Author's note: BIG trigger warning for this chapter!
Also, mega long author's note (feel free to skip it.)
The birth is SO close! I hope you enjoy reading about Hayffie's "little ones" just as much as I have writing them. They've been in my life, on the written page, since 2013 (Good God, it's really that long) so they almost feel like they're my children just as much as Hayffie's.
I always get super invested in every story and character I write (can't you tell? ) and I'm so proud of these two, as Effie would say. They're so precious to me, you have no idea. The most precious of all the things I've created on Suzanne Collins's playground.
I love writing Haymitch and Effie but at the end of the day they're borrowed characters, tied to existing source material to keep in mind. Amy and Ian on the other hand are 100% my own creation, from start to finish.
That's part reason why I've enjoyed writing them so much, from them rolling around in Effie's tummy and all the way up to the age of six so far. To really get to use my writing muscles as best as I can, just like in Chapter 9, and only my imagination sets the limit.
What do you think about my names for them? Amandalyn "Amy" Trinket Abernathy and Ian Trinket Abernathy? Haymitch and Effie's "gift worthy of love" and yeah I wanted to nudge in Effie's last name too. :)
They're the first two original characters in ToS and "Amy" the absolute first, way back when I planned for Hayffie to have only one child. The name truly lives in my heart. It's been my real life baby name since I was 18 years old and wrote a love story about a couple named Amanda and Samuel so that was a given from the get-go of ToS but I also wanted to add a little spice to the mix.
Something with a sorta Capitol-y quirk at the end. And Amandalyn is a name Effie would lean toward, don't you think? Lovely and unique but not too out there so Haymitch can eventually wrap his head around it and grow to love it.
Originally, she started off as Amandaline rhymes with Hayffie twin, then became AmandaLYN cause it had a feistier ring to it and therefor fitted her personality better.
It is INCREDIBLY near and dear to me, both her full name and pet name, and all I can hope for is that you'll love reading about my Amy just as much as I have writing her for close to a decade now and the same for Ian of course.
His work name was Cinna for a long time after a certain beloved THG stylist , short for Cinnamon, before I re-named him after the one and only sir Ian McKellen simply because I admire him so much.
So yeah, the Trinket Abernathy twins are both the product of years and years and years of hard effort, blood, sweat, joy and tears and about four drafts worth of re-writes. Like I've mentioned before: ToS is my heart and soul project. :)
What do you think? And what are you hoping for in future chapters? Tell me in the comments, I'd love to hear your thoughts! And if you wanna support the story even further, leave a like and reblog!
This suuper long author's note is coming to a close, I promise, just one more thing:
I cannot stress enough how much I treasure every single one of you! The hayffie fandom has been something of a safe haven for me during these past almost ten years. It's so chockfull of talent and it's a kind place most of the time, save a troll or two. And after a rather shaky childhood, kindness is the one trait I value most in life. #peetapeople
And you know something funny: every time I feel like quitting this massive Godzilla-sized fic novel project because it feels too big or difficult or overwhelming to piece together it's like you guys can hear my thoughts cause then one of you, either here, on Tumblr or AO3 always always let me know ToS is precious to you.
You're all such gems and I'm very lucky and fortunate to have such devoted readers! I hope you'll enjoy the chapter and take care!
Chapter 25
Bottled up
"Can you get the strawberries?"
Effie stood by the stove, her hair in a messy pony tail. The elegant bow on her apron bobbed with each stir and the air filled with the rich scent of what could only be the high-quality 80 % cocoa chocolate shipped in from District 1.
She smiled at him when he walked through the door.
"It's about time we had some chocolate covered strawberries, don't you think? The babies really want it."
"Mm-hm, sure." He poked his head in the fridge. "The babies."
Effie chuckled. Leaned against her free hand to ease some weight off the small of her back she moved the whisk in precise, counterclockwise circles. A lock of sandy hair fell over her eyes and she blew it away.
"What do you say we call the children after supper? It's been a while."
"Fine with me."
Bottles and jars and meal prep containers clinked under Haymitch's fingertips. He scanned through shelf after shelf. "Where'd you say you put 'em?"
"They're in there somewhere."
"Nope. We don't have it."
"Pretty sure we do. You have to look closer, that's all."
"I am. Can't find 'em."
"Very well. Get me the milk then. I'll make us some hot cocoa."
He grabbed the three quarter filled bottle and kicked the fridge shut.
"Don't," said Effie with a pointed look when he brought it to his lips. He poured the milk into the saucepan and watched the chocolate turn from dark brown to a creamy toffee color under Effie's swift motions. Leaned back against the kitchen counter he brushed the stray lock behind her ear.
"Look at you, princess. You're just about ready to burst a seam."
"How observant," said Effie. "And who's to blame, I wonder?"
Grinning, Haymitch pushed himself off of the kitchen counter and rested his hands against her hips.
"You get much bigger than this, I won't be able to reach all around."
"Thanks, darling," said Effie and rolled her eyes. "That makes me feel so much better."
He chuckled under his breath but quickly composed himself. He gave her hips a soft caress.
"I'm gonna miss you like this, sweetheart."
One of the babies nudged his fingertips. He moved along her sides until his hands rested flat against her stomach. That's where they always ended up these days. A second kick soon followed. A firm little "You're in the way" punch. Or not so little. Not anymore. He caressed the spot.
"How's Amy and Ian?"
The question coaxed a smile out of Effie, like it always did.
"Pretty good."
He dropped a kiss at the corner of her lips. She was warm and soft, like a sun-kissed peach. He nuzzled her cheek, dizzy by her scent mixed together with the chocolate. The babies stirred against his palm while he kissed their mother.
"What are you up to?" Effie leaned into his lips. Rested her hand on top of his, enveloped in his bear hug. "I thought you said…"
"Fuck what I said," he mumbled into her skin. She smelled like flowers. Like the expensive perfume he used to kiss off her wrists and her neck, the hollow of her throat.
A sigh escaped her and Haymitch pulled her nearer. Turned the heat off, moved the saucepan to a cooler spot and wrapped his arms back around her. Filled himself with her.
"Eff," he murmured, cheek against her cheek. "Effie…"
"Yes, my sweet?"
"Come with me to Twelve."
Her hands stilled at the sound of those words. Not a breath stirred.
"I'm serious," Haymitch mumbled before his courage failed. "We're a family. You're my family. We should be together. Away from here."
Effie's dress rustled when she turned around, still wrapped in his arms. Their faces were so close he could count every eyelash, every freckle across her nose. His eyes dropped but Effie cupped his cheek. Held his gaze.
She smiled. It lit up her face. Flooded even the darkest corners of his mind.
"I thought you'd never ask."
Chocolate. That's what her lips tasted like. Rich, dark, bitter sweet chocolate. He closed his eyes. Let himself be lost in it. Pulled the hair tie out and tangled his fingers in her fragrant, sandy waves.
Who needed strawberries? This was just as good.
"I thought you'd never ask."
With just a handful of words, Effie lifted an elephant off his chest and he could breathe again. Breathe without effort, for the first time in months.
The twins stirred between them. He felt it against his own body. They tumbled about inside Effie like they too were eager over their future prospect.
Home. We're going home.
"Ahh!"
Haymitch's eyes flew open. He jerked back at the sound of her cry.
"What? What!?"
Effie had doubled over, hands clutched against her stomach.
"What's wrong, Eff? What is it?"
And then he saw the blood, seeping through her fingers. From an object deeply embedded in her body. Hands clutched around it she pulled it from herself. Long and jagged and dripping red. Bigger than his knife.
Glass. It was glass.
"Haymitch," she gasped. The broken shard trembled on her palm, slipped through her fingers and shattered against the floor. "What have you done to us?"
"No!" He caught her in his arms when her knees buckled from under her and cries of agony spilled from her lips. His palms sunk through her clothes, through her flesh like she was made out of butter. Blood erupted from her lips when he followed her to the floor, splattered his shirt and his throat.
"No! No, no, no, no, no!"
More and more blood filled his palm, soaked through the ripped fabric.
"Effie! Oh, God, Effie!"
And he caught sight of himself in the window. With a shriek he let go, pushed away from her with his feet, until his back was against the wall.
His hands weren't hands. His face wasn't his face. The monster reflected back at him was nothing but broken pieces. Razor sharp pieces of glass that jutted out from him like hoarfrost on tree limbs, red from Effie's blood. Like someone had shattered a thousand bottles and made a person out of it.
Frantically, he clawed at himself, his face, his arms, his chest. To find flesh and bone underneath so he could help Effie. But the deeper he dug the more broken he got. That's all he was. Broken bits and pieces.
"Haymitch…"
Effie lay on her side. Pierced and skewered bloody on every place he'd touched her. She clutched her tummy to try and stem the blood flow pooling underneath her.
He crawled to her, on all fours. More broken glass fell from him. Like bloody stars in his wake.
"Haymitch, help us…"
"I can't," he sobbed.
"Please, help them …"
Her eyes clung to his, begging him. Tears rolled down his cheeks and slit open paper-fine cuts where they landed until he pulled back, not taking the outstretched hand.
The house gave a violent shake. The lamp over their heads swayed back and forth and bits and powder of ceiling plaster rained on them, covered them both like snow.
Effie's lips moved but he couldn't make out the words. Laughter ripped through the house. Echoed from room to room, distant at first but coming closer, coming for them. The light bulb exploded and plunged them into darkness.
"Effie!"
But she was gone. Gone like all the others. He was alone in the dark and nothingness, covered in their blood. The roaring sound grew louder and louder. He clamped his hands over his ears but it filled his head. Filled the whole world until there was nothing else.
Nothing but death and dark and laughter.
Snow's laugher.
"No, no, please no!"
"Haymitch! Shh, it's OK. It's OK!"
"Effie!"
"I'm here, Haymitch! It's just a dream!"
Pain shot up his leg. His feet all twisted. Trapped. He tossed and turned while the same strangled cry spilled over his lips.
"Please, try and be still. You're all tangled up."
The familiar voice jerked through him and he saw her at the foot of the bed. Her hand against his ankle.
"Stay away!" His head slammed back against the headboard. "Don't touch me! Don't!"
"Haymitch, it's me!" She held her hands out, palms up. "Just me."
Panting for breath he stared into Effie's face. He blinked through the sweat that poured into his eyes, heart pounding a hundred miles an hour. Tried to believe what his eyes were telling him. He opened his mouth but what came out was little more than a croak.
"Eff," he finally managed, throat like sandpaper. "It's… are you OK?"
She looked OK. Stood there in her usual house dress and pink slippers. Pale but unharmed. No blood. No shredded flesh.
She took a first tentative step toward him.
"You had a bad dream," she said, keeping her voice low. "You're all tangled up. I'm going to help you, OK?"
His gaze dropped to his legs like he saw them for the first time. He'd managed to ensnare himself in the sheets, so tight and twisted they were like ropes. He flinched at her touch but Effie's nimble fingers freed him in less than two minutes.
It was more than enough time for Haymitch's fright to give in to shame.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The sudden shift made his head throb and he just barely held in a groan. He rubbed his fingers over his eyes and they came out wet.
Just sweat, he decided and wiped them on his undershirt, hot with shame. He felt creases on his cheek, that's how tightly he'd pressed it into the pillow.
"You're not supposed to wake me when I'm like this," he muttered under his breath, avoiding her gaze. "It's not safe."
Effie's lips pressed in concern.
"You screamed so loudly I thought the windows might shatter."
He rubbed his arm over his damp, throbbing face, wishing her miles away. Effie pinched the back of his undershirt. The sudden touch made his heart leap in to his throat.
"You're soaking wet. You better change into something dry before you…"
"Oh, God, Effie!" He looked up. "Why you always have to baby me? Save that for the kids, why don't ya? Gimme a breather, for once in your life!"
The outburst made his head pound twice as bad and he buried it against his palm. He tasted vomit at the back of his throat and breathed slowly so as not to ruin June and Annabel's carpet.
Effie didn't touch him again. She only said,
"I'll be in the living room if you need me."
Haymitch sighed when the door closed behind her.
Great. Like he didn't feel crappy enough. Now he was a douche bag too, snarling at the mother of his children for no reason.
With an enormous effort he lifted his head from his hands. Stared miserably at the palms. All jittery and dry and criss-crossed with cracks. But the normal kind. Effie was at him 24-7 about investing in some kind of lotion.
Just a dream. Nothing else. I didn't hurt them. Didn't hurt any of them.
Not yet, anyway.
He needed a drink. Hell, he needed ten drinks! But first he must sort things out with Effie. It wasn't her fault that he was a living, breathing sack of shit who couldn't do anything right and she was always keener to accept an apology spoken to her without a booze breath.
Haymitch heaved a sigh. Clenched his fists, gave them a violent shake. Ten drinks, what a joke! With just a couple of weeks left before the big big big day Effie played the pregnancy card for all it was worth. Whenever he tried to steal a moment for himself she came up with another and yet another task for him to do.
Even when she napped it was never for long. Just when the coast seemed clear and he tiptoed out of the room, the babies made good use of their elbows and knees and jabbed their mother awake. If he didn't know better he'd say all three of them were hell-bent of keeping him from the bottles. He hadn't run this low since Ripper was in the stocks.
He pulled himself up. Didn't bother about the undershirt, clinging to him with sweat. He stared into his miserable reflection in the vanity mirror. Yellow and unsmiling. It was all he could do not to punch his fist through the glass. Right into his own ugly mug.
You couldn't blame her, really. Headaches or no headaches. Shakes or no shakes. Of course Effie wanted him home. She was due in like a minute.
A bird twittered outside, greeting another baking hot day. They were a couple of days into August. Wildfire season, as pa called it. You wouldn't know it around here, of course. Not with the sprinkler system going all day and all night, wasting water like they wasted everything else.
Lord, his life for a good night's sleep! Without the booze to really knock him dead, every shut-eye was hell on Earth; one chapter at a time. He didn't even have the knife anymore. Effie saw to that as well.
It would have happened sooner or later. He couldn't clutch a knife while he slept, not with two little kids having the run of the place. So, better just suck it up and get used to it.
Alright. Time to face the music.
But as it turned out, there was no need.
Reclined comfortably in the old rocking chair Effie looked up from the picture book just long enough to flash him a smile. All curtains were pulled, keeping the sun at bay. Like she knew all along, he would join her.
Haymitch gave the couch cushion a few good punches before he lay down. He stretched his legs out with a grunt. Wiggled his toes, peeking through the holes in his socks.
A bouquet of tulips stood on the mantelpiece. From their latest trip downtown. They were more pink than red but the sight was still enough to turn his stomach and he covered his eyes with his forearm.
"'Can't you sleep, Little Bear?' asked Big Bear, putting down his bear book, which was just getting to the interesting part and patting over to the bed.'"
Effie's voice fluttered into his darkness. The rocking chair creaked with each backward movement as she read and completely ignored him.
Effie Trinket had many annoying qualities but this wasn't one of them. The way she always let him pretended like it rained after each and every episode. How many times was it now? In total? Oh, who the fuck knew. Too many, that's for sure.
Even without the screams and the trashing around, Effie knew his post-nightmare face far better than he was comfortable with. She was the one he used to wake up to after all. With the taxing chore of calming his pathetic ass again and again. But once the storm blew over she was always enough of a pal to go on with things like they never even happened.
"'I'm scared,' said Little Bear.
'Why are you scared, Little Bear?' asked Big Bear.
'I don't like the dark,' said Little Bear.
'What dark?' said Big Bear.
'The dark all around us.'"
Lucky kids, he thought to himself. Who had a mother loving them so hard she read them bedtime stories before they were even born. If Ma ever read to him when he was little he was too young to remember and after Amadeus joined the family Haymitch took on the job anyway.
That sort of thing just didn't come natural to her. Pa would, but anyone working 12 hour shifts slept like the dead as soon as their head touched the pillow. What's to read anyway? They didn't own any books. Especially not children's books. Bedtime stories passed by mouth in the Seam. Many of them scary or with some kind of dark lesson. Tara liked them. Amadeus not so much. Which was just another reason why Haymitch relied so on his imagination for those whispered stories after dark.
He yawned but caught himself mid-way. No shut-eye! Without the alcohol as a free entrance ticket he'd pay for it dearly if he gave in to Effie's sleep syrup voice.
It was a couple of weeks after he moved in that he discovered this peculiar habit. He'd wandered the place as usual after everyone had gone to bed. With the hip-flask clasped in hand he went where his feet took him and wound up outside Effie's room. Light spilled from under the door and he was still sober enough to hear the murmurs inside.
First he passed it off as the usual cooing but a few moments in he realized she actually read them a bedtime story.
He never heard of such a thing. Did all mothers read to their bellies or was it just Effie? It got him quite spell-bounded, to speak the truth. Maybe because he was caught so off-guard.
The stories made no sense, most of them. Not to him. But it drew in him. Even if he couldn't see her there was something so relaxing about the whole thing while he was anything but. So he remained rooted to the spot, soaking in it. Like if he just listened long enough some of it would pass on to him.
It became his favorite pastime. Effie read to the unborn children in her belly and Haymitch listened at the door, quietly sipping his hip-flask. Wasn't like he had someplace he needed to be. He could just as well drink here as anywhere else.
Katniss needed a lot of convincing but Effie Trinket had quite the melodic voice. At least when her panties weren't in a twist, which frankly wasn't often. Not with someone like him nearby.
But once she relaxed and her shit calmed down, that shrill, glass-cutter voice transformed. Turned warm and soulful, like … sitting-by-the-fire soft with just a hint of her trademark mischief that he loved so much.
She couldn't sing worth shit but she'd make a decent narrator. A great one, in fact. It was weird how she mastered it, with that ridiculous accent. But then again: Everything about Effie Trinket surprised him at one point.
A couple of nights in, just when Haymitch started to know those stories by heart, Effie closed the book she was currently reading and said, loud and clear,
"I can hear you breathing, Haymitch. Why don't you come in? Keep us company."
From that moment on they spent almost every evening together. Reckoned he should take the chance and rest his knees if nothing else. He'd be walking around all night with an infant on his shoulder before he knew it. He had to get even more creative with his drinking routine as a result but fuck it. He needed those hours with her. With all three of them.
"I've read to them since I was 10 weeks along," Effie told him when he asked. "It promotes brain activity and language development. And it soothes them."
"Soothes them?" Haymitch frowned. "Against what? How troubled can they be in there?"
It was hard to imagine a cozier, more comfy place for two babies, than inside Effie's tummy. Safe and warm and fed and all cuddled up with each other. Honestly, they should stay where they were for as long as possible.
Days fell into one another. Turned into weeks and months. Effie read and the more time that passed the more Haymitch suspected the person reaping most benefits from this arrangement weren't the kids.
A lamp-lit room, endless cups of chicken broth, Effie. It was definitely better than being alone. He welcomed all the distractions he could get. Any escape, no matter how brief, from his prison cell of a mind.
No monkey business went on. Save that one little detour in between her sheets. Even if she'd wanted him to try something, Effie was so pregnant now he simply didn't dare. They would all just end up in the birthing room and they were heading there fast enough without his help. Just thinking about it made him softer than a marshmallow, when nothing else worked.
"Big Bear looked and he saw that the dark part of the cave was very dark. So he went to the lantern cupboard and took out the tiniest lantern that was there. Big Bear lit the tiniest lantern and put it next to Little Bear's bed.
'There's a tiny light to keep you from being scared, Little Bear,' said Big Bear."
Haymitch failed to stifle his next yawn. He knew this bear book word for word. A personal gemstone from Effie's own childhood. Just the kind of story Amadeus loved. Talking animals.
Good thing she read this one so often because the rest of her picture books were trippy as fuck, most of them. You needed sunglasses just to look at the pictures.
Maybe if I talk to Sae.
Yeah, with her brood of children and grandchildren, nieces and nephews and their children she was bound to have at least one decent kiddie book lying around…
Lulled by Effie's voice and the steady creak of the rocking chair Haymitch's breathing turned deeper and slower. His arm slipped from his face, slumped over the edge of the sofa where the mid-morning dipped his fingers in sunlight.
Haymitch's slumber was never deep. Had to be drunk to get more than cat naps. Five minute here. Fifteen minutes there.
Effie read. Oblivious, at first glance. But for each twitch and small jerk, every choked whimper she looked up from the page.
Effie didn't have to smell him or see him hungover to know how much or how little Haymitch drank. She could tell just by his sleep behavior.
On a normal week, in a normal life, Haymitch got wasted beyond belief 9 sessions out of 10. And once dawn streaked the sky he was out like a blown candle. Dropped like a sack of potatoes on the couch, the floor, the kitchen table. More dead than asleep.
But this deceitful, heart-breaking sleep pattern, you only ever saw it when his alcohol intake reached under a certain level. Or when things were particularly bad.
So this wasn't a first. Far from it. She knew those whimpers well. Long before they shared a bed together. Sounds Haymitch would never allow himself awake. Did any man?
Little boy whimpers. That's the word for it. A child lost in the woods, terrified of the creatures lurking in the dark.
Haymitch with all his talk of "don't come near me when I'm under or I'll accidentally crush you like a beer can" didn't know it but back when they were together and she heard those heart-clenching whimpers she always snuggled in close. Burrowed into him and he clutched her sometimes to the point of pain, a cry for help without words, and she welcomed it. Anything that might help. With his heart pounding into hers she smoothed back his hair and dropped little kisses to his face; his cheek, lips, his eyelids, the tip of his ear.
He never allowed that kind of affection once fully awake. Not for long. Not after a nightmare. Sooner or later he always shrugged her off. As if showing yourself that raw and exposed was some kind of weakness. Something to be ashamed of.
But when a nightmare had him in its clutches, kissing helped more often than not. Because the dream changed. Took a different direction. Not in a sexual way necessarily. It just calmed him.
No one was less surprised than Effie. After decades of solitary confinement where most people he did meet treated him like a sticky pool of something vile you didn't ever want to get on your clothes, let alone your skin, Haymitch Abernathy was starved for human closeness.
He'd never admit it or might even declare he preferred it that way. But it was clear as day to anyone paying as close attention as she had, that it was all a lie.
A lie told so many times he believed it himself.
It was many months since she last did it now. The kissing bit. Didn't seem appropriate. Besides, with this big and clumsy, ungraceful body she'd wake him up anyway, long before she got the chance.
No, the days when she could shield him from the dark with just her lips were long gone.
Maybe I was wrong to take the knife away.
Scary as it was, it served a purpose. Gave him a sense of safety.
It was almost unfair that her own rest had gotten better with the pregnancy. More peaceful. She didn't expect it to last but still. The night-terrors weren't as fierce as before. And unlike Haymitch, she was never alone when she woke from them.
Because she had their little ones. Carried them with her wherever she went.
Back before Kane got her pregnant that disastrous drunken night, she never imagined finding such comfort within herself. Through her unborn child. A feeling she now re-lived, with her and Haymitch's babies.
The nine months she carried her Alex were different from this twin pregnancy in many ways, but the odd sense of peace, in the midst of turmoil, was the same. Amy and Ian and Alex before them, soothed her heart just by existing.
She still got worried, of course. Worried sick quite literally sometimes, even this late in the pregnancy. But each and every time she felt them move it calmed her. It was hard to explain. She worried because of Amy and Ian and those same worries melted away - because of Amy and Ian.
Haymitch on the other hand, had nobody. That's what he thought anyway and she did what she could to distract him when his mind wandered in to dark places. Tried to pull his attention elsewhere, if only by asking him to warm them some milk or join her for a walk.
In the end, it was little more than quick fixes. The knife was too but at least the latter helped him go back to sleep when nothing else could.
Maybe it was unfair but the moment she saw the blood she just lost it.
"Ease up, Eff. It's just a paper cut," he said at the sound of her shriek. He bent his arm to keep from dripping on the bed sheets, pulled open the nightstand drawer and pressed a hankie to his forearm. "Won't even scar, this one. See, it's already stopped."
No, Haymitch accidentally cutting himself coming out of a nightmare wasn't a first either and her hormones played a part in her reaction no doubt but it was more than that. All of it. The whole scene.
The blood stains on the crumpled fabric, the lone trickle down his tender skin and, most of all, Haymitch himself. Who just sat there, completely unfazed. Bored even. Like he didn't even matter!
It was their first real fight in months. Well, she fought. Haymitch had shown a remarkably annoying strength of character in the shouting department post-conception. Just a passing thing, hopefully.
But his idiotic, pig-headed insistence on keeping the knife got her so worked up she had to sit down. It wasn't so much Haymitch's doing as the pregnancy's. She got winded from literally nothing these days. But it scared the living daylight out of Haymitch. She never saw anyone turn paper-white so fast and he immediately caved.
"Fine, alright, no knives!" he burst and pulled her to the bed. "Shit, Eff, calm down before the kids come shootin' out of you."
"I am calm!" Effie cussed as he lifted her legs up on to the mattress but between her labored breathing and reddened cheeks she wasn't very convincing. Haymitch left only to re-appear with a glass of water and remained by her bedside until she drank the whole thing.
She shot him a look when he set it back on the nightstand.
"It's good to know you care more about Amy and Ian than you do my sanity," she muttered and swatted his helping hand when she rolled over to her side. With her breathing almost back to normal she eyed Haymitch, lips pursed in annoyance. "You were never this nice and attentive before I became the sacred vessel of your children. That's a fact."
"Nah," he said. "I care about you, sweetheart. Hopeless human beings need a little sympathy, don't you think?"
Effie tsked and caressed her belly in tired, exasperated motions. Her gaze flitted back to the slice on his forearm, smeared with dried blood. She winced and looked away.
"Please do something about that cut. You'll give yourself blood poisoning. Really, Haymitch in a normal household the first aid kit is for scrubbed knees or nose bleeds or kitchen mishaps. Not for victors wielding knifes on themselves when they sleep. One of these days you're going to stab your own liver and then where will we be?"
Haymitch shrugged.
"Better off, I'd say. One less drunk in the world."
She could have shoved him.
But he kept his word. The knife disappeared. Put in a drawer somewhere, just like during their bed sharing days.
She noticed the change almost immediately but it wasn't until just recently that it dawned on her what a big deal this was for Haymitch.
All throughout his adult life, save those couple of weeks every year during the Games, he always clutched either one of two things to make himself fall asleep. The knife or her.
He was really trying. In more than one way.
Effie closed the book. The tenseness and shadow of bad dreams had once again receded from Haymitch's face, without her help. She watched him in his hard-earned moment of rest. Her sweet, dear, infuriating Haymitch. Hers but not.
She got used to having his hands on her all the time. His hands and his lips and whispered words against her tummy. But he hadn't touched her, really touched her, since the night of the new moon.
They still had moments. Nights when their eyes locked and the world disappeared. They were only humans after all and so woven together now, intertwined in each other's lives, it was bound to happen.
She blamed it on the pregnancy. On nature ushering her to be with the father of her children and oh, sweet mercy, those stormy, silver-gray eyes! They made her knees weaken. Always had, always would.
Luckily, for all four of them, Haymitch still had the wits about him. Each time the door creaked ajar he closed it shut.
It's all for the best.
Sweet as the journey would be the destination hadn't changed. Her and Haymitch… they went nowhere. Just in circles. Spinning circles. Faster every time.
Things would be good, great for a couple of weeks, couple of months and then the arguments would creep in. The bickering and snide comments. The frustration, the fights, the cries and yelling. Silence and heartache and separate bedrooms. Then, as sure as the dawn, they'd kiss and make up, only to repeat the pattern all over again.
Only this time, two little innocents would be there for the ride.
And that's not going to happen under my watch.
Amy and Ian would be born in a calm and peaceful environment. Not thrown in to an emotional twister because their idiot parents were at each other's throat every other day. They couldn't change the past or the baggage they both carried but they had control over this much.
So stop hoping!
She rested her hand on top of her belly. It helped her determination, even with Haymitch in front of her in all his tattered, run-down beauty.
It will get better after the birth.
Yes, once her body wasn't raging with hormones, then she'd make peace with this life.
A life without him.
Besides and this was a comforting thought: They already were in each other's lives. They always would be. In every way that mattered.
And that was enough. It had to be enough.
xXx
Far, far away, in a different life it seemed, a phone rang. Out in the hallway. She unplugged the one in the living room weeks ago. Deep in thought it took Haymitch's stirring to break the spell and Effie pulled herself to her feet.
This was another promise broken. He didn't want her to wake him during nightmares and he didn't want her to answer the phone. Not since the hate call.
"Just leave it to voicemail, you pregnant ol' ox. It's not even our number."
She closed the door quietly between herself and Haymitch and threw a glance at the caller-ID. A smile spread across her face.
"Hey, love," a merry voice greeted her on the other end.
"Annabel."
She hadn't heard from her friend in almost a week.
"How's everything in the Capitol? No babies yet, I hope?"
"No," said Effie. "Kicking and growing. You should see the sheer size of me! I'm so big I won't fit on the bed soon."
"I'm sure you look lovely."
Effie smiled.
"If only Haymitch was as thoughtful. According to him I look like Jupiter. Because I'm the biggest or oldest remains unclear."
They laughed together.
"Things are OK, though," she said. "I think the children are doing their very best to make it easy on Haymitch. No complications. Nothing to cause alarm. You know what he told them when he kissed my belly last night? 'Thanks for giving me a break.'"
"Well, I'm glad." Annabel hesitated. "Effie…" She lapsed into silence. For such a long time, heat rose to Effie's cheeks even before the question. "Have you decided anything yet? What to do once they're born, I mean?"
Effie wet her lips.
Never take advantage of someone's hospitality, mother's voice rung in her mind. It was one of the top three rules Mrs. Trinket had lived by. Rules she hammered into her daughter's head from as early as five or six.
"I'm sorry, Annabel. We won't impose much longer. I …"
But Annabel didn't let her finish.
"That's not what I meant, silly. There's no timetable, like we said. Stay for as long as you need."
There was commotion on the other end. Men shouting and crackles on the line when Annabel walked out into the garden.
"But what do you want? What does Haymitch want?"
Odd she never saw it coming, this question. It was such a normal query. Annabel was in a relationship where they talked, actually talked, with each other.
Not that she and Haymitch were in any kind of relationship. Right now she wasn't sure what they were.
What do I want?
There only ever was one answer, wasn't it? Something she'd known in her heart a long time, even if she never said it out loud.
She wanted him to take her home. Back to the Victor's Village. Back to District 12. Katniss, Peeta. Even his obnoxious pet geese. The quiet woods. The quiet town. Its people and the clear air, the open sky. The Meadow overflowing with dandelions in the spring.
A place of warmth and calm and welcome where her and Haymitch's children could grow up.
But… But.
How would that work exactly? In the long run. Say they carried out this plan and she made a home for herself and the twins in one of the empty houses of the Victor's Village. What would Amy's and Ian's life be like?
Haymitch still drank. He rationed the alcohol. Never once before had he gone this long without a proper boozing. He did it for the twins, of that she had no doubt. But how long could he keep that up?
Haymitch said so himself. In the end, the drink always took him. Sooner or later his resolve would crumble. She'd seen this cycle far too many times to deny it.
One day Amy and Ian's father wouldn't manage just a sip or two every few hours. That was the cold, hard reality. One that kept her up at night.
It was all just a matter of when and how.
Haymitch knew this better than anyone. That's why the gates of the Victor's Village remained locked to them. She was sure of it. He had so many moments. So many opportunities to bring it up and offer this solution.
But he didn't and he wouldn't and maybe he was right. Perhaps a life in different parts of the country was the answer. Their golden middle way.
If they split up the week. If Haymitch spent the first half of it on his own, drinking his fill someplace where Amy and Ian wouldn't see it then maybe, just maybe he'd stay sober enough for the rest of the week and be a father to them.
And the twins would only have their dad for a couple of days at a time.
They won't understand. How do you explain something like that to babies, to toddlers? What will we tell them when they ask?
"Effie? You there?"
She drew a breath. Didn't want Annabel to hear her voice quiver.
"We can't go to District 12. As much as I'd love to, it's… We can't. Maybe one of the other districts. I keep thinking about Four or Seven or Nine. Finding a place outside the Capitol will be easier."
"Well," said Annabel. "Maybe not."
Author's note: What'd she mean by that, do you suppose? Find out in the next chapter!
Did you enjoy the bear story, by the way? The quotes are from a real book. "Can't you sleep Little Bear?" by Martin Waddell. I just moved into a new apartment and found it while packing. My baby sister was obsessed with it! If you can, try and not read it or google it just yet because the book will play a role throughout the rest of ToS.
Thanks for reading, lovelies and I'll see you in chapter 26!
