Original Prompt (anon): only a few days after effie was rescued haymitch comes to her room in 13 and finds her looking at her reflection in the mirror and starting crying because she feels ugly now with no wig/make up + bruises and haymitch tells her she's not ugly.
When Haymitch had first heard about Effie having a compartment to herself in Thirteen, he was outraged.
The woman had barely been in the hospital three days before they moved her with instructions not to leave her compartment unless absolutely necessary.
He could only imagine that she would be going out of her mind, alone and isolated again, like she was before – this was like a torture in itself.
Only two people knew her exact location, three after Haymitch had harried Plutarch on the matter. He told him and he went alone that night.
XxX
Haymitch's hand hesitated above the door handle. He checked the grey painted numbers on the door again to make sure he wouldn't intrude on some family's private matters, though most of them should be at dinner now.
It was the right room. Effie Trinket was in there.
He wondered what state she would be in because Haymitch knew better than anyone that sometimes isolation could bring you closer to insanity than people might think.
A glimmer of courage drove him forward to press down on the handle of the door. He opened it a few inches to look inside.
The room was dimly lit by one of the bedside lamps making the bright white furnishings in the room a warmer shade of yellowy-orange. The bed sheets were still pressed immaculately and a tray of food and cup of water was left untouched on the dresser. On the tray was a single pill in a small paper cup which Effie clearly hadn't bothered to take.
She was stood before the mirror on the wall, either too lost in her mind or simply unaware to take note of his presence.
He entered and pushed the door closed as softly as he could behind him so as not to startle her.
"Effie?"
She didn't move at the sound of his voice, her eyes unfocused and cloudy in the mirror. She continued to stare at her own reflection for a good two minutes but Haymitch stayed put. She needed help and she needed someone to be with her now.
She opened her mouth to speak but it took a moment for the words to follow suit.
"It was like armour. It made me brave. I wish I had it now." She whispered and bought a hand up to her face.
Haymitch knew what she was talking about. She missed her make-up and her bright, fake hair and her fantastical dresses. She wanted to be hidden away.
Her index finger shook as she moved it to touch a bloody cut across her forehead that was not yet properly healed. As she did so, a long pained wail emanated from her mouth.
Haymitch shot forwards, the sudden noise startling him. He wanted to hold her but he was too afraid to touch her.
Eventually the noise trailed off as she rested her head against the glass, her shallow breaths clouding its surface.
It was with a tentative hand that Haymitch reached out and, as lightly as he could, brushed his finger against a small piece of unmarred skin on her shoulder. She flinched at first, squeezing her eyes shut, but as he touched her softly again, she began to grow accustomed to the feeling, realizing that he meant her no harm.
With some gentle coaxing, she turned to face him. Her eyes were cast to the ground, feeling nothing but humiliation that he should have to look at her like this.
"Look at me," he asked softly. She did and he swore he felt his heart break.
Her eyes told him everything she couldn't. They told of pain and sorrow and woe and they told of her turmoil. He tried not to look too closely because the icy blue would surely drown him when he had to keep his feet firmly grounded for her sake, and his own, else they would both go under.
With each long moment that passed, he watched as Effie recoiled further into herself, already beginning to slip away with tears in her eyes. One fell, its path disrupted by her swollen cheek.
"Don't cry," Haymitch reached up and caught it with his finger.
She looked away and crossed her arms over her chest. "How can you look at something so ugly for so long? Doesn't it make you sick?"
Haymitch was confused until he realised that she was talking about herself.
"Make me sick?" he asked, completely astounded that she could think that. "Do you really think I would feel that way?"
More tears fell as her answer.
"Of course I don't. Hell, Effie, you've never looked more beautiful." It slipped passed his lips like oil on water and he didn't care.
She still didn't look at him, her face crumpling.
"You're beautiful. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And if they do, send them to me."
He thought about going then, feeling his own resolve beginning to crumble but before he could, her arms wrapped around his waist and he didn't give a second thought to holding her.
His hand went up to stroke her hair as she wept into his shoulder.
"You know, it was meant to be a compliment," he said in an attempt at lightness but neither of them laughed.
They held each other for a long time, neither person finding any great desire to pull away.
Haymitch knew that there was a meeting held in Command at 20:00, his arm said so. Coin would not be best pleased at his absence, but now more than ever, he really didn't care what the punitive fifty-something woman thought.
Now more than ever, Effie needed him. And he would be there.