11

"For fuck's sake, Finnick, I know, okay?" Haymitch snapped, slamming shut the dishwasher and ruing the day he actually accepted to take in two teenage girls – and a teenage boy, and a witch and a warlock, because it seemed they were all a package deal – who never remembered to empty the dishwasher. Being the one single responsible adult in the house sucked. He missed Effie and her daily reminders that everything ran more smoothly when everyone did their part. "You think it was fun for me? You think if I could have done anything to keep Effie from falling I wouldn't have?"

He had been bickering with Finnick for close to twenty minutes and that hadn't solved anything. He used to like the kid. Hell, he still liked the kid. Mags had taken him under her wing around the time Haymitch had become Maysilee's Watcher and they had seen each other in passing – mostly during holidays when Haymitch caved and made the trip to England – but he hadn't really gotten to know him until Annie. Finnick was a good man because Mags suffered no fool. But he would never forgive Haymitch – or himself – and there wasn't a thing Haymitch could do about that. It was probably a small miracle the young man was consenting to talk to him at all.

Even if that was only to rant about letting Effie get hurt.

"I'm saying every time someone put a woman in your care they get killed so maybe the Council should reconsider." Finnick snapped.

Haymitch actually stopped dead in his tracks because that blow was… Probably deserved but still painful as hell.

He grabbed the glass full of thick potion Cinna had left for him and downed it for a lack of anything better to do. It was the last full dose, the warlock had warned, then they would start to space out the potions and he would feel a bit weaker again for a while but, ultimately, he would also be sober.

As long as he didn't have to do hallucinations, fever and cramps again, Haymitch was all for it.

"I'm surprised you ain't already on a plane." he scoffed. "I bet Coin's already looking for volunteers to replace me."

And Finnick was a prime candidate.

Sure, Coin had said he would remain Katniss' Watcher but she had never said she wouldn't keep a keen eye on him and with Effie compromised… Finnick would get his own Slayer before long, Haymitch surmised. The next rogue one, probably, or he would get assigned a Potential.

"Unlike you, I would never abandon Mags." Finnick retorted.

He wasn't sure what the shot aimed at: his not being able to go to England after the stroke or his disappearing into the wild with Chaff at sixteen after Mabel's death.

"I need to talk to her." he repeated because, at least, they were back on track.

The house was a little too quiet for his taste, he had gotten used to it being loud with teenagers, but, right then, everyone was either napping or subdued. Prim was doing some homework in her room even though she hadn't been back to school yet – and he wasn't sure he would be sending her back either way – Katniss was still with Peeta and he didn't want to know what they were up to, Hawthorne had blissfully not showed up all day – he probably had gone to school – and Madge had sent him a text to tell him she was grounded – possibly on her way to a convent in Switzerland if her father had his way – but that she would do her best to get the info he wanted soon. Haymitch had told her to enjoy the chocolate if she ever made it to Switzerland and had left it at that.

"She's resting." Finnick replied, like often when he tried to get to Mags.

That boy was worse than a Cerberus…

Haymitch dragged his feet up the stairs, feeling his already short patience burning to an end. He needed to talk to Mags. Not only because he needed direct information about The Capitol and its basement and he didn't really feel like re-reading the journal about his mother and her gruesome end but also because everyone had been looking at him ever since the Reaping, waiting for him to tell them everything would be okay, and he desperately needed for someone else to tell him to have faith, that everything would sort itself out, that fate wasn't the bitch he accused her to be. And, to him, that person had always been Mags.

"Finnick." he growled in warning.

"What? Afraid someone else in your care will die before she finishes her nap?" the younger Watcher mocked, his English accent irritating Haymitch even more.

And, suddenly, he didn't have any more patience in stock. He didn't have calm in stock.

He was sober, his body felt like it had gone through the wringer, he was facing one of the greatest supernatural threats to mankind, the woman he might or might not have feelings for and who certainly would become a target once Snow realized she was comatose, his Slayer was frayed at the edges, he had been to hell and back, there were people he had no hope of saving trapped in that hotel, and he was mentally fucking exhausted. He just wanted to talk to Mags.

"For fuck's sake!" he exploded, raising his voice so loud a hush fell on the first floor. The kids had certainly not been loud but he was pretty sure they had all frozen at the sound of his voice. Not that he cared. Not that he cared because… "What's a man to do to talk to his own bloody mother?!"

He ignored the girls' door opening and Prim popping her head out with a sympathetic but curious look on her face. He headed straight for his bedroom because this conversation was private.

"I don't know. Have you tried hiring a medium?" Finnick deadpanned flippantly.

Haymitch bit down on the inside of his cheek, reminding himself his kids were listening – or at least hearing him – and relying on him to lead. They couldn't see him fall apart.

"That's low." he spat. "You know very well what I mean."

Mags had adopted him. They had had it all officially arranged before his mother had passed. Legally, Hayden had been hers from the start, less questions asked, but he had been adopted after his mother died. Mags had raised him. From toddler to man, she had raised him. He didn't call her mom because he had been five when Iris had died and that had been old enough for him to realize what was going on. He only had blurry memories of Iris, most of them probably invented, but he had a lot of memories of Mags. Mom and Mags had always been pretty interchangeable in his head.

Her adopting him was the only reason he had been allowed in the inner sanctum that was the Watcher Academy to begin with. He was her heir.

Not Finnick, him.

And she might have taken the boy in when his parents got killed, she might have been treating him like a son too but Haymitch had been the first and… She was his mother and Finnick Odair had no right to keep her from him.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

Prim had gone back inside her bedroom so he stopped in front of his closed door and leaned his forehead against the wood. He didn't really want to go inside the bedroom because Effie would be there, lying in that weird deep sleep that looked so much like she was dead…

"I'm sorry." Finnick finally sighed. "That was shitty of me. I'm sorry."

"I need to talk to Mags." he said again, for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Alright." the younger man agreed. "But if you want information… It's easier if you tell me what you're after and I shoot you an email. She's doing better. She's moving around with a walking stick, she's recovering as well as expected but speaking is difficult for her. Talking on the phone frustrates her because one time out of two you won't understand what she's saying."

He had noticed.

He had done his best to call regularly since the stroke. Mags couldn't always answer – or Finnick wasn't always in a mood to pass her the phone – but the few times he had managed to get a hold of her, she had either grunted her answers or mumbled them so low it had been almost impossible for him to understand.

"She…" Finnick hesitated. "She would be happy to hear you though. I know she misses you."

"I miss her too." he admitted, opening the door and walking in the room only to freeze.

"I'll wake her up now." the other man offered.

"No." he said quickly. "I've got to go. Effie's awake."

He hung up and tossed the phone on the dresser, making his way to the bed in a few strides. She wasn't just awake, she was trying to push herself up on her hands and knees and failing.

"Effie." he called softly, sitting down on the mattress and placing a hand on her shoulder. "You need to lie back down. I'll get you…"

Lifting her head seemed to cost her a lot of energy, there was a vacant look in her eyes…

"Bathroom…" she rasped out.

"Oh…" It was stupid of him to be surprised, they had been filling her up with fluids every time she showed signs of consciousness. Obviously she was going to need the bathroom at some point. "Yeah. Sure. I'll carry you, alright, sweetheart?"

Had she been in her normal state, he was sure she would have had something to say about that but, right then, she simply seemed relieved not to have to fight to keep upright. She didn't struggle when he carefully picked her up and she didn't say anything at all when he sat her on the toilet. He waited outside the room and only went back in when he heard the flush.

Somehow, she had hauled herself to her feet by using the sink as leverage and was washing her shaking hands. Her legs weren't steady though and he grabbed her waist just in time to catch her when they gave.

"Easy, princess." he whispered. "Easy."

He adjusted his hold on her waist and lifted her legs up again, carrying her back to bed. She surrendered to him easily, resting her head on his shoulder. "What… What happened?"

Her throat must have been so raw… Her voice was all hoarse and raspy.

"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked.

She sounded lucid enough. Certainly more lucid than she had been the past couple of days.

"Nightmare." She shivered and buried her face in his neck. "Scared."

He tightened his hold on her, only reluctantly placing her back down on the bed. "It's okay. I've got you now." Someone, Prim he presumed, had left a glass of water on the nightstand. He helped her drink from it. "I'm gonna get you something to eat. You need to get your strength back."

Her hand was clutching her chest and she looked confused, when she lifted her eyes to his, they were full of tears. "Why am… Why am I empty? I feel so… I feel so empty…"

The magic, he realized with a pang.

He made a face. "That's not important for now. You just need to rest a little and…"

"I'm empty." she repeated in a horrified whisper. She started clawing at her chest but she didn't have much strength and, when he grabbed her hand to stop her, she only fought him for a second before it became limp in his.

"Sweetheart…" He brushed his other fingers against her cheek. "You're alive. That's the main thing."

"Is it?" She laughed a broken mad laugh that turned into a cough.

It wasn't a good cough and it worried him. He rubbed her back but pulled the blankets back on her body. She looked so frail… All her bones were sharp under her skin…

"It's gonna be alright, Effie." he promised.

"I can barely feel it…" she whispered. "I can barely…"

"It will come back." he insisted. "You just need…"

She shook her head, the words tumbling out of her mouth as she worked herself into a panic. "I barely have a drop of power left. I can't… I can't do anything… I can't…"

"Effie." he cut her off firmly, framing her face in his hands until she looked at him. "Breathe." For a second, he didn't think she would listen but then she started matching him breath for breath until her body uncoiled. "Cinna says the magic will come back eventually. You just… You ran dry. Do you remember?"

She stared at him for a long time. After a minute or two, she frowned. "There was a demon."

"Yeah." He nodded. "He stole your magic, your life force. And then you tried to sacrifice yourself right in front of me for the second time in less than twenty-four hours." He didn't mean to but his voice turned sharp. Angry. "The fuck were you thinking?"

She lifted her shaky hand and coiled it around his wrist. He got the message and stopped cradling her face. She sank down on the bed so she could curl up on her side. He put his hand on her shoulder. He wasn't sure if she wanted space but he couldn't stop touching her, he had to make sure she was…

"How long…" She was speaking so low he had to bend down to be able to hear. "How long ago…"

"It's been two days since the Reaping. Snow's free, hopefully still weak. Too well protected though, we can't get to him and we're running on the theory that he needs Slayer blood so… You know." He ran a hand over his face. "For you, I'd say it's been…"

"Months." she whispered before he could. She closed her eyes tight for a moment. He had the feeling the memories were slowly trickling back and she was trying to put them in an order that made sense. "Peeta?"

"In the guest room, fooling around with my Slayer." he grumbled. "He's not quite himself yet. That magic did a number on him. It did a number on you too…" He brushed her tangled hair back, away from her face. "You had me worried, sweetheart."

"You tried to save me…" she whispered. "You could have killed him but you tried to save me instead…"

His mind flashed back to that moment next to the Hellmouth during the Reaping.

He had found himself face to face with Snow, almost toes to toes really… He should have killed him. Staked him. Beheaded him. Never before had his instinct betrayed him like it did at that moment. Because instead of being intent on killing the bane of his existence, his instinct had been all about saving her and the boy.

He started stroking her hair without meaning to. "Couldn't lose you."

"Duty first." she countered.

"Yeah… Katniss and I ain't that good at putting duty first, seems like." He snorted. "We need you to keep us in line." Her eyelids were fluttering as if she was fighting sleep. "It's okay." he encouraged, gently moving his hand to her nape and giving it a small comforting squeeze. "Just go to sleep, sweetheart. I'm gonna be here when you wake up again."

"No more magic…" she mumbled.

"It will come back." he insisted.

"I feel so empty…" She felt around until she found his other hand. She clutched his fingers but she didn't have much strength, her grip wasn't as tight as he would have liked. "Don't let him get Katniss."

"That's the plan. Mostly, we're licking our wounds for now." He hesitated, his thumb gently running up and down the side of her neck... "Sweetheart, about what you said down there… About what I didn't say…" She turned her face, buried it a little into the pillow and he didn't have the heart to continue, not when she looked so worn out. He brushed a kiss on her forehead. "Get some rest. I'll be right here. Nothing's gonna get to you."

"The Peacekeeper…" she murmured.

"He's dead." he promised. "Probably for a decade or two by now. You're safe."

"He stole everything from me…" she whispered. "I could feel my magic slipping away… My life…" She squeezed his fingers. "I fought…"

"I know." Of course, she had fought him. She was nothing if not a survivor, his witch. "You won."

"Did I?" Her voice was becoming fainter, rougher. She was half asleep again. "I hoped you'd come… I wasn't sure… I hoped… For Peeta…"

"I came." he reminded her because she didn't sound terribly coherent anymore and he didn't want her to think she was still in hell. "I'll always come after you, sweetheart." He licked his lips, feeling awkward and not quite sure how to word the rest. He had fucked up down there. He wasn't sure he was ready to say the L word or even to think it but, one thing was for sure, they weren't casual or just friends or… He wanted to tell her, to explain, but he didn't have the right words. "I'd do it again. I'd go to hell every day for you if I had to."

"Out of duty." she breathed out with such certainty…

"No." he scoffed. "No. Fuck duty. What are you talking about?"

He didn't get an answer, she was asleep.

Somehow, he mused, he had fucked up again.

Someone give that man a hug! What did you think? Did you like it?