Chapter Sixty-Five

The therapy sessions were going well for Effie. Three times a week for an hour, Exton would pay Effie a visit at their home. During the first three weeks, their therapy was mostly conducted at Effie's swing, as Haymitch had come to call it, where Effie was most relaxed. She spent the time talking out her feelings with Exton and it was usually after those taxing one hour that Effie would be quieter and more reserved, preferring to curl on their bed to recuperate. Haymitch would leave her alone because when she was ready and had gotten herself under control, she would emerge from their bedroom to spend time with the twins.

Haymitch wasn't oblivious to the changes in Effie. While he never knew the extent of Effie's discussion with her therapist and he certainly did not want to pry unless Effie herself talked to him about it at night before they went to sleep, he could affirm the positive changes in her. Her nightmares were still present but they were less frequent. Two nights ago, Haymitch actually managed a decent few hours of sleep without being woken up by her screaming. Waking up next to her warm body pressed against his instead of finding her in a catatonic state at some random part of the house was a nice welcoming change, too.

There was only one occasion when he woke up to find her standing by the vanity across the bed, tense and apprehensive. It was not due to her nightmares. It was his. He was thrashing in his sleep, dreaming about the boys being reaped and sent to the arena, a nightmare that was becoming more frequent when he realised that the twins would turn two years old in six months' time. In about nine years, he mumbled. Effie was the one who brushed his hair back after she climbed back to bed, telling him quietly that there were no more Games.

The twins' age also marked a new milestone in their lives – they had long passed the second year mark of their marriage without neither him nor Effie noticing it. It passed by quietly with no grand affair or Effie attempting to surprise him with dinner like she had done during their first year anniversary simply because she was too occupied with her therapy and Haymitch could not quite be trusted to remember dates.

On the fourth week, a day before one of her scheduled session, Effie came looking for him in the kitchen. She smiled meekly at him, feeling slightly embarrassed for the favour she was about to ask.

"Why are you looking at me like that? Everything okay?" he eyed her over his shoulder.

Tristan tugged on Haymitch's wrist, pointing to the bowl of food impatiently. Unlike Ethan who wanted to try everything, including feeding himself, Tristan was a different matter altogether. He wanted to be fed, each and every time. For that very reason, Effie had taken to calling him her little prince, a moniker Haymitch discouraged so vehemently.

Instead of answering him, Effie took the bowl from him and sat down with Tristan to feed the child which led to them digressing from the topic as they engaged in the same round of argument again.

"You need to stop that," he gestured at her feeding her son. "He's going to grow up thinking he is some kind of royalty. Stop pampering him."

He took the spoon from Effie, curled Tristan's finger around it and guided him as he scooped some mashed potato and nudged it towards the boy's mouth.

"Me?" Effie squeaked, taking the spoon back from her son when Tristan completely missed his mouth and splattered the mashed potato on his cheek. "He's only a baby, Haymitch, of course he needs to be fed. You know the book says their self-help skills are only developing. He can't feed himself."

Haymitch's only answer was to give a pointed look at Ethan. The boy, despite the mess he was making by shoving a handful of food into his mouth, was doing fine on his own. His cheeks were stained with brown sauce which dribbled onto his shirt but all things considered, Haymitch thought Ethan was doing a good job learning to be independent, a quality that, he felt should be instilled from a young age since from his experience, the world outside wasn't that very kind or very fair.

"You can't expect them both to be the same. Wasn't that what you said yourself? Ethan's that way and Tristan's just the way he is," she smiled. "Isn't that right, my darling prince?"

Haymitch rolled his eyes and changed the subject before their argument could drag on.

"You wanted something earlier?"

"Oh, yes!" her eyes lighted up in remembrance. "Tomorrow's my session with Exton and I was just… Well, he suggested that perhaps I should go down to the hospital for a change."

"Ah," he nodded having immediately understood Exton's reasoning behind it. "You should. It'll be good. You haven't been out of the house for months."

"I know I haven't. I should… I'm really considering it," she wrung her hands together. "I want to get better for the children and hiding here won't achieve anything. I was just wondering if …"

"I have to pick up something from town anyway," he said nonchalantly.

That was, of course, a lie. There was nothing he needed from Town but he knew what Effie wanted to ask from him in any case.

Effie gave him a grateful smile and returned to her task of feeding Tristan and cleaning up after Ethan.

When morning came, they bundled the twins into their stroller and set out. As they neared the main town centre, Effie's eyes darted wildly around, taking everything in and looking at each person far longer than necessary. She jumped each time someone bumped into them and walked close to Haymitch.

"They're just doing their shopping. Nobody's going to hurt you," he patted her hand that was gripping tight the handle of the stroller. "Breathe in and calm down."

Effie bit her lip, nodding with a certain determination. "I'm being irrational," she announced, clearly displeased with herself. "I should stop thinking this way."

"Irrational, yeah," he nodded, "but don't be too hard on yourself. Only the first day out after all."

At the entrance of the hospital, Effie's fingers curled around his wrist, stopping him.

"I'll be fine here. It'll only be an hour," she said. "Why don't you take the children somewhere… They will get bored waiting for me in there."

Haymitch shrugged, telling her that he would be back for her. He pushed the stroller past the hospital, not quite sure where he was heading. He walked aimlessly watching the boys peered out of their strollers to look around. It wasn't long before Haymitch ended up at the playground.

At the sight of it, Ethan began to fidget, wanting to be let down so he could explore the new place. The moment he was free, Haymitch's hand shot out to grip the back off his shirt, effectively stopping him from running off on his own. He struggled with the belt buckle around Tristan and when it came undone, the toddler climbed off slowly, standing next to his father as he took in his surroundings.

"Want to have a go?" he asked Tristan. Haymitch lifted his son up and settled him at the very top of the green slide. "Just like the one we have at home, yeah?"

When Haymitch nudged the boy forward, letting him slid down to the bottom, a smile broke out of Tristan's face. Soon enough, the boys established some form of game with Ethan climbing the slide from the bottom at the same time that Tristan would push himself down causing them both to collide halfway through. They would cackle happily each time this happen and they would repeat the game. It was something so incredibly stupid and ridiculous yet it didn't seem to make them bored.

After some time, Haymitch approached them, lifting them both up. "Try something else," he said.

Haymitch arranged Tristan so that he was flat on his stomach with his hands outstretched in front of him and slowly guided the boy down the bumpy slide. Tristan squealed in obvious delight and Haymitch smiled at that.

"Your turn," he signalled to Ethan and patted the slide.

Having seen how it was done, Ethan replicated the position with some help from Haymitch and nudged his way down.

"Da!" he squeaked, calling out for him.

Haymitch caught the child at the bottom of the slide and soon they began to take turns going down just the way he had taught them. Even so, he kept a watchful eye on them and was always at the bottom of the slide to catch them just in case.

After half an hour, the boys lost interest in what they were doing and had taken to running all over the playground trying on different things.

The place was empty that Monday morning. It was quiet and with only his two sons occupying the entire place, Haymitch was not so worried about them being pushed and mauled over by children older and bigger than them. Still, he followed them closely behind, watching them both like a hawk.

It wasn't long before he caught them booth looking at the monkey bar curiously, too high for them to reach since it was meant for older children. With a sigh, Haymitch carried them both in his arms, supporting them as they dangled from one of the metal poles.

"One hand in front of the other," Haymitch grunted an instruction, already out of breath from having to shoulder all of their weight. He walked them about five times back and forth before his arms started to ache and burn. "Alright, that's enough. You both weigh like a tonne of bricks," he grumbled, letting them down.

At some point, as he sat watching them play in the sandbox, it occurred to him that he, Haymitch Abernathy, was spending his Monday morning at a playground. Three years ago, he wouldn't be able to tell the time of the day nor would he be out of the house at this hour, most likely, passed out drunk somewhere. It was surreal how fast his life could turn around and how much it had changed him from the man he was. This was never meant to be his life. Someone else's probably, someone who had deserved it but certainly not him. He wondered what his twenty-five year old self would have said if he could see him now. Would it have made him a little less angry, a little less bitter? Would it have given him some semblance of hope if he had known that he would be content watching his own two children play in a sandbox because for once, he was watching children playing not to survive but because it was in their nature to engage in play.

By the time they arrived back at the hospital, Haymitch was quiet and in a contemplative mood. Effie was sitting on the bench outside with Exton, clearly waiting for them. Her eyes widened in alarm at the dishevelled state her children were in with their clothes wrinkled and soaked with perspiration.

"Where did you all go? Have they been running around?" her brows furrowed.

"Playground," he answered simply.

"Playground? Well, that's new. Did they like it?"

"Trust me when we get home, they're going to knock out from exhaustion," he smirked. "That's how much they enjoyed themselves."

"Why must you always insist on tiring them out? They must be so thirsty," she fretted, letting them drink from their bottle and wiping their forehead with her handkerchief, the very image of an overbearing mother, he mused. "There's sand on their clothes!"

"You know that there's a sandbox at the playground? They rolled around in it, obviously. Can't be prevented."

"Haymitch!" she gasped. "You are unbelievable. You could have taken them away! Felix is going to be so devastated. He bought these clothes."

Exton, who had been standing quietly watching the scene unfold, stooped down to be on the same eye-level as the boys. He greeted them. Tristan smiled shyly at him while Ethan gave him a toothy grin. By now, Exton was already a familiar face and the boys knew him enough.

"I have something to talk about with your father. Hopefully, I'll see you again soon!" he ruffled Tristan's hair.

"Something wrong?" Haymitch asked as they walked away from Effie and the boys.

"On the contrary actually. Effie's doing well. She told me her nightmares were getting less vivid," he explained. "I think Effie's odd were in her favour in that she's lucky to have you with her. I would imagine that her situation would be dire had it been anyone else who couldn't really understand the horrors she went through. I don't mean any offence by this but your experience with the Games, having survived something so brutal yourself gave you an insight to her and it made you more understanding, more accommodating to her struggles especially with the nightmares and her grappling to rebuild her own life."

Haymitch shrugged, uncomfortable with the compliment.

"Being involved in the Games and the Rebellion made you both stand on the same platform, so to speak. For anyone else, anyone who never had to go through the things you both had gone through, understanding Effie's situation would be difficult just as it would be difficult for anyone else to understand yours."

Haymitch frowned, not quite pleased to hear anything about his struggles or situation from this therapist.

"Everyone has their struggles, of course, but the two of you are a good match for each other. Because of the shared experience and history I mentioned earlier. I have seen and counselled people affected by the laws and some of their stories are not pretty."

"I'm sure when Plutarch suggested it, he didn't have that in mind – whether we are a good match or not. He was more concern of Snow's sympathisers exacting revenge on Effie which again, I'm sure, was not because of his concern for her well-being but of what Effie could have told them otherwise."

"Be that as it may, Effie is far from recovered. Healing is an on-going process. There is little doubt that it would help her tremendously if she knows that you are there for her. To have someone's support is very important to the healing process but on the other side of the coin, it won't do if you were to drop everything to cater to her or treat her like fine china," Exton went on, pausing to take a breath. "It will feel condescending to her and that will not help her heal in the right manner. We do not want her to grow too dependent. The best advice I can give is for you to do things as you might normally do them. If you go to town every weekend to stock up on the grocery, do that. Don't break the routine. The normalcy helps to instil some form of control for her."

"Yeah," Haymitch nodded. "I got it."

There were many things that could cross his mind but for some reason, the law became his focal point. He had cast that aside since Effie's relapsed but the law was perfect in a way that it was his focal point as much as hers. It was the basis of their marriage and ultimately, it became something in common that they worked on together. It was normal to find them poring over paperwork in the middle of the night, searching for loopholes upon loopholes to overturn it.

Haymitch could work on it without letting her know but after the incident with the file, that would have been folly. He would speak to her about it; find her something to pour her energy into. It would be good to get her to focus on something and perhaps, it was time for them to work on the law again.

If anyone's confused or curious about the timeline, Effie would have been married for three years (and the law would have been in effect for the same length more or less) when the twins turn two. I worked out the timeline again quite recently to make sure it will all fit when I end Consortium. So, I actually enjoyed writing this chapter especially the playground scene even if I was apprehensive about it initially. I hope you like it as well and please do review :) thanks for reading!