Prompt : this is a really cheesy prompt but could you please do one where effie's been depressed post MJ and haymitch makes her laugh for the first time since her imprisonment
I don't know what this is… It might be crack, it might be less crack, I have no idea. I just know I want a hot cocoa with whipped cream.
Of Gardening, Sprains and Laughter
Life after the war quickly fell into a routine.
Katniss hunted, Peeta baked and Haymitch drank.
One day, not too long after the boy had come back, Effie showed up on Haymitch's doorstep with three suitcases and a list of problems and insecurities as long as the arm. The routine shifted to include her but not too much.
Katniss hunted, Peeta baked, Haymitch drank and Effie swirled all around them with an unrestrained energy that felt desperate.
She was fighting to exist, Haymitch often mused, grasping at straws not to give up on anymore pieces of herself. She could pretend all she liked, she wasn't the same woman as before the rebellion; her imprisonment had changed her in ways the naked eyes couldn't see. She was broken and refusing to acknowledge it, she was trying not to drown.
Why she felt she needed to clean Haymitch's and the kids' houses or get involved in the District's rebuilding to counter her own trauma, that was anyone's guess. Some people in Twelve were warming up to her but it was a slow process and most of them spat at her feet when she passed on the street or muttered insults behind her back – not when he or the kids were there, never when he or the kids were there, but he knew it was happening because Sae told him – yet she refused to be deterred. She walked to the new temporary Justice Building every morning and she remained there until mid-afternoon. He didn't know what she was doing exactly, he only knew it had to do with the rebuilding plans and, he supposed, balancing the budget. He wondered if it was her penance for the ill she had done in Twelve, he wondered if she was stupid enough to think helping them build back the District would make up for the twenty-four children she had brought to their death. Probably not. Effie was a lot of things but not stupid.
He figured it had more to do with keeping busy anyway. She had never been good at being idle and now that nightmares, ghosts and monsters were waiting to prey on her every time she sat down and closed her eyes, he supposed she was even worse at handling it. It was far from being a healthy coping mechanism, she was working herself to exhaustion every day. It was still healthier than taking up the bottle, he guessed.
Still, it wasn't all bad.
There existed some sort of balance between the four of them, a dysfunctional family of sort, and there were good days where the horrors of the past didn't seem to loom ahead. They were rare but they were treasured.
Leaning against the wooden railing of the porch, his flask in his hand, Haymitch decided that today would be a good day. He tilted his head to the sun, relishing in the warm weather after the harsh shrill of winter. It would be the first spring without a Reaping. He was still trying to process that most days.
The geese were honking and quacking all over the yard, two of them were wandering towards Katniss' house and he could already imagine the lecture the girl would give him about keeping a proper eye on his birds because they always made a mess of her garden – not that Katniss cared a lot about the state of her garden but Peeta did. Buying geese was the best decision he had made in a long time. The constant racket was distracting enough that it disturbed the strange hold the memories sometimes had on him – and it annoyed everyone which was always a plus in his book.
"Are you aware we are out of milk?" Effie asked as if the conversation had been on-going – although maybe it had been and he had simply neglected to listen or answer, it never bothered her to talk to herself – stepping out of the house. "I don't suppose you would be willing to run into town for some?"
He turned around to face her, leaning back on the railing and bringing his flask to his lips. She was staring at him in an inquisitive fashion, all the while securing a big hat on her head.
"That's very ugly." he commented.
It was a deep shade of blue that matched her dress and her eyes, with a pink ribbon and entirely too many white feathers. It screamed Capitol. For a second, he almost regretted the wigs.
"Well, you never were a fashion expert, were you?" she huffed. "I intend to garden and I refuse to get sunburned."
Haymitch's eyebrows shot up as he looked her up and down. The hat, the summer dress, the heels…
"Sweetheart, I don't know what you think gardening is about but I can tell you nobody dresses that fancy to get their hands in the dirt." he snorted.
"They should." she retorted. "Manual labor is all well and good but everything should be done in style. Now, where do you keep your gardening tools? In the shed?"
Haymitch's eyes embraced the garden, looked back at her and estimated it would take her less than five minutes to declare the task hopeless. He had never bothered with the yard, grass was as high as the knee in some places, it was completely invaded with weeds and wild plants she shouldn't touch without proper gardening gloves and he wasn't certain the geese were the only animals living on his property.
"You know there are snakes in there, right?" he frowned.
"Peeta assured me they are quite harmless." she insisted, always so stubborn. "The house is in a prim state now, Haymitch, I want a garden that matches."
He refrained from pointed out it wasn't her house and that her stay was temporary – he had a feeling, it wouldn't be so temporary.
"Knock yourself out." he shrugged.
He remained on the porch and watched as she ran around for a while, making huge detours to avoid the geese – she hated the geese – and hurrying to Peeta's house to borrow gardening tools. It was absolutely hilarious to watch. She dropped the tools next to house and gave the kind of sigh she always did when she was about to go on a massive cleaning spree, only to purse her lips and let her eyes travel uncertainly along the edge of the garden. Haymitch took a sip of his flask and didn't even try to hide his smirk. She didn't know where to start.
She glanced back at him over her shoulder, chewing on her bottom lip, caught his mocking expression and swallowed back the request for advices.
"Do you own a lawn-mower?" she asked instead.
"Do I look like I have a lawn-mower?" he retorted, enjoying the show way too much. He particularly like the way she jumped away from any goose that wandered too close.
"How do you expect me to put your garden back into shape without something to mow the yard?" she huffed, clearly annoyed.
"'M not expecting you to do anything, sweetheart." he chuckled. "You're the one who wants to exhaust themselves."
She glared at him and headed to Peeta's house once more. He was too far to hear the particulars of the conversation but from the boy's alarmed gestures, he figured the kid was insisting on helping her with the lawn-mower but Effie was adamant about doing it herself. She came back with a device that sort of looked like a cross between a jigsaw and a vacuum cleaner.
"You're sure you know how to…" he straightened, a little less amused.
She didn't wait for him to complete the question before starting the engine.
It was a complete disaster.
Whatever the thing was supposed to do, she was still gaining back her strength after her imprisonment, and, clearly, that thing was too heavy and too powerful for her to handle. She struggled with it for a few minutes and then, before Haymitch could hop down the stairs and run to her help, she twisted her ankle and fell.
He snatched the mower away and switched it off, not keen on being maimed, and kneel down next to her.
"You're okay?" He didn't mind that he sounded worried, he was worried. He honestly thought he could live the rest of his life without seeing the inside of a hospital ever again, all the more so if it was for one of the kids or her.
"I am fine." she declared, sounding dejected. "I don't think I can use that thing." She glared at the lawn-mower as if it had personally insulted her. Her dress was covered in dirt and despite her reassurances that she was unhurt, she was rubbing her ankle.
"We'll pay someone to do it." he decided. There was no shortage of kids looking for part-time jobs. "Come on, let's get you back inside."
"But I wanted to garden." she pouted.
"Don't act like a child." he snapped, hauling her up. The second she put her weight on her foot, she cried out and clutched his arm to keep herself upright.
"It is nothing." She was quick to state. "I had my share of sprains, this is not…"
"Sure." He rolled his eyes, wrapped an arm around her waist and bent to grab her under the knees, amused when her sentence finished in a loud squeal of surprise.
"Don't drop me." she begged, coiling her arms around his neck so tight she was almost strangling him. "I know you. You will think it's funny but it's not and I swear if you drop me…"
"I'm not going to drop you, would you relax already?" he snapped.
The stairs leading up the house were tricky to maneuver but he managed, he was careful when he placed her on the couch even though the temptation to just drop her was strong. He undid the strap of her shoe and took it off, the ankle was already swelling.
"Only you would garden with heels." he grumbled. "You need ice." She tried to get up but he pushed her down and ordered her not to move. She winced when he wrapped her ankle in a cloth full of ice cubes. "Well, you're off that foot for a few days."
"Don't be ridiculous, it will be fine tomorrow. I have places to be." she argued.
"'Don't think so, Princess." He shook his head. "'Looks like a bad sprain to me. You walk on it, you're only going to make it worse."
"I need to walk anyway. You won't spend your time carrying me around, will you?" she shot back. "I will be fine. I just…"
"'Should have thought about it before strutting around on those heels of yours." he shrugged. "You're staying off that foot, end of discussion."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"You are not the boss of me, Haymitch Abernathy." she warned in a dangerous voice.
"You boss me around every chance you get." he replied. "Turnabout is fair play, sweetheart." He pointed an accusing finger at her. "I catch you off that couch, you won't like the outcome. Don't think I won't tie you to your bed."
"You wouldn't." she muttered.
He wouldn't, too many bad memories to even think about doing something like that.
"Try me." he challenged anyway.
She wisely stayed on the couch for the rest of the day, watching TV, channel surfing or reading, and very much sulking. Nothing seemed to distract her for long and she was becoming restless. He refused to cater to her every wish and she seemed bent on annoying him to death but by early afternoon she was miserable and he was almost contemplating going out to buy milk if only not to witness her growing distress.
In the end, he sat on the couch with her and placed her legs on his lap. He massaged the swollen ankle distractedly, wishing he knew what to do to help her.
"I don't like staying put." she confessed in a whisper. "When you pause, you think. I don't want to think."
"I know." he offered. He had guessed as much.
"Do you?" she hummed, turning her head away from him. Her eyes were on the window but he wasn't sure she was really seeing it. "In that cell, that was all I could do. Think. I hated that even then. They come when I think, they're insidious, they sneak in my mind and they ask questions I can't answer."
He didn't need to ask who she was talking about. Twenty-four dead children were a lot to have on one's conscience. He would know, there were forty-six kids he had failed to save, eight he had killed himself and that was without counting the various people he had been unable to protect like Finnick or Prim.
"And now there are the memories to think about too." she continued. "The pain, the fear… I can almost feel them again if I think about it too hard. It is very disturbing and I hate it and I don't want to think." Her blue eyes came back on him, begging. "Make me stop thinking, Haymitch."
She had made that request several times over the years. He knew what she meant by it. It would have been easy to let his hand run up her leg to the hem of her dress, easy to get it off her and to cover her body with his own, easy to fall back into that. He wanted to, deep down, because he missed it, missed her, but she still flinched when he touched her to get her attention and she wasn't expecting the contact, she still startled when he approached her too silently, she still shied away when the hugs became less comfort and more something else.
She wanted sex but he didn't think she was ready for it just yet. He suspected that was something they would have to build their way to.
"So, I caught Peeta sneaking out of Katniss' house this morning." he said instead, keeping his voice light and mocking.
"Really?" she asked, sitting up a little. "I didn't think they were… Well… You know. I knew things were advancing but I didn't know they were at that stage yet."
"Don't tell me." he snorted. "You know, this is really fucked up. I couldn't decide between slapping him on the back and threatening to cut his balls off."
Her laugh took him by surprise.
It had been a very long time since he had last heard it – not the fake, polite laugh she gave the kids on a daily basis to convince them she was fine but her real laugh. It was a delightful sound. He didn't think she had laughed since the end of the war. She apparently thought the whole thing hilarious because she was holding her stomach and her eyes were bright with tears.
"Don't laugh." he grumbled for show. "That's really annoying. They're both like my own kids, it's disturbing."
"You shouldn't think about it." she advised, still choking on her laughter.
"Yeah, you know when you tell someone not to think about something and that's all they can think about?" He made a face, trying very hard to suppress the disturbing images in his head. "I can't stop thinking about the kids having sex." He shook his head and tugged his flask out of his pocket. "I hate you."
"Well, now you know how they feel when you make inappropriate comments about me in front of them." she pointed out.
"What are you talking about?" he frowned.
She rolled her eyes. "Please, you can't stop with the innuendos. Haven't you noticed Peeta is cringing every time you venture a comment about my figure? Katniss is oblivious, of course, but…"
"I don't talk about your figure, I talk about your ass. Or your boobs." he shrugged. "You think the boy didn't notice you have them? Or that you're easy on the eyes? He's a teenager, you're sexy and he didn't always see you the way he does now, do the math."
Any trace of laughter left her face. "And now we have reached a brand new level of disturbing."
"Not worse than the thought of the kids doing it." he denied.
"A lot of worse. Imagine Katniss entertaining that sort of thoughts about you." she scowled.
The disgust was immediate. "We're never talking about this again, sweetheart. Ever."
"I wonder though…" she teased, a delighted grin on her lips. She knew she was creeping him out and she loved it. "You always were a big hit with younger victors. Perhaps Katniss had a crush at some point, do you remember Johanna's first years? I was expecting to find her naked in the penthouse any day."
Johanna always had a thing for walking around naked and Effie didn't need to know about the very awkward night Jo did try to seduce him. She had soon realized her crush was stupid though and had been nothing but friendly – as friendly as Johanna Mason could be –ever since.
"They're kids. I could be their dad." he growled. "I'm not that despicable yet."
"You're not despicable at all." she sighed, swinging her legs of his lap so she could straddle his thighs and wrap her arms around his neck. "I was never worried about Johanna. You have no patience for inexperience and you never were one for vanilla sex."
"I don't think Jo does vanilla sex." he pointed out. Johanna was extremely dominating in every part of her life and he couldn't imagine sex would be any different. That would never have worked. Haymitch didn't relinquish control either, Effie was the exception to that rule and only because he trusted Effie implicitly.
"You would be surprised." Effie hummed. "She wants kindness. She needs kindness. I think she would love classic sweet and slow."
He shook his head. "Why are we even talking about our friends' sex life?"
"Because we don't have one of our own?" she suggested, a little uncertain. She dropped her eyes, staring at the collar of his shirt as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. "Does it bother you? Because that was all you wanted from me for years and now I am not providing sex and…"
"I don't want you to provide anything." he spat, cutting her off. He nudged her chin up gently, his free hand running up her leg to rest possessively on the back of her thigh. "You're more than just that. I can wait. I don't mind."
She leaned in and pecked him on the lips softly. He didn't try to deepen the kiss, he was happy to let her set the pace.
"Soon." she promised anyway.
"Okay." he agreed readily with a shrug.
She settled against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, propping his chin on the top of her head. If that was how her attempts at gardening ended, he hoped she would take it up as a hobby.
"Are you still thinking about what the children do at night?" she teased.
"Dammit, Effie!" he grunted as the images came back, unwanted.
Her laughter boomed in the room and it truly was the sweetest sound.
He didn't mind the rest as much.
When she was laughing, the world become a much happier place to live in.