Prompt: If you're still taking prompts: a sequel to chapter 709 of HADS, when Hazelle sees the polaroids of Haymitch and Effie, please? Hazelle finally realizes that the woman in the pictires is Effie. Maybe in 13 or after the war at twelve.
This can stand alone so you don't have to re-read the other one ) Also feedback is always appreciated so I don't feed like writing in a void!
What Haunts Us
Effie had been queen of the bees in high school, at least until she had left school behind for modeling. Although, it hadn't taken her long to get to the top of the food chain there too.
That was the thing about her, she had a gift for climbing up the social ladder. Nothing but being at the very top had ever satisfied her.
And yet, in Thirteen, there was no way of climbing anywhere aside for riding piggyback style on Haymitch's or Katniss' shoulders – and even that wasn't working out well for her: Coin despised her, Plutarch was condescending on a good day, Thirteen citizens looked at her with the special loathing they reserved to Capitols who hadn't proved themselves and the refugees… Oh, the refugees hated her and she could understand it.
However, when her wrist said it was time for lunch and nobody she knew was there to sit with her, it made her life very difficult.
The tray was heavy in her hands as her eyes quickly darted around Thirteen's dining hall, looking for an empty table, preferably tucked away in a corner where she could keep a wall at her back. She had learned it was best. People kept accidentally spilling things on her or bumping into her and then making it out as if it was her fault – provoking her.
She hadn't told her victors.
There were battles she had to fight herself.
And she was only too aware she had done things to deserve the treatment she got. She was, after all, an escort and not as repentant as she probably should act. They wanted her to vilipend the Capitol but she wasn't there out of conviction; she was there to protect her team, to support Katniss and help Haymitch, to remind people in Command they needed to rescue Peeta no matter who she annoyed. She wasn't there to make friends.
And it hurt that she hadn't managed to meet one nice person yet.
She wasn't used to that.
She was an easy-going person, she made friends wherever she went. She loved making friends, having an entourage, being… everything Haymitch hated about her probably…
She spotted a good spot at the far end of the room. The table wasn't entirely empty and, if she wasn't mistaken the people sitting there were from Twelve, but the free end of the table would have comfortably sat six people and she would have room and space. She wouldn't be crowding them or sitting with them.
It was a better option that the other one, which was a table in the middle of the hall where, she was sure, everyone would gawk at her until someone gathered the courage to come and provoke her in person.
She didn't want to create a scene.
She didn't want soldiers to get involved because it would get back to Haymitch and then he would feel torn between what he saw as a weird duty to protect her and his convictions that she had made her bed and she should lie in it. He wouldn't tolerate her being bullied, certainly, but he wouldn't tell a refugee from any District who had lost someone in the Games to fuck off either.
The group of Twelve's refugees didn't look up when she walked by and sat at the very opposite side of their table. She shuffled as close to the wall as she could. There was still an open space behind her but it was the best of bad options.
She stared at her tray and carefully didn't glance to her left but that didn't mean she hadn't taken stock before sitting down. There was a woman she knew to be Gale's mother along with far too many turbulent children, two other middle-aged women to whom some of the children probably belonged to because, as far as she knew, Gale only had two brothers and one sister and there were three girls and three boys at the table. No men, which was good because men tended to act stupid and think that it was reasonable to corner her and make accusations. For some reason, they were always braver when she was alone. They were never as chatty when she was with Katniss, Haymitch or even Gale even though the boy didn't like her much.
Women weren't any less threatening though.
Perhaps they were even worse. Mothers, especially.
They were offended in their very flesh by her presence.
And a part of her understood – of course, she understood, she was the Grim Reaper who had taken their children away from them – but she would take stupid men over women any day because it was hard to remain collected faced with their righteous anger and hatred.
So Effie focused on eating her bland turnips and didn't glance to her left. If she minded her own business, they might not bother her. They might not even have noticed her. The children certainly seemed to require a lot of attention. They were loud and had no table manners whatsoever.
If they were hers…
But she chased that thought away quickly. That would never be happening and she had made her peace with it. Mostly. Except for the odd times when the grief about her barren uterus hit anew. Except when her treacherous mind sometimes conjured small children with dirty blond hair and grey eyes who looked just as facetious as…
Her throat closed but she forced herself to swallow the turnips anyway.
She needed to eat, no matter how disgusting it was, because there wasn't much to a meal and she always went hungry. And, oh, how much heat she took when she complained about her grumbling stomach to Haymitch… Three meals a day, he told her, that's not being hungry, princess.
He was right, of course, but…
Someone sat on the opposite side of the table and Effie's fork froze on its way to her mouth. Just a fraction of a second. Just the time it took to assess the situation. She couldn't not acknowledge the newcomer. It wouldn't be polite and not being polite would seem provoking. So she looked up with a small polite smile that almost turned into a wince when she realized who was sitting there.
Gale's mother.
They studied each other in silence for far too long.
Hazelle, the name came back belatedly. The woman's name was Hazelle and, while they had never been properly introduced, Effie had decided long ago she did not like her. The woman was Haymitch's housekeeper – and that she would have wholeheartedly approved because his house needed housekeeping. She was also so clearly interested in Haymitch it wasn't even funny. Haymitch, naturally, was blind to it all – or pretended to be blind, she hadn't really figured that part out yet, he always grumbled when she addressed it.
"May I help you?" she asked eventually, when she was tired of the staring.
She didn't look to her left but she knew that the other two women, while taking care of the children and continuing their own conversation, were probably covertly watching. Effie hoped Hazelle wasn't after a catfight. She was loathe to make a scene but she was a little afraid she would give in to the temptation. She had been frustrated from the moment she had put a foot in that District and there was only so long she could control herself before she imploded. Better to do it with Hazelle than chew Coin's head off.
Hazelle didn't answer immediately. The woman was still studying her, a weird pout on her lips. Or maybe it wasn't a pout, maybe it was a sneer. "My name's…"
"I know who you are." she cut her off, rather rudely. She was annoyed with herself for the slip of manners, for how defensive she sounded. The more defensive she would get, the quicker they would get aggressive. Still, she jutted her chin up, unwilling to apologize to a woman who had rubbed on her the wrong way ever since she had started hearing about her. "Gale's mother. Haymitch's housekeeper."
Any Capitol would have understood the implied insult. She was putting her down to a function, mother, glorified maid…
Hazelle didn't seem to get it.
"Yeah." The woman nodded once. A jerky sort of nod. "And you're his… What's the term?"
The question was so incongruous that Effie frowned. She knew the term. Everyone knew the term.
"If you wish to remind me I am Twelve's escort, there is no need, I assure you." she replied, curbing her voice into detached politeness. "Nobody will let me forget."
"Haymitch forgot, seems like." Hazelle snorted, mocking.
Effie pursed her lips and stabbed the last turnip. She should just stand up and go but she would starve that night if she didn't eat her dinner and then Haymitch would complain about her growling stomach keeping him up and…
"So?" the woman challenged. "What's the term? Girlfriend? Lover? Slut?"
Her fingers tightened on the fork.
How did she know? Sure, Haymitch spent most of his nights – all the nights he didn't spend in Command, really – in her compartment but that wasn't public knowledge. Only Plutarch knew because it offered him the bonus of having their compartment to themselves and, true, Plutarch was a gossip but… No, she couldn't see it. They were still careful in public. There certainly had been no kissing anywhere other than her compartment. So how did she know? Had Haymitch told her? And why would he have done that?
There was one reason that came to mind.
Unless Hazelle was just fishing for the truth.
Either way…
"Did he reject you?" she taunted with a small grin that she tried not to turn nasty. "I do not know what he told you to soften the blow but…"
"He has pictures of you." Hazelle snapped, her face becoming hard.
That brought her short. Pictures of hers? She supposed it wasn't that impossible. They had been working together for close to thirteen years, never mind the rest… There had been photoshoots and more casual pictures taken during parties and outings with other victors… She had a few herself in her apartment, not a lot but a few. But she was very certain Haymitch had none of those on display in his house.
"Naked pictures of the two of you." Hazelle clarified with a sneer.
Ah. Now, those, she knew what they were and from when they dated. Sixty-Ninth Hunger Games. Polaroids had been all the rage that year and she had annoyed him to no end with her camera… He hadn't really complained the one time he had managed to wrestle it away from her and she had posed for him in her birth suit. No wig, no make-up, nothing but her body and his and…
She hated the fact that the woman had seen them.
The pictures were private. And it wasn't about them being naked or even the fact that, if memory served, a few of those pictures were explicit, it was just that… It had been a nice moment. One of the few key moments before they had tacitly become exclusive that had been light and playful and…
"Did you enjoy them?" she retorted, apparently unconcerned even though she was boiling inside.
Hazelle's face turned crimson but Effie couldn't tell if it was anger or shame. No respectable District woman would expose her naked-self to a camera, probably. They were so stuck-up, she mused nastily, taking sex so seriously…
"Took me a while to figure out it was you." Hazelle sneered. "Hard to recognize you without the crap on your face." Effie didn't even bat an eyelash. She moved on to the insipid piece of cheese on its hard roll of bread and didn't say a word. "Can't believe I thought it was sweet. Haymitch keeping pictures of a secret sweetheart in his wardrobe…" The woman scoffed. "Sure, I thought… That woman must be crazy in love to do something like this 'cause if the pictures go out…" Hazelle shook her head. "Should have known it was someone like you."
"If by someone like me you mean someone who is entirely at ease with her sexuality, you would be right. Haymitch does like his women… wild." she hummed with a sweet, sweet innocent smile.
She hadn't thought Hazelle could turn even redder but she was wrong, clearly she could.
"It's a shame, that's what it is." the woman spat at her. "Cause he's a good man and…"
"Oh, let me guess, would you?" she asked, putting enough cheer and eagerness in her voice to make herself sound playful. As if it was all a game. She even clapped the tip of her fingers together like an excited child. "He deserves a respectable woman who will keep his house tidy and raise his brood of children and lift his spirits when he feels down. She would have to be from Twelve, obviously, and it would be even better if she was from the Seam, wouldn't it? Oh, let's complete this picture with a dog. He absolutely deserves a dog." Sarcasm was dripping from her voice by the time she finished. "If you truly believe he wants any of that, you are sorely mistaken…"
Well… He might not mind the dog.
Hazelle made a face of utter disgust as she stood up.
"He deserves someone who doesn't kill children for a living." the woman said slowly, with cold controlled hatred. "He deserves someone who doesn't have blood on her hands. He deserves better than a two-faced bitch who only joined the rebellion to save her ass. Once this war is over, I hope you get what you deserve."
She flinched.
She wished she had been able to control the instinctive answer but… Her whole body flinched and, unable to face Hazelle anymore, she stood up, forcing what was left of the cheese and the bread in her mouth as she strode to the exit, her eyes blurred with tears.
Somehow, she could never manage to remain poised when called a murderer.
Perhaps because it was only the truth.
Soldiers stopped her at the doors, as if to further her humiliation, and forced her to wait until she had swallowed the huge chunk in her mouth before allowing her to pass.
She went straight to her compartment. Where else was she to go anyway? Her wrist read personal time and there was nothing to do. She didn't know where Katniss was hiding and Haymitch was locked away in Command.
And she didn't want to talk with anyone.
She undressed, shivering in the perpetually chilly air, and climbed into that awful bunker bed, shivering under the too thin blankets. Shivering and shivering… It was all she did in this place. She buried her face in the pillow and she let the tears flow because… Well, it had been a long time since she had let herself do that. Being consumed by guilt was all well and good but it became tiresome after a while and it was easier to…
What she wouldn't have done for a cigarette…
Or a sleeping pill, but that was a more treacherous slope.
She dozed off at some point but always forced herself to wake up before she could properly drift off. She didn't want to sleep. She would have nightmares. Even lying there, resting as best as she could, she had visions of dead tributes dancing in front of her eyes, accusing her of…
She wasn't a stranger to that kind of sleepless night. She just prefer to forget come daylight.
Of course, there would be no daylight in this place. Only a blaring siren to wake the District up and…
She stared at the red numbers of the clock on the wall, watched them trickle by one by one, until, at three : thirty-one precisely she heard the door sliding open slowly. It slid shut just as carefully. Haymitch tip-toed around the living-area in the dark.
She could have called out, told him not to bother not making noises because she was awake, but… He would hear it in her voice. He would hear that she had cried and she would have to explain and… She didn't want to make a fuss about Hazelle. Not when Hazelle was already clearly interested and she was so… She didn't think Haymitch really wanted a respectable District woman, the children, the picket fence and the dog. But. He had wanted them once upon a time. Before his Games. Before his girl and his family. He had wanted them and she really couldn't give him any of that.
She didn't want to make a fuss about Hazelle because she didn't want to make it a competition. She was too afraid she would lose eventually.
Because Hazelle had a point. He did deserve better.
And it wasn't like he had any feelings for her anyway. They were friends and he cared about her enough not to leave her at the mercy of the Capitol after he escaped but… She was just a convenient body, an easy access to great sex. She didn't know what would happen after the war but she doubted it would involve a house or a picket fence.
She shifted when he climbed into bed, tucking herself against the wall to leave him more room because the bed was narrow. It would be better if they had a family compartment but she had one of the standard rooms, made for two single people to share, not…
"Ain't sleeping?" he asked in a low voice. In case she was, in fact, asleep and had moved out of instinct, she supposed. She could let him think she was but the ruse wouldn't hold long. They were too familiar with each other's sleeping habits. He would realize her breathing wasn't deep enough and she was too tense.
"I am fine." she answered.
"Not what I asked." He sounded slightly concerned now. His hand fell on her shoulder but when she wouldn't roll around to face him or snuggle against his side like she usually did to save space, he stubbornly spooned her. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." she lied.
"Right." he scoffed, sending her hair flying at her nape. He bent an arm over her head to use as a pillow and shifted a little so he was entirely wrapped around her curled up form. "What did I do now?"
"Nothing." she repeated, sounding tired and sad all at once. She tried to shake it off but… It was too late at night and it was too dark and he was too warm behind her.
"Effie." he sighed. "I'm running on two hours of sleep and my hands are shaking so fucking much today I dropped a tablet, which pissed off everyone. Tell me what you're angry about so we can fucking fight about it and I can get some shut eye before the next disaster hits."
His hand tentatively rested on her hip, under the covers, and she could indeed feel the irregular tremors in his fingers. She grabbed it and pulled his arm around her, bringing his hand to her chest. She kept a tight grip on it.
"It is nothing, I promise." she whispered. "Go to sleep."
He was silent for exactly three seconds, then he sighed again. "Alright, you ain't angry, you're upset. That's worse. The fuck happened? And if you fucking say nothing another time…"
She pursed her lips. "Language."
"Sweetheart." He managed to sound coaxing and stern all at once.
She closed her eyes and burrowed back into his warmth. "It is nothing, I promise. Just… You know. A bad night. Memories. I will be fine tomorrow. You did not do anything wrong. For once."
She added the last part as a pitiful attempt at a joke.
He seemed to relax though.
"Tributes?" he asked knowingly.
"Yes." It wasn't quite a lie, just not the absolute truth.
He pressed a long hot kiss to her neck. "I get that." He sounded a little awkward. "I'm here, you know."
But for how long?, she wanted to ask. What was the point of coming to her bed every night, even when they didn't have sex, when they both knew he didn't feel that way?
They needed to talk, she figured, lay down some ground rules because they had slipped sometimes during the Tour and she wasn't sure she could…
She could accept only being a casual hook-up but she couldn't live with this parody of intimacy. It felt too real and losing herself in that fantasy would destroy her in the long run.
She wanted more. That had always been obvious, hadn't it? But Haymitch…
And she didn't want to lose him because she was being greedy. She was willing to take what he wanted to give for as long as he wanted to give it. She loved him that much. Too much, probably.
"I know." She forced a smile so he would hear it in her voice and be reassured. "Thank you."
"Anytime, princess." he mumbled in her hair, already half-asleep.