TRIGGER WARNING: discussion of dubious consent.
Up in the guest room, Effie curls into a ball in the corner of her bed, trembling with the urge to shatter every fragile object in the house. Peeta, however, has done nothing to deserve such an offense to his hospitality, so she settles for squeezing the fabric of her blankets in her fists and gritting her teeth as tears scald her cheeks. This is a misery she hasn't felt in years, though it is far worse than she remembers.
She stays like this for what must be hours, releasing the tension in her frame only when her muscles start to ache in earnest. As she pats her cheeks dry with the tissues on the bedside table, she is back there again, however many minutes or hours ago it was. She hears herself yelling and winces. Haymitch had deserved her anger, but not her violence.
It isn't in her nature to behave that way. She remembers now the dumbfounded silence in the wake of her outburst. Her cheeks burn with shame.
A few deep, calming breaths later, she grabs the house phone and dials Haymitch.
"What?" he answers gruffly, voice rough. He's just downed a strong shot, surely.
For a moment, she considers hanging up, but propriety overrides pride. "I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have yelled at you. Or thrown that slice of cake at you."
"Oh." Considerably calmer, he clears his throat. She hears him set down whatever bottle he's drinking from. "Well, while we're at it, Peeta says I provoked you, so I guess we're even. And, also," he adds with evident distaste, "Katniss says I should apologize."
She almost laughs. The small smile his reluctant admission draws from her, though, is enough to carry on her voice. "Are you always this rude on the phone?"
He snorts. "Do you want to make peace or not?"
"I'm sorry. Of course I do."
"Peeta suggested we talk this out face to face."
"That's a good idea."
"Right. I can be over in a few minutes, unless you'd rather wait until tomorrow."
"No, it's fine." Better to get this out of the way as soon as possible. Her work is starting to pile up, and she has to leave soon. "I'll make us some coffee."
They both take their coffee black, Haymitch likely out of habit, and Effie because she can't stomach the thought of sugar or cream. The drink is hot and bitter on her tongue, but it does not give her the words to say. Maybe she should have asked him to supply them with liquor for this instead.
"I really am sorry about the cake," she says finally. "Such a waste."
"He'll make more," he says, shrugging. Setting his cup down, he leans back in his chair and meets her gaze head on. "Seems what I said struck a nerve."
She winces. "Yes. I overreacted, though."
"There must be a good reason for that. You're not the overreacting type unless someone spills food on the tablecloth."
Nodding slowly, she looks down at the fabric covering this table. "There is. There's a lot you were never aware of, you know. Things could be bad for us, too. Not nearly as bad as it was in the districts, of course, but… we had our troubles."
"Enlighten me."
The small measure of disdain she hears in his voice doesn't throw her. She expects it, really, from someone who has seen and suffered so much. Still, it makes her pause. Did this really merit getting so worked up over? Will he laugh at her again and tell her she's a silly child once he's heard?
The sound of pouring draws her from her thoughts. She looks up in time to see Haymitch adding white liquor from a flask into his cup of coffee. Once done, he leans over and does the same for her, a silent peace offering to ease her nerves.
She sips gratefully, the sting of the alcohol on her throat shifting elsewhere to her skin, her scalp. That is not what she means to tell him, though. That set of memories and wrongs is for another time.
"I said something about this district once that was… inappropriate, by Capitol standards." She shuts her eyes briefly. The smell of bloody roses in memory mixes with the scent of coffee and alcohol in the air. "I don't know how it got to him. It wasn't even that big of a slip up, just a few stray comments on a night out. But apparently it was very much a big thing, because as soon as he heard, President Snow went to speak with me."
She remembers it all too clearly. For a moment, it's as if Snow is in this very room, imposing in a pristine, grey suit, making her feel impossibly small.
"I thought I'd get off with a warning," she continues, shaking her head. "That was the year Seneca Crane got promoted to Head Gamemaker. And President Snow-" In that second, she realizes she has never said this to anyone before, and the words sound trite and filthy, unworthy of even the lowest of people, of even Snow himself. "He made me sleep with him."
Haymitch straightens in his seat so suddenly that the chair shifts beneath him, scraping against the floor. Effie jumps, shutting her eyes tight, waiting for anything at all, though certainly not ready. She's never been ready for anything, a spoiled Capitol princess to the core.
"Only once, though?" he asks after a full minute of silence.
"Only once that year, yes." More quietly, she finishes, "The year after that, he strongly suggested I reciprocate Seneca's continued interest."
"Shit, Effie."
She cracks open her eyes, not sure what to expect. But there is nothing to fear. The anger in Haymitch's eyes is directed elsewhere. At Snow, definitely. Possibly also at Seneca.
"It could have been worse," she says, the words spilling from her with little thought. "Seneca was at least kind."
"He was a Gamemaker," he growls. "'Kind' is not a word that defines his type."
"Well, yes, that's true, there was a part of him that was cold and ruthless, but he was always a gentleman." When Haymitch snorts, she says, "Really."
"You were his whore, Effie. He paid for you."
"I don't know that he ever knew of or requested Snow's involvement," Effie says, her voice hard, her accent stronger than it's been in days. It grates on her ears, reminding her of everything she wants to forget.
Haymitch, meanwhile, shakes his head. "You're defending him?" He snorts, then frowns. "Did you love him?"
"No." There is no doubt in her mind about that. There might have been, once, but even then, knowing that she'd had no choice in the matter had made it clear enough that it was all an elaborate ruse. "But I did think of him as a friend."
He says nothing after that, drinking his coffee and shaking his head from time to time. Effie drinks hers, too, thinking for once of the good memories, the less painful ones. They may have been founded on a lie, but that sense of safety and that quiet comfort had been real, at least to her.
Finally, he sets down his cup of coffee and sighs. "I should get going."
She nods. "Of course."
He stands up, rolls his shoulders, straightens his back enough that she can hear his joints crack. "So. Girl's got the boy, boy's got the girl. I've got my liquor and my geese." He pauses, waits for her to meet his gaze before going on. "Who've you got?"
"My reports," she answers at once. She doesn't spare a thought for the fact that he asked after a someone, that he has personified alcohol and ascribed sentience to his pets. "I need to finish them right away. I leave the day after tomorrow, and they must be perfect by then."
"You ready to go back?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You've been here too long," he says with half a grin that does nothing to lighten the gravity of his voice. "You're used to it, I bet. What will it be like to go back now without people you trust to talk to?"
The bare truth in his words cuts deep, and she tenses from head to toe. "I'll be fine," she says tightly. "I was fine before."
"Fine enough that you came up with a mighty big plan to get yourself over here for days on end."
"Good night, Haymitch."
He looks offended for about a second, then he gives her a messy bow, reaches for his flask, and leaves.
Effie washes out their cups and goes upstairs to work on her reports until she falls asleep at her desk.
"Do you need help with anything?"
"No, but thank you, Peeta." Effie stands by Peeta's house, facing the path to town and the train station. She keeps reminding herself she's coming back; it's the only thing that keeps the fluttering in her stomach from getting worse. "Oh, there is one thing - say good-bye to Katniss for me? I'm sorry I wasn't up early enough to catch her before she left for the woods."
Peeta nods, smiling. "Sure thing."
"It's silly, isn't it? I'll be back soon." She grins, clutching the handles of her bags. "Would you like me to bring you anything?"
"You'll miss your train," he tells her, shaking his head.
She nods, kisses his cheek, and goes off. She passes the builders on the way and dares to look at them this time. Her courage earns her a few waves, but even if they offer her nothing but a stare, she smiles. They'll see, in time, how much good this will do. It may have been born of a selfish wish, but it is becoming bigger than just her, bigger than Peeta and Katniss and Haymitch, bigger than this whole district.
They will see, and they will be proud of their own courage.