Chapter 4 :

There wasn't much to do at night when you couldn't sleep for fear of nightmares, so Haymitch was laying on his bed, watching the sealed bottle in his hand and wondering what he was waiting for. Getting drunk was the only way to get some undisturbed rest, he knew that.

He wasn't actually expecting the knock on his open door but he wasn't that surprised either. He had heard her scream earlier even though he had not done the mistake of barging into her room, knife at the ready, certain someone was trying to kill her, like he had done a few days ago – it had taken one hour to convince her she was safe and not about to be arrested by Peacekeepers. Two weeks since that girl had – literally – broken into his life and he was no closer to unravel the mystery she was wrapped in.

"Can't sleep, sweetheart?" he asked.

She leaned against the door, hugging herself. "I had a nightmare. I… I don't want to be alone. Would you mind it terribly if…" Her sentence trailed off, her eyes darting to the empty space on his bed.

"Be my guest." he smirked. "I did say you were always welcome here, after all."

She smiled but it didn't reach her eyes – they were clouded, haunted. She sat beside him and huddled against the headboard, legs folded close to her chest.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He pondered her question a few seconds, staring at the bottle. The dim light coming from the bedside lamp reflected on the glass, making it look as if the liquid inside was shining. Tempting.

"I'm contemplating the idea of getting wasted so I can sleep." he said.

She made a disapproving face. He had finally given up two days before and he had drunk an entire bottle. He had no clear recollection of what had happened precisely but when he had finally sobered up, she had told him in harsh and unforgiving terms that the seventh fact she had learned about him was that he was mean when he was drunk. He had retaliated by saying she was nosy and she had slammed the door of her bedroom so angrily he had been half-afraid she would run away during the night.

She hadn't.

"My mother used to make me some herbal tea when I couldn't sleep." She propped her chin on her knees, her eyes were lost in the distance, gazing into the past maybe. "She says it helps you relax…"

She did that often when she mentioned her family : she switched from past to present and to past again as if she wasn't sure which tense to use.

"I don't think we have that kind of things here." He would ask Everdeen's wife, though. She seemed to know every damn plant in the District. "I would offer you some booze but I'm kind of afraid you're going to pour it all over my head…"

"That would be a show of extremely bad manners." she refuted, but she did look tempted to do just that.

"Eight." It was a running joke between them now, enumerating things they discovered about each other. "You're overly obsessed with manners."

"Manners are the sign of a civilized society." she recited, almost mechanically.

"Do they drone that into you at school or something?" he snorted.

She studied him for a moment, clearly having a debate with herself.

"Eight, you hate the Capitol." she whispered.

He shrugged. "What's not to hate?"

"It's beautiful." she protested slowly.

"It's fake." he snarled back, turning his head away from her. "Glitter isn't gold, Princess. Everything there… Everyone... Smoke and mirrors."

"This isn't true." She sounded pained by his words but Haymitch refused to feel sorry for that. He had made up his mind on the Capitol long ago. "Some people maybe, but not everyone."

"I've never met anyone from the Capitol who wasn't a phony or a total moron." He rolled the bottle between his fingers, dying to get the cap off and swallow some of the liquor.

He didn't realize his mistake until she spoke again. "Do you think I am a fraud or an idiot?"

He frowned and looked up at her in alarm. In truth, he had forgotten where she came from. He often did. She was so… different from what he was used to when dealing with Capitol citizens. She was difficult but not on purpose and she wasn't cruel. She was kind. She was human. She was a real person not a mumbo jumbo of colors, high pitched faked laughs and condescension.

"I think there's a reason you ran away." he said. "I can't imagine you fitting in there really well."

She frowned. "I'm afraid you misunderstood. I have nothing against the Capitol itself. I love the Capitol… I was working as a model for a well-known stylist. I was about to become an escort for the Games, actually. They approached me. They said all I had to do was apply to the position and it would be mine…"

He shook his head. "No way."

She stared at the wall, blushing a little. "I know it's probably hard to believe given what I look like right now but I used to be good-looking. If you could see me with one of my wigs and some make-up on…"

"I would find you ridiculous." he concluded. The mere idea of her glorious curls hidden under one of those atrocious wigs was a shame. As for make-up… He liked her face exactly as it was – the bruise put aside. The eccentric clothes on the other hand, he could imagine on her easily, something more fitting to her features than the shapeless pants she had borrowed from him. But the wig and the make-up, he really couldn't… She wasn't like that in his mind. She wasn't Effie, Capitol model, but Effie, the mysterious girl from the Capitol who was fighting for her life. "You don't need all that crap."

"It's either really insulting or really sweet depending on how you intended that." She lifted her eyebrows in an unspoken question.

"Are you fishing for compliments, sweetheart?" He couldn't help but smirk. "You're gorgeous, you know that, I know that… Even Everdeen knows that, I think, as enamored with his wife as he is…"

She wrinkled her nose. "Don't be daft, he's always been a gentleman with me."

Too much of a gentleman if you asked Haymitch. The man was always coming and going with squirrels or whatever he caught that day – which was great because meat was hard to come by and he had too much money anyway – adamant that the girl should eat properly because she was still recovering – which was less great because he didn't like having to fight for her attention and Everdeen with his thoughtful eyes and brooding looks took a lot of her attention.

"Nine, you're oblivious to the effect you have on men." He rolled his eyes. "Because I assure you, no man in his right mind would look at you and think gentlemanly thoughts, married or not."

She seemed amused. "Are you in your right mind?"

He laughed at that one, surprising even himself with how genuine his amusement was. She often did that: make him forget everything else for a small, tiny moment. Sometimes when he was talking to her, he felt normal – just a young man like any other young man on the planet, not a victor.

He wriggled his eyebrows. "I am very much in my right mind."

"See, I knew you were depraved." She shook her head with a grin. "I'm sure he's just being nice. And he's too old anyway."

"He's two or three years older than me." he frowned. "Do you think I'm old?"

"I think you act like a child more often than not." She hid a yawn behind her hand. "That would be point nine, by the way."

"You should try to get some sleep." There were bags under her eyes. He knew he was one to talk given how he passed from exhaustion and alcohol more often than he actually lied down and fell asleep, but… "You can stay here. I will wake you if you have a nightmare."

"No, I don't want to." She sounded like a petulant child but he didn't point that out because he knew how going back to sleep when you just experienced night terrors could be terrifying. He didn't know what was waiting for her in her dreams but he would bet it wasn't more pleasant than the ghosts haunting his. "May I?"

He placed the bottle of liquor in her outstretched hand, a bit unsure if it was the right thing to do. Alcohol was his way of coping but it was destructive, he was aware of that. He wasn't sure he wanted her to…

He was worrying for nothing though, she just put the bottle on the floor, on her side of the bed. He would have to get up to reach it again. That would require more energy than he had.

"Not nice. What am I going to hug to sleep now?" He wasn't entirely kidding. He couldn't even remember the last time he hadn't held a bottle of liquor at night…

"You can hug me." she offered. "But I don't share you with alcohol."

She uncurled slowly from her position against the headboard and lied down beside him. He was a little surprised when she actually snuggled up to him, resting her head on his shoulder and tentatively placing an arm around his waist. It was odd. And nice. But odd. It had been so long since he had just… held someone close…

"I heard they were about to replace District Twelve's escort." she said after some time. "They would probably have sent me. I could have been your escort. How strange is that?"

He brushed his fingers through her hair, playing with the curls that always bounced back into place. "Very. Sounds like fate or something."

"You would have hated me." She nestled closer, as if afraid he would realize the truth of her statement and push her away.

"Probably." He half-shrugged. "But you would have hated yourself after a while. You're not cut to be an escort, Effie, so that's probably for the best."

He didn't need to see her face to know she was scowling. "Escorts have to be glamorous and are responsible for schedules and management. Three things I excel at, thank you very much."

"Escorts watch tributes die, like all mentors do." he snapped, harsher than he intended to. "There's nothing glamorous about that. Some care about their tributes, some don't, but at some point it always gets personal and either you die a little more with each Games or you stop feeling anything at all. You're too soft for that job, sweetheart, you would have cared for the tributes. It would have killed you to watch those kids be slaughtered."

She was silent for some times and then he felt her breathing out slowly. "My father said the same thing."

"Well, your father is a clever man." he spat.

Her arm tensed around his waist.

"Was." she corrected him quietly. "He's dead."

He could feel her shivering, he doubted it was from the cold yet he still maneuvered them until they were mostly covered under the upper blanket.

"How old are you?" she asked "You were sixteen when you won, that makes you either twenty-four or twenty-five. Which is it?"

"A hundred and twenty-four." he chuckled half-heartedly. It felt like it sometimes… As if a century worth of guilt and memories weighted on his shoulders… "Time flies."

"Yes, it does…" she sighed. She burrowed her face in his shoulder and he let his head fall against hers, his cheek on her hair and it was perfect. For a glorious, endless second it was perfect. "I have to leave soon, Haymitch. I have been here too long already." His heart started hammering in his chest in pure utter panic. She must have felt it because her hand came to rest upon his chest, right above his heart. "I wish I had been District Twelve escort. I wish things could have been different."

He took hold of her hand, squeezing it gently. "You don't have to go." He willed his heart to slow down but it kept banging painfully against his ribcage. "Nobody is looking for you here. You could stay." It was actually doable. Crazy and dangerous and probably utterly mad but doable. He could hide her. And he could pay off anyone who might eventually catch up with what was going on. It could work.

"Haymitch…" she started but he pressed a kiss to her forehead, effectively making her shut up.

"I could protect you." he swore. "You could stay. No more running, no more fighting. You would be safe." He didn't want her out there on her own. He didn't want to worry about her freezing to death in another snowstorm. He didn't want to learn through Cray or through a mandatory viewing that she had been caught and executed. He didn't want her to be in danger. He didn't want to lose her. "Where would you even go? To another District? You can't keep moving from one to another indefinitely. You will get caught. I don't even know how you managed to make it that far… Twelve is the end of the line, sweetheart, you may as well stay here."

She lifted her head a little to see him. "Haymitch, please, don't do that." They were so close all he would have to do for their lips to touch was to lean in a little. He could kiss her. He could… "I will never be safe in Panem and you will be in danger while I'm with you." She closed her eyes. "I have to go for both of our sakes."

"No." he protested. "That's unfair, Effie. You don't break into people lives, turn everything upside down and then run away. You just… don't."

"I would never have chosen your house if I had known…" Her hand clenched into a fist, clutching his shirt. "I never felt like this. Not for anyone. And it had to be you. It is going to kill me to leave you behind."

Haymitch closed his eyes and forced himself to relax and think properly. Of all the time to fall in love… Of all the women to fall in love with… "This discussion is premature. You're still recovering. I'm not letting you leave until you've recovered." He wasn't letting her leave period if he had anything to say about it. "You don't even know what you're going to do. Take some time. We have to plan this, you can't just…"

She cut in, sadly. "I have a plan. I was only passing through, Haymitch."

"Passing through?" It didn't make any sense. "To where?" Twelve only touched two other districts and none of them would be safer for her.

Her head fell back on his shoulder. "Thirteen."

"What?" He must have heard her wrong because Thirteen… Thirteen was gone. Everybody knew that.

"I know it sounds crazy but…"

He didn't even let her finish, he extricated himself from under her and propped himself on his forearm to look at her. "Crazy doesn't even cover it, sweetheart. There's nothing behind Twelve but wilderness and ruins. Nothing."

She sighed and brushed the tip of her fingers against his cheek. "It's there, trust me."

She believed it, he saw it in her eyes. She actually believed that Thirteen was still standing despite all the footage proving the absolute contrary.

"Even if it is, it's too far away. You won't make it on your own." he growled. "Have you any idea how to hunt or find shelter or do anything that doesn't get delivered to your precious Capitol?"

It was even worse than letting her roam the Districts in fear of Peacekeepers. Wilderness killed as efficiently as any gun, probably more quickly too.

"I will manage." She forced a smile on her lips. "I'm a fast learner."

"You are going to die." It was harsh and cold and he hated himself for the detachment in his voice. It was his mentor voice. It was the way he always spoke to every tribute foolish enough to ask him what would happen in the arena.

She didn't look too fazed by his macabre prediction. "That's the only place I will be free. I have to try. I promised I would."

"Thirteen has been destroyed." Was she delusional? Had the fever kicked in again? Because there was no way Thirteen could still be there, absolutely no way. "You can't…"

"I was told there were rebels, there." she explained. "It's the only safe place for enemies of the Capitol."

He licked his lips nervously. Rebels? He had heard of rebels. But it was only a rumor that was going on between victors, nothing real. It was a fleeting hope that someday, somehow, things could change and get better. It wasn't real. It couldn't be, could it? "Who told you that?"

"My father." She turned her face away from him but he cupped her cheek in his hand and forced her to look at him again. Her blue eyes were shining with tears. "Do you want to hear my story, Haymitch?"

Yes it's a cliffhanger and I'm meaaaaaan! :p