Prompt : I loved your one shot "lies sweet lies" could you please write a sequel where Effie tries to put her life back together, but fails and after some time she attempts suicide, because she thinks there's no place left for her. Plutarch calls Haymitch immediatly and they have a small talk at the hospital, at the end of which he half force, half ask her to come back to 12 with him?

Prompt : Your Hayffie fics are amazing! If you're still taking prompts then could you do something set after the rebellion, where Haymitch finds out Effie's been self medicating (like abusing drugs) to deal with her problems after her time imprisoned by the Capitol?

Prompt : Oh hi, i have a really dark prompt to ask to you, can you one of a broken and suicidal Effie, she is so defeated if what teh capitol has done to ehr that she believes she has noone and so that spiral a lot of things for hher. Please can you do it? and Thank you.

You people like your angst, don't you? XD Okay, just to clarify, I know nothing about drugs and I was too lazy to do research so I focused on the Hayffie part ; )

Still a Team

Effie blinked, her movements sluggish. Her eyelids felt like lead, her mouth was parched and there was a foul taste there, her whole body was hurting. She panicked for a second, thinking she was back in the Capitol jail, back to tortures and humiliation, back into her worst nightmares…

"It's just like you, Princess." came a familiar voice on her right. "Making people wait hours for you to wake up and then make them wait a little more before you open your eyes."

Not the Capitol but another brand of nightmares entirely, then. The lights were dim – hospital, her mind supplied – but it still hurt her eyes. It took almost a minute before she could actually see anything and another before she turned her head towards the voice. Haymitch was there, slumped in a visitors chair, and contrary to what he claimed, waiting patiently for her to properly wake up. He looked exhausted, irritated and absolutely done with the world. It brought back a few unpleasant memories : her on a hospital bed and him dutifully waiting by her bedside with ready-made apologies and rushed explanations. It was Thirteen all over again.

"Water." she croaked.

There was a full glass already waiting on the table near her head. He helped her sip from it slowly and took it away before she could drink too much and make herself sick. The water helped her clear her mid a bit but not much, she still felt as if her head was wrapped tightly in cotton and was full of smog. She wasn't a stranger to the sensation though, sleeping pills did that.

"I need to know if you did it on purpose or if it was an accident, sweetheart." Haymitch said, after sitting back down. "And don't you dare lie about this."

She blinked some more. "What…" Talking was hard for some reason. Her throat hurt. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Grey eyes scanned hers searching for a lie. He didn't seem to find one because he frowned. "You overdosed." He rubbed his face and when he spoke again, his voice was harsh and angry. "Almost gave me a heart attack in the process, too."

Overdosed? She had trouble grasping his meaning. Overdosed… And then it came back to her. The despair she had felt the day before, the overflow of feelings… She lived with a hollowness inside of her ever since the rebellion and her time in jail, they had broken something inside of her she was sure she would never mend. The nightmares, the panic attacks, the flash-backs… It was nothing compared to that hollow void inside of her chest. Her doctor had been prescribing her sleeping pills and when he had stopped, claiming she would get addicted if she didn't slow down, she had found them by other less legal ways. It was the only way to rest, to bear the memories for a short while… It had long stopped making her sleep but it dulled her mind for a few hours and that was good enough for her.

Until the day before. She never left her apartment unless she really needed to nowadays but there had been absolutely nothing left to eat and she hadn't been able to put off the trip to the grocery store any longer. She had met three people from a District there, people who had recognized her – she didn't know how, she didn't look much like she used to, her real hair fell flat on her head, she was so thin you could count her ribs and she was always skittish so people tended to stay clear of her path – and had started following her, calling her names, threatening her, telling her she deserved a thousand deaths for what she had done… It had already happened before but she could remember the moment in the store, where her will had just… snapped. She could remember the moment of clarity where she had realized she had nothing to live for, no family or friends to miss her, nothing to which she could hang on, no one to catch her. She hadn't even made it back to her apartment, she had dived into the first alley she had passed and she had swallowed the entire vial of pills. She remembered sitting down between two garbage bins and waiting for release.

Her mistake, she should have gone back to her place. No one would have found her there.

"Why are you here?" she asked, focusing hard on speaking properly. Her brain still felt sluggish, her mouth weird… They must have done something to her in the hospital. Drugs or something. Despite her best efforts, her words came out slurred.

"The woman who found you recognized you." Haymitch explained, his eyes never wandering away from her. "They didn't know what happened to you, if someone tried to hurt you or if you did that to yourself. The hospital called Plutarch." He shrugged. "Plutarch sent me a hovercraft."

She frowned. "Why?"

"Why?" he repeated between two bitter chuckles. "Because you fucking overdosed, Effie. Do I have to spell that for you?"

She closed her eyes. "My spelling skills are intact, thank you." she mumbled. It probably wasn't as convincing or clever as she wanted it to be. She took a deep breath and then pushed on her arms to sit up. That wasn't a smart move. She tottered left and right and if Haymitch hadn't bolted from his chair to steady her, she probably would have fallen. She gripped his arms and he sat down on the bed, next to her hip. She could feel his warmth through the thin white sheets. It was cold in there, what was she even wearing? A white paper blouse strewed with blue dots that did nothing for her dignity. "I want to go home." she hissed between clenched teeth. The headache hadn't been bad when she was laying down but now… "Tell them."

"Yeah, I figured you would say that." he snorted. "Problem, sweetheart, they don't let people who try to kill themselves go that easy."

Easily, she corrected mentally out of habit but the words didn't come out.

"I didn't." she lied, looking down. His pants were stained at the knee. Once upon a time, she would have chided him about that but at that point she simply couldn't muster the energy.

"Didn't you?" he gripped her chin gently to force her to meet his eyes. She did. And then she looked away. "It took some convincing before they accepted to release you in my care."

"Good." she said, relieved. "So find me some clothes and a cab and you can be back in Twelve for dinner." Figure of speech of course, she didn't know what time it was. She tried to get a clumsy leg out of the bed but he grabbed it before she could actually try to stand up. Probably a wise decision, she realized, when the room started spinning.

"Take it easy." he said. "They won't let you go before a doctor sees you."

"Then, go fetch me a doctor!" she snapped. She couldn't take it. The white walls, the white sheets, the hospital bed and the smell of antiseptic. It reminded her too much of endless nights in Thirteen, of days full of pain while she tried to recover. "I want to leave." She tore the needles off her arm before he could stop her. Perfusion and whatever it was be damned. "I want to leave."

"Okay, okay." He gripped her arms and held her in place. "You calm down or they will sedate you and you won't ever get out of here."

She calmed down at once, but her heart kept racing and she could feel tears running down her cheeks. He stared at her for a few seconds and then he gathered her against his chest. She struggled a little because she didn't want that, she didn't want his pity but he didn't release her and she just… gave up. She slumped against him and she closed her eyes. She couldn't remember when was the last time someone held her that way, the last time she had a human contact, the last time someone touched her…

"I was so mad when I got here, Effie." Haymitch grunted against her hair. "I swear I could have killed you." He held her tighter. "I was scared to death."

"Of what?" She tried to hold back the sobs but it didn't quite work out and she ended up sniffing without any class.

"Losing you." He kissed her head. "If things were so bad, why didn't you call me?"

She shrugged pitifully. "I didn't think you would care."

"Still dumb, then, sweetheart." he joked, leaning back a bit.

She looked up at him and found herself smiling a little. It hurt. She couldn't remember the last time she had smiled. She placed a hand on his cheek, her thumbnail scraping the beard. "Still scruffy."

He smirked. For a second, it was like they were back in time, mentors and escorts in the middle of Games they didn't want to be a part of. She was sure he would kiss her just to shut her up and then they would make up. For an actual second, she was maybe not happy but content.

And the arrival of a too cheerful doctor made the bubble burst. The man asked Haymitch to wait outside for a while, he suggested Haymitch found the cafeteria since he had gone a whole day and a half without leaving that room – which was news to Effie and made her heart beat a bit faster – but she clung to his hand and Haymitch didn't need any additional incentive to decline. She didn't like doctors much more than she liked hospitals and she hated strangers even more. Fortunately, the man seemed to understand well enough what the problem was and didn't make a scene. The conversation that followed wasn't pleasant though and she almost regretted not sending Haymitch away. It was humiliating to be asked if she had intended to commit suicide, if she had considered talking to a specialist both about her drug addiction and her suicidal tendencies… She denied everything but she fooled no one. The doctor tried to convince her to stay but she still insisted on leaving. As was the politic of the hospital, the man finally agreed to release her in her next-of-kin's care, Haymitch in that case for whatever reason he had given.

"Where are my clothes?" she asked, as soon as the doctor had left. She couldn't wait to get out of there, go back to her apartment, burrow under her covers and hide from the rest of the world forever.

Haymitch threw an overly sized bag on her bed. She frowned and looked inside to find her most practical dresses, blouses and skirts neatly folded. There also was her small vanity case. She looked at him inquisitively and he shrugged. "Plutarch sent Fulvia to your place."

"She packed as if I would be gone a month not a night." she commented, fighting hard not to roll her eyes because it would be rude. "Well, it was nice of her, I suppose." She grabbed the first pair of underwear and the first dress she found, not particularly caring about how she looked. She had discarded wigs and make-up a few months ago, it didn't seem worth it when she was alone in her apartment all day. She had let herself go, she knew, Haymitch had been uncharacteristically kind enough not to mention it but she knew how she looked. "She also made sure there were no pills left at home, am I wrong?" She didn't bother stepping in the bathroom to get dressed, there was nothing he hadn't seen before and there was nothing appealing there anymore anyway. That gave her an excuse not to look at him.

"I guess." he shrugged, sitting back on the bed and watching her like a hawk. It made her uncomfortable. "Doesn't matter, you're not going back there."

Her hands froze on the zipper of the dress and she looked at him, her head suddenly very clear. "I am not going to another hospital or one of those fancy rehab clinic. I don't care what you or Plutarch decided for me, I take my own decisions. I can take care of myself."

"You obviously can't." he interrupted her calmly. "You overdosed in a back alley, you passed out in the middle of garbage, sweetheart. I don't trust you with your life, right now, so I'm not letting you go back to that."

"You have no right…" she started, pointing an accusing finger at him. He stood up and clasped her hand in his more gently than she thought he was capable of.

"I don't." he agreed. "But I'm taking it anyway because I care about you and I don't want Plutarch to call me again in a week to tell me you're gone." He turned her around slowly and zipped her dress up before pressing a soft kiss to her nape. "I'm taking you back to Twelve with me."

"No." she refused, folding her arms over her chest. "People will hate me and…"

"Katniss and Peeta are working on that as we speak." He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Plus, the kids need someone to take care of them and I know you, you need to be in charge of something or you go nuts. That works for everyone. You're coming back with me, I phoned Peeta yesterday, he made sure my guestroom was ready for you."

"I couldn't take care of a goldfish right now even if I wanted to." she confessed, leaning back against his chest. He sneaked his arms around her middle section. It felt natural, like years hadn't passed at all since the last time he had done that.

"What about geese?" he asked, sounding very serious.

"Geese?" She was confused. What did geese have to do with anything?

"Yeah, geese." he shrugged. "It helps when there's no alcohol left. I take care of the geese and I forget to drink for a while."

She could picture it. He probably built a pen that was always open and didn't do a good job at keeping the birds in. They probably even wandered in his kitchen. "Geese are filthy things."

"Perfect distraction for you, then, Princess." he chuckled. "You can try to teach them how to be clean."

"You can't teach birds how to be clean, Haymitch." She shook her head. "I don't want to go."

"Would you rather go back to your empty apartment?" he snapped. "Your empty life? I'm not leaving you here, Effie. I want you where I can watch you because if you try to kill yourself again…"

"You will do what?" she spat, turning around to face him. His arms let her go and she immediately yearned for his protective embrace. "You're such a hypocrite, Haymitch. You haven't stop drinking why should I give up the only thing that gives me peace?"

He couldn't deny the truth of that statement but that didn't stop him, oh no… Nothing would ever stop Haymitch Abernathy once he had set his mind on something. He was a stubborn man. "Let's do this together, then." He shrugged. "I stop drinking, you let your pills in the Capitol."

She found herself laughing almost hysterically, hot tears streamed down her cheeks. "We will kill each other. We won't even last a week!"

A smile tugged at his lips and he pulled her into another hug. She didn't fight it. She just clung to him like he was her lifeline. Perhaps, he was. Despair hadn't kicked in yet and it usually did right after she woke up, Haymitch kept that away she was sure. Even the hollowness inside of her wasn't so painful at the moment.

"Well, sweetheart, then you should hop in the next hovercraft." he mumbled in her hair, it was bitter and angry again and she wondered where it had come from. "You wanted to die less than twenty-four hours ago."

"Not really." she replied slowly. "I just… felt like there was no point anymore." She swallowed with some difficulties, her throat still hurt which, the doctor had said, was normal. "I felt so alone…"

"Alone?" He tightened his hold on her to the point it was almost painful. "You were never alone. You should have called, Effie."

"And what?" she sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. "You would have tell me to soldier up. Eyes bright, chin up and smile. Never let them see the damage, I know the rules, they haven't changed. I just can't do it anymore."

"You don't have to." he argued. "The Games are over. That version of the Capitol is dead. You're free."

"Free to do what?" She breathed in the smell of liquor and of the cheap detergent that always clung to his clothes – or maybe it wasn't cheap and he was incapable of doing his laundry right, that wouldn't surprise her. It shouldn't work that way, she mused. Nobody should be able to come back into another person's life after two years of silence and stand beside them as if nothing had happened at all, as if they had never left in the first place. It shouldn't be allowed. The way Haymitch made everything fall back into place was disturbing.

"Free to come home with me." he sighed like it was obvious. "You should have come back to Twelve with me two years ago."

"Well, you should have asked." she scowled.

"You wouldn't have come." he replied, so sure of himself she wanted to hit him. Of course she would have. Except she wouldn't have. She hadn't wanted anything to do with Twelve or Thirteen or even the Capitol. She had just wanted to forget the world even existed. "It doesn't matter. You're coming with me now, sweetheart. I didn't cross the whole country so you could try to disappear on me again once my back is turned. You're coming back with me, no more pills, no more suicidal talk."

"It isn't that easy." She was tired all of a sudden. She just wanted to go back home and… Yes, take one or two pills just to dull her mind.

"No, it won't be." He pet her hair awkwardly. "But we got Katniss out of her depression, we got Peeta out of his episodes… We can get you out of this too. You just need your family, Effie. You need us and we need you. We're still a team, right?"

It was that part that convinced her to let Haymitch grab the bag Fulvia had packed for her and take her to an empty hovercraft – courtesy of Plutarch and President Paylor – that brought her back to a District she had vowed to never see again. But when Peeta flung himself at her with a wide grin and Katniss hugged her tightly, she couldn't find it in herself to regret that decision. Haymitch, as often, was right.

They were still a team.