beginning, Effie."
My heart is beating so fast within my chest, I cannot help but wonder if I have recracked my healing ribs.
"What are you talking about, Haymitch?" I whisper, my voice shaking. "I don't think I understand."
Haymitch is silent again, seemingly struggling with what he is about to say next. And even before he opens his mouth and begins to speak, some part of me knows that what he is about to utter will change everything any of us has ever known.
"Tomorrow evening," he says slowly. "After your interview airs, District Thirteen is declaring war on the Capitol of Panem."
My stomach twists. My body becomes numb and all of my senses seem to dull with it. I look to Haymitch, blinking through the darkness and he looks to me, my voice far gone from replying. So Coin was finally getting from me what she had wanted all along. A piece of propoganda. A last attempt to excite the population of Panem. And I, made a rebel against most of my own choices, would become more involved with all of this than I had ever expected. This truly is not just a war between the rebels in the Capitol. This is a battle between my old home and my new one with those I love.
This is my civil war.
Another two part chapter, sorry about that guys. Lately I have been trying to update every two weeks and since both my laptop and home computer are down, I have been forced to write what little time I am given at the library. And since I have exams this week and the next, I wanted to make sure to give you guys something and not have you waiting forever. I promise, next chapter is the wedding and the interview and I'm super excited about what Effie will say (and what Johanna will say to Effie in the next chapter because-and I don't want to spoil anything-but I'm hoping it's as awesome as I'm picturing this all in my mind).
I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. I promise for some excitment soon and more Hayffie fluff and Hayffie parenting moments. Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated and seriously keeps me writing and eager to write despite having very little technology to do so. Also, I am debating having Effie speak to Peeta and Katniss next chapter so if you'd be interested in her seeing them for the first time in weeks, let me know because I cannot decide to save my life. Thanks so much guys! You truly are the best readers. -Jen