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ellanainthetardis · 6 years

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A much needed discussion in the Snow’s aftermarth today! I hope you like it! Please, let me know!

[ff] or [ao3]

Chapter 37 : The Worst Word

The roof was the same and yet something felt off.

Everything felt off, really.

He had lasted five minutes in the penthouse, time enough to check that the bar cart was still liquor free. The familiarity of the place felt displaced. The same but different. Difficult to explain, impossible to apprehend and fucking terrifying.

His heart was still missing a beat now and then before racing to catch up, consequence of Snow’s visit. It might have been easier if Peeta hadn’t remained locked in his room. Maybe. He wasn’t sure. Being confronted to the boy and his failed broken promise didn’t do anything for him but knowing the boy was in pain because of him…

His train of thoughts came to a stop when the door opened and he looked up from where he was sitting with his back against the low wall. Effie’s face was a blank mask of content happiness that he knew better than to believe, he looked away before she could make eye contact, fighting against a new wave of shame.

Snow might as well have cut his balls and made him eat them in front of her.

Fucking bruised pride.

It should have been the last of his worries but going head to head with the President had made him annoyingly clear-headed.

“How are you?” she asked, glancing over the wall at the Capitol beneath. He didn’t know how he felt about the surrounding noises of cars engines, horns, people talking, walking, breathing… On one hand, it was an aggression. On the other, it drowned his thoughts and that wasn’t a bad thing.

“Peachy.” he muttered, bumping his head against the wall once, as if to better convince himself.

“Haymitch.” she rebuked. A reminder that they were alone and he didn’t need to pretend, he figured.

He closed his eyes, forcing a fake levity to his voice. “Like I was tossed in a locked room with a bunch of friends I was forced to murder?”

It fell flat. So flat.

He swallowed hard, not looking when she lowered herself to the ground next to him in a puff of pink fabric. He felt her hand on his arm, light, and he made a conscious effort not to flinch or shrug it off. He felt wary of people violating his personal space. He felt… On edge. And he wanted a weapon, his weapon but the thought of asking for the knife that had killed Chaff…

He let out a small sigh. “You know, sweetheart, I can’t believe you didn’t make sure the bar would be stocked. Expected better of you.”

It wasn’t exactly a joke, more of a warning. He wasn’t remaining sober. Not if he could help it.

She snorted, a touch bitter but not quite surprised. “I need you sharp a little while longer.”

“I guess.” he sighed again. He felt her wriggle next to him and he opened his eyes to see her pull out a battered cigarette packet and a lighter from very well hidden pockets. The lighter wasn’t the silver one Finnick had gifted her with but a cheap plastic white one branded with the logo of a popular club downtown. He didn’t ask why the change. He could guess. He snatched a cigarette from the packet without waiting to be offered. If he couldn’t drink, he would take what he could get. “How many of those did you smoke while I was gone?”

She let out a chuckle and lit his cigarette before doing the same for the one she had wedged between her red painted lips. She took a drag and blew out the smoke slowly before giving him a small shrug. “Enough that we can stop pretending it is simply stress-smoking, I suppose.” She waved the lighter dismissively. “I will quit again. Eventually.”

He breathed in the smell of cigarette, letting it invade everything. It was better than imagining coal dust or remembering pure outdoor air. The city might be just what he needed after all. Polluted air that nobody would have accused of being fresh… No risk of confusing his surroundings for an arena.

He stared at the red glow of the cigarette as it consumed itself between his quivering fingers.

“How’s the boy doing?” he asked after a few minutes.

She took her sweet time answering that, debating what to say and what to keep silent to spare his feelings.

“Right now, he is upset.” she said slowly. “He had not realized… He never thought you would not want to go back to Twelve. I do not think he truly thought about the… nature of the arena.”

“Did you?” he retorted. It surprised him a little that she seemed to have grasped the problem before he had even voiced it. But, then again, it wasn’t her first rodeo either.

“As soon as they unveiled it.” she confessed, taking a nervous drag. Her fingers weren’t that steady either. “I heard through the grapevine this particular arena was a last minute decision. It was in the work somewhere, of course, it takes years to build them as you know, but… They had another one in mind for the Quell until a few months ago. Perhaps there were some malfunctions…”

“Sure.” he scoffed. “Malfunctions.” Or the possibility that Heavensbee had babbled about it to the rebels – or to some victors. “Sent a clear message though, yeah?”

“Rather, yes. For those of us who knew how to read between the lines, at least. And I suppose the Districts saw it clearly for what it was too.” she admitted. “This Quell was a hit. The ratings have never been higher.”

“Awesome.” he deadpanned, flicking ashes away. “I’m guessing I wasn’t the popular choice, though.”

“You would be mistaken, then.” she countered carefully. “Cashmere was the clear favorite on the betting boards but… After Katniss… People were rooting for you.”

It made it worse somehow.

“How much do they want a piece of our asses?” Those were important questions, he told himself. Those were the questions he would need the answers to if he wanted to play the game. The red glow of the cigarette was coming dangerously close to his skin but he brought it to his lips anyway, not quite sure if he wanted to get burned or if he was desperate for the reassuring pattern smoking involved: bring it to his mouth, breathe in, take it away, breathe out, flick ash, repeat. No room for intrusive memories.

Effie crushed the bud of her own cigarette against the ground and then tossed it away. “For now, Peeta is safe because of Katniss but I would advise on sending him back to Twelve as soon as possible. He is grieving, we can use that excuse.”

He nodded once to show his approbation of this plan. Sending the boy away would solve more than one problem. He wouldn’t have to face his failure every day for starter. “And us?”

They had been lucky the previous year because anyone with common sense had put two and two together, had realized it equaled poisonous berries and hadn’t really tried to grab anyone from the winning team. They wouldn’t be that lucky this time around, he suspected. Effie would be the escort of the season and he was the current victor. They were both attractive enough. The conclusion wasn’t a leap.

“I won’t be an escort much longer. I can navigate through that.” she hummed. “You… Well, victors your age are usually solicited for the whole package. They want the pretence of a romance not just sex… If we came out… It would go a long way into removing both of us from the playing field.”

Her voice was tentative. It wasn’t difficult to understand why. He had never reacted well to any mention of their relationship before the morning of the Quell’s Reaping, before he had thought… She was wary and she had reasons to be, he figured.

“We need to go public.” he stated, crushing the bud of his cigarette under his boot. “Snow’s counting on it now.”

She frowned. “I fail to see…”

“Oh, come on, Princess.” he scowled. “A victor and an escort falling in love? It shows the Districts you’re not all that bad, that there’s good there… Why do you think he was so ready to let me stay?” Besides the fact it was smarter to keep Haymitch close where he could watch him. He shook his head. “Never mind me being in love with an escort. I fucking won two Quells. I’m the fucking Districts' champion.”

All that talk of being in love made something flash on her face, something like awe and longing, but it was gone under a well crafted mask of blankness before he could try to analyze it.

“He was very clear about our marriage being…” she argued.

“Yeah, let’s never talk about what happened earlier ever again, okay?” he cut her off, getting to his feet with less grace than he would have liked. He paced the length of the roof, wrapping his good arm around his aching chest. “Marriage is something else. It’s too much. It sets a precedent he doesn’t want. I don’t have the same rights you do. I’m a victor, yeah, but legally that’s still a far shot from a Capitol citizen. Being together is one thing… Good for country unity… Advertising us as equal… Totally another, Princess.”

He paced back and forth. From the edge of the roof to the door. Again and again, finding some comfort in the repetitive pattern. Wasn’t that the first sign of insanity or something?

“It is more than I ever expected.” she whispered.

He kept on pacing, licking his lips.

It was more than he had ever expected too. They had gone from the best they could get being a few weeks a year to the possibility of a life together.

He thought it was a trap, a life insurance.

Because once he got that life, they would have to pry it away from his cold dead hands.

“You can still back out.” he offered.

He couldn’t do any of it alone, that much was clear to him, but he wouldn’t condemn her to share his prison. She could come willingly or…

“Are you moving in with me or are you staying in the penthouse?” she asked, as if she hadn’t heard him at all. “Nobody said you had to stay in the penthouse and if we do come out as a couple, there is no reason to expect you wouldn’t live with me. Brutus was renting a flat when he spent months in the city… It isn’t unprecedented for a victor not to reside at the Center. We should be living together, I think. We have been sleeping together for so long… I am ready for the next step. Aren’t you?”

She sounded so serious, it stopped his frantic pacing. He stood there, one arm around his chest, the other hanging limply by his side, watching the small crease between her eyebrows that meant she was deep in thought.

“My apartment is big enough, I suppose… Although perhaps we should look for something a little roomier in time. There are darling houses on the market near Main Square…” she hummed. “My father might even own a few, who knows… He is always buying and selling properties… I shall ask. And…”

“Snow threatened to kill you and you want to go house hunting?” he spat, cutting her off. She looked up at him, startled by the words.

“I thought we just agreed to never talk about it again?” she winced. She fished another cigarette and lit it, betraying just how unsettled on the issue she really was.

Haymitch’s hands were shaking badly and he bundled the one she could see in a fist.

“He wants to kill you. Because of me.” he growled. “Because I…”

His voice trailed off.

“Because you love me.” she supplied calmly. The only tell of nervousness was her trembling fingers when she brought the cigarette to her lips. “It had nothing to do with what happened before the Quell, you realize. Everyone in the business knows we are lovers. It was only a matter of time… It is as much my fault as yours.”

“He was going to kill you…” he said again and it sounded almost pleading. He didn’t know what he was begging her for. Common sense? For her to run and not look back because he would end up getting her murdered and it was more than he could bear? “He was going to…”

“You stopped him.” she said softly.

His cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment and he turned away from her, walked straight to the wall and rested his elbows on the edge, wondering what it would be like to fall down, to… He closed his eyes. Not like it was even a possibility with the force field in place…

The mix of tobacco and perfume reached his nose before he felt her presence at his back. He flinched when she placed her hand on his shoulder and he wondered if that instinctive reaction would ever stop, tried to remember when it had stopped last time…

“You do not want to talk about earlier because you thought it was weak, that you were weak…” she whispered and he bodily shuddered in mortification. Give him a good lashing on a public square every day rather than this. At least he could still somehow get out of it with his dignity intact, with… She pressed herself against his back, not hard enough that he felt trapped, just enough that he could feel her warmth… “I thought I never saw you stronger.” He scoffed at that but she didn’t let herself be distracted. “What you did… What he made you do… It was meant to be humiliating and I understand why you feel that way, I do… But Haymitch… How can I find it anything but strong when you accepted it for me? When you went through that for me?”

He took a few deep breaths, doubting he would ever see it that way.

“Seems like I do a lot of stupid shit for you.” he muttered.

And that wasn’t him. He wasn’t the fool who did stuff out of love. He wasn’t the hero in those romance stories she liked so much who ended up defying the odds just so he could get the hot smut scene at the end of the book. He wasn’t the guy who risked it all for the girl. Was he?

“I really wanted Katniss to win.” he said just to hear it out loud, just to remind them that this hadn’t been the plan and that no part of them, none at all, should be happy at the perspective of being granted a life together. It wasn’t right.

“We all did, darling.” she promised. She leaned a little more against him, seeking comfort maybe. “We couldn’t do anything… When it happened… We knew what Johanna was planning and we couldn’t do anything… There was some money left and Peeta kept telling me we should send something, find a way to warn you, but I knew… I knew it would be too late. I knew by the time we contacted the Gamemakers and requested a parachute… I knew we had lost. It was one of those times, you know?”

“Yeah.” he sighed.

After a few Games… There were patterns. Victors with a sound brain and a few of the escorts eventually became experts in the art of predicting what would happen in which time frame. And, he figured, everyone who had been involved in the Games for long enough knew those moments when they came: the moment of clarity when you realized that, as a mentor, as someone sitting outside the arena, you were powerless to help the tribute about to meet his death on the screen. And there was nothing but grim acceptance in those moments because there was nothing else to do but watch and admit that you had lost.

“Johanna pushed the tree, it went down, Katniss screamed, you tried to step aside…” she whispered. “It is all so clear in my mind… I couldn’t watch the live feed, I could only stare at your monitor, at your heartbeat, at…” She took a deep breath. “You didn’t die and my heart soared and then… Then I realized Peeta had gone white, I realized Katniss’ monitor had shut down…” She shook her head. “I didn’t even reach for him. I couldn’t. You attacked Johanna and…”

“And I beat her to death?” he finished, feeling sick to the stomach at the memories her words were bringing back. He didn’t want to face those memories. He didn’t want to think about… He glanced down at his right hand, not surprised to see a fist but surprised that it was free of blood. Not even a scratch on his knuckles. The doctors had seen to that.

Effie sneaked an arm around his waist, buried her face between his shoulder blades. “I have never been as grateful to Chaff as I was when he came for you. I… I feel so sorry for all I said to him, about him, all those years…”

“Chaff was an idiot.” he snapped, pain and anger mixing in his voice. He wanted to shrug her off and storm out, away, but he was rooted to the spot. It was a curious paradox: the need to be alone to lick his wounds battling with the desperate craving he felt for her. He bowed, letting his shoulders slouch under the weight of it all. “He rigged it, you know. He let me win. Idiot. Fucking idiot…” He shook his head, unable to keep the edge off his voice, unable to bear it even as her arm tightened around him as if to anchor him. “What did he do it for? He had a sister, people… Why would he go and…”

His voice broke and he left that sentence unfinished.

It was a long time before she ventured a guess, sounding far too knowing for someone who had never seen eye to eye with his best friend. “He knew he was dying.”

“Bullshit.” he snarled. “All he had to do was win. They’d have fixed him. The fuck did he have to go and make me win for?”

She was very careful when she spoke next. “Has it occurred to you… What Katniss was to you, what Finnick was to Mags… Has it occurred to you that you were that to Chaff?”

“Don’t be stupid.” he sneered.

“Am I being stupid?” she hummed. “He was your mentor, wasn’t he? Perhaps not officially but… You told me enough times that you felt you owed him. He was very protective of you… Why, I lost count of all the lectures he gave me.”

“Lectures?” he frowned.

“He thought I would break your heart.” she sighed. “Either by ending up dead or by leaving you. I never wanted to listen.”

He snorted because he could perfectly imagine it. Chaff trying to threaten her into being sensible…

“Never did either.” he admitted, covering her hand with his. And he couldn’t say he regretted it. Not really. He rubbed his face with his free hand. “I’m tired.”

“You should rest, take a nap.” she suggested gently. “Mr Harwyn and Maya are coming to dinner tonight. It will be nice to have the whole team together before the Crowning, won’t it?”

“Almost the whole team.” he corrected absent-mindedly.

“Yes.” she lamented. “Almost.”

Almost was the worst word that ever was, he decided.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #into that good night

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