Chapter Eight

"Myra!" he shouted, struggling to break free from the hands holding him back. "Myra! Break the window, get out of there!"

The fire leaped out from the shattered window next to her room. The heat was so ferocious the crowd staggered back in alarm. Smoke billowed out from the burning house, darkening the skies above them.

"Haymitch!" she screamed, banging on the windows desperately. She sputtered and coughed and struggled for breath. Haymitch blinked back the tears and when he opened his eyes, she was gone, crawling on all fours to try and get out. She never made it out. Haymitch knew that. He's witnessed her death over and over again for years. His girl died in that burning house with her parents.

Knowing how it will end, Haymitch willed himself to wake up. That was when he saw it. Effie stood in the middle of the house, cradling a bundle in her arms. He knew instinctively that it was his child. Haymitch began to panic.

He screamed her name repeatedly; screamed until his voice was hoarse. The fire was licking her feet, spreading up the hem of her nightgown but Effie didn't seem to notice. She looked serene and calm as though she had long accepted her fate.

"Please, come here," he pleaded. "I'm sorry. Effie, please. Please run."

She smiled at him sadly. "It wasn't part of the plan, Haymitch. I have to go now. I'm taking my son with me."

Effie turned and walked straight into the fire. He shouted and broke free of the grasp holding him back except he was at the arena now and he had just stepped off the platform before the countdown was completed. Haymitch exploded.

He scrambled up in bed, wiping the water off his face. Haymitch looked down at his hand, fearing that he was covered in blood. Effie stood over him holding an empty glass in her hand.

"I heard you downstairs. You were screaming," she said by way of explanation.

That was the first time Effie had spoken to him in two weeks. They had avoided each other after what happened and whenever Effie entered a room where he was, she would promptly turn away and walk out. The only time they were together in the same enclosed space was at night when they both went to sleep.

Haymitch was breathing heavily, the water dripping off his chin onto the linen. He turned his head towards her.

"Is it a boy?" he asked slightly out of breath, remembering his nightmare where Effie had told him it she was taking her son away.

"Who's a boy?" asked Effie, looking confused. "Oh, you mean… No. I don't know. It's too early to tell."

Effie disappeared into the bathroom, coming out again with a glass of water which she pressed into his hand.

"I heard you came back late last night," she told him, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Thought you were asleep?"

"I can't really sleep. I kept going to the bathroom. Um, being pregnant causes frequent urination," she explained to him. Her cheeks turned red slightly at the admission. "I'm going to the hospital for my pre-natal check-up in an hour. Will you be okay?"

Haymitch nodded. He didn't know anything about Effie going for appointments. In the two weeks they spent ignoring each other Effie occupied herself with her work at the factory, putting in extra hours just so she doesn't have to see Haymitch. As for him, he did what he does best - he drank. He drank so much Peeta had to carry him home on several occasions.

"What's wrong, Haymitch?" the boy asked one night as he half dragged, half supported Haymitch's dead weight.

"Nothing," he slurred.

Haymitch stopped working on trying to get the law repealed. When Plutarch called to ask for his progress, he had gone on a rant saying that it was too late and repeatedly told Plutarch to put the blame on Effie. When he woke up the next day, he remembered none of the conversation.

It took Plutarch's harsh words several days later for him to get his head straight and for him to pick up where he left off.

"Look, Haymitch, I don't know what happened between you and Effie, but you need stop being selfish. When we started this, it was with the aim of trying to save people in Panem from a loveless, terrible marriage; to stop the suicides, the domestic abuse and the abortions done in secret because the Government made it illegal to do so. Are you still in or not?"

A chill ran down his spine when he heard the word abortion and he nearly bolted out of the room to look for Effie. He wondered if she had considered that option since the way he reacted when he was told of her pregnancy was less than amicable. Haymitch may not want the pregnancy but he couldn't stomach it if Effie decided to abort the baby. Too many children had died because of him and another one on the list would drive him insane. At the same time, he can't have the baby. He's not prepared for it. He doesn't want to be a father. All he wanted after the whole Rebellion ended was to live his life on his own terms with his geese without Effie or the law as his master.

XxX

Haymitch hunched over the papers strewn over the kitchen island desperately trying to piece together the information he had thus far. Plutarch and Effie, with their connections in the Capitol had done some research on President Paylor and found out that under the law, she had married her childhood sweetheart.

How terribly convenient, Haymitch thought savagely.

This wasn't good for them since she would more likely than not had a happier marriage than the rest of the population. However, according to Plutarch, Paylor wasn't unreasonable - an observation Haymitch was more than willing to refute considering the existence of the marriage law - and Plutarch had wanted to bring their case to challenge the law before her.

"You sure that's a good move, Plutarch? She was in office when this law was passed," Haymitch pointed out.

"It was passed through the votes in the Council, not based on her decision alone," Plutarch countered. "We bring this to her and get her prepared. We've worked with her before Haymitch and we're doing this out of formality. We can't just spring this up on her or she would think we're planning another rebellion to throw her out of office. Besides, if she is in on this, we'll be stronger."

"You remember what I told you about Effie's plan? The clip of the interviews?" Haymitch prodded. Haymitch had talked to Peeta about it and the boy had agreed to help with the interviewing. The plan for the interviews was still in the early stages but he just wanted to confirm with Plutarch that the plan was still on the table.

"Yes, we air it if Paylor disagrees with us – as a last resort. Have you gotten Effie to type out the brief for Paylor?"

"No, not yet. I'll have it when I see you next week."

XxX

Focusing his efforts on the dissolution of the law had worked wonderfully in taking his mind off Effie and the child she was carrying. But he was at a standstill at the moment. He needed Effie's help writing out the report. It was something she was good at. She had dealt with all the necessary reports mentors had to file after each Games and she had done it for him.

After three weeks of their cold war, Haymitch tried to break the ice. He was home early that night and when he entered the house, he could smell something cooking in the kitchen.

Haymitch leaned languidly against the door frame, watching Effie as she moved about the kitchen preparing her ingredients. "How far along are you?"

She jumped slightly at the sound of his voice. "Why do you care?" she retorted, effectively shutting him down.

Haymitch growled in annoyance.

"Effie…," he called out her name hesitantly. She ignored him; resolutely keeping her back to him as she started the water boiling for her pasta. "I was… How I reacted, it was harsh and I was out of line."

Her hand hovered for a second in mid-air before resuming its track, reaching for the bottle of olive oil.

"We haven't spoken in three weeks, Eff."

"I hardly doubt you missed me during that period," she said. "And to be quite honest, I'm surprised you even noticed how long it's been. What is it that you want, Haymitch?"

He exhaled loudly. Effie was sharp and after twenty years of working with him, she knew him quite well.

"Ahh, seeing as how we're married," his hand came up to rub the back of his neck uncomfortably, "I think it would be healthy if we communicate –"

Effie turned towards him and pierced him with a sharp glare. "Haymitch, do us both a favour. Don't be so patronizing, drop the marriage counseling. We can have it during our first year anniversary."

Haymitch raised both eyebrows in surprise. Oh, she is still angry. Very angry, in fact.

"I need your help," Haymitch said, thinking that being truthful would gain him some advantage with her.

"Of course, you do," she said snidely, stirring the pot of spaghetti sauce she had cooking on the stove. "What is it?"

"I have enough information to –"

"Write a brief? Which you are incapable of doing so you need my help," she finished for him.

"Yeah, how do you know?" Haymitch said.

"I know what sort of work you're good at and –"

"No, I mean, how do you know I needed to write … Oh, you probably sat here," he gestured at the island in understanding, "and read through those papers."

"Mhmm."

"You could – You're still able to help with your …?" He gestured towards her stomach.

Effie narrowed her eyes a fraction, turning slightly to look over her shoulder. "I'm pregnant, not an invalid."

She carried her plate of food over to the kitchen counter and settled in to eat. Haymitch watched her expectantly before standing up to look at the empty pot.

"Oh, there's no food for me," he remarked, sounding a little crestfallen.

"You've got some nerve after all those terrible things you said to… Oh, never mind, it's hopeless talking to you. Take a fork, you can share my food," she offered.

Haymitch hesitated before doing as she said. He pulled a chair over and began eating from the same plate as Effie. They never said a word but during the entire meal, Haymitch kept trying to ask after her - about her appointment and her plans with the child. He never summoned up enough courage.

"There's something I've been meaning to show you," she pulled out a book out of her handbag that was slung over the back of the chair.

He read the title silently – "What to expect when you're expecting" – and his breath caught in his throat. She's going to discuss her pregnancy with me, the thought flashed briefly in his mind before it vanished when she pulled out the loose papers trapped within the pages of the book and handed it to him.

"The law was passed by a slight margin, and we were never told which council member voted for or which few who dissented, am I right? It was never published."

"Yeah," Haymitch nodded carefully, unsure where she was going with this.

"I know their decisions and now, you do too," she pointed to the papers in front of him. "I managed to get the information. And Haymitch? Those people who voted for the law, they're not subjected to it simply because they are over the age of 50 and fell outside the requirement of the law!"

Haymitch swore loudly and across from him, Effie's hand fluttered protectively over her stomach, as though the mere act of it could shield her unborn child from hearing such foul language.

"It's easy for them to make the decision when it doesn't personally affect them!" Haymitch said angrily.

"Exactly."

XxX

Haymitch paced the kitchen as Effie sat on the island, his papers strewn all around, typing out a brief report for President Paylor. Once in a while, he would bring the glass of whiskey in his hands up to his lips. He poured himself a drink every so often.

"When do you need this by?" she asked, biting the end of her pen. It was one of Effie's bad habit and one that Haymitch gleefully pointed out when he first discovered it.

"This weekend. I'm leaving for the Capitol on Sunday morning."

"And when were you planning on telling me?"

"I – We weren't talking," Haymitch said simply. "Would you like to come with me?"

He didn't really want to bring her along but he thought it would be better to ask, an olive branch.

"No," she said tersely.

"Fine. Is there anything you need from - "

"Open the window, Haymitch. The noxious vapour from your alcohol isn't helping my stomach. I've been feeling nauseated the whole day but with you drinking, it's just… Open the window, please."

He did as he was asked, opening the kitchen window wide open and allowing the fresh air outside to diffuse inside the house. Haymitch tipped his glass back and drank the last vestige of whiskey before washing the glass and keeping the whiskey bottle away.

He didn't see Effie's eyes flickered away from her work to look at him or the slight curling of her lips. There was a hint of a smile on her face as she watched her husband put away his liquor without a fight just because she couldn't stand the smell in her current state.

When he turned around, Effie was looking down at the papers, deep in concentration. He rested against the kitchen counter with his arms folded and observed her. It's difficult to reconcile the fact that the same woman he's known for nearly two decades was now carrying a life inside of her. A life she would one day take away from him once the law was repealed.

I couldn't resist the bit on What To Expect When You're Expecting! Anyway, thank you, really for all the reviews so far. Please keep reviewing! Knowing what you think of the story and knowing the kind of scenes you wish to see helps to shape the plot a little and the I write the story.