Prompt: Could you please write something where aymitch and Effie run into each other like 5-10 years after the war and they've both moved on like maybe Effie is with somebody else but neither aymitch nor Effie are really over each other because they only ended things after the war because Effie was angry so it's just a really weird/sad encounter x
Ten Years Too Late
Haymitch and the children had managed to avoid public celebration of the victory anniversary for a decade.
For the most part, Plutarch had supported their unanimous decision to stay away from the cameras because even though he would have liked the boost in the ratings their presence would have brought, he understood Katniss didn't want to celebrate her sister's death.
Victory Week, as it had come to be known, was always difficult for them. They dragged themselves through the days, battling the ghosts of lost family and friends – the dead ones and the ones they weren't much in contact with anymore. Most years, Peeta locked himself in the kids' basement and painted himself in a frenzy that reminded Haymitch of one of his episodes. Katniss disappeared in the woods, often for several days at a time. And Haymitch… Haymitch drank and watched his geese and wondered why he still didn't feel the peace he thought he would by then.
On that week, he thought about Chaff and Finnick and his brother and his mother and Primrose Everdeen with her bright rosy cheeks and all the dead friends they hadn't been able to properly bury.
One year or two, he had caved and called Four, desperate to feel that connection to people who actually remembered what it was to be a victor. The kids had never experienced playing mentor and they couldn't know how that felt: watching two children you were responsible for die, being forced to party, being dragged around, feeling the leash tighten around your neck until you suffocated… Annie was always nice, always willing to talk about her son, but Jo was always curt, always defensive, and at some point he just stopped checking in.
They had kept in touch, at first, but after a while…
When the ten years anniversary started approaching, Haymitch began having a bad feeling they wouldn't be left in peace that year. Plutarch's influence was slipping those days, the government was less understanding of their plight. Paylor had been replaced by a younger man during the last elections, someone who didn't know them personally, who probably respected what they had done but didn't sympathize as much, and…
He wasn't surprised when the order came for them to make the trip to the city.
He refused at first.
Dug his heels in the dust.
He was an old man, he argued, too tired, too drunk, to bitter…
But he was only fifty and being too tired or too drunk weren't excuses that held when Panem's President wanted you to do something – things hadn't changed that much – so he and the kids found themselves on a train back to the city and Haymitch spent the whole trip locked in his room, swallowing bottle after bottle to stop himself from hyperventilating.
It felt too much like the Reapings.
It felt…
There was a soft knock on the door at some point, in the middle of the night.
"Fuck off!" he barked, half-lost to memories of escorts bothering him… He didn't let himself think about the one escort who had counted because… He hadn't thought about Effie Trinket in years – it was a lie, he thought about her every day, had never forgotten, would never forget – and he didn't want to think about her right then when everything reminded him of the past.
Katniss had never learned to listen to him and so she slipped in the room in her pajamas, crawled in his bed and stared at the ceiling as if climbing in each other's bed was something they just did.
"Where's the boy?" he half-slurred.
"Getting tea. He's planning on stealing your booze." she warned.
"Don't want to go back there sober." he mumbled.
"Me neither." she whispered. "But getting high to my eyeballs with morphling isn't an option, is it?"
It wasn't.
And because it wasn't, he let out a long sigh and put down his bottle of liquor.
It seemed to satisfy Peeta enough when he appeared in the open doorway, balancing three steaming mugs in his hands. Haymitch took his without protest and scooted over so the boy had some room on the other side of the girl.
"Look at us…" he snorted after a while of the three of them sipping their tea and staring at the wall and trying not to be too obvious as they sought comfort from each other's presence. "Twelve's mighty victors return…"
Katniss groaned and sank a little down the bed but Peeta chuckled.
"Maybe it won't be that bad." the boy offered with his eternal optimism.
"Oh, it's gonna be that bad." he scowled.
As it turned out, it was that bad.
There was a crowd waiting for them at the train station, screaming and cheering for them – well, for the Mockingjay and her husband mostly, Haymitch was only the old mentor after all. Katniss flinched at the noise and Peeta gritted his teeth before forcing a smile on his lips and waving at the fans.
For a moment, Haymitch was reminded so much of that morning, when they had reached the city after the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games Reaping, that he glanced over his shoulder expecting to find his escort tottering behind him, chiding him about not having properly buttoned his shirt.
They had to play the game, feed the monster.
They had to sign papers, pose for pictures, shake hands…
Haymitch hated the whole thing. He hadn't missed it at all.
After a while, they were guided by the new Peacekeepers to a huge black car in which Plutarch and an overzealous Capitol man were waiting. Plutarch looked happy to see them if a little sorry for them to have been dragged there. The man explained in an excited tone that he had been chosen to be their guide during their stay and that he was at their full service.
Haymitch shared a look with Katniss and knew they were thinking the same thing: an escort by any other name…
"Effie couldn't be here?" Peeta asked, rather innocently in Haymitch's opinion. "I thought she would…"
"She's done playing escort for us." Haymitch cut him off. "She's a free woman. That was the deal."
The young Capitol puppy looked a bit ill-at-ease. Plutarch was clearly feeling awkward. He searched Haymitch's face but he simply turned his head to look through the window at the city he didn't quite recognize anymore, refusing to explain what was so obvious.
"Effie hasn't been invited to be part of the festivities." Plutarch finally declared, after clearing his throat. "She is not much of a public figure anymore and besides…"
"Nobody wants to see a former escort with us on cameras." Katniss snorted when the politician let his voice trail off. "It would confuse people and their black and white visions. It would be a shame if they knew not all Capitols were bad and not all rebels were good. Imagine if they knew the truth…"
"Easy." Haymitch muttered. Not even a half hour in the city and the girl was back to making threats to upturn the sitting government…
Their not-escort looked puzzled.
Plutarch simply looked grave. "I know you are still angry…"
"Still angry?" Katniss hissed. "My sister was killed and now you're bringing me right back where…"
She shut up.
Probably because she had caught sight of the same thing Haymitch had through the window.
The City Circle, rebuilt, with that ridiculous statue in the middle of it: a pack of children reaching to the sky.
He felt his throat close and he looked away. He didn't even resist the urge to take the flask out of his pocket and gulp down some liquor.
Ten years.
You would think the wounds were healed but no. They had just scarred. Badly.
Peeta's hand was rubbing the girl's leg in a soothing fashion.
"Tell me they didn't put us in the Training Center." Haymitch almost begged Plutarch.
He didn't think he could bear the thought of returning to the penthouse.
Plutarch shook his head. "You're staying at the Presidential Mansion, as guests of honor."
It was almost as bad.
Almost but not quite.
"We have a lot of exciting events for you to attend this week!" the not-escort man chipped in, clearly trying to restore some sort of celebratory mood.
He was met with a scowl, a blank face and a very tired look.
The Mansion had been redecorated since the war and, as a consequence, staying there wasn't as bad as Haymitch had feared. It wasn't really an avalanche of memories but it was still jeering. The ballroom, the library, the conservatory… Those were rooms that had barely changed at all. He wasn't the only one who roamed around with his head lost in the past, half-dreading and half-searching for the flashbacks, for the connections to people who were long dead… Katniss was haunting the hallways too, from the hospital wing to the gardens…
He wondered if she felt the same way he did. Sometimes, it felt as if he belonged more with the dead than the living.
But then he would catch her smiling or laughing at something Peeta said and a little of the burden crushing his heart would ease because, unlike for him, there was still hope for her.
Being in the Capitol was a lot of the same.
Someone noticed after their first official greeting with the President that their wardrobe wasn't up to par and one day he woke up to overflowing cupboards. Suits, waistcoats, shirts and fine quality pants… All he hadn't bothered wearing in a decade.
He felt weird putting a suit back on.
His reflection in the mirror looked old.
His hair was more ash than blond, the stubble was uneven because he couldn't remember the last time he had bothered to shave, his skin had an unhealthy yellowish tinge to it and his eyes were bloodshot. There were lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Not good lines either. Not laughter lines.
He didn't scrub up as well as he used to. His roguish charm had faded, there was a visible budge of fat at his waist but you still could count his ribs over it, his cheeks were sagging too…
He looked like an old man whose poisonous demon had aged prematurely.
It never really bothered him at home but in that city, in that glittering decors, he felt even more inadequate than he had as a sixteen years old. Always out of place.
The kids, on the other end, looked radiant.
Despite the scars, Katniss rocked the dresses a fashion expert had chosen for her and chic outfits suited Peeta.
Without really meaning too, Haymitch started sticking to the background at events, feeling the loneliness even more acutely than he did in Twelve. Before, he had never been forced to go through those red carpets and boring speeches and events without someone on his arm. He hadn't realized then how much he depended on that to make his time bearable.
The Victory Ball – a name that evoked more demons that Haymitch was comfortable with – was supposed to be the high of the week and, he supposed, it was. All the currently important people were there, champagne flew like water, people laughed and danced and celebrated…
Haymitch understood but it still made him feel sick.
It felt like a debauchery instead of a tribute.
Katniss and Peeta were slow dancing, having a good time from what he could tell, so he left them to it and wandered out of the ballroom. His feet took him out of the Mansion altogether, out into the street…
The Peacekeepers on guard tossed him a hesitant look because they had been assigned security details but Haymitch had made it very clear where they could stick it. He didn't want to be shadowed, he didn't want to feel like a prisoner again.
He wandered out in the streets where people were partying, blended in with the anonymous crowds…
He got lost.
The streets weren't were they used to be, the buildings were different, the landmarks had been bombed to oblivion a decade earlier or had been moved…
He wasn't sure how he ended up on the City Circle or why he climbed the stone steps where the VIP section used to be. He sat down where Twelve's team assigned spot used to be on Parade's day and he stared down at the empty circle with its lone statue in the middle.
The night was chilly and he tugged up the lapels of his jacket, burrowing into the collar a little.
He didn't register the sound of fabric over the distant noise of partying until she sat down next to him. He was getting old if a woman in high heels could sneak up on him.
"Fancy meeting you here." she said.
She sounded a little amused and a little wistful.
He closed his eyes and just bathed in the sound of her voice because he had hated it for years and now it seemed like the sweetest thing to his ears.
"Wondered if you'd show up at some point." he answered. "Seemed rude of you not to say hello."
He dared look at her then, in time to see her lips twitch into that familiar genuine smile he had always liked so much. She had aged too. More gracefully than him, of course, but that was to be expected. Her hair was still blond, although a darker shade – or maybe it was the darkness – so he thought she must have been dying it to hide white strands. Her face was marked with lines and sorrow.
He couldn't tell what color her coat was, navy blue or a dark green maybe, but it wasn't bright and it wasn't cheerful and he thought that didn't suit her.
"How are the children?" she asked.
"Well enough." He shrugged. "Come back to the Mansion with me, you can say hello."
There was a clear yearning in his voice, or maybe hope. Hope that she would waltz back in their lives and stay this time.
He had never lost that ridiculous hope, he mused, that someday she would show up at his door, tell him she wasn't angry with him anymore and settle down so they could finally enjoy peace together…
"You will tell them for me." she deflected in a soft tone.
He didn't insist.
He had lost the right to insist when he had failed to protect her, when he had left her behind to be cut to pieces.
They were silent for a moment, the air thick with all the things they had never said and that so obviously still needed saying.
"How are you?" he asked after a while. "What are you up to, those days?"
She snorted. "Do you think I do not know you have been keeping tabs?"
He shrugged, refusing to feel guilty. He had just wanted to be sure she would be alright. Asking Plutarch to keep an eye on her was his way of redeeming himself a little. "I don't know anything specific. Just that you're doing alright."
He hadn't wanted to invade her privacy.
She had made it clear ten years earlier that he had no right to her privacy anymore.
She watched him for a moment and then must have decided he was telling the truth because she lowered her eyes to the ugly statue so far under them and licked her lips. "I opened a clothes store a couple of years ago. It is small but it works well enough. I have my own brand now. Nothing fancy though. It is mostly ready-to-wear. Small scale."
"That's nice." he said. She was doing something she loved. There were worse ways to spend the rest of your life.
"It rather is, yes." she hummed. "What about you?"
He had to think about that long and hard. What about him? When was the last time he had done something worthwhile? His days mostly consisted on drinking, having health scares and drowning in dark thoughts.
"I adopted geese." he told her eventually. "Keeps me busy."
"That's good." She smiled again and patted his arm as if she was truly proud of him for having found an activity. He felt bad for the white lie. Nowadays, the geese fended for themselves in the wilderness of his backyard. "I am glad you are doing well."
"Are you?" he challenged before he could help himself. "That's a change of tune."
She looked down at her knees and took her hand off his arm.
He was sorry for the loss of her touch.
"I was in a very bad place after the war, Haymitch. It took me years of therapy to recover." she whispered. "I thought about reaching out to you but… Years had passed and I didn't want to bring back bad memories."
The bad memories had never gone away.
How could they when he still lived alone in a house that was more of a tomb?
"Wouldn't mind hearing from you." he mumbled. "The kids would be glad too. You're sure you don't wanna come back to the Mansion with me? They'd want to see you. Peeta's been asking after you, you know."
Her face softened but the sorrow remained. "He is a dear and I think about the two of them very often, tell them please. But this life… I cannot go back to it. I left it all in the past. I cannot face it, it would be…"
"Too painful?" he finished for her when she didn't seem able to.
She nodded. "Yes."
Rather like him coming back to the Capitol, he mused. It would bring everything back, it would be a constant reminder, it would…
He nodded back in understanding.
Just then, a rocket was launched into the night sky and blew up in a shower of sparks.
They both flinched.
Fireworks sounded too much like bombs.
They watched the show in silence for a while. It could have been romantic. In another life, he could see himself sitting there with her, ten years into a relationship that wouldn't have soured. He could picture himself kissing her with a smirk on his lips, holding her hand because he had a right to. He could imagine himself telling her…
"You're the love of my life."
The words slipped past his chapped lips without his consent.
She didn't seem surprised.
Her blue eyes welled up with tears and he was furious with himself for having caused them.
"And you are the love of mine." she whispered. "But…"
"We missed our shot." he said.
"Yes." she murmured sadly.
The fireworks exploded overheard in a grand finale of gold, red, green and yellow sparks.
"Do you have someone?" he asked.
She smiled and it only looked a little forced. "Yes."
"Does he treat you well?" he insisted.
"She is very good to me, yes." she offered gently. Her face fell a little. "I will never love her like I love you. I cannot. But… I do love her. In a way."
"Good." He licked his lips. "You deserve to be happy. I want you to be happy."
She looked sad again. "I want you to be happy too. Stop waiting for me."
"Don't flatter yourself." he scoffed but it fell flat and he turned his head away from her so she wouldn't see how shiny his eyes had become. "How do you know I'm waiting for you?"
"Because I know you." She shrugged. "If I had thought it could work… I would have come, you know."
"I know." he acknowledged. "I just… I miss you."
"I miss you too." she offered.
"Don't think I can ever stop." he snorted.
"I do not think I can either." she replied. "But you have to move on, like I have. That's how we survive, Haymitch."
His name in her mouth…
How long had he been longing to hear it once more?
"I'm tired of surviving." he confessed.
"Try." she insisted. "For me." She laid her hand on his shoulder and he just knew this was it. The last time he would see. She was going to stand up and leave and…
"I love you." he said quickly. The words came easily. Perhaps because they were meant as a goodbye once more.
"I love you too." she promised. "Always."
She placed his hand on his cheek and turned his head and he closed his eyes and leaned into her palm…
The kiss was hardly more than a brush of her lips against his and yet it was enough to shatter his heart.
Funny. He had thought it was already in pieces.
She didn't say goodbye or offer any platitude, she just left.
And he watched her go.
A part of him wanted to run after her, to promise her the moon if only she would reconsider, give them a second chance… But he didn't. Because she had found, if not peace, at least a semblance of it and her happiness was more important than his own.
They had missed their shot.
You didn't fix something broken ten years after you smashed it on the floor…