Author's Note: Here's another! We're slooowly crossing into a period of the books, which I find seriously interesting and I have a lot of ideas of what might or might not have happened there. This version has some pointers from "Reality Hurts" (my other non-oneshot Hayeffie story), but there's a few things changed - and a lot more work put into it! I hope you like it :) Thank you for the reviews guys, they make my day when they tick in on my phone! The massive response for this has really driven me to push myself further in terms of writing - not only fanfiction, but also original!
Have you got your copies of the film yet? I picked mine up Sunday, but I didn't have a chance to play with it until last night (I was too tired Sunday to even look at my computer screen for too long) I LOVE the extra material in the version I'm able to buy in Denmark (not as fancy as you Americans, though).
This story may be seen as triggering to people dealing or having dealt with self injury, suicide or depression. Rated M for descriptive violence and very dark themes.
He didn't remember the last time he'd been this drunk. Well, right now he didn't even remember how old he was or why he was here. All he remembered were the miserable fact, that he had nothing left. Remembered the harsh words he'd exchanged with Effie and how she'd left him sitting at the screen. Portia disappeared shortly before the argument really took flight. He couldn't blame her. The fight hadn't been entirely quiet and most of the other mentors and residents must've been able to hear it as well. There was still warmth in his cheek, where she'd hit him with a flat hand. He had bruised her as well, and probably bumped her a bit too hard into the wall when he grabbed her by the shoulders to immobilize her after she hit him. Right now he was telling himself he could get through this. She was never meant to become as important as she had been anyway. If he could get through the Hunger Games, losing his family and 25 years of the Capitol reminding him, he was worthless, he could get through Effie Trinket leaving him, leaving the centre and leaving the games. She was not allowed to by her doctor, but he also doubted she ever listened to a word he said, so it wouldn't surprise him if she was halfway across the city now.
Going to bed that night was harder than ever. These days she usually went to bed with him. Not always just for the sex, but for the comfort of another human being and the underlying pressure not to give in to any of their – well, their less healthy habits. The sex was great as well, though.
He never got around to it anyway, because when he'd laid in bed for an hour a loud bang sounded.
"Mitch, we gotta go, we gotta go right now,"
It was one of the mentors from 7. Haymitch's head seemed to not move with the rest of his body when his feet were on the ground. He pulled on a pair of pants and grabbed a shirt.
"Horribly wrong … Peeta captured … we need to go!" The man could barely breathe.
"Hovercraft waiting on the roof, get up there," He finally got out between the exhausted breaths. The elevator was probably a bad idea, so Haymitch quickly opted for the emergency staircase. He ran. He didn't think, he just ran. Didn't even stop to see if he was being followed or if the mentor from 7 was with him. He reached the hovercraft, but only just. His heart was beating too fast and he immediately felt like fainting, when he suddenly came to a stop. There was too much alcohol and misery in his system to do this.
"You're drunk," Plutarch noted and led him to a chair. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. He closed his eyes. At least he was on his way now. They'd be safe in 13.
They … Haymitch didn't even open his eyes when he grabbed Plutarch's shirt.
"She's not here, is she?" He asked in a growling low voice.
"Not if she isn't with you, Haymitch," the man said as cold as he could. He obviously tried not to get emotion into this. Haymitch opened his eyes.
"I had one condition,"
"There are no conditions in this war! Rest now, we'll talk tomorrow when you're not made of 70% alcohol," Plutarch left him to be tended to by a silent nurse. He'd apparently ripped open a gash on his forearm running here and his hand was still sore from the broken glass, but the pain never got to him. He was too dull from the alcohol.
Next day his headache almost killed him, but he got up. There were people in more need of care than him. He wandered around for a bit on the hovercraft. From what he could feel, they were still flying, but it couldn't be long now – the train ride between 12 and the Capitol took less than a day and with a hovercraft that distance should be completed faster. Not that he had any recollection of how much time may or may not have passed. He met someone from the group and they led him to the command of the Hovercraft. It seemed to be one of the bigger hovercrafts, probably used for vacation purposes.
He looked out the front window now descending into district 13. He was curious to see the place as well as angry he couldn't go back. He had spent an hour this morning contemplating what the Capitol would do to her, if they … When they got everything fixed and noticed she was still back. She was a Capitol citizen and she didn't know anything. Period. Maybe this was Plutarch's way of protecting her.
"Glad you could be with us," Beetee said and gave Haymitch a pat on the shoulder. Haymitch liked Beetee and he realized he liked him even more now, though the loss of Wiress probably couldn't be compared to his semi-loss of Effie. Haymitch just nodded.
"We're landing in ten minutes," he continued. Haymitch couldn't talk.
"She'll be alright," Plutarch said from behind him "Trinket's not stupid, she knows how to handle herself under pressure. And she is still the Capitol's darling. If she's smart, she'll blame it on you. Say you manipulated her and threatened her. If she's smarter she'll accuse you of rape,"
"You don't even know her," Haymitch said with a dark laugh. Effie was the worst liar he'd ever met, good at acting and hiding, but very bad at lying. And though she was probably mad as hell with him right now, with good cause, she would never blame him for anything. Not even something he had actually done. He just hoped she'd get off easy on the other end.
He followed the instructions. He followed their plans, but he didn't really contribute. He was an empty shell, which made him a vicious fighter. He couldn't get to alcohol, so he tried to focus everything on the tasks he got, though he went through serious withdrawals first. Plutarch had forced him to go to a psychologist, but the doctor reminded him so much of the guy who did Effie's suicide watch, that he couldn't talk to him. He tried though, because what else was there to do? Recently he'd spent most of his time talking to Beetee in the armory. When this was over, the rebellion, what'd he do? He never thought about it, but without the Games to keep him miserable he didn't do much. When he first heard of the rebellion, he'd allowed himself to briefly fantasize about living with Effie fulltime, his thoughts had killed themselves though. She wasn't one for even the richer life in district 12 and he'd never live in the Capitol with her. Once again he reminded himself that this was never meant to be. She was probably still in the Capitol, slowly returning to her normal life, whatever she did when there wasn't Games for her to work on. Her biggest problems being lack of seafood or a dire need of a new style in shoes. He hoped this for her. Hoped she'd already started to forget him.
"Haymitch, could you come here for a second?" He sounded like something had fallen into his voice and died. An ill feeling began spreading the instance he heard it. The former game maker looked tired, beaten up.
"I just thought I'd share something with you. Not because I actually want to show you, but,"
He put down a folder in front of him. It was marked with the Capitol seal and it seemed to have been brought here in a pocket, because there were creases everywhere.
"What is this?" Haymitch asked and opened it. His heart stopped on the first page.
"She wasn't in the same place as Mellark, I swear, we checked every single cell,"
Haymitch stared at the picture of Effie. It wasn't one she'd voluntarily let them take. The chair beneath him felt like it was made out of fire and ice at the same time. Maybe it was just his body. Some of the text next to the picture made him even more uncomfortable. Plutarch kept quiet for now. Haymitch didn't even try to fight the tears of anger and defeat.
"Euphemia Trinket has been marked as a traitor and is no longer to be seen as a citizen of the Capitol. Further interrogations will occur," he read outloud to himself. His breathing became shallow and for a short moment he thought he was going to pass out. The first paper was dated back to when they'd first arrived in 13.
"There's a law against using violence and torture against Capitol citizens," Plutarch said in a whisper, maybe not even directed to Haymitch, who felt he was getting pounded in his stomach by every letter he read. He turned a few pages. More pictures followed. Pictures of her cuts. An evaluation. Euphemia Trinket might be an unfit witness due to serious mental issues, he read. Physical pressure has not resulted in any information. Further interrogations will occur and head peacekeeper Adonis Tyrial will decide whether to increase the physical pressure on the subject. Physical pressure. Bullshit. Torture. Johanna had been shorn, shocked and almost drowned, but Haymitch hoped they would have just a tiny bit of mercy on Effie, since she had been one of them. He was proved wrong by the final paper in the folder:
"By direct order of the President, Euphemia Trinket will be relocated to the President's mansion in the City Circle. She will serve as a personal assistant for the President. The President has declined the opportunity to have the subject made into an avox." He didn't realize his voice had risen in volume as he was reading and the entire command room had turned silent.
"Haymitch," Plutarch started, as Haymitch violently crunched the paper in his hand, now trying to get his tears under control. The pictures spread out in front of him showed more bruises than what she could do to herself. He shook his head. Physical pressure. They could make her say anything with enough of that.
"I'm sorry," he continued "I just felt you needed to know, before the rumour reached you,"
Haymitch took the first picture of her, the picture of just her face. It wasn't a good picture. It looked like she hadn't slept in days, but it was the only picture without bruises or scars polluting her. He put it in his pocket for later.
"She's as good as dead, if that snake's got her,"
"I wouldn't be so sure," Plutarch tried.
"We both know what personal assistant means, Plutarch," He couldn't be around people anymore. He couldn't even be around himself, so he ignored everything on his schedule and went to his room, where he trashed everything, that could be trashed. The thought of her basically being the President's sex slave made him vomit. What he wouldn't do for a bottle of booze right now. What he wouldn't do for someone to fight, to beat up. Preferably someone with likeness to Snow, but anyone would do right now. He tried banging his head into the wall, but before he got to the point where a headache began, he became numb. The thoughts were all very clear in his mind, but he didn't tie them together with any emotion. There was only a feeling of wonder and helplessness against the stream of pictures his brain made him imagine. Nothing touched him. Not even the imagined screams from the escort. What was the last thing he'd said to her? They'd fought, so it probably wasn't all that pretty, but he couldn't say he regretted it. His still numb emotional system gave him another thought to chew on 'How long would she last?' She couldn't be all broken if Snow wanted her, though Haymitch knew Snow had always looked at Effie like a challenge.
His feelings didn't return. He would have been scared if it wasn't so convenient. He could go back to work, taking care of Katniss and the rescued prisoners from the Capitol. He could plan vicious attacks and help Beetee design weapons to murder.
He guided Katniss from the hovercrafts. She never noticed anything. Nobody ever did. The people who were in command with him that day had probably forgot. Plutarch sometimes asked if he was okay, but Haymitch just nodded and mumbled something about getting back to work. He got used to the thought that she was dead. Maybe she wasn't, but if that was the case she might as well be. He never mourned over her, but decided to remember her for what she had been to him instead of how she might have died.
