Prompt : In one of your fics you said something about Plutarch threatening to admit Effie to a hospital. Please could you do something where she's staying with him after the war and he does end up admitting her to a psych ward and haymitch finds out?

Admitted

Haymitch's foot was tapping restlessly against the tiled floor of the hospital entrance. The papers in his hands were creased and a little torn at the edges from the multiple times he had had to take them out and flash them around.

"I thought I was doing the best thing for her." Plutarch sighed. "Would you stop giving me the silent treatment? You had no idea..."

"Shut up, Plutarch." he growled. "Just... Shut up."

He could strangle the man where he stood. Haymitch was supposed to stay in Twelve with Katniss – granted he hadn't been taking care of her as well as he should have, relying on Graesy Sae instead and drinking away the dread and angst of the past few months but he was supposed to be there for the girl and not to have to hurry back to the Capitol because Plutarch had fucked up with Effie again. He had failed to get her out of the city in the first place during the rebellion. And now he had failed to keep her safe afterwards.

Haymitch passed a hand over his face, tired and too sober. The tremors in his fingers were bad and he would have to find liquor before they boarded the scheduled hovercraft to Twelve.

Effie had refused to come with Katniss and him, she had argued she needed to stay in the city and try. The Capitol was still being rebuilt, it was agreed she would stay at Plutarch's, and she hadn't been sure yet if she hated his drunk guts or not so Haymitch hadn't insisted, thinking they could discuss it again when it would be time for Peeta to come back. She had been dealing with her traumatic experience when he had left – or at least she had been trying – and he had thought she would be fine. Until Plutarch's call came through two days earlier.

I had to have her admitted in a hospital, the Gamemaker had said. Once he had stopped panicking and had finally registered why Plutarch had had her admitted, he had been so angry his sight had flashed red. Sae had heard him shout You what? from two houses down the street. An hovercraft had been sent from Thirteen ready to take him to the Capitol in the hour – being secretary of Communication had its perks.

Effie, it had turned out, hadn't been dealing so well. She hadn't been sleeping, she hadn't been eating, she hadn't been talking and the only reason she had ever left her room had been to visit Peeta at the hospital. The rest of the time, if the man was to be believed, she had been sitting huddled in a corner of the room. Plutarch had tried to establish a dialogue but had failed to reach her. In the end, he had given up and called an ambulance. When he had called to warn Haymitch, he had actually sounded joyful because she had struggled when they had taken her to the hospital and that meant she had some fight left in her. It had been lucky the Gamemaker hadn't been in front of him because Haymitch would have punched him, good intentions or not.

Plutarch should have called him and not an ambulance.

The hospital didn't want to release Effie. They didn't think she was sane and able to live on her own. They wouldn't even let them see her since neither of them were next of kin. It had taken going to Paylor for Haymitch to secure power of attorney over her and he hated that it meant she was now stripped of her rights, with no more independence than a child under his care – like Katniss. But at least, at least, he could take her out of there. If they would stop triple checking his papers and finally release her... He was sick and tired of listening to doctors who told him she would be better in a controlled environment where they could sedate her when she was agitated and force her to feed herself.

Capitols knew how to repair bodies, they had no clues how to repair minds.

"Everything seems in order." a nurse told him finally, already reaching for the bag at Haymitch's feet. "We'll make her ready for..."

He snatched the bag before she could touch it. "I'll take care of it."

The nurse seemed taken aback by that and tried to argue but Haymitch was glowering in a most threatening fashion and Plutarch's attempts at calming everyone – and mostly the victor – weren't working. The more the Gamemaker talked, the more he wanted to punch him silent. He understood Plutarch had only been trying to help, he did, but this was a mess and he was scared of the state he would find Effie in.

He was right to be scared.

Plutarch and the nurse, mercifully, didn't even try to follow him inside the room. It was a nice room as far as hospitals went. A bed, flowers on the nightstand, a framed picture of the city on the wall - padded straps that kept her in bed...

"Haymitch!" she called as soon as she saw him, weakly fighting the bounds. "Haymitch, please, please, please, don't send me back to prison! Don't! I'd rather you let them execute me, please! Please."

Her eyes were glassy and her speech was sluggish. Drugs, he realized, they had sedated her.

"It's okay, sweetheart." he promised, hurrying over and freeing her wrists and ankles. She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Please, don't let them put me back in a cell." she whispered, out of her mind with panic despite the sedatives. "Please, please."

When the ambulance came, she had thought they were arresting her again. He cursed Plutarch under his breath and held her tighter.

"It's okay, Effie." he repeated again. "I'm going to take you home with me."

She calmed down but only slightly. "Home?"

"Twelve." he clarified. "I don't trust Plutarch with you."

She shook her head and buried her face in the crook of her neck. "Plutarch let them take me. He let them arrest me. They drugged me. I don't like this, Haymitch, I don't want to be drugged, I..."

"Nobody's arresting you and nobody's drugging you again." he cut her off. "You're fine. We'll be fine. We're going home." He gently pried her arms away from his neck. "Come on, you need to get dressed."

He picked up the sport bag and dropped it on the bed. Her fingers were shaking but she was quick in pulling out a pink dress out of it.

"That's mine." she whispered.

"I stopped at Plutarch. Packed your stuff." he explained, helping her out of the thin hospital gown and into the dress. He zipped it for her when she wordlessly turned around, brushing her hair to the side to pres a kiss against her nape. "I'm sorry this happened, Princess. I shouldn't have trusted him with you."

"He said the people would help but they didn't. They drugged me." she whispered.

"Did they hurt you?"he growled.

She shook her head, turned around and wrapped her arms around his torso again. "I'm sorry if I did something wrong..."

"You did nothing wrong." he hissed. "This place is just as stupid and shallow as ever. That's the Capitol's answer to everything, isn't it? When people have problems, let's hide the people away 'cause nobody wants to deal with that." He was so angry he was shaking. It was the Games all over again. Force the victors to smile in public, make a joke of their clutches and quirks, hide and deny the fact that they were all sick in the head... "I'm taking you to Twelve. You can get better there and once you're better you can decide if you want to come back here or not. I can tell you I'm not. Ever. This place makes me sick."

He had expected resistance despite everything, a last plea to convince him she would be fine by herself in the city... All he got was a shaky nod. She would be angry the next day probably, once the drugs would be out of her system and she would wake up in Twelve.

"Take me home." she requested softly.

Home. He liked the sound of that.