Prompt : Would you consider writing a sequel to 'To Paris' because I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS DO THEY MAKE IT TO PARIS ITS SO GOOD ily

"To Paris" was chapter 96 and belongs to the mafia-verse.

From Paris

There were a lot of bridges in Paris, Haymitch mused, lots of steps too. He leaned against the right bank railing, watching cars and people alike cross the bridge du Carrousel; he had learned early enough that Paris was always busy no matter the hour or the day. It was chilly next to the Seine and he longed for the warmth of the small apartment he and Effie had rented for the month. They were talking about finding something more permanent that the small holiday flat they were currently living in, they were also talking about fleeing to another country. Money wasn't a problem and would probably never be but their safety was another matter entirely.

Paris was as good a place as any, he figured. They had been there for almost three weeks already and no one had come after them. Yet.

Effie loved everything about the city : the fashion, the shops, the atmosphere, the language… She spoke French fluently and she enjoyed practicing her skills even if she kept referring to them as rusty. It was a lie, of course, there was nothing rusty about them. It was a good thing that most people spoke English otherwise Haymitch would have depended on her for everything. After three weeks, all he could say was "Bonjour", "Merci" and his favorite "Comment aller ici, s'il vous plait" – the last one was generally coupled with pointing at a map. Their underground was a damn mess.

He checked his watch and frowned, worry starting to swirl in his stomach. Effie was ten minutes late and that wasn't like her at all. She was always up at dawn but that morning, he had refused to go out with her to enjoy a lie-in, he had figured she had been out without him a few times without nothing bad happening and it was time they started living their life again instead of simply running. They had been together twenty-four hours a day for three weeks and they were both starting to suffocate, the fights were becoming uglier each day even for them. They needed space and time away from each other. So let her go shopping by herself, he had thought, and now he deeply regretted his decision.

They had agreed to meet on the right bank, next to le pont du Carrousel at one in the afternoon so they could go to the Louvre together – she was bent on going to every damn museum in the city; he grumbled and dragged his feet but he actually enjoyed it – and now she was late. There was always the possibility that she had gotten lost but he doubted that. She was good with maps, almost better than he was. They lost their way in the underground quite often but not in the actual city.

He sighed in relief when he finally spied her bright yellow dress through the crowd.

"You're late, sweetheart." he spat when she was in hearing range.

She glanced at him in annoyance but thrust a newspaper at him, she was carrying a bunch of them. "What does it mean?"

The headline of a French newspaper assaulted his eyes with words he couldn't understand. "Still not speaking French, Effie."

She frowned when she realized her mistake. "Oh, sorry! Here."

This newspaper was in English and he almost tear it in two when he caught sight of the front news. A mafia cartel disbanded in Chicago, the man known as "The President" arrested… There had been a bloodbath at The Capitol, the strip-club Snow used as headquarters, a lot of casualties, hitmen and escorts alike had been killed…

"Do you think…" Effie hesitated. "Do you think Finnick and the others are alright?"

He really didn't.

"I don't know." he lied. No point in getting her worked up over something they would never know. He spared a thought for Chaff and hoped the old man had found the guts to run away like he and Effie had.

"We left just in time." Effie whispered, she neatly folded the newspapers she was carrying and dumped them in a nearby bin. "If we had been there…"

"We would both be dead." he finished for her with certainty. He knew how this kind of cleaning worked. They probably had rounded the escorts around and… He pushed the thought away. "But we're not. No point in dwelling on what if, sweetheart."

She forced a smile on her lips but it didn't reach her eyes. She passed her arm under his and they started walking in the direction of the Louvre.

"Are we safe now?" she asked. "For good, I mean."

Safe… Safe was a strange concept. He was sure people were looking for him, be it the police or even Snow himself, even prison wouldn't stop that man.

"I don't know." he snorted as they neared the huge pyramide. "I think we're about to die of boredom."

"Can't you be serious?" she clucked her tongue before starting to ramble about the reasons why cultural heritage was important.

He let her rant, stealing a sip from his flask now and then when she wasn't looking, simply happy to enjoy the grey rainy sky, her annoying high-pitched voice and the swarm of tourists talking loudly around them.

Perhaps they weren't safe but, at least, for now, they were free.