Haymitch turned away from the front door and walked toward the kitchen, his creaking footsteps echoed throughout the silent house.
Morning light filtered through the dusty windows, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. Remnants of broken vases, surrounded by dirty water and dead flowers, lay scattered alongside an empty whiskey bottle. The sound of the front door being closed and a pair of footsteps which reluctantly followed behind, barely registered as he reached for the full pot of coffee resting on the counter and turned the machine off.
"Coffee?" he asked in a gruff voice, sounding foreign and cold even to himself.
"No, thank you," Peeta replied, hesitating momentarily at the kitchen threshold before taking a seat at the table. The legs of his chair scraped against the tiled floor and once he was adjusted Haymitch could hear the sound of the boy's foot tapping over and over again on the same spot.
"You're gonna wear a hole in the ground if you don't stop," he said.
Peeta's foot finally ceased its incessant pace, and once again, an anticipatory silence lingered between them. Neither wanted to be the first to speak again.
Haymitch grabbed his chipped, dark blue mug and rinsed it haphazardly before filling it halfway with scalding hot coffee. A shaky hand reached into the cabinet to pull out a near-empty bottle of whiskey that had been tucked way in the back behind a few dusty soup cans. Whether he felt that he needed it for courage or armor he wasn't sure, but he filled his mug the rest of the way to the top and sat down across from the boy.
Peeta hadn't said a word about the addition to his coffee. He was sure that would be an argument for another day.
When Haymitch finally looked into Peeta's eyes, he knew neither of them had gotten much sleep.
"Alright then, you can cut right to the chase. No more bullshit," He took another swig before placing his mug on the table.
Peeta adjusted his posture, sitting up straighter and clasping his hands together on the table.
"I know the last thing you want to hear is another apology, but I truly am sorry," he began, pausing briefly. "It wasn't my choice to keep you or Katniss in the dark. I was trying to do what was best for everyone."
Haymitch took another sip and nodded. He knew that the boy's words were genuine and that at his core, Peeta was kind and caring. It made it difficult to justify aiming his pent-up anger towards him, but part of him didn't care. He wanted to scream and yell and throw more shit against the wall just to see how it would break.
He remained quiet, signaling for Peeta to continue.
"When Effie and I were captured, we were initially kept in the same compound. We witnessed one another's abuse, day in and day out."
Haymitch recognized the painful look of a man who was trying hard to cast out images from the past.
"She always tried to protect me when we were together. She'd tend to my injuries and pretend that her own weren't so bad so that I wouldn't worry." Peeta continued.
"The guards eventually began to use the fact that we cared for each other as another weapon against us." His voice grew shaky as he closed his eyes.
Haymtich tried not to shut down at the thought of Effie's face twisting in immense pain, the sound of her cries and pleads for mercy. The realities of capitol torture were no mystery to him. Peacemakers made a game of finding your every weakness, any crack in the glass they could poke and prod at until it completely shattered.
Peeta's voice brought him back to the present.
"She didn't know she was pregnant when she was captured. The guards were the ones to tell her. They taunted her with the information, told her to follow orders or they'd make sure not to stop beating her until—" Peeta couldn't finish the sentence, but Haymitch could practically hear their venomous words playing in his mind as if the guards were in the room with them.
"When doctors tested the baby's DNA and found out it was yours they decided to move her to a different facility about two hours outside of the capitol."
Haymtich interjected.
"That day, the day that Plutarch told me…he said they found a body, her body, at that facility."
It was then that it confirmed what he had already known: Plutarch had not only been involved, but this was all most likely his doing.
"That was true. She was found exactly when and where he said, but she was alive. The capitol had been planning to use her as a bargaining chip in case a prisoner exchange was needed. There were also talks about using her to force you to give the capitol information about the rebel's plans."
"But why tell everyone that she died in prison? Why lie? The rebellion was over, it would've been safe–" he paused.
"I could have kept her safe," he muttered, slamming his hand down on the table and using it to push himself up.
Haymitch stepped away and started pacing slowly.
"When they found her she was in horrible condition. For the first week, she was being kept alive with machines and they thought for sure she would lose the baby and follow soon after. Initially, Plutarch planned to hold off on telling you she'd been found until the doctors were more sure of her survival. He didn't want to give you false hope."
Peeta stood up and Haymitch stopped pacing, backing up into the counter and grasping it with one hand to keep himself steady.
"But then you kept insisting on continuing the search and going after her yourself so he told you she had died. He needed you to stop, needed you to focus. At the time he didn't know that the baby was yours. He knew you cared for Effie but had no idea how much she meant to you."
"Ok and once they realized she was getting better, once they realized how much she meant to me, why not tell me then?" His voice grew deeper, anger dripping from every syllable.
"When she woke up on her own, she became increasingly hostile and violent... They discovered trace amounts of tracker jacker venom in her blood."
Haymitch's grip on the counter became so tight his knuckles turned white and he was sure he would break off a piece any moment.
"They decided to keep everything under wraps until they knew she wouldn't be a danger to herself or others."
"Did the venom affect…" he asked, his voice barely reaching above a whisper.
"So far the baby is fine," he replied, somehow understanding what Haymitch had been asking.
"And Effie? She looked at me yesterday like she had no idea who I was, she acted like we just met. Was that from the venom?"
"Her memories…it's difficult to explain."
He blew out a deep breath and continued.
"From what I was told, the venom induced a condition that affected her blood pressure. The first few times she woke up, she would remember what happened, and…she would try to hurt the doctors or nurses or even herself. During these episodes, her blood pressure would increase to dangerous levels. They eventually had to keep her sedated after the third incident led to her having a seizure."
Haymitch felt his stomach drop.
"After a couple of days of being out of it, she woke up again and this time she had no memory of anything. Not even her own name. But she was better. She wasn't violent or upset in any way, and without the memories of her trauma, her condition improved rapidly."
Haymitch flopped back down in his seat.
"And how the hell do you fit into all this again? Why is it that she's been under your care?"
"I wasn't told about her being alive until I had mostly recovered from my own injuries. Effie's last remaining family members died in one of the capitol bombings, there was no one left. Plutarch thought it might be a good idea for her to be around someone familiar. When we were re-introduced she knew that she recognized me but didn't know how. So I convinced her that she was my aunt, that she grew up here in twelve and helped raise me after both my parents passed away. Plutarch helped get her an apartment and for the past few months I've been visiting her every other day."
"I could have been the one taking care of her. She's my responsibility, you had no right to–"
Peeta spoke louder to cut him off.
"With all due respect, I don't think you understand. The Effie that you knew, doesn't exist. I know you, Haymitch. You'd be too tempted to try and bring her back whether you meant to or not, and having those memories with her is too dangerous right now. If it helps at all, you were going to be notified of everything as soon as the baby was safely delivered."
"And what if a safe delivery isn't in the cards? If Effie or..the baby, don't make it. Who was going to be the one to volunteer to call me with that fucking news."
He chugged the remaining contents of his mug and slammed it back on the table.
"Look, there's no roadmap for how to handle this situation, Haymitch. I know you're angry. I understand–"
"You don't understand! You can't understand until someone comes up to you and tells you that Katniss has died. Until you pick out a fucking gravestone and decide where to bury her remains. Only to be told that her death, which you have tortured yourself over for months, never really happened. That you were lied to and left to rot, replaying what you thought were your last moments with her over and over."
"I'm sor–"
"Get out."
Peeta waited a second or two before starting to walk out of the kitchen. As he reached the threshold of the kitchen, Haymitch spoke again.
"I want to see her," he said.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Peeta said softly.
Haymitch scoffed.
"Of course not."
Peeta huffed and replied.
"Alright, I'll see what I can do."
Haymitch didn't acknowledge him saying goodbye on his way out the door, instead, he stood up and walked out back to feed his geese like he did every morning.
He tried desperately to make sense of everything he'd been told in the last hour, but his emotions began to take shelter in the deepest corners of his mind. There were too many of them, all conflicting and confusing. So it felt better to not feel at all.
He put the feed away and walked to the front of his house, continuing to shut everything out. Just simply putting one foot in front of the other over and over and over again.
He wasn't sure where he was walking, just that he needed to keep going because if he stopped then everything might come flooding back at once and he wasn't sure that he was ready to process it.
The rain started slow after he left his house, then little by little it increased until it was an absolute downpour. But by that time he had reached his destination that had been subconsciously there all along.
There he stood at the same spot as yesterday, a perfect view of her window, but he could barely see across the street through all the rain. He silently pleaded for her to come into view, but the lights weren't on and he couldn't see any sign that she was in there.
Suddenly the rain over his head stopped but it continued to shower around him. He glanced up at the black umbrella that now stood over him and turned to see the owner standing behind him.
"Are you alright?" She spoke clearly and loudly to make sure he could hear her over the storm.
His eyes locked on to hers and he felt unable to speak but managed somehow to get out a simple: "I'm fine".
"You're soaked! Come on, Let's get out of the rain!" She said grabbing his hand in hers as his heart practically leaped from his chest.
He followed where she led until he found himself standing in her apartment, dripping cold water onto her new wooden floors.
"You're gonna catch your death if we don't get you some new clothes. Hold on, let me see what I've got."
She disappeared into her bedroom for a few minutes giving him enough time to look around.
The apartment was nice but plain. There were no traces of Effie's "signature style" to be found. No bright colors or outrageous art that she would try to convince him is more than a few squiggles on a canvas. There was a tan couch opposite the fireplace. A red blanket rested on one of the worn cushions. Next to the couch was a side table with a couple of books on it, seemingly all being read simultaneously as they each had pieces of paper sticking out of them to mark where she'd left off. To his right was a little kitchen with a small table and two chairs. A half-knitted scarf was strewn out over it; colors of soft purple and pink.
She came back into the room in a hurry.
"Here! These look to be about your size." She said as she handed him a pair of black pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt.
"They're my neighbors. I fix any of his clothes that need stitching or have holes and in return, he gives me some of his wife's amazing apple pie. I still have some if you want it after you're changed."
He looked down at the clothes in his hands and then up again at the woman smiling at him, waiting for him to say or do anything.
"I– I should go."
He went to hand her back the clothes but she held her hands up and shook her head.
"I'm sorry I cannot in good conscience let you go out in that storm, and if you're staying here I can't have you dripping all over the furniture," She placed her hands firmly on her hips and gave a look that he'd seen a million times before. One that screamed: "I dare you to challenge me on this".
She smiled and took a hold of his arm,
"My bedroom is right behind me, there's a bathroom on the right when you enter. Towels are under the sink."
She led him towards the bedroom door.
"I'll have some tea and pie ready when you come out."
Haymitch thought about everything Peeta had said to him earlier. He was told not to go see her but had only wanted a glance, just so that everything might make sense to him. How was he supposed to know she'd find him on the street and bring him to her apartment?
He quickly got out of the soaked, freezing-cold clothes that were sticking to his skin. The clothes she had given him fit well but were still a little oversized. He grabbed a towel to wipe the water from his face and roughly dry his hair.
With a quick breath, he tried to calm his heartbeat and try to stop dissociating. He felt outside of himself like someone else just watching the events around him from deep in his mind. He needed a drink.
Once settled, he walked out, and she was softly humming to herself while pouring hot water from the kettle into two brown mugs.
She turned around and handed him a mug.
"I have sugar and cream if you'd like any."
He wrapped his near-frozen hands around the steaming mug.
"This is fine, thanks."
She went to walk towards the living room but hesitated.
"I realize we never got a proper introduction yesterday, what with all the fainting and everything. You…you aren't going to do that again, right?"
He huffed a near laugh and shook his head.
"No, definitely not."
"Good." She laughed softly and smiled brightly.
She cleared her throat and shifted to face him more.
"Well, I'm Mia," she said, shifting her mug to her left hand and offering her right to him.
He grabbed on and shook it gently, not wanting to let go.
"Haymitch."
Releasing her hand caused him near physical pain, but he hid it well with a smile.
"Well, it's nice to officially meet you, Haymitch ."