Prompt : hey! maybe a follow on from the "Guilt" prompt where the guilt gets too much or something? And after so much time of thinking about it, she sort of breaks down?

The Reaping Blues

The train arrived in Twelve at the crack of dawn, another sleepless night insured Effie was awake to see it. She had tried to sneak off the train at once but for the first time since she could remember Peacekeepers stopped her. Things had changed in Twelve. They made her wait and wait while she insisted she needed to make sure her victors were ready. Haymitch never was for a Reaping and she knew that one would be worse than any other Reaping they ever faced together. She wasn't ready and that made her frantic. Oh, the wig was there, the make-up covered the dark rings under her eyes but she wasn't ready. She needed to get to him and the stupid Head Peacekeeper wouldn't stop her for long.

She pulled rank. She was sure she didn't make much sense but, at some point, the man probably realized she wasn't going to let it go and that it would be easier to send the escort dealing with the victors than to do it himself and she doubted he wanted to confront an almost hysteric woman six hours before the Reaping of what had been advertised as the best Games there would ever be. He finally let her go. She didn't run to the Victors Village because she had some sense left in her. Not much though, not much indeed, because when she finally arrived at his door, she didn't bother with knocking, she went straight in.

Her first choice was the leaving-room because that was always where she'd found him in the past, passed out on his couch or on an armchair. But he wasn't there. She turned around and headed for the kitchen, that wouldn't be uncharacteristic of him to sleep slumped on the table either…

Haymitch was in the kitchen but he wasn't passed out. He didn't even look drunk. He looked at her, obviously puzzled to find her there, a frying pan in a hand and an empty mug in another. He was making breakfast she realized. Haymitch Abernathy was making breakfast. That was when it downed on her that the house didn't smell like rot any longer. Dust didn't cover every possible surface and, most of all, she couldn't see a single bottle of liquor anywhere. Haymitch's skin had a yellowish tinge to it and both the frying pan and the mug were shaking slightly. He was sober. At last, after years and years of nagging and screaming on her part, he was sober and that had absolutely nothing to do with her. She felt like crying.

"Aren't you a bit early, sweetheart?" he asked when silence stretched from surprised to uncomfortable.

"You're making breakfast." she replied. And then she burst out laughing.

And, predictably, the laugher turned into ugly sobs.

She barely heard the frying pan and the mug being hastily put down, she took one step closer and then he was there, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. She had yearned for this. She had yearned for this since they had announced the Quarter Quell.

"I can't do it." she sobbed, clutching at his shirt. "I killed all those children, I can't kill you too or Katniss and Peeta. I can't."

"I can't do this today, Effie." Haymitch's voice was strained. "I can't… You have to be there for me, sweetheart, 'cause I sure as hell can't be there for you today. We're in my worst nightmare right now."

"You're making breakfast." She didn't know what was so extraordinary about that. Of course he was making breakfast. He couldn't very well survive on whiskey and wine could he?

"I eat sometimes, you know?" he snorted.

"I won't do it." she heaved, pressing her face against his shoulder. "I won't do it. They will have to send someone else, it will take a day or two. It… It will delay the Games. I won't do it, Haymitch, I won't."

There was no gentleness when he tore her away from him and kept her at arm length to search her eyes. She could tell he didn't like what he saw there. "They will kill you."

"Let them!" she roared. She didn't know where the anger had come from but it was there suddenly. Not breast-crushing guilt, no paralyzing fear, but a deep-rooted, helpless anger. It was a nice change. "Let them because I am not killing you."

"You aren't killing anyone." Haymitch argued. "You are going to pick out two pieces of paper that won't do any difference in the long run. Katniss is sure to go and… Peeta and I are ready whatever happens."

"What if I pick out your name?" she hissed, grabbing his arms but his grip on hers didn't waver.

"Peeta will volunteer." He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, like Peeta would only take his place to go buy groceries.

"And if I pick up his name?" She needed to know. She needed to…

"Then, I volunteer, sweetheart." He hadn't anticipated her attack. She flung herself at him with a cry and hammered on his chest with her small fists until he wrapped his arms around her so tight she couldn't move anymore. "What's gotten into you?" he barked. "You're bat shit crazy, Effie!"

"You can't volunteer." She tried to get free but her arms were trapped between their chest. She wriggled enough to look him in the eyes. "You can't volunteer, do you hear me? If you walk in that arena, it's my fault. If you die in that arena, I have killed you. I can't, Haymitch. Not you." There were enough faces haunting her nights as it was. "I can't. I won't do it. I won't reap anymore children."

Haymitch licked his lips nervously. "I'm not a child. Katniss and Peeta are not children either. You're not reaping children today, sweetheart, you're reaping grown people."

She leaned against his chest and he relaxed his grip a bit. "I'm reaping my friends, how is that better?"

"It's not." he sighed. "It's not easier either but… I can forgive you, is that enough? You reap my name, I forgive you."

"I don't want absolution, Haymitch, I don't deserve it." She managed to get her arms free and sneaked them around his waist. "Is that my punishment, do you think? Being forced to reap people I love because I killed so many I didn't care about?"

He remained silent for the longest time. "I don't know." His voice was uncertain but his thumb was drawing soothing circles on her back.

She was thankful he didn't try to lie and say that her regrets made it all alright like others would have done. Cinna and Portia always insisted on that but she knew it wasn't right, nothing would ever make it right. Haymitch scarcely lied to her about that kind of things.

"If I draw Peeta's name and you volunteer…" She closed her eyes and rested her left cheek on his shoulder so that she could stare at the awful wallpaper covering the kitchen walls. It was brown with little birds on it and it was truly, truly awful.

"Then, we'll really be in my worst nightmare." he chuckled bitterly. "And that's why I don't need you doing stupid things like losing it on stage, Princess. Don't make me worry about you today."

He was right of course. Refusing to do her job would result in an accusation of treason and that would result in a lot of unpleasant things. And that wouldn't save them in the long run.

"You agreed on volunteering beforehand." It wasn't a question, she knew him and she knew the children. "You promised Katniss you would save Peeta and you promised Peeta you would save Katniss."

"And they say you're dumb, sweetheart." he teased, but his heart wasn't in it.

"If you get reaped…" She closed her eyes. "You don't plan on winning."

"Think about who will probably get reaped, Effie. Brutus, Finnick… How do you expect me to win?" He kissed her shoulder, right where the strap of her dress gave way to her skin. "Katniss has a chance."

"You're clever." she argued. "You won once."

"I was young once too." he scoffed. "Come on, sweetheart, that has nothing to do with this anyway. Are you going to keep it together now or do I have to worry about you clearing your guilty conscience in front of all Panem?"

"You are the only one who makes me feel better." she confessed. "I'm selfish. If you die…"

"You really know how to cheer up a guy, don't you, Princess?" His laugh was a low rumble in his chest.

"You are the truest friend I have." she insisted. "You are… You…"

"I'm not dying yet." he said. "Hold that thought." He let go of her and made a face. "You need to fix your make-up, you look even more ridiculous than usual."

She cringed and tried to wipe the smudged powder from her cheeks but she would need time and a mirror. "I have some in my purse. May I borrow your bathroom?"

"Borrow away." He waved her in the direction of the bathroom. "I will burn breakfast while you cake your face."

She gave him a small smile and went to fix her make-up. As promised, breakfast was burned. She complained, they argued and, for a short time, she forgot to feel guilty or worried.