Archive of Our Own ^beta

He hated that it reminded him of her. Soft pink gemstones surrounding a small diamond in the center; delicate—pretty. Most likely fake, but it still caught the light, especially when set against the duller pieces crowding the market stand. He’d seen it sitting there a few times before, just waiting to be purchased. It was too flashy for Twelve... and yet probably too district for the Capitol. She’d never wear it. It wasn’t nearly as gaudy or loud as the junk she usually wore around her neck—and yet the next thing he knew, he looked down and it was in his hands. He asked for the price before he even realized, and it was in his pocket not a moment later.

On the walk home, he cursed himself for buying it, because that meant he’d eventually have to give it to her. The Victory Tour would be starting soon, and she’d be arriving in the next few days—probably waving her hands around dramatically and complaining about the state of Twelve, his house, his clothes... his drinking.

Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe all that booze had rotted his brain along with his liver. But he was almost certain that he was looking forward to seeing her. She drove him nuts—never shut up, always had an opinion, and he was damn near certain she watered down his liquor every chance she got. But she also had a genuine laugh that was annoyingly contagious and very difficult to bring out. Sometimes, if something was really funny, she’d snort, and then her cheeks would turn so red he could still see it through her pound of makeup. Just the thought of it had him chuckling to himself. 

She was outspoken, overly opinionated, and somehow she had a natural and undeniable kindness that unsettled him to his very core. It wasn’t a common quality to be found in the Capitol.

Her eyes were the last thing he’d seen before the arena; the first thing he remembered when he made it out alive. Some nights, all he saw in his dreams were those deep blue irises. Pathetic , he cringed to himself.

What the hell was he doing thinking about her like this? Thinking about her at all? He had a lot more important shit to worry about. First and foremost was—

His feet came to a halt as he stepped up to the worn-down village gate. Her voice rang in his ears, and he mentally prepared himself before stepping into her line of vision.

“Haymitch! There you are!” She stepped towards him.

“I know I’m early, and I’m terribly sorry for showing up unannounced. I tried to call you, but it wouldn’t go through!” 

“Phone’s broken. Fell off the wall,” he said unconvincingly.

It wasn’t a total lie. It did fall off the wall... only after he slammed it back on the hook in the middle of another unsatisfying conversation with Plutarch.

“Oh, well... maybe I can find you a nice, durable new phone in the Capitol and bring it the next time I see you,” she smiled.

“Sure,” he rolled his eyes, looking down at the luggage at her feet.

She let out a fake, breathy chuckle.

“Ah, yes...” She looked at the luggage and then back up at him.

“Well, I was hoping to stay here with you, as the train is undergoing some repairs until the morning, and I just felt it would be more comfortable than if I asked one of the children and—” she stammered a bit. He smiled slightly, knowing she was nervous to ask him if she could stay—even after all these years of knowing one another.

"It's fine. Take your pick of the rooms upstairs," he said, walking through the door.

“Thank you,” she smiled and, with a huff, grabbed her bags and walked them up to a room. When she came back down, he was already halfway through the glass of whiskey that had found its way into his right hand. His other hand was in his pocket, toying with the necklace—slowly weaving it between calloused fingertips.

“Well, are the children home? I have much to discuss with them regarding the next few weeks.”

“Peeta’s home, but I think Katniss is still out hunting. The sun's about to set, so she should be back soon.”

Effie ran her gloved hands over the imaginary wrinkles in her pristine white coat. She was still nervous about something... unsettled. He could tell from the way she couldn’t stand completely still and from the noticeably absent complaints that would’ve been nearing a dozen by now.

“I think I’ll go say hello to Peeta and discuss a few things with him. Thank you again for letting me stay with you,” her voice was quiet, unsure. Something was up with her.

He nodded before taking another sip, his eyes following her as she walked away. He was always amused with the way she’d have to walk slightly on her tiptoes through the grass so as not to get her heels stuck in the dirt. Why she always chose to wear those things he’d never understand. Though they didn’t make her legs look half bad, he had to admit.

About an hour later, she returned, and he’d eaten what was left of the bread that Peeta brought over at the beginning of the week just to have something in his stomach. He was grateful to hear that Peeta had offered Effie something better for dinner, as he never had much lying around besides what Peeta baked.

She had a way of making herself at home wherever she was, and he noticed that she didn’t have to ask where anything was in his kitchen. She got herself a mug and spoon and reached high in one of the cabinets to pull out a bag of Earl Grey.

“I didn’t even know I had that,” he said absentmindedly.

“You didn’t. That’s why I hid it in there last time I visited,” she smiled softly and placed the teabag in the mug.

He smiled into his glass and waited for her to start a conversation, but she never did. The water boiled on the stove, and she fixed her tea how she liked it—far too sweet for his taste. After she sat awkwardly next to him at the table, he sighed and put his glass down.

“So are you gonna tell me why you’ve been so... quiet? It’s a little off-putting.”

She squirmed in her seat, looking down at her hands, which were wrapped around the mug as if it were the only thing grounding her. After a few seconds, she looked at him, the escort ‘mask’ firmly in place with a forced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Well, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you—something you should hear from me before the tabloids catch wind of it.” She stopped, and her smile faltered for a brief moment. There was an uneasiness clouding her eyes. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed it, but there weren’t many people who actually saw beneath all the makeup, the outfits, and the meticulously constructed persona she’d spent decades perfecting.

“I’m engaged,” she said, and the entire room felt suddenly so... still.

Two little words had stolen the air from his lungs and made his throat go dry.

He blinked, looking into her eyes. She was obviously waiting for him to say something—anything—but after a few more seconds, she took a breath to start talking again.

“His name is Cassian. Our families have been friends for ages. Our mothers have been trying to set us up practically since birth, and I thought it was about time I settled down. Of course, this means that I’ll have to step down as District Twelve’s escort after this year. He doesn’t quite approve of me continuing to work after the wedding. Family traditions and all that...”

Haymitch managed to get out a small, gruff "congrats" before standing from the table on now unsteady legs. The tiny necklace still resting in his pocket suddenly felt like an immense weight that would cause him to topple over. He steadied himself, finishing his glass in one final gulp and slamming it down on the table a bit harder than he intended.

He heard her gasp softly and saw her jump a little when the glass landed. She looked down, her thumbs coming up to rest on the rim of her cup.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled apologetically on his way out.

Effie remained at the table, fiddling with the diamond ring he now noticed had been resting on her left hand the whole time.

When he finally reached his bedroom, he pulled the necklace out of his pocket and tossed it on his nightstand.

He threw back the covers and sat in bed with a huff of frustration. He knew lying down would be a fruitless endeavor. Sleep would not come easily that night—but when had it ever?

He’d tossed and turned for about two hours before giving up and heading back downstairs.

Unsure of why he even left his room, he found himself sitting at the kitchen table once again, pouring himself another glass of whatever could potentially numb the aching in his chest he didn’t quite recognize. A few sips into his glass, he heard the soft patter of bare feet making their way down the steps.

Haymitch hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights, but the moon was near full, and its soft light through the window was just enough to illuminate part of the room.

She walked in with no makeup, her loose blonde curls falling to her shoulders, and a silky pink robe wrapped tightly around her small frame. She looked shocked to see him awake. He huffed before taking another sip of his drink. She was gorgeous, and he wasn’t nearly drunk enough to deal with it.

She never let him see her like this—real, unmasked... just Effie.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize you were still up. Just needed some water,” she said in a soft voice that sounded almost unrecognizable to his ears.

“Help yourself,” he said, avoiding eye contact.

After getting herself a glass, she pulled out a chair and took a seat next to him. He knew she was going to start a conversation, and a serious one at that. The anticipation of it hung in the air like the first tendrils of smoke from an unseen fire.

“I’m sorry for how our last conversation went. I was nervous to tell you that this was my last year, but...” she paused. That was never a good sign.

“Forgive me, but... you seemed more upset than I thought you’d be,” she finished.

“Never even knew you were in something serious,” he said flatly.

He looked up at her just as she raised the glass to her lips. She swallowed and put the glass down, shaking her head.

“I wasn’t. We haven’t really dated , but we’ve known each other since we were kids. He’s kind... safe. Our families both approve of the match, and I’m not getting any younger,” her voice lacked enthusiasm. Her words were rehearsed and tired.

“Right,” he said, unable to start an argument with her.

She was settling for less than she deserved, and it angered him beyond words.

It didn’t have to be him—he could never offer stability and marriage—but if she was going to be with someone, she should be with a man who made her feel like she’d been struck by lightning. Safe was comfortable. It was nice. But it wasn’t what she truly wanted, and he knew it.

“Are you angry with me?” her voice broke through his train of thought.

“No,” he said slowly.

She reached out and placed a hand on his arm. It wasn’t anything unusual—she’d done it a million times since they’d first met—but tonight her touch left behind a warmth that lingered like embers refusing to die in the hearth. Her voice cut in again, and their contact broke as her hand drifted back to her glass.

“Well you’re awfully quiet, and that vein in your forehead is popping out, which only ever happens when you’re mad about something.”

With a huff, he stood from the table, his head beginning to ache from his swirling thoughts. He took a few steps towards the doorway into the next room, but her voice stopped him.

“I would have thought you’d be relieved. All you do lately is complain about how uptight I am or that I never stop talking!” Her words were laced with an anger that she was barely holding back.

He turned to face her as she stood up, his own anger bubbling over.

“You don’t stop talking. And what the hell is it that you want from me here, princess? You want me to jump for joy? Offer to officiate?”

She stepped closer, her anger morphing into a hurt expression that caused him near physical pain to see.

“I want you to be happy for me... I want you to be okay so that when I leave next year I don’t have to worry about you doing something stupid.”

He wasn’t sure what had come over him, he wasn’t even sure how his body had managed to move so quickly, but one second he was standing there with his heart pounding in his chest and the next thing he knew, his lips were on hers. It was soft at first—he was giving her the chance to pull away. He was expecting her to push him off, reprimand him for his actions, and maybe even smack him across the face. He would deserve it too. But when her hands reached up, they glided up over his chest and hooked onto the collar of his shirt, bringing his whole body crashing onto hers and deepening the kiss. One hand landed on her waist, the other tangled into her hair, resting gently at the nape of her neck . She tasted better than the liquor ever had—and in that breathless second, he knew he’d gone too far.

He pulled away, both of them trying to catch their breath. Their hands were still on each other, and her forehead rested against his chin.

“I promise I won’t do anything stupid. Starting now,” he said before kissing her on the top of her head and separating himself from her and heading toward the steps.

“Goodnight,” he said, leaving her stunned and flushed, basking in the soft glow of moonlight.

When he woke up, he’d placed the necklace back in his pocket. Maybe he would give it to her as a goodbye present. Whatever it was, and whatever it meant, he thought she should have it. However, as he came downstairs she was noticeably absent. He went back up to check in her room and she wasn’t there either, nor were her things. 

When Katniss came over later that morning, she filled him in on what happened. She told him Effie had come knocking as soon as the sun came up. She’d gone over everything about the Victory Tour in a short amount of time and taken measurements of both her and Peeta before rushing to catch the first available train back to the Capitol. Effie had told the children that she would be back in three weeks, and the rest of the planning until then would be done over the phone.

His hand had managed to get back into his pocket. He fiddled with the necklace for a few more seconds before handing it to Katniss with a huff.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A necklace, what does it look like?” he snapped.

“Thanks. It’s not exactly my style though,” she said, going to hand it back to him.

“Well, keep it, throw it out—I don’t care.”

With a shrug of annoyance, she put it in her coat pocket, and he walked off to find the closest and fullest bottle in his possession.

A few days later he’d received a package.

It was a brand new phone, soft blue in color. It had come with a note that read:

Try not to break this one.

-E

The phone stood out like a sore thumb against the more muted tones which covered much of his house, but he hung it up on his wall anyway.

A few hours later the phone rang and he somehow knew it would be her. 

He hated himself for smiling.