TRIGGER WARNING: torture, rape.

In the last light of day, Effie sits with Haymitch on the back stairs of his house as they make their way through the last of the whiskey. The empty bottle sits between them, and just behind that is a bowl of stale bread crumbs. She grabs a handful of them and tosses them as far as she can. The few geese that spot the treats hurry over to claim them.

Talking with Haymitch at the end of the work day is fast becoming part of her routine, not unlike the middle of the night phone calls were during her brief trip to the Capitol. He had even prepared in advance for this evening, had dragged a carpet from indoors out onto the steps, denying her the chance to protest the dirty floor.

As she shuts her eyes and breathes in deeply, the ice in his glass clinks. Wordlessly, she hands him hers, and he takes it at once, no questions asked.

"Why blue?" he asks a moment later. When she looks at him, she finds his brow creased and his eyes fixed on her wig. "Why the fake hair at all," he continues, "but why blue?"

She looks down at her empty palms and breathes, counting to ten. "I didn't see the sky the entire time I was in prison," she says softly. The images flash before her eyes, threatening to unleash their full force on her. She focuses on the lines on her palms to keep the looming storm at bay. "Obviously. No windows for traitors. I lost track of time from the moment they took me there." She feels the hands on her, hears her only exit being slammed shut. "I kept thinking, if I could just see the sky, it might be better."

The despair from those days shoots through her, swift but sharp. She meets his gaze, seeking anchor in the now, reassurance that she is no longer there. "With this, it's like I have the sky with me everywhere I go."

She looks away again, this time up at the darkening expanse overhead. The first stars are peeking through, unobstructed by the harsh lights of the city in which she'd spent her life. She knows their names from textbooks, but she hasn't really tried to identify them in years.

"As for why at all," she continues, "well… I'm afraid that's a secret I'll have to keep a while longer."

"Come on, throw me a bone here. What's a secret between friends?" He leans forward, seeking her gaze. "At least tell me what color your real hair is."

"Not so much lighter than yours," she says, chuckling quietly. She touches the sky blue curls at the back of her head and turns to face him. The back porch light casts a soft, golden glow on him, deepening the shadows on his face and putting a slight sparkle in his grey eyes. "Do you really want to know a secret?"

Whatever spell has fallen upon her, it has taken him in, too, because all the playfulness from a few seconds prior is gone when he nods.

"I still don't know why I was arrested."

He frowns. "You don't?"

"No. Not really. Snow said that I did a good job fooling him, but I didn't even know about the rebellion until the night Katniss blew up the force field in the arena."

He shifts, clearing his throat. "Far as I know, they arrested pretty much everyone with involved with the Games if they had contact with the districts."

"I know, but they executed a lot of them within days." Sighing, she shakes her head. "I mean, I've always thought it's because I was with you and Katniss and Peeta, so maybe Snow thought I was in on it from the start. But Cinna actually was in on it, and he was executed before the rebellion really even started. And Seneca was killed the day I saw you all off after the seventy-fourth Games, and that was a year before any of this, and he wasn't involved at all, you know?"

He snorts, but there is no amusement to the sound. She watches him as he looks away and drinks. The frown that creases his brow is deeper than before, and new shadows veil his eyes. "You really don't know," he says, full of wonder, and takes another drink.

As the ice clinks in his glass, something clicks in her mind. "But you do."

His grip on his glass visibly tightens. He holds his breath against the liquor's sting for far longer than even she would. Finally, he looks up at her. "Remember that bracelet you gave me to wear before the Quell?"

"Yes." She had loved the way it had turned out, a golden bangle with delicate flame patterns engraved on it.

"Remember the Games? Right from the beginning," he prompts, but she can't call up the image to which he's referring. "I gave it to Finnick Odair for his token. I needed Katniss and Peeta to form an alliance with him. It'd be easier to get them all out if they were in the same place."

Her stomach twists as it suddenly comes to her, the sunlight glinting off the bangle around Finnick Odair's wrist, the alliance that neither Katniss nor Peeta had wanted at first, the brief eulogy for the brave victor from District Four in the weeks following the end of the rebellion.

"You gave me an opportunity," Haymitch says. "I had to take it. It was too easy, and it was so unlike any of us that no one would be the wiser."

What little alcohol she has had tonight burns magma hot in her veins. Her body tenses, and when the world begins to spin, she grips the edge of the step on which they're seated. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He shakes his head. "I thought you'd be better off if you didn't know."

Her eyes go wide, and she sniffs, her gaze going out to the patch of grass where the geese had feasted on breadcrumbs. The silence presses down on her the way it did in her cell. The darkness before her gets deeper, more endless; she shuts her eyes against it and breathes.

"Effie-"

She snaps her head up to face him, eyes narrowed. "Do you know what they did to me?" Her voice is strong, sustained by physical pain and an endless, indescribable ache inside. He pulls back a bit, but he stares at her still. She barely sees him anymore, this moment now warring with the memories of then, anger and fear new and old keeping her just grounded enough to continue. "They ripped out my hair with their bare hands. They would ask me things, and I didn't know the answers, and they took fistfuls every time. When they got tired of that, they burnt the rest off with chemicals." She points to her cheek, to the spot he can't see in the dim lighting, beneath the precisely applied layers of foundation and powder. "This was the test spot. Just to see if it would burn deep enough, if I would scream loud enough.

"When it was all gone, they shocked me until I could barely breathe. They beat me until I thought every bone in my body was broken." She shuts her eyes tight, and her voice becomes ragged. "They violated me. Not for answers. Not for anything. Just because they could." She takes a shaky breath as tears fall from her eyes. Her voice is thin as she repeats, "Just because they could."

Digging her nails into her elbows, Effie breathes, telling herself that she is fine, she is safe, it's over now, and she is miles and miles from those men. She loses count of how many breaths it takes for her to regain control over her voice. It doesn't matter, in the end. Once the calm of safety starts to settle on her, it's irrelevant how it has come to her.

"And I didn't know why. I didn't understand. I thought Snow hated me, or… Maybe he did. I don't know. I don't care. I just wanted to die because it had to be better than a life like that." Shuddering, she pulls her feet up a step. A moment later, she meets Haymitch's gaze. "It would have been better if I'd known. Then at least I could have felt proud of having done something good for once."

"You did do something good," he offers quietly, the knowledge of how useless the words are evident on the whole of his face.

She shakes her head slowly, giving a mirthless chuckle. "I thought I deserved what happened. All of it." She sniffs. "You did, too, didn't you? You still do."

"No," he protests firmly. "No one deserves that."

"Not even this Capitol princess?"

"That's not what you are. It isn't what you were. You were-" He stops, biting his lower lip as he struggles to find words amid the storm she sees in his eyes. "You were lots of things, but-" He sighs. "I don't know what to tell you. We thought it would be the best way. Obviously it wasn't."

"No, it wasn't." Brushing the tears off her cheeks, she stands. He does not follow suit.

At the foot of the stairs, she stops and turns to face him. "I would have loved to be a rebel, you know," she says, and though her tone is soft, it carries in the silence. "I would have loved to know that I was one."

Before she has time to regret saying so, she heads back to Peeta's house.

That night, she sleeps with the desk lamp on, her pillows piled high and her sheets wrapped tight about her. Slumber comes in short spells that do her more harm than good. By morning, she's clumsy and stiff, but she marches on, hanging back in a supporting role while the director and the rest go about their work.

In the evening, she makes herself some tea and heads to Katniss' house. Peeta is sitting on the front steps, sketching idly on a drawing pad.

"Is she home?" she asks him.

He glances down at his work and nods. "It's been a bad day, though," he says softly. "She's in bed, not saying a word."

"She doesn't have to," Effie says, giving a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "I just want someone to sit and have some girl time with." He frowns, and she lifts up her mug of tea. "I won't spill, and I won't bother her. May I go up?"

He tilts his head for a moment, then shrugs. "I don't see how it can hurt."

She finds Katniss' bedroom with little trouble and steps inside. "It's only me, Katniss," she says gently as she shuts the door behind her. She sets her tea on the bedside table and manages to get the vanity chair from its proper place to a spot just a few feet from the bed where Katniss lies in a heap under the covers, motionless save for the rise and fall of her chest with every breath.

"Peeta tells me it hasn't been the best of days for you," Effie says, taking her tea again as she sits. "I won't be here long, I promise. I just… I haven't had a very good day, either, and the best thing I can think of for that is to be in the company of a few strong, intelligent women. And who better than you?"

She thinks on that for a moment as she sips her tea, thinks of Katniss' courage and spirit and heart. "I know you probably don't think of me as a friend, and that's fine. I understand. But I do hope I can be someone you trust. It's important to have people you can trust nearby, especially after everything that's happened." She can't keep the edge out of her voice, but it doesn't matter. Katniss doesn't react.

A few seconds of silence later, Effie sighs. "If you don't mind, I'd just like to sit here a little while longer. I'll stay quiet, really. It's just…" She stops, shakes her head. "It's nothing. I'll let you rest now."

Effie stays until the room gets dark and the last of her tea is cool on her tongue. At the door, she stops to look back at Katniss, who still hasn't moved from where she lies.

"Good night, Katniss," she says softly. "And thank you."