This is no prompt but I'm in an angsty mood today. This takes place in MJ, movie!canon, directly after Katniss accepts to be the Mockingjay. It's probably a bit over the top but like I said, angsty, plus I think Thirteen would suck at taking care of people with addictions simply because they aren't used to them. And just watch how Katniss' was handled at the end of MJ, not very brightly. I imagine Haymitch to be twice more dangerous than she was so… this explains that.
The Bad Handling Of Withdrawal
"I left your text with Katniss." Effie told Plutarch as soon as she stepped in the shooting studio. She looked around curiously, nodding back at the three technicians who were operating the machines. Obviously, Plutarch was busy looking at possible settings for their first propo. "She should be ready by tomorrow."
The Gamemaker looked up, clearly displeased. "There's only one line."
"She is still recovering." she hissed defensively. "I would advise against pushing her."
Not to mention, Katniss wasn't a great actress and Plutarch's lines about fighting, daring and ending their hunger for justice left a lot to be desired but Effie held her tongue on that front.
"Alright. You know best." the man surrendered before standing up and gesturing at her to follow him. She didn't like being ordered about like a dog but Gamemakers had a tendency to think everyone should obey their command so it was nothing she wasn't used to. She fell in step with him as he guided her throughout Thirteen's maze-like corridors. "I need you to take care of something else."
"Haymitch." she guessed easily. She suppressed the tinge of worry and put her anger at being kept in the dark aside. She hadn't seen him ever since the last day of the Quell and no matter who she asked in that District, nobody would tell her where he was. In rehab was all she managed to get out of Plutarch.
"Precisely." the Gamemaker nodded. "I haven't seen him in a while but I have been informed things didn't go exactly… smoothly for him. I've been told this morning he's mostly unresponsive, I need you to get him ready. Katniss will need him."
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why he didn't do that himself but she remained silent. She wanted to see Haymitch. Despite everything, she was worried about him.
She unconsciously quickened her pace which made Plutarch smile. She didn't care and the smile, in any case, didn't remain on his lips for long. Finding the exact place Haymitch was treated proved to be difficult : in the hospital, people either didn't know or didn't care.
When they finally found him, Effie's blood ran cold.
"This better be a joke." she growled.
She must have been a sight because the nurse looked ready to flee. Plutarch must have sensed her sudden murdering urges because he nudged the woman aside. Still, she could hear his Capitol accent rising in anger.
Haymitch was kept in a cell, there was no other word for it. There was a console right next to the door with a screen for constant watching and a trap at the bottom of the door to get trays of food in and out. On the screen, she could see a mattress and a toilet but not much more. There were no sheets or covers and Haymitch was naked.
Her murdering urges rose up one notch.
"They put him in solitary confinement because he almost snapped a doctor's neck in a fit of delirium." Plutarch announced crossly, walking back to her. "He didn't have any contact with the outside world since…"
"Where are his clothes?" she cut him off, fighting to keep her voice flat and devoid of the wrath she was feeling inside.
"They were afraid he would try to kill himself." he told her. "They took everything he…"
"Open the door." she demanded, leaving no room for argument.
She tried to calculate how many weeks they had been there. Two or three at the very least, she thought. Had he been locked up here for two or three weeks? And they called the Capitol barbaric? They dared give her lectures about the proper way to treat human beings?
The nurse tried to protest but Plutarch didn't look any happier than Effie was and, faced with their scowls, the woman finally complied. Effie stepped in without a second of hesitation and she didn't even look back when the door automatically closed behind her.
The fact that she had been complaining about being locked in a cell for weeks made her sick.
This, she thought, hurrying to the mattress on which Haymitch was slumped on, was a cell. This was inhuman.
The room was warm bordering on too hot. They had probably tried to compensate his lack of clothes, she figured, but it made the smell worse – human waste, rotten food he had snatched off the tray and nobody had bothered to take away, body filth… She would never have treated an animal this way.
She swallowed back the tears and breathed through her mouth as she crept closer to him, almost terrified by what she was about to find.
"Haymitch…" she called out softly.
He was on his stomach, his cheek two inches away from a dry pool of vomit… He looked so thin and frail, she was certain he was dead.
He wasn't.
Heavy eyelids opened and grey eyes tracked her progress when she crouched next to him. She reached a shaking hand and placed it on his shoulder. He flinched.
"It's alright." she whispered. "I'm here now. I will take you out of here."
She didn't know how yet because it was clear he wouldn't be able to walk, but she would take him out of that cell.
She pushed gently on his shoulder and he rolled on his back without much resistance. The grey eyes, dull and almost glassy, were riveted on her face.
"Alright…" She forced a cheerful smile on her lips, fell back on the bubbly escort persona. "See? It isn't as bad as you make it look." At least he wasn't hurt. Not that she could see. He desperately needed a bath. It was obvious from the look of him and the mattress appearance he hadn't bother standing up for some time, even to reach the toilet. It was disgusting yet she fought her instinctive recoil. "Let me help you up…"
He was a dead weight.
She pulled on his arm and grabbed him around the torso but he fell heavily against her and she lost her balance, landing on her bottom. It jostled him which was perhaps a good thing because she felt a hand pawing at her hip as he did sometimes after a nightmare when he wanted to make sure she wasn't a ghost. A few seconds later, his other hand clenched her shoulder, squeezing and patting and very much checking how real she was.
She shifted to her knees so she could embrace him more easily. She held him tight even though he felt so fragile she was afraid of breaking him. His arms brought her closer to his chest and she closed her eyes not to see how dirty he was, she couldn't do as much for the smell. It made her want to gag but she shut her eyes tight, focused on the familiar shape of his body against hers and promised herself she would never let him out of her sight again.
"Look how much trouble you get into when I'm not here to keep you in line." She clicked her tongue with - not so - fake disapproval.
He buried his face in her neck and mumbled something over and over again. It took her a few seconds to realize what he was saying : you are dead.
"No." she frowned. "No, I assure you I'm very much alive."
"This is hell…" he spat, his hands roaming everywhere from her waist to her neck. She wasn't sure if he was desperate to feel her or starving for any kind of human touch. She held him tighter and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, not even caring about the grime and the filth.
"Miss, please step away from the patient."
The robotic voice made her jump in fright.
Haymitch was clearly more coherent now because he almost crushed her against his chest at the words.
"No, no, no…" he muttered, rocking back and forth. His right hand was clenching her shoulder so hard she knew there would be a bruise. "They can't take you away. They can't."
"They won't." she vowed. "I'm going to have you released."
"No release from hell." he chuckled darkly against her neck.
"As much as it looks like it, we aren't in hell, we are in Thirteen." she sighed. "And I need you to focus now. Katniss needs you."
"Miss…" the robotic voice said again but it didn't go much further than that. Plutarch didn't need a microphone to be heard from the other side of the door. The Gamemaker was obviously very angry.
They should just wait until she would step out of there, she thought, they hadn't seen angry yet.
"Katniss…" Haymitch repeated, unperturbed by the shouts in the corridor.
"Yes, Katniss." Effie replied. "Your Mockingjay. Do try to keep up. Now, kindly let me go so I can assassinate your doctor – if he deserves the title – and get you out of here."
"They won't let you." he retorted.
"Haymitch, it would take an army to stop me." she huffed.
"They have an army." he pointed out.
"Not one that can stand against me." she snapped. "Now, let me go."
Her tone was all business and he was accustomed to following her orders when he was very drunk – it was funny how confrontational he was when he was drunk but docile as a lamb when he was wasted – so he reluctantly let go of her. She made sure he wouldn't fall before going straight for the door, chin high and a furious scowl on her face. She didn't even have time to pound on it, the door slid open.
That was the nurse's doing, she saw at once.
The doctor – to whom, she presumed, belonged the robotic voice – was very busy shouting at Plutarch. There were two soldiers hovering nearby, obviously unsure what they should do or who they should obey. That suited her just fine.
"You." She clicked her fingers to get their attention. She hadn't planned on getting everyone's attention but apparently, her haughty attitude was enough to put an end to Plutarch and the doctor's screaming match. She pointed to the first soldier. "Find me clothes and shoes. As for you…" She pointed to the second soldier. "I will need warm water and a sponge." She considered asking the nurse but she knew Haymitch would never stand for it. Nobody moved and she narrowed her eyes at the soldiers. "Now."
The soldier scattered away, as did the nurse.
Plutarch was hiding an amused grin with some difficulties.
"I didn't authorize this." the doctor barked, puffing like the ridiculous little man he was.
Her eyes glided over him and focused on Plutarch. "He needs to eat. Something light but nourishing. Soup perhaps. Direct it to my compartment if you would be so kind."
"I said…" the doctor tried.
She finally turned in his direction and he fell silent.
Effie Trinket wasn't an escort by luck. She was beautiful, she knew it and had no qualm about using it to her advantage – haute couture or not – she also possessed a natural authority that had made some of the most unruly victors fall in line.
"I apologize if it wasn't already obvious but you don't get a say in the matter." she said. She kept her voice sweet but it was a deadly trap and Plutarch seemed to realize it because he left her, probably to go and find the soup she had requested. All the better. She sneered at the doctor without bothering to hide her contempt. "As far as Haymitch is concerned, I take the decisions when he can't do it for himself."
"I am his doctor and…" the man argued.
"And I am his next of kin." she snapped. "Which, I think, outrank you."
She turned on her heels, intending to go back to Haymitch's side, but the doctor clearly couldn't stop chewing on the bone. "You're Capitol. How could you be his next of kin?"
There was enough loathing in his voice to make her understand how much he loved the Capitol. She didn't even glance back at him. "I will leave that to your imagination."
Haymitch was just as happy with her giving him a sponge bath as she had thought he would. He tried to hide it under corny comments but he felt humiliated and she knew it. She chatted to cover any awkwardness, complaining about everything and nothing until they fell back on the more familiar ground of their usual bickering.
Once he was cleaned, shaved and dressed, he seemed more focused. She had been worrying about the consequences such an abrupt and violent cut from alcohol would have but he seemed mostly fine. She accepted the help of a soldier to bring him to her compartment but he leaned on her rather than on the stranger and the trip from that hellish place to her room seemed to take forever.
She only breathed out in relief once she had dumped him on her bed.
She exchanged her soiled jumpsuit for another one, mentally grumbling about the limitation to one shower per day – and only ten minutes, of course – surveying the compartment with a critical eye. The room was standard and, as such, made for two but Effie had been alone ever since her arrival. When she glanced at Haymitch, slumped on her bed, against the only pillow, she wondered how they would make it work. They almost killed each other on a daily basis when they were sharing a penthouse and the penthouse was huge in comparison.
"You look different." he commented while she quickly did the last buttons of her shirt.
"I look ugly." she spat. Her attempts to customize the uniforms or to bring headscarves back in fashion were far-stretched.
Plutarch arrived right at that second, coming in after a simple knock.
"Manners." she cringed. "Wait until I invite you in next time." She expected better from a Capitol citizen than the usual rudeness displayed by District people.
"Sorry. It's hot." The Gamemaker handed her a bowl of soup – or stew, she wasn't an expert in the tasteless unappealing food they served in that District.
Haymitch immediately wrinkled his nose and sank on the bed like a sulking child. "Not hungry."
"You're eating." she snapped, taking the bowl from Plutarch and going to sit on the bed next to her victor. The beds were narrow, there wasn't much space left once he was lying on his back – that too would be a problem, she didn't see them sleeping in different beds if they had to share a room. He made an attempt at grabbing the bowl but the tremor in his hands was so bad he clenched them into fist. He turned his head away when she brought the spoon to his lips, two crimson spots appeared on his cheeks. She rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't be ridiculous, Haymitch. You would do the same for me. They treated you badly and now you are sick, there is no shame in this. Stop behaving like a child."
He grumbled something under his breath about bossy women and spoiled brats but he opened his mouth. She hurried in feeding him before he changed his mind but made sure to go slow enough that he wouldn't get sick. She didn't know how long it was since he had last eaten. Had they made certain he ate at least a bit every day? He looked so thin...
"We can have him transferred to my room." Plutarch offered from where he was nervously hovering a few feet behind her.
"No need." she retorted, her tone curt and at the very limit of polite. "There is another bed right here. We will manage just fine."
Or, at least, she hoped they would.
Haymitch lifted his eyebrows, on the verge of taunting, but she stuffed the spoon in his mouth before he could say something stupid.
With the state she had found him in, she didn't want him out of her sight.
"I'm not sure they allow mixed roommates…" Plutarch hesitated. "I think only married couple share a…"
"Tell them we're married, then." she interrupted him. This time, Haymitch choked on the mouthful of soup. "Be careful, your shirt is clean."
"The shirt… How stupid of me." he snorted.
"Quite." she declared, before glancing at Plutarch. "My victors, my responsibility. Haymitch is staying with me."
The Gamemaker lifted his hands in a defensive gesture but didn't bother to hide his smirk. "I will see what I can do."
She waited until he was gone to put the bowl of soup down and curl up against Haymitch's side. He wrapped his arms around her at once, burying his nose in the scarf. It was a tight fit on the bed but it worked.
She wanted to say something deep, something meaningful but the words remained stuck in her throat. She couldn't shake out the image of him lying on that dingy mattress like a dog ready to die… Any feeling of anger she might still have for him regarding her abduction melted away. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, wondering at how easily her life had been turned upside down.
When the arms loosened around her and he started to snore, she pressed a soft kiss to his mouth.
"I love you, you silly man." she whispered.
She tried to get off the bed, intending to spend the night on the second one so he could have more space, but he grabbed her wrist before she could escape. He could barely keep his grey eyes open and she wasn't sure how awake he was.
"Stay." he begged – it sounded like begging to her ears, frightened almost.
She thought of endless cold days and nights spent alone in a room with only withdrawal induced hallucinations for company and she settled back against him, hooking a leg over his.
It was the best night of sleep she had in Thirteen ever since her arrival.
He was still snoring when she woke up. He looked so exhausted that she decided to let him sleep a while longer. She brushed his hair out of his eyes and dropped a kiss on his forehead without him stirring at all. It was a proof of how much he was in need of rest : Haymitch was usually a very light sleeper.
She left him to tend to Katniss but her thoughts kept fluttering back to him. She hoped he truly was alright. Eventually, even the girl noticed she was distracted and asked about it but Effie laughed it off, pretending to sorely be upset about the sad lack of make-up available.
The propo was a disaster, just like she knew it would be.
Katniss wasn't an actress. She had learned her lines but she was unable to give them the right tone and it all sounded dull and fake.
Plutarch was impatient and snappish, Katniss was sullen and distressed, and Effie played buffer. Several failed attempts left them all on edge which probably explained why she startled so badly when the sound of slow clapping echoed in the studio.
"And that, my friends, is how a revolution dies…" Haymitch mocked.
She had no idea where he had found the sweater and the handkerchief and she was pretty sure it wasn't the same jumpsuit as the one she had dressed him with the day before but she kept silent, leaving him to have his little talk with Katniss and then tell Plutarch to call a meeting in Command… She did what the Gamemaker told her and warned the President and her second-in-command and, as such, she had no opportunity to check on him before the briefing.
He seemed fine, though. Hollow cheeks, slightly yellow, but otherwise alright. He joked and commandeered people's attention as easily as he always did when he wanted something in particular…
She played along with his little charade about Katniss if only because the girl was obviously feeling down, Plutarch was upset by the propo's failure and the President looked uptight. It was her role to play the bubbly escort and, she thought, it was what he expected of her.
She, on the other hand, wasn't expecting him to make a gibe at her right in Command.
"You know, I like you better, Effie, without all that make-up."
Different, he had said the day before. He and she always had opposite points of view as to what was beautiful and what was ugly.
Her dresses, wigs and make-up were her armor, her weapon and her crutch all at once.
Just like alcohol was his.
"Well, I like you better sober." she retorted, making sure her voice would purr just like it sometimes did when they were in bed.
He glanced back at her over his shoulder, obviously torn between disbelief and amusement, completely giving up on the g he was still writing.
She flashed him a smug grin. Two could play that game.
A tiny shake of the head let her know now wasn't the time so she let that slide and focused on the meeting. She didn't like the idea of sending Katniss to another District and she certainly didn't like it when both Plutarch and Haymitch opposed her request to go with her. She didn't see why she couldn't since both men would go and remain in the hovercraft to supervise.
"Stop sulking, this isn't going to be a fun trip." Haymitch scolded her at the end of the briefing, as they were all going in their separate directions. They walked in silence side by side for a few minutes up until they reached an intersection and Haymitch grabbed her arm to bring her to a stop. "I don't remember much about what happened yesterday… It's fuzzy. Plutarch asked if I was sure about the compartment thing…"
"You are sure." Effie answered at once.
Haymitch's mouth twitched with amusement. "Can I know what I'm sure about?"
"Rooming with me?" she offered tentatively. He didn't reply at once and she started walking again. "I need to make sure Katniss is ready to go."
"Effie." he grabbed her arm again, effectively stopping her flee. "It's a small room…"
"And I'm ready to share it if it's the price to pay to make sure they don't take you away again." she hissed. "I can't keep Katniss close every hour of the day but, believe me, if I could I would. We are a team, we should stay together."
Haymitch's face softened briefly but it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. "This is not about the team."
"No." she agreed readily. "This is about finding you naked and half-dead in a cell." She hastily blinked the tears away before he could see them but it was already too late. The gentle way he squeezed her arm told her he had spotted them. She licked her lips nervously and lowered her eyes. "I want you close to me."
"So you can protect me?" he snorted. It was teasing and mocking all at once but there was a hint of fondness in there too.
"Precisely." she declared.
He stared at her for a few seconds and then shrugged. "As you wish, Princess. Don't come complaining to me when you're sick of me making a mess of your room."
She was sure there would be a lot of complaining indeed but she chose not to dwell on that.
As long as he was alive and breathing, she could deal with almost everything else.