Work Text:
8oz Butter 6oz White Chocolate
6 Eggs 10oz Brown Sugar
9oz White Sugar 2oz Malted Milk Powder
1Tbsp Kosher Salt 1Tbsp Cinnamon
1Tbsp Vanilla Extract 1/2tsp Fresh Ground Nutmeg
12oz Flour 1/2cup Caramel
Step 1 - Brown butter over medium heat. Once brown, stir in white chocolate, mixing until melted.
Effie learned how to make blondies from her father. Chocolate wasn't to his taste, and he hated the texture of cake.
It was Prosie's 2nd birthday the first time he walked her through the recipe. She was sat up on the counter, her dad standing over the stove in a pink apron, matching spatula in hand.
"Do you see that foam, Effie?" he asked, motioning with the spatula. Effie nodded her head, ringlet curls bouncing. "That's the water evaporating. When we're browning butter like this, we want alllll the water to go away. That will make the butter extra flavorful."
She watched as her father stirred through the foam, explaining how it can stick to the pan and burn. Effie studied every word, every movement, as if she would be trusted to make the blondies on her own the next time. Even at her young age, Effie approached most everything as a challenge for her to conquer. Everything could be prepared for, nothing was out of reach. If making blondies could be a sport, she was sure to be a champion.
"It smells yummy," she said, taking a big sniff.
"That's how you know you're doing it right," her dad said, "It should smell kind of nutty."
They went through the whole recipe together. He taught her how to measure out the ingredients, and even let her press the buttons on the stand mixer. She was mesmerized by the process, giggling all the way through as her father explained with drawn out words and big hand gestures.
The scent was the most memorable, filling the house with notes of caramel and nutmeg. They weren't supposed to eat them until later that evening at the small birthday party that her mother had thrown for little Prosie—just family and a few neighbors—but Effie's dad cut off 2 thin slices, passing one to Effie.
"This is the most important step," he declared, "Quality control."
He popped the treat in his mouth, and Effie followed suit.
"Mmmm," she said, "We should make them every day, daddy!"
He laughed. "Well, Effie, one day you can save the Trinket name, become very very rich, and then you can have blondies as much as you want."
Step 2 - Combine eggs, brown & white sugar, malted milk powder, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla extract in the bowl of a stand mixer. Mix on medium high speed for 8 minutes, until light and fluffy.
Effie returned to the Training Center, arms full of groceries. She laid out her ingredients before digging around the kitchen for measuring cups and pans. Her lavender hair was pulled back into a beehive style, which made putting on her apron a little precarious, but somehow she managed not to dent her hairdo in the process.
The 53rd Hunger Games did not get off to the best start. Haymitch hadn't been the best mentor the previous 2 years, but he had tried. He told them the basics, helped build personas for their interviews, let them know what to look for during training sessions. During the Quarter Quell, Capitol citizens had been eager to sponsor tributes—they had saved for years just to be a part of such a significant Games. For the next two years, the well was practically dried up, leaving only the best tributes to get any good gifts. Even with Haymitch putting in the work, flirting with Capitol elite, talking about his tributes to everyone that would listen, it didn't help. He couldn't even scrounge up enough money for a slice of toast, let alone anything that could actually make a victor of the kids from District 12.
And of course, they weren't just kids. They had been Haymitch's classmates, people he saw every day. He could name each of their siblings, tell you their birthdays, list off their strengths and weaknesses without the tributes having to tell him.
By that third year, Haymitch had already given up entirely. Normally when Effie arrived at his house for the Reaping he was hungover. That year she walked in on him already drunk, a bottle of white liquor half empty in his hand. The drinking continued on the train ride, enraging their male tribute. Little Benji Undersee, a 17 year old that wasn't little at all, ended up punching Haymitch in the nose when the mentor refused to answer any of his questions. Calling what ensued a fist fight might be a bit too generous, as Haymitch wasn't able to do much more than flail his limbs at the kid, but it ended only when Effie managed to get some of the personnel on the train car to pull them apart. Haymitch's face was bloody, Little Benji's cheek blossoming with a fresh bruise.
Which meant Effie needed to fix things, and to her the best way to relieve tension was always her father's blondies. It worked when her and Prosie were having a particularly bad fight, or in University when her sorority sisters would be at odds. She ignored the fact that the Games were a much higher stakes situation, and went to work on her recipe.
The tributes were at training when she began, and Haymitch was presumably sleeping. When she started the mixer, the noise covered the thud of Haymitch falling out of bed, and the creak of his door as he entered the common area.
"What the fuck is that noise?" Haymitch demanded, rubbing his temples.
Effie jumped, surprised by his sudden appearance. His hair was messy from tossing in his sleep, and he was dressed only in pyjama pants. Effie sometimes wondered if he kept his scar on view on purpose. A test of how she would react, or a punishment, reminding her what her people had done to him. It was the Capitol who caused the scar after all, not Silka. Effie understood this, but she would never dare say that thought aloud.
"It's a stand mixer! I'm making us blondies," she explained, "Thought it might lighten the mood a little."
"You're making what?" Haymitch asked, stepping towards the bar. He grabbed a bottle, uncorking it with his teeth and taking a swig. Effie scrunched her nose. She couldn't blame Haymitch for his vices, but she wasn't fond of them. Once, when she was particularly annoyed at holding his hair back while he vomited, she tried to "walk a mile in his shoes" so to speak, but she barely got a few steps before imagining herself in his position got too hard for her.
"Blondies, the dessert. They were my father's recipe. Sometimes he used to joke that we should call them Effies instead." She smiled as she spoke, remembering baking with her dad.
"Why?"
"Oh!" Effie said in realization, "Because I'm blonde, silly. Did you think my hair came out of my head this color?"
Haymitch shrugged. "Never thought much about it I guess."
"I've been thinking of switching to wigs," Effie said, moving to the freezer as she spoke, "It does less damage to the hair, and it's so much faster to switch colors. I could have a style to match every outfit!" She grabbed a handful of ice from the freezer, rapping it in a cloth towel and handing it to Haymitch. He accepted without a thanks, leaning his head backwards as he held it to his bruised nose.
"What's stopping you?" Haymitch asked.
"Well a good wig is quite expensive."
"So?"
"So we don't all get Victor's winnings, Haymitch."
Haymitch quirked an eyebrow. "You want to change places with one of our tributes? Get a chance to murder people for the sake of buying a new accessory?"
Effie blushed. Haymitch was right, of course, but Effie hated admitting when she was wrong. She turned away from him to turn off the mixer, hoping to hide some of her embarrassment.
Haymitch didn't wait for an apology. Effie and him had enough misunderstandings and arguments to know that who was right and wrong would balance out in the end, no acknowledgments needed.
He moved to the living area, flipping on the radio, before plopping onto the couch. Haymitch always preferred to have music on. The only thing with lyrics in the Capitol was the anthem, so the radio tended to alternate between symphonies and jazz. Effie hadn't even realized that music could have words to it until Haymitch had told her about some of the songs back in 12.
When the blondies were finished, Effie cut off two little squares, bringing one over to Haymitch.
"Try this."
Haymitch's head was resting on the arm of the couch, ice balanced on his nose. Rather that reach out for the blondie, he just opened his mouth. Effie rolled her eyes, but fed the treat to him directly anyway.
"Fuck, that's kind of incredible Effie," Haymitch said, "Get me another one?"
"Not until the tributes get back. We're going to sit down like civilized people, enjoy a treat, and start getting along."
Somehow, Effie's plan actually worked. Once the four of them were eating blondies, not talking about the impending doom of the Games, some of the tension started to dissipate. The girl, Saoirse, talked about her cousin made the best sweet treat by frying batter and sprinkling it with sugar. Little Benji claimed that best desserts were always strawberry flavored. It was then that Haymitch confessed a love of strawberry ice cream. Somehow, that turned to him actually giving advice as a mentor, talking about how important alliances could be in the Games.
Neither Benji nor Saoirse survived the Games, but in the end neither of them died alone. It wasn't much, but it was better than the years prior.
Step 3 - Reduce speed to low and slowly drizzle in brown butter & chocolate mixture.
"You making those blondies again, Blondie?" Haymitch asked as he entered the kitchen, leaning his elbows onto the island where Effie had set up the stand mixer.
Ever since he had found out Effie's real hair color, he had started using the nickname for her and confusing everyone around them. Currently she had on her newly debuted pink wig, matching her apron, but she still kept her hair dyed lavender beneath. Her collection of wigs was still rather small, and lavender always did well in a pinch.
"I always make them on special occasions," Effie answered while she measured out her ingredients.
"Oh?" Haymitch asked, staring up at her through his eyelashes, "What's the occasion? Celebrating the longest Games ever?"
The 66th Hunger Games had gone on for weeks. This was the first time in Haymitch's tenure that they had let them continue into August. Of course, the tributes from District 12 had been dead for a while, but Effie and Haymitch were still regulated to remain in the Training Center in case they were needed for commentary. With the Games going on so long, they had exhausted their usual interviewees, so Haymitch was sure to be called on at some point, despite the lack luster performance he gave.
"It's my birthday," Effie answered excitedly.
"You have a birthday?"
She rolled her eyes, her manicured nail making a distinctive clack on her machine as she started the mixer.
"Everyone has a birthday, Haymitch."
"OK, yes, I know this, I just… Well I don't know… It's like when you're not doing the Games with me I thought you just poofed out of existence," he responded, punctuating the 'poof' with a little wave of his hands.
Effie found that she didn't mind the sentiment. After years of working as District 12's escort she found that it was best to try to keep her life during the Games and her life outside of them entirely separate. Since 12 got so little screen time most people didn't even recognize her from escort duties. As much as Haymitch didn't think about her the rest of the year, she too couldn't bring herself to think about Haymitch or their tributes. She had convinced herself that compartmentalization was good for her, allowing her to not get bogged down by grief for the whole of the year.
"You're like a baby playing peekaboo," Effie chided, "If you can't see something, it's not real."
Haymitch snorted. "Sounds about right."
Effie began cleaning up behind her, rinsing her measuring cups and stacking them in the sink. Haymitch just stared at his hands, pensive. He was quiet until Effie returned to the mixer, lowering the speed before pouring in her butter mixture.
"What else do you do when I'm not around?" Haymitch asked, "Job? Boyfriend? Kids?"
"No kids," Effie responded, bemused, "No partner right now, though it's not like I never date during the off season. And when I'm not an escort, I'm an architect."
"So you spend July with me teaching kids how to murder each other, and then when you leave you just go back to work, sitting at a desk drawing buildings?"
"Technically I'm an interior architect, so I don't really draw buildings. I show people how to best layout their space, …But yes, that is the gist of my life," Effie said, lips pursed. Haymitch was always frank when talking about the reality of the Games. She knew he never meant it with specific malice against herself—they were trapped in the same situation after all—but it always gave her a sour taste in her mouth. "Can we not talk about the Games? It's my birthday and I'd like to enjoy it."
"We talk about the Games on my birthday," Haymitch insisted.
"Yes, but we don't talk about the fact that it's your birthday on your birthday, so it balances out."
Haymitch shrugged, not convinced, but he didn't bring up the Games again that night. He asked more about Effie's life, pretending to be fascinated by interior architecture, Proserpina's impending baby shower, and how difficult it was to date in the Capitol. Effie could have kept the conversation going on her own anyway, so he didn't need to do much more than nod along, throwing in an occasional "you don't say?"
It was a fairly uneventful birthday, despite being the first one she spent within the confines of the Games. When the blondies were finished she sliced a few and took them down to the mentors who were still keeping their tributes alive. It was mostly kids down there at that point, Careers fresh off their own Games, faced with the reality of Victorhood. They were all on the brink of exhaustion, and despite being Careers, even they weren't too prideful to accept Effie's birthday treat with a hint of glee.
When Effie returned to District 12's suite, Haymitch was awkwardly pacing back and forth, his hands clenched around something behind his back.
"Everything all right?" Effie asked, sitting down on the edge of the couch to remove her heels.
Haymitch jumped, apparently having not noticed her enter. She was used to startling him at that point. While the 66th Hunger Games seemed to be a fairly lucid year for Haymitch, Effie had grown used to helping him through a variety of states, from normal drunkenness, to full disassociation.
"Yes," he replied, running his hand through his hair, "Uh… Happy birthday, Effie." From behind his back Haymitch produced a wooden box, about the size of Effie's palm. She quirked an eyebrow in response.
"How'd you manage this?" she said, trying to hide her elation. Even at her age she found a special pleasure in birthday gifts. She supposed that most of her joy came from her childhood. While her friends got a plethora of gifts from their family, the Trinkets had to be more financially conscious. Somehow, Effie's mother managed to channel every ounce of her love for her girls into one gift. She still remembered most of them. Her first sewing machine, a set of oil paints, her very own baking supplies. The most exciting was the year she let Effie pick out whatever color she wanted to paint her bedroom. Now that their parents were gone, Prosie and her would compete with their birthday gifts, always trying to one up each other. She'd have to wait until the Games were over to receive her gift from Prosie that year.
"Just open it," Haymitch replied.
Effie obliged, her eyes going wide as she saw the contents. Inside was a a golden bracelet, designed like a chain of flowers encircling each other. She carefully picked up the jewelry, looking at it from all angles.
"Haymitch, it's beautiful. How…Where did you get this?" she asked.
He shrugged. "The man that made my token, Tam Amber, made this too. He died a couple years back, and I knew it'd be a tough time for his family. They wouldn't accept any money outright, so I bought a few pieces that he had crafted instead." Haymitch looked away from Effie, fiddling with his hand. "Do you like it? I thought it kind of suited you."
"It's…" Effie set it back in the box, "Well it seems so special, Haymitch. You don't need to give it to me. You should save it for someone important to you."
"You're as important to me as people get, Effie," Haymitch said, finally making eye contact.
She was surprised by the sincerity, and even more surprised by the blush that rose to her face. Effie turned back to the bracelet, delicately sliding it onto her wrist.
"Thank you Haymitch," she replied, "I'll treasure it."
Step 4 - Add in flour, mix on low until completely combined.
It was 2 AM. Katniss and Peeta were presumably asleep, Peeta having snuck into Katniss's room a few hours before. Effie wondered why they were still pretending like they weren't sharing a bed—they were meant to be married after all.
She was grateful that she didn't have to share with anyone. That meant no one noticed when instead of sleeping, she snuck out of her room to make blondies. Or, at least, that's what she had thought until she turned on the mixer. It wasn't long after that that Haymitch crept out of his own room and into the kitchen.
"What're you doing, Blondie?" he asked with a yawn. There were dark shadows under his eyes, no longer covered by the makeup that Cinna and Portia insisted he wear for the cameras.
The name made sense now, wig gone, natural hair pinned back in a claw clip. She had enough wigs at that point to where she didn't need to go through the hassle of keeping her hair dyed. Still, the only people who had seen her natural hair were Prosie and Haymitch.
"You know what I'm doing."
"OK, let's try again," Haymitch replied, "Why are you baking in the middle of the night?"
Effie sighed, staring at the bowl as her mixture swirled. "I thought it might cheer everyone up."
She tried to smile as she spoke, but it immediately faltered. There were very few moments since the theme of the 3rd Quarter Quell was announced that Effie wasn't crying. Her architecture job had to put her on leave since she kept tearing up in front of clients. She had stopped wearing makeup regularly, it always ending up smeared.
Now, the day after Reaping day, it was even worse. Before she had known she would be losing friends, but now she knew exactly which ones. Mags and Wiress, the first victors she ever met. Finnick and Johanna, who had grown attached to her since realizing they could spend time with her at events without her trying to sell them to anyone. Cashmere, who Effie trusted more than anyone for fashion advice. Cecelia, who's children Effie had babysat on the rare occasion that she and her husband had visited the Capitol. None of the victors were unknown to Effie, and she knew the 75th Hunger Games would be full of grief as she watched them get picked off until only one remained.
Haymitch was in the same situation, Effie presumed, so he made no comment on her expression or the fact that baked goods wouldn't keep anyone from death.
"Yeah but it's 2 AM."
"Yes, well… Well I didn't want Katniss or Peeta thinking that I was rooting for anyone but them."
"Fair enough," Haymitch responded with a nod. He grabbed a bottle from the bar cart, pouring into 2 glass. Normally he didn't bother with a cup, but drinking with Effie would be a special occasion. She normally didn't partake in anything but the odd glass of wine, but the 75th Games were making it difficult to keep anyone from the vices. Peeta had done a decent job of stopping Haymitch from drinking so far, but what the boy didn't know wouldn't hurt him. "Are you rooting for anyone else?"
If it wasn't the middle of the night, and it wasn't Haymitch asking, Effie might have been offended. With him, however, the question was out of kindness—a genuine curiosity to understand Effie.
"Truthfully? I was just rooting for you not to be in there," Effie replied, hiding any flashes of guilt behind a sip of her drink. It was shameful to admit, despite knowing that wishing for Haymitch's safety was not the same as wanting Peeta dead. She wasn't sure how much of a help she would have been able to be if Haymitch was in the Games. He would have told her to forget about him, to help Katniss survive, but she wouldn't have been able to do anything but fight tooth and nail to save her first victor.
"You wouldn't be the only one," Haymitch confessed.
Silence fell, save the whir of the machine. Effie didn't feel like she was in the Training Center anymore. All she could think about was canons, faces appearing in the sky that had never been up there before. She wondered if that was what Haymitch felt like all the time, doom pulling him out of reality.
Effie didn't realize she was crying until Haymitch had crossed the kitchen to meet her, rough hands coming to either cheek. His thumbs gently wiped the tears away as he pressed his forehead against hers.
"I know," he said, his voice soft. It wouldn't be audible over the machine if he weren't so close to her. "I know it hurts. You can cry as much as you want in front of me."
And cry she did. Tears flowed freely the rest of the night as she finished her blondies, flour caking to her moistened face. Haymitch stayed by her side the whole time, passing stories back and forth about the friends they might lose. The time Johanna bit through a man's tongue, all the moments when Chaff had tried to flirt with Effie, Gloss and his inability to pass a reflective surface without pausing to fix his hair. When the blondies were baked, Effie didn't question it when Haymitch followed her to bed, letting her fall asleep with her head rested on his chest.
In the morning her eyes were dry, her smile forced back onto her face. Before Katniss and Peeta awoke, she managed to sneak from the District 12 suite, delivering her treats to every floor with the full force of her positive attitude.
Step 5 - Pour into a paper lined pan. Swirl in caramel and top with flaky sea salt. Bake for 40 minutes at 350 degrees.
There were very few belongings that Effie brought with her to District 12. The clothes she used to wear outside of the Games season, colorful but comparatively boring. A few family photos, mostly from when she was just a little girl, except for the few with her, Prosie, and her niece. The gold bracelet that Haymitch had given her. Lastly, her beloved stand mixer.
Some people counted the days since the Capitol fell, but not Effie. Once she tasted freedom from that regime, she never wanted to look back. The memories of those lost were embedded into her, and she considered living as well as she could to be the best way to honor them.
Which was why she was able to dance around Haymitch's kitchen on an early spring day, singing along poorly to the music on the radio while she mixed her batter. After the end of the war the radio broadcasts had quickly filled with music, songs each District knew by heart, but had never had the chance to share with each other. Effie could no longer bear too much silence, so she had learned the tunes quickly.
The honks of geese joined the music as Haymitch opened the back door, but were swiftly muffled again when he closed it behind him. His arms came around her waist as he stepped behind her, joining her sway of the music as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
"There some special occasion I don't know about?" Haymitch asked.
"Every day is a special occasion."
He groaned, rolling his eye. Effie wouldn't be able to see it from her angle, but she knew his exasperation well enough.
"You're too sappy."
"Well if I wasn't so sappy, I wouldn't have you sticking to me, now would I?"
The sentiment was surprisingly accurate. Effie had wriggled her way into Haymitch's heart with annoying persistence. She had spent 25 years like a woodpecker, slowly puncturing the barriers around his heart. Romance hadn't been her intention—she had always just wanted to see her first victor happy. Somehow, he had found his happiness in her.
"Fair enough, Blondie." He placed his hands on her waist, guiding her into a twirl. Her skirt flared, brushing against him. She was giggling, until he caught her again, pressing close to her until her legs hit the counter. He kissed her softly, slowly. Her arms looped around his neck. "Although, from where I'm standing, I'm the one making you stick to me. You could have left decades ago, yet here you are, in my kitchen, baking me treats."
"Who said they were for you?" Effie asked with a playful shove to his shoulder.
"Well… What's yours is mine, isn't it?" Haymitch asked.
"Then why is it your kitchen? Shouldn't that be ours then?"
Haymitch shrugged. "You need paperwork to make the kitchen yours. We can go down to the justice building if you like, get it all sorted. Then it'll actually be a special occasion."
Effie's mouth fell open slightly.
"Did you just ask me to marry you?"
"What do you say?"
As a little girl, Effie had always loved dreaming up the most fantastical weddings. Her and Prosie would clip photos out of magazines, creating mood boards of extravagant happily ever afters. Even in all of her elaborate imaginations, she hadn't thought much about her fiance. All she wanted was a large party, all about her. It wasn't until she went to Prosie's wedding that she felt she truly understood the appeal of marriage. The love, the dedication, the "I will fight to the ends of the Earth just to see you smile" of it all.
And hadn't Haymitch and her done that already, no marriage needed? She didn't need him to say it, for rich or for poorer, for lucky or unlucky, as long as we both shall live—they were already living it.
Still, any excuse for a party.
"I say that that's not the proper way to ask for someone's hand," she answered, poking his nose and leaving a bit of flour behind.
"OK, fine," Haymitch conceded, placing a kiss to her cheek, "But what if I asked you proper? Then what would you say, Blondie?"
"Yes, Of course I'd say yes."