Prompt : Post MJ. When Effie moved to District 12, she left behind all of the fancy clothes and wigs she had worn before, opting for simpler, sturdier clothes. Haymitch is surprised, therefore, when she suddenly orders a wig and dress in the current fashion, even though he's made it plain that he prefers her natural look. It turns out that she's going to visit her family, and they all said that she was an ugly duckling without the artifices.

A Ghost's Reflection

Haymitch banged the kitchen cupboards open and closed but he didn't find the bread left from the day before, he called out for Effie but she didn't reply so he put his pride – and her recurrent nagging that he would find things more easily if he helped her clean up from time to time – aside and climbed the stairs where she had disappeared an hour earlier with a newly delivered package. He hadn't paid much attention, she got deliveries almost every two days.

Their bedroom door was closed but he had no qualm in pushing it open. "Sweetheart, where did you put the bread leftover? I need it for the…" Geese died on his lips.

Effie barely glanced at his reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on the wardrobe doors, she was too busy staring at her own. And there were many reasons to stare… The dress was made of huge red flowers – realistic red flowers, Haymitch wasn't sure if they were plastic or not but if it was, the imitation was convincing enough – the make-up was back full-force, white powder and blue hues on her eyes and lips, breathtakingly high heels and, of course, a big blue wig sitting on her head like an absurd crown.

He hadn't seen her wearing that kind of clothes since Snow's execution. When she had brought Peeta back to Twelve, a few months after that, she was wearing what she usually wore nowadays : outfits that were certainly still too outlandish for Twelve but that were much plainer than what she used to wear. No more wigs, no more heavy make-up… She looked classy but natural those days, and that was how he liked her. It had been almost three years and that was such a shock he couldn't help but blink, certain he was having a flashback. She didn't disappear though, she kept looking at herself. He wasn't even sure she was aware of his presence.

"Sorry." he said at last. "I was looking for my wife but I think I found a clown instead."

He stepped into the bedroom, spying the neatly opened carton boxes on the bed and the yellow dress she had been wearing earlier discarded on her pillow.

"We aren't married." she whispered. She seemed enthralled by her reflection, she didn't even react when he came to sit on the stool in front of her dresser. He was close enough to touch but he didn't try to reach for her. He knew the glassy look she was sporting, she was on the verge of either a flashback or a panic attack and why wouldn't she? She looked like she had in the past. She looked like the escort.

He let the matter of marriage drop to the bottom of the ocean – it was a topic for another problematic discussion and it didn't make any difference for him to know they had signed papers in the Justice Building or not, he had vowed enough times to protect, cherish and love her in his head and he had been as faithful to those oaths as he could in sickness as well as in health.

"Why are you dressed up like that?" he asked a bit wearily.

"I am planning to go back to the Capitol next week." she explained, her eyes darted to him and then went back to the mirror. "I have to look the part."

"Go back to the Capitol." he repeated, dread making his stomach churn. "You could have said."

His attempt at levity fell flat.

"I did last week." She patted one side of the wig, it made the golden bangles on her wrist clatter in an unbearable cacophony. "You weren't listening to me."

"Pretty sure I would have remembered you saying we're done, Princess." he snorted bitterly. They had their fights – daily fights, if he had to be honest – but he thought they had been doing good considering who they were and what had happened to them in the not so distant past.

She frowned, her feather eyelashes fluttering with the tiniest movement. "We're not… I'm not leaving you, I am simply going to see my family for a few days. My mother wrote, I told you."

"Ah." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. He could remember her blabbering about her mother a few days ago. "Yeah, I didn't listen to that."

"She wants me to go and visit." Effie said with a flicker of annoyance.

He lifted his eyebrows. "And you needed to disguise yourself as a clown for that?"

It was easier to mock her outfit than to question the wisdom of her going back to the Capitol at all. She loved the city and she would always be a Capitol citizen first and foremost but the memories the Capitol triggered were the reasons she had decided to move to Twelve definitely in the first place – that was what she had told him at least.

"This is the latest fashion." she argued and for a second, he felt they had time-travelled to a time long gone. She touched her reflection cautiously and he frowned because he had been lectured enough times about not touching mirrors and leaving traces on them. "I thought it had been long enough. I thought I could…" She swallowed with obvious difficulties. "This woman is dead, Haymitch."

Alarmed now, he went to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle section, crushing giant petals on the way, and rested his chin on her shoulder. "You're very much alive, sweetheart."

She shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes. "I look and all I see is a ghost. I'm not her anymore. This Effie Trinket died in those cells."

He pressed a kiss on her neck, her skin reeked of cosmetic. "Then, don't play at being her."

"But who am I?" she asked, leaning against him. "I'm not an escort, I'm barely a Capitol now and I'm clearly no longer a fashion icon. Who am I?"

He turned her shaking body away from the mirror and started the painful process of removing the wig – pin after pin or he would pull on her real hair, he had learned that long ago.

"You're Effie Trinket." he shrugged. "You're a strong woman who went through a war and who fought her own demons. You're a survivor."

The wig was loose so he took it off and threw it directly in the garbage bin by the dresser. She didn't protest so he fumbled until he found the hidden zipper and pulled it down. The dress fell in a heap of fabric on the floor revealing a black corset but not the see-through lace kind she sometimes surprised him with. The good old practical ones she used to wear to look thinner. As if she needed that…

"You are…" he hesitated, his fingers busy unlacing the monstrosity. "You're a mother to Katniss and Peeta. You take care of them, you keep them grounded when they need it."

The corset gave in and he threw it aside, he grabbed her satin dressing gown and wrapping it around her body, he secured the belt around her waist before she could glimpse her scars in the mirror. When she was upset, the tiniest reminder of the marks on her body was enough to set her off.

He took the golden bangles off, then sat on the bed to unbuckle her heels. That part was easy at least, a lot easier in any case than what he had to face once he had steered her in the bathroom. He had no clue about how to take the white shit off her face. He settled for a wet cloth but she stepped back before he could try anything. Her eyes were more focused, she was coming back from whatever daze she had been lost in. He watched as she selected a bottle from the side of the sink and worked at rubbing her make-up off.

"You also put up with me every day." he joked. "You deserve credits for that."

"I do." she murmured, once her face was clean. She studied her reflection in the mirror over the sink and Haymitch knew what she was doing, cataloguing every little imperfection: the thin lines at the corner of her eyes, the small scar on her jaw barely visible if you didn't know where to look, the ever-present bags under her eyes… She usually hid all that with foundation, she hated looking at her bare face.

"You're the woman I…" He tried but the word wouldn't come out not matter how much he wanted to say it. He didn't think he would ever be able to tell anyone he loved them again, not after his girl and his family. He dropped his gaze and shuffled his feet nervously. "You're still you, Effie, and it's more than enough for me."

She brushed a hand against his cheek and tilted his head up. "I love you."

The kiss that followed was soft and lazy. She rested her forehead on his shoulder afterwards and he held her tight.

"You don't have to dress up." he told her, drawing soothing circles on her back. "The Capitol is full of District people, now. It doesn't matter what you're wearing."

"It does to my family." she sighed. "I don't particularly enjoy being called ugly at every minute of the day. It's easier to wear a wig than to be called out on my hair or to be compared to my sister."

"Are you sure you want to go, sweetheart?" He pressed a kiss to her cheek. Her family sounded awful from start to finish. Everything she had told him about her mother or her sister was enough to make him mad. He wasn't sure he wanted her to go to the Capitol only to come back upset.

"They're my family." she argued. "I want to see them."

"We're your family too." he replied. "Peeta, Katniss and me."

"Yes, of course." She gave him a small smile and stepped away from his arms to go back to the bedroom. She started tidying up, piling the useless carton boxes. He pried them away from her hands and tugged until they were both sitting on the bed. It didn't take much to convince her to lie down with him. She was still troubled, he could tell, so he spooned her like they did most night, an arm under her head and the other one holding her waist. She grabbed his hand and burrowed into his warmth while he buried his face in her hair.

"You're beautiful." he mumbled against her neck.

"You're sweet." She didn't believe him though. If those people could bring her confidence down from the other side of the country he didn't want to think about what they would do to her, face to face.

"Maybe you should tell them to come here." he suggested.

"Here?" she frowned. "You mean to invite my family? I'm not sure I want my mother into our home, Haymitch, she would criticize everything and I love our house. It would end badly."

"No." He was unequivocal. There were limits. "There are several inns now. They could… take a vacation."

A lot of people took vacations in Twelve now even though he didn't quite grasp the reasons. There wasn't much to see in their District… But someone had built an inn next to the lake and it was really successful. People came to hike through the woods, visit the mines…

He had trouble imagining the very posh Trinket family trekking around Twelve though.

"I should go." She let out a long suffering sigh. "I've been hiding here for too long. There is the matter of my apartment too." She had been meaning to sell it for years but had never come around to do it. "I should go."

"Then… I should go with you." The words burned his mouth. He had vowed to himself he would never ever put a foot back in the Capitol but he would also die before he let anything or anyone harm Effie again. "You don't have to stay at your mother's, we can stay at your place."

She turned around in his arms, surprise written all over her face. "You really would come with me?"

There was so much hope in her eyes, it was surprisingly easy to answer that. "Yeah, sure." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "But no wig or stupid outfit if you don't want to. We don't play dress-up for the Capitol anymore, sweetheart."

"You threw out my new wig." she pointed out. "I'm not about to fish it from the bin." She plucked her lips, sure sign she was thinking. "I could wear my blue dress, I suppose."

"Isn't it the one I always end up tearing off you?" he snorted.

"The very one." she grinned. "This way, they might imply I'm a failure but I will still know you want me at the end of the evening."

"I always want you." he scoffed, tugging at the belt holding the dressing gown closed. "You don't need to put on a dress, sweetheart, I can show you right now." He dropped a trail of hot kisses down her neck. The sound of her giggles untied a knot in his stomach he hadn't been totally aware of. If she was still able to giggle like a silly girl when he kissed her, then she would be alright.

"Any excuse is good for you, isn't it?" she mocked but her fingers were doing a quick job of his shirt buttons already.

He didn't gratify that with an answer.

But yes, it was.