2.
She waited for the bullet or the fists or…
"Sir, I've got her. We're in the supply closet on hallway number six." the man said and when she chanced another glance up, safe behind the curtain of her tangled hair, she saw he was talking into a radio clipped to his vest. "She's not… I don't think she's a spy. She looks… She doesn't look right in the head, sir."
"Stand by. We're on our way." came the slightly distorted reply.
A moment later the horrible alarm was finally shut down and she took an easier breath.
"It's okay." the man said, not unkindly. "You just stay put until we can sort this out."
The gun was still firmly pointed at her.
She wanted to run but there was nowhere to go. The soldier was blocking the door and there was no other exit. Even if she tried to push past him…
No, he would shoot her.
Shoot her or grab her or…
She scrambled back a little, pressing herself harder against the wall… Her thin frame rattled with the strength of her trembling, her breathing came out in loud uneven puffs she couldn't control… She was dizzy and her head hurt and she just wanted…
She wanted her world back.
She heard the loud footsteps rushing closer and she saw the soldier relax a fraction…
Trouble. She was in trouble.
She curled up even tighter, staring with wide eyes at the three men who appeared on the threshold, glancing at the squad that fell out in the corridor, guns raised… Her gaze darted from the tall black one to the handsome dirty-blond man before studying the plump balding one. It didn't matter that the three men were unarmed, they looked dangerous all the same.
Everything looked dangerous.
This wasn't her world.
They weren't the boy.
"Colonel Boggs, sir." the soldier greeted, not taking his eyes off her, the gun still pointed right at her. "She doesn't…
"Fuck." the blond man said the moment he spotted her huddling in the dark corner. The black man made a move to stop him but it was too late. Before anyone could do or say anything more, the blond one had shot past the soldier, pushing his gun toward the ground on his way, and was kneeling next to her. Right next to her. Too close. Too close.
"Effie…" he breathed out, almost reverently, almost pained.
She wasn't sure.
It was hard to say.
She wasn't sure.
"Effie Trinket?" the black man clarified with a frown. "We grabbed her but we couldn't ID her down there…"
"That would explain what she was doing in Peeta's cell." the plump man remarked, clearly relaxing. "Stand down, soldier. Boggs, call off the alarm. This is just a misunderstanding. She must have panicked, that's all. She's with us, I'm vouching for her."
"She was with Peeta?" the handsome one asked.
It took a moment for the black man to dismiss everyone. Boggs, she told herself, his name was Colonel Boggs. The soldier had called him that. It was his name. People had names. Didn't they? People had…
And then it was only the four of them in that tiny room, no more soldiers brandishing guns in the corridor, and it wasn't as comforting as it maybe should have been. The guns were gone and that was good but the three men hadn't left and that was not. She wanted to be left alone. She wanted to be left alone so she could pretend she was safe in her room with the boy.
"She was in Mellark's cell, yes." Boggs confirmed once they were alone. "Why?"
The blond man took a long time to answer that question. She stared right back at him from behind the curtain of her tangled hair, studying him the same way he was studying her. Her breathing slowly evened out with every new second spent without him attacking her, she wasn't entirely aware of matching him breath for breath but she didn't feel as panicky anymore. Her head was still killing her but it wasn't spinning as much.
He reached out and she flinched, almost flinging herself at the wall in her need to get away from the threat, to…
His hand froze in the air and he didn't move it again, not until she was looking in his grey eyes once more, not until her breathing was more regular… She was still terrified when it resumed its course, expecting pain, expecting… All he did was brush her hair away from her face, over her shoulder… His fingers trailed on the soft skin beneath her earlobe, retraced the line of her jaw and ended on her chin…
Her skin was on fire where he had touched her but it wasn't a bad sensation. Not quite a burn, more like a pleasant tingly warmth…
Slowly, impossibly slowly, he moved his hand up again, using the back of it to wipe the tears she hadn't even noticed from her right cheek before cupping the left one, his thumb erasing the teardrops that kept rolling down… She found herself tilting her head, not quite leaning into the caress but fascinated by the gentleness of the gesture… It was the first contact since she had woken up that didn't feel like an intrusion.
It was welcomed.
Oh so welcomed.
"You're feeling any urge to strangle me, sweetheart?" he asked her softly. "More than usual, I mean?"
There was a joke in there that she didn't get.
She understood him.
She understood the words.
She understood but she didn't.
There was a thick fog in her head and every time she tried to pierce it, her head felt like it was going to split in two. It hurt to think. It hurt to try and remember what the words meant.
The plump man startled, looking troubled. "Do you think they might have done to her the same thing they did to Peeta? If she is a danger to Katniss…"
The handsome man ignored him.
He removed his hand from her face and she immediately missed the contact. A distressed whimper rumbled low in her throat but it was him who looked pained. He shrugged off the woolen jacket he had on over the same grey jumper everyone else was wearing. She tensed a little when he wrapped it around her.
"It's alright, Effie." he whispered, helping her slip her arms into the sleeves. "You're alright. I've got you. You're in Thirteen. You're safe now. I promise you're safe. Do you understand?"
He seemed to be waiting for something and it took her a long moment to realize he wanted something from her. She wasn't sure what it was though.
"Sweetheart?" he insisted, his deep voice gentle, soothing. He did the buttons of the jacket for her. The wool was still warm from his body and it helped with the shivers. A little, at least. "Do you understand me?"
Did she understand him?
Safe, he had said.
Safe was her world. Safe was the room with the boy. Safe was… Safe wasn't here, wherever here was.
But his eyes were very grey and very patient and very tender and his hands were warm and gentle and his voice made something coil in her belly but in a good way.
Safe wasn't here but maybe safe was him.
Slowly, hesitantly, she reached for his hand. She barely brushed her fingers against his knuckles before snatching her hand back, afraid that contact would mean pain, that…
"Alright." His lips stretched into something that wasn't quite a smile. It looked sad. "Okay. Can we do yes or no?"
Yes or no…
Her head was killing her.
There was meaning there.
There had been no meaning in her world, there had been no need for meaning, no need for yes or for no, no need for all those words that were…
"Yes." he repeated, nodding his head up and down. "Or no." He slowly shook his head side to side.
"Haymitch?" the plump man cut in, frowning.
The man lifted his hand to stall him.
Too fast.
She flinched and jerked back to avoid the slap that didn't come.
He looked crushed and placed his hand back down quickly. "Sorry. Sorry. Shit, Princess… Shit…"
"Look, I've got a medical team on stand-by…" Boggs winced.
"No." the blond man… What had the other one called him? Haymitch. Yes, Haymitch… It sounded right. It sounded… "Not yet. Just let me…"
Her breathing was coming out in loud puffs.
Haymitch.
It was like an itch at the back of her mind but her head… Her head was on fire. Her head…
"Sweetheart. You're safe, remember?" he promised. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I won't hurt you. I'd never hurt you like that."
He almost growled that last part.
It should have scared her more because it sounded scary but her treacherous body relaxed instead. Slowly, he placed his hand on her knee and clearly forced a smile. "You're good?"
Yes.
He had said yes or no.
Tentatively, she moved her head up and down. Just a little. Just a hint of a nod.
His relief was obvious, his shoulders slumped and he squeezed her knee. She didn't think he meant to.
"Okay. Okay." He licked his lips, his eyes darting from her face to her shaky frame. "You're cold?"
Still hesitantly, she shook her head no.
He didn't seem relieved to hear that. The trembling was bothering him, she thought. His free hand came up ever so slowly not to startle her, and he brushed her hair back again. It kept falling in her face.
"I've got a question for you." he told her. "You've got to answer honestly, alright, sweetheart? I need you to tell me if you feel like hurting someone. It's okay if you do. Nobody's gonna hurt you, nobody's gonna touch you. I just need to know, alright? So we can keep everyone safe."
It took effort to push through the fog in her head, to bodily fight against the torpor that told her to just curl up and wait it out, to make the words have sense, to make that sense have meaning.
Did she feel like hurting someone?
She wasn't even sure how she felt. It had never been an issue before for her to assess how she felt. She lived in a silent room only perturbed by the occasional mumble of the boy who shared it. Food and water appeared while she slept sometimes and she ate and drank and then slept some more. There was no room for questioning, no room for thinking. The rules were set and the room was her whole universe.
How did she feel?
Tired. That word came to her first through the fog. Yes, she was tired. Her body ached, her head was heavy and the tears that kept running down her cheeks were exhausting.
Hungry. That one was more complicated to figure out. There was a pit in her stomach but the pit had always been there as long as she could remember. The pit was meant to be filled by food but there had never been enough in the room.
Thirsty. That came more easily. Her throat was raw and hoarse, the inside of her mouth dry.
She felt all that, she realized with something akin to wonder. Who knew she could feel so much outside of her room? Who knew there was so much to feel?
But hurting someone? What did that even mean? Doing harm? She tried to picture herself attacking the man who was still cupping her cheek and gently wiping tears with his thumb and she couldn't phantom the thought. Why would she? She was pretty certain that even if he turned on her she wouldn't even try to defend herself.
The man was waiting for her to answer, a lot more patiently than the other two. The plump one was nervously shuffling his weight from one foot to the other and the Colonel was watching her as if she was a threat he could easily dispose of.
She shook her head no, hoping it was the correct answer.
"Okay." he – Haymitch – breathed out. Suddenly, he was like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he bowed forward before he seemed to remember himself. He sat up straighter and let go of her face to rub his own. "Good. Okay."
"Haymitch, what is going on?" the plump man asked.
Haymitch covered his mouth with his hand for a few seconds, as if considering, his grey eyes never wandering away from hers. She thought he was looking hard for a flicker of something. Recollection maybe. Perhaps he, too, had an itch at the back of his mind when he looked at her…
Finally, he started chuckling. It was bitter and wrong and she instinctively flinched, curling back on herself just in case.
"She's got no clue who I am." he said at last. "She's got no fucking clue who I am."
She saw the plump man open his mouth as if to argue and then close it without uttering a sound only to open it again. "If it is the same thing they did to Peeta…"
"Peeta knows who he is." Haymitch argued, shaking his head. "And let's be honest if she had been sent to kill anyone, I'm the obvious target, not Katniss. She didn't have a trigger kill with me so…" He shook his head and slowly reached for her hand. She was apprehensive but she let him have it. His other hand was still on her knee. He hadn't hurt her yet. "I know you're in pain and probably very confused, sweetheart, but I need you to talk to me. Can you do that?" She nodded again, clutching his fingers. He looked so sad, she didn't want to add to it, but a flash of frustration passed on his face and his voice hardened a little. "With proper words, sweetheart. Can you try for me? With words."
Talking. With words?
She had never talked before.
The boy talked and she listened to his one-sided babbling but she had never tried to imitate him.
She didn't talk.
She didn't know if she could. Nobody had taught her. Nobody had showed her.
There was no talking in her world.
She opened her mouth because it seemed like a good first step. The fog was pressing on her mind and she had to fight against it again, fight against the urge to just burry her face between her knees and wait for them to either kill her or take mercy and bring her back to the room. But a part of her also wanted the man… Haymitch to touch her face again, to cup her cheek and wipe her tears and show her what kindness felt like. So she fought. She fought the fog and she focused and…
Nothing came out.
She didn't how to make it work.
She didn't know…
What escaped her throat was only a keening noise that seemed to alarm him even more. Not as much however, as the tears of distress and frustration that rolled down her cheeks.
"It's okay." he said immediately, grabbing her shoulder and tugging her toward him. She tensed at first, the flight or fight instinct almost too violent to be repressed, but them his arms were around her and everything was warm and solid and… Safe. She buried her face in his neck, clutching the rough grey fabric of his shirt in her fist… "It's alright." he whispered, his fingers combing her hair, gently tugging every time they got stuck in a knot. "It's gonna come back. We'll figure it out. It's okay, sweetheart, it's okay…" She felt his lips against her temple, the scruffy beard rasping against her skin… "Do you know your name, sweetheart? Do you know who you are?"
It was a weird question.
She was…
She just was.
But people had names. She knew that, didn't she? People had names. Like Boggs and Haymitch and… She didn't know what the plump man was called but she was sure he must have had a name because everyone had a name and if she…
Haymitch tightened his embrace before she could work herself into another panic.
"Effie." he said. "Your name is Effie Trinket."
Effie Trinket.
It didn't ring any bell.
It sounded pretty though, didn't it?
But why didn't she remember?
She should…
Her head felt like it was about to burst.
"Haymitch." The plump man awkwardly cleared his throat. "We should let the doctors take over now… It's clear she is in dire need of medical attention."
It was enough to send her over the edge again. Her heart raced and she clutched his shirt harder, clinging to him, panicked at the thought of finding herself alone in this strange place that didn't make sense, where people probed at her and took her clothes off only to dress her in paper thin gowns. There were men with guns too. And she didn't like men with guns.
She liked Haymitch though.
Haymitch was calm and soothing and he was the first one who had ever touched her with gentleness.
"I'm staying with you." he promised against her hair. "Don't be scared, I'm staying with you. You hear, Effie? I'm never leaving you again. Never."
"I'll get a gurney." Boggs offered, looking a little ill-at-ease.
"Don't bother." Haymitch replied, sliding his arm under her knees.
She wasn't sure how he did it but then he was standing with her in his arms. It made her dizzy again and she pressed her face against his shoulder.
She would be alright though.
As long as he didn't leave her alone in that strange world, she would be alright.
Haymitch is heeeeeere! At least there is that... What did you think? Was it the reunion you were hoping for? I really hope you liked it! Let me know your thoughts!