The morning after the festival is warm and bright, a herald of the hot days that will come after midsummer. Katniss leaves Peeta's side to walk barefoot in the morning dew, humming one of the ditties from last night. No mockingjays sing the notes back; only common songbirds greet the morning with her, but she does not feel alone. This is the closest she has felt to peaceful in months.
Peeta is starting breakfast when she heads back inside half an hour later. She smiles, skipping the customary good morning in favor of brushing a kiss against his lips as she sets some water to boil.
"Someone's having a good day so far," he remarks, grinning.
"Yeah, you sure are."
They take their breakfast on the porch, steaming bowls of oatmeal with sweet cream and wild berries, and mugs of spicy tea to wash it down.
"Everything went really well yesterday," Peeta remarks. "It was great to see everyone so relaxed last night."
"Yeah. I had sort of forgotten what most of their smiles looked like," Katniss admits. "I'd forgotten what it felt like to really laugh." She can't help the thought of the last time she saw Prim dance, the wedding in District Thirteen, the single happiest moment for many of those people after months under a tyrant of a different kind. She has to comfort herself with memories of the few dreams she has had where Prim comes to her with a smile.
"I think it got everyone thinking of excuses to have another one," he says, chuckling.
"Maybe when the next building is done?"
"I think the Marshes' baby will be born before that."
"Right. So that, then." She stirs her oatmeal and scoops up a spoonful, eyeing it closely before eating it. Heather Marsh had spent most of her time sitting with her feet propped up, laughing as she watched her husband dance. They are lucky, the first in their district to never know what it is to fear for their child's life.
Katniss wants to be happy for them, but she cannot muster the feeling. Her heart is too wounded. If not for Peeta and the ghosts, she thinks she might not have much of a heart left at all.
"Are you going to bake them a cake?"
"That goes without saying, doesn't it?" He smiles. "Their daughter will be a pioneer, in a way."
"No one will ever feel sorry for her," she says. "Except for how there are so many people she'll never meet. I'm sorry," she adds hastily, shaking her head. "It's- That's why we're working on the book. So they'll always be remembered."
There is no reproach in his eyes when she looks up at him, only a sad sympathy that tells her he understands. He always understands, sometimes even better than she does.
They finish their breakfast in silence. She washes the bowls and mugs while he gets started on the buns they'll have for lunch. When she is done, she hangs the towel to dry and sets to work on the book, where she loses herself so fully that it takes his coming over and placing a plate with a roll on it to pull her from her thoughts.
He smiles and says, "I thought you might want something ahead of the main course."
"Thank you," she tells him, her voice heavy with sincerity and guilt. An apology forms on her tongue, but before she can voice it, the phone rings.
He starts for it, but she stops him with a hand to his arm. "I'll get it," she tells him. "You've been on your feet all morning. You need a break."
Shaking his head, he chuckles and takes a seat. She touches his shoulder as she goes past, the lingering warmth of the contact keeping the small smile on her face steady.
She picks up mid-ring, and barely gets out hello.
"Katniss?"
"Haymitch? Is-"
"Come to Peeta's house."
She frowns. "What's wro-"
"Right now."
He hangs up before she can respond.
"What happened?" Peeta asks as she sets down the phone.
"Haymitch is at your house. He wants me to go over right away." The words click into place as they hit the air. She and Peeta look at one another, the same thought shooting through their heads.
They are up and out within seconds.
Haymitch is in the kitchen when they get there, gripping the edges of a counter for support. He looks shaken but not shaky, so it isn't withdrawal that has led him to leave his house before noon. Moreover, it isn't drunkenness. There is no mess here, no evidence that he stumbled in looking for anything.
"Where's Effie?" asks Peeta.
"Upstairs," Haymitch answers.
"What's wrong?" Katniss asks.
Haymitch rubs his forehead, sighing heavily. "I came to make sure she was all right. Last night got a bit rough for her for a while there." He shifts his weight from the hand gripping the counter to his feet and back again. His usual, nonchalant control is slipping from him.
Katniss' stomach clenches. "Is she okay?"
He tilts his head sideways and lifts a shoulder in a shrug; a moment later, he shakes his head. "I heard yelling when I got here, so I ran upstairs. But the minute I opened the door to see what was wrong, she started screaming at me to get out. I don't think she was really awake. I didn't get a good look at her or the room. I just kept trying to tell her it was okay, but she wasn't listening. She wasn't really here."
"She was back in prison," Peeta says, his eyes shifting out of focus as he glimpses that place again.
Katniss touches his arm, bringing him back. "You should go talk to her."
Peeta shakes his head. "She'll think I'm there with her. It has to be you."
"He's right, Katniss." Haymitch releases the counter and rubs his hand, pressing his thumb hard into his palm. "It can't be either of us. Don't question it," he adds quickly, cutting her off before she can get a word in. "Just hurry up."
Katniss clenches her fists, but she does not contest the order. They wouldn't say so if it weren't true. A look at Peeta confirms this, his nod giving her the nudge she needs to go. Breathing deeply, releasing the tension in her frame, she heads upstairs, silent as if on the hunt.
She knocks on the guest room door and turns the knob. "Effie?" she calls, pushing the door open slowly. When she gets no response and no command to go, she takes a step inside.
Effie is huddled into a ball by her bed, trembling, her bed sheets a mess, her night clothes wrinkled, her hair - her real hair, a tangle of dark brown that might pass for black in the right lighting - disheveled. Her wig sits on her vanity, and it's then that Katniss remembers what Haymitch said. She wasn't really awake when he got here. She was sleeping, at her most vulnerable.
Katniss shuts the door gently and takes a step forward. Effie snaps her head up, her eyes wild with fear and anger - and, Katniss sees a moment later, with a pain she remembers seeing in her own eyes. It's beyond physical, beyond psychological, because betrayal is a severing of the deepest trust. Betrayal is what hurts the most, and Effie knows that firsthand. Her people did this to her, those she had served with such fervor for so long.
"It's me," Katniss says softly. "It's Katniss."
For a moment, Effie's gaze remains hard, disbelieving. Then Katniss' words sink in, and the fog lifts from her mind, and her eyes widen and fill with tears.
Slowly, Katniss approaches. When she senses the edges of Effie's tolerance for proximity, she sits down on the floor and waits. For what, she isn't sure, but she knows she must be patient in this. Once, Buttercup had refused even Prim's help with an injury, and it had taken her gentle sister hours to regain the cat's trust.
If ghosts can be guardian spirits, Katniss hopes Prim is hers.
"I'm not going to hurt you," she says, her gaze and her voice never once faltering.
Effie draws in a shaky breath and narrows her eyes. Tears tumble down her cheeks.
"You were dreaming," Katniss tells her. "But it's okay now. It's over."
"It's never over," Effie breathes, clutching her elbows.
That much certainly feels true, but that isn't what she needs to hear. "It is sometimes."
Sniffing, Effie lowers her gaze to her feet, the pristine skin and toenails that Katniss will never envy because she loves the reality of dirt and mud.
"I'm sorry," Effie murmurs.
"What for?"
"This."
"You haven't done anything wrong. I do this. Peeta does this. Haymitch does this." Katniss looks up at the ceiling and thinks of all the people who do this now, those who have lost someone or lost themselves.
"I have no right to anyone's sympathy."
"Of course you do."
Effie shakes her head. "I wish I'd died."
"Don't say that." The words leave Katniss' mouth so quickly it surprises even her, because it isn't until now that she realizes that she would have missed the woman who had been her escort. Snow's execution day would have been even more chaotic if a stranger had been made to help Katniss prepare. The person's colors would've been all wrong, too, no matter what they might have worn. Those horrible leather shoes would have been lost to family that could never wear them as well. Any other person's cheerful disposition would have grated on her.
And any other person would have bid her good-bye at the train station all those months ago without a care. They would not have yearned for the familiar faces of the victors of District Twelve. They would not have come here on a selfish errand that would end up becoming so much more.
"You've given everyone something to look forward to," Katniss adds.
"They never needed it."
"Maybe not, but look at what happened yesterday." Effie shakes her head again, and Katniss sighs. "I'm sorry, too, then."
"Why? You saved us all."
Katniss shrugs.
They sit in silence for a while, Effie slowly coming out of the grasp of the shadows, Katniss wondering if Peeta and Haymitch will come up if she stays here long enough. She's lost track of the minutes since she walked in, the bright summer sunlight giving her little indication as to the time beyond it being around midday. A slight ache in her lower back tells her it has definitely been a while, even though it looks as if Effie has hardly moved, still curled up as if to hide from the world forever.
"You look pretty, by the way," Katniss tells her. When Effie looks at her and frowns, she clarifies, "Your hair. I think it's pretty."
Finally, Effie shifts, lifting a hand to her head. She feels the dark strands, and her eyes widen. With her free hand, she reaches for her blankets as she looks about the room, seeking cover, unwittingly showing more of what she hides every day: a scar on her cheek, and several smaller ones on her nose and chin.
Her search is short-lived; she looks at Katniss' feet, and, realizing it's too late now, she wilts, a flower on a sweltering day.
Katniss almost feels badly for bringing it up. "Do you want me to go?"
Effie opens her mouth to speak, shuts it quickly, then nods.
"Okay." Katniss stands, hovering nearby for a moment. Should she hold out her hand to help Effie to her feet? The answer comes seconds later; Effie stays where she is.
Sighing quietly, Katniss heads for the door.
"Katniss."
Her hand on the doorknob, Katniss turns to Effie.
"Don't-" Effie bites her lips and squints, doubtless trying to keep more tears at bay. "Don't tell anyone about my hair."
"Of course not," Katniss says. "I promise."
"Thank you."
"Why couldn't it be you who went to talk to her?" Katniss asks Haymitch as they leave Peeta's house. Peeta left for Katniss' house earlier, having remembered the bread he had left in the oven. "You're one of the people who went to rescue her."
"It just couldn't be," he tells her firmly, and he goes off the path and in the direction of his house.
In her kitchen, she asks Peeta why it couldn't be him, adding, "She wouldn't have thought you were there with her. You didn't share a cell, right?"
"That isn't the point," he tells her. "You just have to trust me on that."
She purses her lips, but she does not press the issue.
"It isn't for me to tell you," he adds, because he senses her latent curiosity, even though he is staring at the dough he is kneading.
"I don't expect you to," she says. She doesn't expect anyone to talk about any of the horrors they survived. The ghosts, at least, can be a comfort, but the memories of pain and despair are unforgiving.
She only wishes those terrible things would leave them all alone.