The Project

"Keep off the Thirteen matter as much as possible." Plutarch advised from the armchair where he was sitting with a leg crossed over the other like he owned the place.

No Sir, no Mr President, Haymitch half-mindedly noticed as he struggled to knot the tie around his neck. Maybe it was the Presidential suite that was making the man more relaxed, maybe it was the fact Haymitch had been failing to knot that fucking tie for five minutes… He liked it better when Effie did the prepping for press interviews – and five interviews back to back with different influent journalists weren't his idea of fun – if only because she would make sure he didn't look like a hobo – not that he cared but his senior staff seemed to.

However, Effie was downstairs, trying to diffuse the fact that Coin had more or less not quite illegally but questionably enough gotten back her old position in Thirteen after months on the bench. It was making noise. The woman was out for blood and not at all hiding the fact she was ready to secure Thirteen's independence through force if she needed to. There had been more direct threats – that part was need-to-know, only Plutarch, him and Lyme were aware for now, even Effie and Seeder hadn't been told yet – more troubles bubbling behind the scene… People were agitated. In Thirteen and in the rest of Panem. Thirteen's population didn't want a crazy District Representative, the rest of Thirteen's leaders were discreetly calling the Capitol for help but didn't dare press Coin to resign because… Well, it seemed she had her own private militia now. Which was just great.

"I'm gonna do my best but it's the first thing they're gonna ask if they're half-decent reporters." he scoffed. And they were good reporters. You didn't get a sit-down with the President by publishing in gossip rags. They had been warned off certain subjects – like his private life – but they would go for the kill if they sensed a story.

"Bring the conversation back to Five. That's good for us." Plutarch dismissed.

The dam construction, at least, was going well, that was true.

He sighed as he surveyed his reflection in the round mirror on the living-room's wall and ripped off the tie from his neck, tossing it on the back of the couch. A clawed paw appeared swiftly and the tie disappeared, followed by the loud purring of a savage animal.

That fixed that, Haymitch mused, he wasn't going to try and get the tie back now.

He couldn't see the cat from where he was standing but Plutarch was staring at something on the couch with both wariness and a touch of disgust. Given the shredding noises, Rascal was doing him a favor and making sure the tie paid for being non-cooperative.

Plutarch seemed to debate telling him to put on another tie and then shrugged, more resigned than their Press Secretary ever would be to the fact he would never look proper and refined.

"Anything else I should know?" he asked, facing his chief-of-staff with a lifted eyebrow.

He knew Plutarch. He had known the man for close to a decade. He knew when he wanted to say something but was trying to find the right way to formulate it so Haymitch wouldn't jump at his throat.

Plutarch didn't move from where he was sitting, his fingers drumming distractedly on the armrest…

"Any particular reason an eminent OB professor was added to the staff of the Mansion's clinic?" his chief-of-staff asked in a casual tone.

Haymitch forced himself not to react at all. He shrugged. "You're confusing me with HRD. I don't hire people."

"Right…" Plutarch narrowed his eyes at him. "The Mansion's clinic is here for you, Haymitch, in case of emergency."

"The Mansion's clinic is open to all staff in case of emergency." he argued.

That was one of the first few changes he had made when he had moved into the Mansion during his first term. It didn't make any sense to have a whole medical staff on stand-by in the off-chance he got poisoned, shot or had a heart attack on the premises. Opening it to everyone working in the Mansion had been a good way, in his opinion, to make profitable the outrageous amount of money they were spending on hotshot doctors who never got to see him outside of monthly check-ups anyway.

It had been a popular move too.

Sure, if he needed the clinic, it was immediately vacated, security tightened and people invited to wait to visit unless they were dying – and even then he was pretty sure Boggs would ask them to patiently wait their turn – but mostly, it was for everyone working there and he was proud of having done that.

"Last I checked, you were not a woman so I fail to see how bringing in the Capitol's top expert in obstetrics is pertinent." Plutarch insisted, narrowing his eyes further.

"Last I checked, there were plenty of women working for us." he countered. "We have every kind of specialists under the sun on call at that clinic… Why not an OB?"

"Funny coincidence…" his friend hissed. "…that this particular doctor was visited a certain number of times by Effie's sister."

"The city ain't that big." he dismissed, burying his hands in his pockets. "And you said it, he's top-notch."

Plutarch rolled his eyes, exasperated with him. "Can we stop playing games?"

"You tell me." Haymitch snapped, squaring his shoulders a little.

"If there is something I need to know…" the chief-of-staff insisted.

"There is nothing you need to know." he spat.

"If I need to find a new Press Secretary within less than nine months, I need to know." Plutarch retorted, clearly losing patience. "I am your chief-of-staff, Haymitch, that's…"

"Yeah." Haymitch cut him off. "You're my chief-of-staff. Last time I checked, that made me the boss. Could be wrong, though… Feel free to correct me."

He didn't like pulling ranks. He didn't like lording his position over his friends. But this was turning into a lecture and he didn't want nor need one. He knew what he was doing.

Plutarch's mouth snapped shut. There was anger simmering in his eyes but, after a few tensed beats, the man relaxed. That was the great thing about Plutarch, he didn't really have a temper. He was cool-headed. That was what made him so valuable. "I apologize, Sir, I was out of line. My point stands, though. If we need to look into potential candidates…"

"Effie ain't going anywhere." Haymitch interrupted.

Plutarch searched his face, frowning a little in confusion. "Then, I am lost. Who exactly is pregnant?" After a moment, Plutarch frowned harder. "Katniss?" She was the only other one he would bother hiring an expert for, Haymitch figured, so it was no surprise Plutarch's mind jumped there. Haymitch remained impassible and Plutarch sighed. "I cannot help if you keep me in the dark!"

"We don't need your help, Plutarch." he replied, as nicely as he could.

"Ah! So it's that we." the Capitol man triumphed and then made a face, probably remembering he had been warned off the subject once already. "Mr President, if there is a… situation, then changes are unavoidable. You cannot have a child with a woman working for you, that would be…"

"I never said there was a baby." he snapped, losing patience. "And women who work for me are allowed to get pregnant if they want to. Who says I'm having a kid with them? Nobody. Nobody can prove it either."

Plutarch blinked at him. "Seriously? You plan on keeping up that denial game? Effie should know better. This is…"

"Why don't you let us handle it, Plutarch." Haymitch demanded. "We've got it under control. Not that there is anything to handle yet."

A little white lie, he told himself.

"Oh, so she is not pregnant yet but you are trying?" Plutarch sighed with relief. "I beg you to hold off for a couple of more years. Once you are not President anymore… Age is a factor, of course, but medicine does wonders those days… And, really, if she is serious about running eventually… A small child will distract her and…"

"Plutarch." Haymitch growled. "Shut up."

There was a certain tone of voice everybody in that Mansion knew to heed.

"Yes, Sir." Plutarch relented after a second, hauling himself out of that armchair. "Last warning on the subject though… It would not take much snooping for the press to figure out you are hiring an OB…"

"Which is why Effie's gonna slip it at the press briefing." Haymitch deadpanned. "'Cause, again, the clinic is available for all staff and we want work-place equality, don't we?"

It wasn't like they hadn't thought this through.

Effie had been against the idea originally but, as he had pointed out, she couldn't keep going to that clinic with her sister when her sister wasn't married or even dating anymore. It was suspicious. Besides, it meant he couldn't go with her to appointments and, while it wasn't really a problem for now, he knew himself well enough to know he would want to be there for ultrasounds and the likes later on. Having the professor on the clinic's payroll meant Haymitch could visit the clinic more easily. They could have the appointments late at night when the Mansion was mostly empty… In the long run, it would help keep the secret until they were ready to tell people.

Plutarch seemed to be brought short by that very logical reply and made a face. "She is good."

"That, she is." Haymitch snorted, heading for the door. "Don't know how you can still be surprised by that."

Plutarch followed, a half-step behind, still not quite happy. "Mr President, I urge you to reconsider this… project. It will make things unnecessarily complicated."

The chief-of-staff glanced at Boggs who had followed them as soon as Haymitch had stepped out of the suite. The bodyguard's face was set in its usual blank mask but there was a glint of amusement in the other man's eyes that Haymitch pretended hard not to see.

He had neither confirmed nor denied Boggs' suspicions since addressing the fact Effie's new Peacekeeper came in tow with a potential nanny would be enough evidence as it was but… It hadn't escaped his notice either that Boggs's choice for her new bodyguard was a lot better than Gale had been. Sure, the young man was a peacock who seemed to delight in flirting with her – all the more so in front of him – but he was also professional and Haymitch had the feeling that he wouldn't hesitate if he had to jump in front of her or shoot someone to protect her. If it had been him in that corridor with Thread all those months ago, Finnick would have probably shot the Head Peacekeeper for pointing a gun at her and apologized later. Haymitch found that reassuring.

"That project is none of your business, Plutarch." Haymitch dismissed again, a hint of steel in his voice.

His chief-of-staff hesitated but they were in public now and he switched subjects instead, briefing him on the various journalists he would meet that day as if Haymitch hadn't met them a hundred times each during his years as President.

It was a long morning, full of tricky questions and traps he avoided as best as he could by turning on the charm. He never sugarcoated his opinions though, to his advisors' endless despair, so when someone asked what he thought about Coin… It took him a whole minute of chosen adjectives before he remembered to turn the conversation back to the safe waters of Five's dam.

It was a relief to leave one of the ornate living-rooms of the Mansion to go back to his office. Apparently, Rascal had relocated and dragged the shredded tie with him all the way to his desk where he was lounging, the abused fabric dangling from his mouth.

"How am I supposed to work, you monster?" he scoffed.

Rascal met his eyes point blank, daring him to try and move him.

Haymitch valued his hands so he sat down and used the few inches available in the corner of his desk.

If Coin could see him now…

He was about to order some lunch when the door opened after a brief knock. Effie strode in, munching on a greasy looking sandwich wrapped in white paper…

His mouth immediately stretched into a smirk. "Meatballs sandwich again?"

She groaned but didn't stop devouring it like a starved woman, nudging the door closed behind her with her foot. "The bean likes them."

"Right." he humored her. The moment she perched on the corner of his desk, he placed a hand on her stomach. "And how's my tiny bean?" He felt ridiculous when he leaned forward and pressed a kiss above his hand but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Hungry. Do you know if I eat I do not feel queasy anymore?" She pursed her lips in annoyance. "He will have me as big as a house in no time."

"And you're still gonna be gorgeous…" he deftly countered, wincing when the familiar weight – and its accompanying claws – jumped on his lap. Not that there was any attempt at cuddling, no… Rascal just wanted to be between them so he could look up at her with his big innocent adoring eyes and…

"Hello to you too, my darling." she purred, feeding the cat some of her meatballs – which was all he was after in Haymitch's opinion. "So… I heard you did not wear a tie for your interviews."

Back to business, then.

He snatched the abandoned shredded tie on his desk and showed it to her. It was immediately grabbed back by a swift paw. Claws dug hard into his thighs in reprimand and Haymitch groaned.

"Hurt me and you're gonna fly." he threatened.

The cat shot Effie an innocent look, the only sign of his irritation the aggressive switching of his tail…

Effie looked far too amused. "Oh, and I am sure there was no other tie for you to use, is that it? Did Rascal kidnap them all?"

"If only." he mocked. "Didn't go too bad though, I think. What about you? Anyone ticked at the new OB thing?"

She shook her head and took a bite of her sandwich, chewing and swallowing before answering. "No one even blinked. But I added it as if in afterthought, it was very clever of me."

"Modesty… That's your best quality, sweetheart." he teased.

"Modesty is for people without talent." she huffed, shooting him a look. "Any idea why Plutarch has been unsubtly singing the praise of not having children all morning?"

Haymitch snorted, guiding her wrist toward his mouth so he could steal a bite of her sandwich. "He ticked about the OB thing. I've let him think we're still trying. That was very clever of me."

She pursed her lips, not quite amused. "You have no talent to imitate me, Haymitch."

"I resent that." He smirked wider, burying his fingers in the cat's heavy fur until Rascal started reluctantly purring. "He ain't thrilled."

"I gathered." she hummed. "Does it make you reconsider?"

"Nope." He let the p pop. "He's gonna get on board eventually."

"I certainly hope so…" she sighed, rubbing her free hand on her stomach. "This is a good thing."

"Yeah…" He leaned in and pressed another kiss on her belly, ignoring the protests of Rascal who didn't like being squeezed. "It's the best thing."

Oopsie it seems like Plutarch is onto hayffie... It also seems like dangerous things are brewing in Thirteen... Are you scared? Maybe you should be... In teh meantime... how adorable is hayffie in this verse? Less than Rascal probably but, then again, Rascal IS the star of this show... Let me know your thoughts!