Cf/mj/post-mj AU where Effie, during her torture, is turned into an avox. Haymitch rescues her, brings her back to 12 and, eventually, he helps her learn how to cope. (I think it could work as a full-length, if you'd feel like it... )

Mute

"I don't understand." Haymitch said for at the fiftieth time since Plutarch had dragged him from his room at Snow's mansion that morning. "And why are we in a psych ward?"

He hurried after his friend, fighting the hangover that clogged his head. When Plutarch had said they had finally located Effie Trinket, Haymitch had sagged in a chair in pure relief. Katniss was still in recovery from the bombings, Peeta was very confused, Coin was quickly becoming more than they had bargained for… Everything had taken a turn for the worse and Effie had remained missing. They had searched every prison, every detaining center in the Capitol and she had been nowhere to be found… And then Plutarch had showed up and said they might have finally gotten a hold on her whereabouts but they weren't sure it was her.

"It's a bit complicated to explain, Haymitch, and, frankly, we don't have time for the temper tantrum that you're about to throw." Plutarch sighed. "We need to identify her so we can cross her off the list of missing persons and relocate the people looking for her to other tasks."

The male-nurse that was leading them glanced at them curiously over his shoulder. Haymitch didn't like that look, it was a look of pity.

"How bad is her condition?" he asked the nurse. Plutarch hadn't provided any help on the way over.

The man winced. "Doctor Glover is with her right now. I'm sure he will be happy to…"

"Is she in a coma?" he interrupted him.

"I…" the nurse looked at Plutarch who nodded. "No, sir. She's awake. We treated her wounds. She's physically fine."

"Then why can't you identify her yourself?" he growled back, his mind already racing to drastic conclusion. "All Panem knows her face!"

"Panem knows the escort." Plutarch sighed. "We know the make-up and wigs. I've never seen her without them. That's why we need your confirmation."

"If she's so fine, why can't she tell you who she is herself?" he snapped. He was convinced Plutarch was holding out on a vital piece of information. "Why does she need identifying? Is she amnesiac?" That would explain the psych ward, he figured, and that would explain why they couldn't find her before.

"We're here." the nurse said, waving to an open door.

Haymitch had expected an hospital room, he had been very much mistaken. It was more a cell than a room. The walls were padded, no window, no bathroom, nothing but a single bed with restrains that held…

He barely glanced at the man with a white coat standing next to her head, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. No wonder they had so much trouble identifying her… Her blond curls were gone, her head had been shaved, she was wearing white hospital pajamas that made her look even paler than she already was, her cheeks were hollowed, she had lost at least ten pounds, but her eyes, wide and blue, were the same as ever. And they were terrified.

She started thrashing as soon as she saw him, struggling weakly against the restrains strapping her to the bed.

"We will need to sedate her." the doctor told the nurse in a bored voice that Haymitch didn't like one bit. The nurse immediately took out a syringe, even Plutarch seemed taken aback by the carelessness of it all.

"You come any closer to her with that thing, I'm going to stick it where the sun doesn't shine." Haymitch warned, pushing the nurse out of his way to get to her. She sagged against the bed as soon as he took her hand. She opened her mouth but nothing came out except an indistinct howl that turned into sobbing. "What happened to her?" he asked, placing his other hand on her forehead.

"Why is she restrained?" Plutarch scowled. "I was told…"

"It's protocol, sir." the doctor replied.

Haymitch hated him on sight. Everything was screaming Capitol : the accent, the loathing in his eyes when they fell on him… Probably a Snow's loyalist.

"Protocol for what?" Haymitch made short work of the cuffs and straps. At least they were padded on the inside, they didn't hurt her. She bolted from the bed as soon as she was freed and huddled in the corner of the cell. "What happened to her?"

The doctor didn't seem particularly inclined to answer. He stared at Plutarch who lowered his eyes. "They found her with another group of people branded as traitors. They were in the Avoxes prison."

"What are you saying?" Haymitch asked. He understood what Plutarch was saying, he understood perfectly. It explained why she was sobbing quietly in the corner without a word, why she needed indentifying, why they hadn't found her before… He understood but he didn't want to believe it.

"They made her an Avox, sir." the nurse answered when nobody else did. "We're not a psych ward, we're specialized in newly Avoxes care."

Haymitch's hands started shaking badly and he yearned for a drink, something strong. Something so strong that it would wake him up from this nightmare he was having. "They ripped out her tongue."

"We're not barbarians." the doctor huffed. "They don't rip it out, They…"

"Shut up." he hissed, lifting a finger in the air as a warning.

"But…" the doctor argued.

"Do as he says." Plutarch interrupted. There was suppressed anger in his voice. "Why was this woman strapped to the bed?"

"That's protocol!" the doctor said defensively. "New Avoxes are kept restrained until the fight leaves them and we can train them properly. How else are we supposed to deal with them?"

"Try like a human being." Haymitch snapped, he turned to Plutarch. "Shut this ward down or send in real doctors but do something quick or I will tear it apart brick by brick." He would love to take the doctor apart too but there were more urgent matters to see to right then. He crouched in front of Effie who was still cowering against the wall. "Sweetheart?" She looked up uncertainly at the sound of his voice. "Are you in pain?"

She opened her mouth but closed it dejectedly. His heart broke. Effie without a voice was unconceivable. It probably was her worst nightmare. She shook her head no tentatively.

"She will need sedating now." the doctor grumbled. "Look what you've done… She's all worked up."

Effie's eyes widened in fright and she gripped Haymitch's shirt. He didn't understand the desperate unformed sound that came out of her mouth, but her meaning was clear enough. He hugged her tight.

"I'm not letting him anywhere near you." he promised, petting the peach fuzz on her head. "You're safe. I've got you, Effie. I've got you…" He gathered her against his chest, slipped an arm under her knees and pulled her up. Her arms sneaked around his neck immediately and she buried her face in his shoulder. He could feel her hot tears through the fabric of his shirt. He stopped in front of the doctor. "Be grateful I'm carrying her right now." he growled. "And be sure to never find yourself on my path again." He had rarely felt as much hatred as he did looking at that man.

He could barely spare a glance for Plutarch even though the man stayed on his heels as he walked the corridors of the hospital, steadily ignoring all the curious eyes following him. It was probably unusual for one of the key figures of the rebellion to step out of a hospital with a patient in their arms. Haymitch didn't particularly care.

Their car was still outside, right where they had left it, and Haymitch didn't explain anything to the bemused driver as he stepped inside with his precious load. She didn't even try to sit next to him, she curled up in his lap. Plutarch took shotgun.

"We need another hospital." Plutarch told the driver. "Preferably one where our people are in charge."

"No." Haymitch snapped. "We're going back to the mansion. You will find me Katniss' mother and then you will find out why this kind of man is still running free and in charge of patients."

"We're short of doctors." Plutarch sighed, signaling the driver to do as he was told. "Katniss' mother? Be reasonable, the woman is in mourning…"

Effie looked up at that, placing a hand on Haymitch's cheek to get his attention.

"Prim, not Katniss." he told her. Not that it was much better. She closed her eyes and let her head fall down on his shoulder again. She was shaking like a leaf. "I want Katniss' mother. Tell her it's for me, she will come."

"I can find you a real doctor. Someone from Thirteen." Plutarch argued. "That's what Effie would want."

Effie only curled up tighter against him and he wrapped his arms around her protectively. "She's mute not brain-damaged. Don't talk for her."

"Like you're doing right now?" Plutarch replied. "Look, Haymitch… I knew you wouldn't take to the news kindly. I'm angry too but…"

"I don't trust your people." he interrupted. There. That was out.

"I can personally recommend…" Plutarch insisted but he didn't let him finish.

"I don't trust you either." Haymitch snarled. "You said it would be safer for her to be left behind. You promised she would be safe. And then you were unable to find out where they were keeping her." Effie flinched and he forced himself to calm down and take a deep breath. "We're doing things my way now."

The car slowed as it passed the different checkpoints to enter Snow's mansion and then finally stopped. Haymitch didn't wait before getting out of the car, turning back only once.

"And don't think I don't know what Coin's up to with Gamemakers and escorts." he warned his friends. "Tell her Effie is out of bounds."

"Wasn't she always?" Plutarch snorted but walked away, hopefully to do as Haymitch had asked.

People stared at them as he carried her to his room but he didn't care. The whole building would know in a matter of minutes anyway. The room they had given him was spacious and just as luxurious as it could get. He put Effie down on the bed as carefully as he could. She looked so lost and frail on that big bed, he didn't know what to do.

"I will find you something to eat." he suggested, before realizing that could be a problem. "Can you still eat everything?"

She spared him a glance but curled back down on the bed and didn't give him any sort of acknowledgement.

"I'm sorry." he said. The words were rough and inadequate. They didn't cover his feelings at all. They weren't enough. And yet, they were all he had… "I'm sorry." He sat down on the bed next to her and she didn't bolted away which he took as a good sign. "I shouldn't have left you. I thought it would be safer, I would have taken you with me otherwise. You have to believe me." It was a hard conversation to have one-sided. She still didn't look his way. "Please, sweetheart…" She clasped his hand then and tugged a bit until he lay down next to her.

They must have made for an odd sight, he thought, lying curled up on their sides, facing each other in silence, their interwined hands between them.

"I looked for you." he told her. "Every day. Doesn't change anything of course but…" He wondered if that was how it would be from now on… If he would feel forced to chatter endlessly to fill the awkward silence. "I would have come sooner."

She heaved out a rasping sound that might or might not have been his name, he had no way of knowing. He saw the despair and the exhaustion in her eyes, how frustrating it must be for her. How easy it would be to just… give up. He let go of her hand to brush his fingers against her cheek.

"You're not broken, sweetheart." he vowed. "And this won't break you. I will take care of you. I will help you."

He didn't know where that was coming from. He had always been commitment-phobic especially with her. It had been established from the start between them that sex would always be just that, that there was nothing there even akin to attachment… It was him who had told her she needed to stop when she had confessed more or less willingly that she was falling for him… And yet… there he was, promising her things he had no rights to promise and offering things he wasn't sure he had to offer.

"We're doing this together." His fingers wandered to where her beautiful hair had once been… It was bad, he could feel every bump on her skull… She didn't seem to like it either, she caught his wrist, rolled on her other side and wrapped his arm around her until he was holding her so close he was almost a human blanket. "It's going to be okay." he whispered, he didn't know who he was talking to exactly but the lie helped them both relax and when Katniss' mother finally showed up, he was almost sorry to have to let go of her.

The healer confirmed what the nurse had said, physically she was just fine. There were traces of tortures but it was old and all wounds had healed, as for what was left of her tongue, it had been cauterized. He hoped they had at least sedated her for that but doubted it. He didn't ask Effie, she wasn't forthcoming with answers either way.

He kept her in his room – which quickly became dubbed as their room anyway – because he didn't feel comfortable having her out of his sight when Coin was out for blood. He only left if someone else he really trusted was there to protect her, just in case the rebels got any idea, and that list was short. Katniss still being in recovery, it consisted mostly of Annie, Peeta and Johanna who helped despite her misgivings.

The fact that she was still more or less a prisoner wasn't lost on anyone and Haymitch was waiting for the day where they could finally, finally go back home. It didn't prove that easy though. Katniss murdering Coin put everything upside down and he had to fight not only to get the girl out but to be authorized to take Effie too. She would be better in a hospital, people argued – Plutarch among them – with people who would know how to take care of her…

Haymitch refused to listen, he got Effie to sign whatever they wanted her to sign and he brought her with him when he went to get the girl from the Training Center. He would be dead before he let Effie behind in this city again. If Katniss was surprised to see their former escort, she didn't show it, she yielded to Effie's natural mothering tendencies easily enough which proved to be a blessing. Katniss' apathy gave Effie something to do as soon as they put a foot in Twelve. She took care of the girl, seconded by Graesy Sae and her granddaughter – who were both quickly won over by the mute woman and considerably helped her integration in the District – and Haymitch tried not to drink too much and not to get underfoot but generally made a nuisance of himself.

In time, Effie came up with all sorts of signs to make herself understood and they developed a sort of language. It was funny, Peeta always said, how Effie would almost always get the last word when she fought with Haymitch even though she wasn't saying anything at all. Shouting could often be heard from three houses away followed by a short silence, more shouting and, usually, a grumbling apology.

It wasn't perfect, there were more bad days than good ones but it worked and for that Haymitch was grateful.