-Six Months Ago-
"What the hell do you mean? You're just giving up? You're leaving her to die?"
Haymitch slammed his fist on the table, standing up from his chair, trying to get control over his anger.
Plutarch was making that increasingly difficult.
He sighed and gave Haymitch a look of combined exasperation and sympathy.
"There's no proof that she's still out there, nothing to lead us to believe that after all these months she's managed to survive on her own. We cannot afford the men or the money required to continue this search. We just won a goddamn revolution; we need to focus on getting the house in order."
He remained composed, seated at the head of the table, overlooking the near-empty room, with an analytical gaze, as he would a chessboard.
Haymitch, on the other hand, had had enough of the games.
"Fuck that! I don't want to hear all your bullshit about rebuilding or moving on. Give me a gun and a list of known Capitol holding facilities. I'll go look for her myself!"
Finally, Plutarch stood up, and the two were at eye level with each other.
"Haymitch! We've used every measure, searched every known compound; she's not there."
He shook his head and started pacing a bit.
"No. We can start looking outside of that, look in places we haven't checked yet. She's out there, I know she is. She's tougher than she looks. We can't just–"
"Haymitch…" The shift in tone coming from Plutarch's voice caused him to come to a complete stop.
"I didn't want to tell you this yet because we didn't know for sure," Plutarch sighed.
Before he could continue, Haymitch interrupted with what he already knew.
"You found a body," he stated matter-of-factly.
"DNA tests haven't come back yet, but we're fairly confident it's her. Two days ago around eleven-hundred hours a body was located at an underground containment facility two hours outside the Capitol. Female, mid-thirties, blonde hair, approximately five feet five inches in height."
Haymitch looked away, swallowing the lump at the back of his throat. His feet started a quick pace towards the door almost entirely of their own volition.
"Haymitch," Plutarch called out in a somewhat gentler voice.
He paused at the doorway, not turning around.
"I'm sorry for your loss… truly."
Haymitch continued walking away, with nowhere to go, but it didn't matter. His ears were ringing, and the air was thinning around him; he was struggling to take a breath. Without warning even to himself, he burst into the first bathroom he found to splash his face with cold water.
After drying off, he accidentally caught sight of himself in the mirror. It was almost as if he could hear his reflection speaking to him:
"You failed her."
"You let her die!"
"This is all your fault, just like the rest of them. So much blood on your hands."
He clamped his eyes shut and tried to turn it off, but then he heard her. His eyes glanced back up at the mirror, and he could imagine her standing behind him, her hand gently resting on his shoulder. He knew exactly what she would say if she were really there, and it filled him with intensely raw anger.
She would smile but it wouldn't quite reach her eyes.
"It's not your fault, Haymitch. I love–"
His fist met the glass, causing it to crack and shatter. Shards were lodged deeply in his bleeding hand. He released a breath at the fact that the voices had finally stopped. Drops of crimson red running down the stark white ceramic sink briefly captured the attention of his gaze. Looking back up at the fractured and divided image before him, he finally recognized his own reflection as that of the irrevocably broken man he truly was.
-NOW-
The first sensation Haymitch felt was the throbbing in his skull followed quickly by something damp being dabbed on his forehead. As his eyes cracked open they locked onto a hazy but familiar image that sat before him.
"I remember this dream," he mumbled, smiling before his heavy eyelids shut once again.
He heard a soft breathy chuckle that made the hairs on his arms stand straight up. The scent of lavender and chamomile assaulted him with the false hope that this was real life. He opened his eyes wider this time to take in the full image of her. He wished he could stay here forever, this place of limbo between awake and asleep where he always seemed to find her waiting.
This was always how he preferred to view her: no dramatic capitol makeup and her soft golden locks hanging loose around her shoulders.
His hand reached out to wrap a finger around one of her stray curls. He was expecting to wake any moment, to be violently ripped from peaceful bliss and reminded of everything he'd lost. Any second now, he'd wake to see her side of the bed empty and he would have to go back to a life of pretending he could exist in a world without her.
When the strands of hair actually met with his fingertips he paused. He let go of her hair and ran the back of his hand over her arm in utter disbelief. She remained quiet, studying his actions with a deep curiosity.
Retracting his hand as though he'd been burnt he thought of pinching himself or causing some sort of pain to ground him back in reality.
He shot up to a sitting position, his body screaming at him to take in air but he continued to ignore it. He brought a shaky hand up to cup her cheek still not believing that this was true.
Her expression shifted from one of curiosity to concern, but she never flinched, never moved away from him.
He tried hard to get his mind and body to reconnect and take another breath but he only managed to get enough air in to whisper: "Effie?"
She shook her head gently and removed his hand from her face.
"I'm sorry I'm—" she began to say when suddenly the door cracked open to reveal an anxious Peeta.
He crossed the room and took her by the arm helping her stand up off of the bed.
"Why didn't you tell me he was awake?" Peeta asked.
"He only just woke up I wanted to make sure he was okay," she said sheepishly.
When she turned back around, it reminded him of what he had seen earlier when he had first opened the door.
"Listen, you should go I need to talk to our guest about-" Peeta started.
"How far along are you?" Haymitch choked out.
"I'm thirty-seven weeks tomorrow." She said, placing a hand on her stomach and rubbing in circles.
She took note of how Haymitch's eyes were glued to her stomach and smiled.
"She's pretty active right now if you want to feel her move around," she offered.
He shook his head, standing up off of the bed and making his way towards the bedroom door, pushing past Peeta on his way out.
He walked straight to the front door, ignoring Peeta calling out for him to wait.
Hurrying down the stairs of the building, his mind raced with thoughts and questions that he wasn't sure he was ready to have answered. The sound of footsteps following close behind caused him to pick up his pace.
A slight chill in the air greeted him as he stepped outside, and he made it not ten more steps before a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Haymitch wait!"
He turned around swiftly, his instincts had his right hand reaching for a knife on his belt which he no longer kept there.
"What the hell is going on!" He yelled.
Peeta looked frantic, like a little boy who had been caught getting into trouble. With a desperate and pleading look in his eyes, he simply said:
"Haymitch please let me explain."
His eyes narrowed. In that specific moment in time, gone was this feeling of fondness he'd held for the boy. All that remained was betrayal. All he felt was anger.
"She's alive? Effie's been alive this whole fucking time and you've been letting me grieve her. For six months I've been torturing myself…" his mind raced with memories over the past few months filled with so much pain it nearly drowned him.
"I'm sorry"
He knew the words coming from Peeta were genuine. It still didn't change anything.
"That's all you have to say?"
"Look, there is nothing that I can say that can take any of that back. I know you're hurt and angry."
Haymitch scoffed, shaking his head. Hurt and anger weren't strong enough words to describe what he felt.
Peeta placed a hand on the man's shoulder once again and began to talk.
"I promise you that there is good reason for all of this. If you just come back inside I can explain everything."
Haymitch looked up at the apartment building, it seemed so much larger now than it did earlier that day.
He shook his head and took a step back to break the connection.
"No, I can't go back in there, not right now. She's….thirty-seven weeks." Haymitch paused to think and then whispered.
He knew it. The second his eyes landed on her stomach he knew. Still, it hadn't fully sunk in. He couldn't admit it to himself then. But now…
"She was pregnant before she was taken by the capitol. That's my…" Haymitch whispered.
"Daughter, you're going to have a daughter," Peeta finished.
Haymitch's eyes widened slightly as a wave of different emotions crashed over him.
"I can't… I…have to go," he mumbled.
He turned away and started walking, tuning out the sound of his name being called yet again. The only thing he could hear was the sound of blood pumping in his ears. Each step he took seemed faster and faster as the world around him slowed to a near halt.
He'd lost track of time, but the sun started setting when he was halfway back to the victor's village.
Just before passing through the open gaits, he felt it. The earth shifted back to its normal pacing, and the sounds around him became clearer in his ears; the crickets chirping, the his geese honking.
With everything coming back to normal, his mind was left unguarded for all of the emotions and memories of earlier to come rushing back to him.
Before he could reach his house, he ran towards a bush so he could empty the pitiful remaining contents of his stomach. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he managed to just make it up the few steps and through the front door.
Ready to find the nearest bottle and wash the taste of vomit out of his mouth, he sighed in frustration when he saw Katniss standing in his kitchen.
He walked towards the living room coffee table, ignoring her presence, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey hidden underneath it.
He took a swig and plopped down on the couch.
"Go home," he said, not even bothering to look at her.
She walked towards him.
"I fed the geese," She said simply.
"Thanks. Go home," he repeated sternly.
"I know you went into the apartment building after I left. What happened?" She asked.
He took another swig and closed his eyes tight, wishing she'd disappear when he opened them again.
He sighed, disappointed that she was still there.
"He's not cheating on you. That's all you need to know. Now would you just go home!" He said, his last bit of patience running thin.
"But–"
He stopped her with by slamming the bottle down on the table.
"Enough! You want more answers? Go ask Peeta! You're not a kid and I'm not your father so go deal with your own shit!"
Before he even realized, she was out the door.
She slammed it behind her with such force that a framed picture fell off the wall. He got off the couch, picked up a flower vase off the table in front of him, and threw it at the wall. He watched that shatter and feeling the smallest bit of relief, he found another thing to throw, then another, and another. He finished off the rest of the bottle in the process and made his way to the stairs on unsteady feet.
He threw himself back on his bed, ready to shut everything out and forget the day ever happened.
After he closed his eyes and drifted off, his mind raced with different dreams. There were no nightmares about the games, no comforting dreams of mornings in bed with Effie, or Sunday night dinners with his mom and brother.
That night he dreamt of a little girl with bright blonde hair that reminded him of sunshine. She had icey blue eyes with a mischievous glint hiding behind them. She laughed like her mother.
He saw himself walking towards her. He picked her up and kissed her cheek as she squealed and giggled.
"Look what I got! I caught a little bug crawling around our garden!" he shouted playfully with a laugh.
He lifted her higher and threw her up in the air quickly before catching her.
"You know what we do with little bugs? We feed them to the geese!"
He walked over towards the fence around his geese and held her over pretending as if he would toss her in.
"No! Daddy, I'm not a bug I'm a girl!" she shouted with laughter.
"You are?" he asked playfully.
"Yes! I'm not a bug! I'm just Maisie!" She said.
"Well just Maisie , I think it's time for dinner," Haymitch said with a smile.
He put her down and the two of them walked hand in hand towards their house which had a warm glow of light emanating from the kitchen windows.
"There you two are! I was just coming to get you for dinner!" Effie walked towards them and Haymitch wrapped his arms around her and leaned in for a kiss.
"Ew!" Maisie shouted running past them, her long blonde curls bouncing up and down on her way to the door.
Effie broke the kiss to call out to her daughter.
"Maisie Abernathy please make sure you wash your hands!"
She turned back to her husband who laid another kiss upon her forehead, then her cheek, and moved down to her neck.
She chuckled.
"We should go in too, it's impolite to keep our guests waiting" She placed her hands lightly on his chest creating space between them before pecking him on the lips.
"I hardly consider Katniss and Peeta guests, they're here every day" He argued.
She shook her head.
"No matter, it's not proper to let the food get cold."
"Well that depends on who cooked it," he said.
Effie rolled her eyes.
"If you must know, Peeta kindly offered to.."
He cut her off.
"Peeta cooked? That's all you had to say!"
He laughed and put his arm around her shoulders as they started walking.
She swatted him in the stomach, unable to contain her amused smile.
"Well that wasn't very polite," he said sarcastically, grabbing the door and holding it open for her.
She shook her head with a small laugh and walked inside.
He went to follow her in but as soon as he crossed the threshold the house grew darker and colder. Worst of all, he was alone.
"Effie? Maisie?" he shouted, running to the next room.
"Peeta? Katniss?" no response.
He ran out the back door again.
"Maisie!" Nothing.
He went out to the front yard.
"Effie!"
His head was spinning, looking at his surroundings. He checked across the road at Katniss and Peeta's house which was just as dark and quiet. He looked towards the woods and was about to walk that way to keep looking for everyone when something stopped him.
It took a few moments for the scent to assault his nose. A few more seconds before his eyes began to see the embers dancing around him like snow falling from the sky. Then he heard the screams.
"Daddy! Help!" she called out followed by a cry of pain.
He stood up and whipped around to see his home in flames.
"Maisie" he whispered in a panic, he went to step forward towards the house, to save his daughter but vines grew quickly from the earth and wrapped around all four of his limbs, keeping him tied in place.
"Haymitch! Please help us!" Effie screamed.
"No!" he screamed and tried desperately to break free of the vines but they only tightened.
The screams were deafening. They shot through him like a bullet, turning his blood ice cold. The only sound that was worse was the complete silence that followed.
He let out a guttural scream that made his voice go hoarse and he clamped his eyes shut letting the tears run freely down his cheeks. When he opened them and looked around, all that remained was a pile of ash.
The vines that bound him slowly started releasing flower buds which bloomed amid all the death and destruction. White roses.
Covered in sweat he sat straight up with a gasp. The morning light shined brightly through his window, but he wasn't ready to start his day.
He ran his hands over his face and closed his eyes again, but before he could fall back asleep, there was a knock at the door.
With a groan he pushed himself out of the bed and slowly made his way down the stairs.
Opening the door he was't sure who it was he wanted to be on the other side.
"Morning," Peeta said with an anxious smile.
Haymitch opened the door a little more and took a step back, silently inviting him to come in.