Chapter Text
Haymitch will never forget the day he saw Effie Trinket’s real hair for the first time.
It was after the war — after Peeta returned and planted the Primroses but before the rebuilding efforts had even begun in District 12. The bodies of those lost in the bombings had only just been cleaned up to the best of everyone’s abilities, ashes and crumbling bones swept and gathered to be buried.
Everyone was unsure at first what to do with the thousands of charred bones and debris, but in the end it was decided the meadow should be their final resting place. It was peaceful there. It was a home beyond the fences — somewhere they could be free of the walls of Panem. Anyone who was able dug deep trenches for days, placing what was left of the bodies as gingerly as possible into the graves. Eight thousand reduced to eight hundred in hours, now finally honored.
It was the morning after the tailend of this effort that a train arrived. It was full of building supplies, enough food to feed what was left of District 12 and someone with a familiar pink wig and ridiculous heels.
Effie looked the same as she always had, if not a little more fragile than she had in years past. She sauntered up to the rubble of what was once the reaping stage and declared to the few dozen people lingering in the former square that she was there to help rebuild their homes and businesses.
Effie had mentioned offhandedly once that she was an expert in architectural design, but Haymitch had just assumed she was peacocking — trying to prove her worth with words.
It was a shocker to learn that no, she was actually an expert in architectural design. That was what she had gone to school for — what she had been passionate about in her younger years. Effie had apparently been on the fast track to taking over some stupidly important architectural design company — one that has built the arenas since the first quarter quell. She wanted to design something beautiful, something practical. She’d longed to design manor homes or lovely townhouses, not the Games arenas. She had abandoned those dreams to be District 12’s escort, a thankless and frankly overlooked job in the Capitol.
She wasted no time either, dictating to the workers she’d brought with her what to do with a firmness he’d always come to expect from her. She was strong, capable, and very direct in her vision.
Effie had big, big, big plans for District 12’s rebuilding process, and she planned to see them through to completion. The first day she arrived, Effie got input from the locals about what they’d like to see in their new district, drew up rough schematics on the fly for layout purposes for the main square. She made sure the locals had a voice in shaping their new world. It was a new Panem, but she wanted District 12 to still feel like home.
She swept in with her flowery words and triumphant attitude and Haymitch ached at how bad he missed her.
Effie was one of the few constants in his life for the past quarter of a century. Booze, grief, Games, Effie. Rinse and repeat. She’d become a part of his routine without him even knowing it, without him wanting it. He’d gotten used to her presence during the Games season, and in turn he’d gotten used to her absence during the off-season, the Rebellion and after the war.
But now that she’d returned, with the usual pep in her step and a smile on her face, Haymitch wondered how he’d ever tolerated her being gone.
It was late afternoon before Haymitch, Katniss and Peeta even managed to get a moment with Effie alone. Effie had always had a one-track mind when there was a job to do — Haymitch had hated and admired her intense need for everything to be done well in equal measures.
After they’d all but dragged her towards Victor’s Village, Peeta monopolized most of the talking. Haymitch and Katniss were content to listen, to soak in Effie’s presence and Peeta’s hunger for knowledge of what she’s been up to.
She regaled stories about how Panem is being reconstructed from the ground up, beginning at the Capitol. How she personally witnessed Plutarch and President Paylor making changes that would unite Panem and strengthen cooperation between Districts.
“Each District is going to have a representative now to ensure equal treatment for all,” She exclaimed excitedly, “Each District will have their own voice — get to talk about their own concerns. Doesn’t it sound wonderful?”
It was all fascinating talk, naturally. The three of them wanted to know how the world around them was forming after they fought so hard for freedom. But that wasn’t what they cared about right now.
“But how are you Effie?” Peeta had asked, squeezing her hand comfortingly as they all sat on Haymitch’s porch.
She’d visibly hesitated, gnawing on her lower lip in a very non-Effie Trinket style. They waited with bated breath as Effie carefully chose her words.
She admitted that she’s been struggling in her position, in her desire to make a difference, and feeling stuck. Whether that was what was really bothering the woman or not, Haymitch had no idea. But the kids bought it anyway. Peeta had pulled Effie into a hug and assured her that anything she could help with would make a difference — no matter how small — and even Katniss had pointed out how much Effie had helped them over the years.
Katniss has been in a weird funk since they returned to Twelve. She hardly talks anymore, but with Effie back she seemed more animated. More willing to talk.
Haymitch could have taken this moment to talk about how much Effie has helped him — as a mostly-silent advocate, as a calming presence in the storm, as a friendly face. But he stayed silent. He and Effie had never needed words like that.
She teared up at the childrens’ kind words, smiling at them and dabbing gently at her eyes as a watery laugh bubbles out of her.
“What will you do now that you’re in Twelve?” Katniss asks her, to which Effie very politely asks if she could stay with one of them while she was in town helping with the rebuilding efforts.
Before Haymitch could even say yes the kids were jumping at the chance to have Effie stay with them. It turned into a small argument about who she should stay with first and whether or not she should swap between houses out of fairness.
The former escort looked thrilled to have her victors want her around and fussing over her presence. Truthfully, Haymitch just thought it felt good to know they missed her just as much as he did.
Effie had hopped from house to house while she was spearheading the rebuilding efforts — staying in the spare rooms Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch had to offer and swapping every few days out of fairness. Though she never explicitly said it, it was clear to Haymitch she was trying not to overstay her welcome.
None of the victors were strangers with one another anymore. It was more than common for them to leave their doors propped open and wander from one house to the next without announcement. Even if they didn’t talk, didn’t directly interact, sometimes it was more than enough to be somewhere other than your own four walls.
It wasn’t uncommon for Haymitch to come back from the Covey graveyard and find Katniss napping on his couch. More than a few times he’s sat at the kitchen table in silence at Katniss’ house while Peeta baked — the girl in question nowhere to be found. It was comfortable. It was as close to familial as Haymitch has had in decades.
He’d told Effie ages ago, when they first left the Capitol after the execution of Coin and Snow, to not be a stranger. She’d assured him she wouldn’t be, but she hadn’t quite slid into the “non-stranger” role just yet.
Effie struggled with the concept of a ‘free range’ home at first — always knocking and politely calling out for one of them and waiting to be let inside.
“Effie, this is your home too,” Katniss informed her at one point, a sigh of exasperation on her lips as she finds Effie waiting patiently on the porch because no one had answered at Katniss’ house when she knocked.
Things got easier after that.
It was like she had been waiting to be welcomed. To be told she was wanted here.
After a couple of weeks of jumping from house to house, Effie’s days in Haymitch’s spare room began to stretch for longer and longer. She grew more comfortable with just stopping in to see Katniss and Peeta, rather than staying with them for short periods of time to show them she cared.
She made herself at home, first cleaning Haymitch’s house as though it were her own. She gave it what he liked to call the “Effie Trinket Touch” — meaning of course that she brought color into his life in more ways than one. For the first time ever, the house he’d ‘earned’ in the arena felt like an actual home. He had curtains, fresh sheets every week and, weirdly enough, a reason to get out of bed in the morning.
He hadn’t thought having another person living in the same space as him would change his habits, but it made all the difference in the world.
Haymitch hadn’t expected her to, but Effie took to life in Twelve like a duck to water. Though she kept her wig, heels and gaudy dresses, she slowly but surely became a friendly face in the crowd. As buildings began to rise all around them, Effie was the smiling face that made it all happen.
She’d spend her days instructing the builders, and would spend her nights with Haymitch and the kids. Effie was slowly learning to bake from Peeta — she was awful at it at first, but adapted after a while. She thought of herself as a true chef once she’d mastered breadmaking under Peeta’s watchful eye.
Using some of the clothes she’d brought with her from the Capitol, she fashioned herself an apron which was overwhelmed with ruffles and a large ribbon in the back. It suited her, and kept her good clothes from getting messy as she fussed about in the kitchen in a wig and heels.
Once she had a decent enough handle on baking, Effie began to cook the game Katniss brought back from her excursions in the woods.
“Never in all my years did I think I’d be eating a squirrel, much less cooking one myself.” She admitted, picking at a chunk of squirrel meat that she had on her plate. She’d pan-fried it — a mistake, if you ask Haymitch. It was already annoying enough to cut off the bone, but pan frying it did the meat no justice whatsoever. He’d warned her it would be tough if she cooked it that way, but she didn’t listen. Thankfully, she wasn’t one to waste food either.
He stuffed a chunk of the too-tough meat into his mouth, mentally preparing himself for an hour of chewing. “Could be worse,” He said in reassurance when she looked at him expectantly. He wasn’t going to lie and say it was the best squirrel he’d ever eaten, but it definitely wasn’t the worst.
She’d looked so pleased by his not-quite approval that it made his stomach flip. He half-wished he’d been kinder — lied a little.
She got more inventive after that — trying new recipes, attempting to mimic things she’d seen in catalogs or on cooking shows back in the Capitol. She lamented the lack of vegetables or fruits that were readily available in Twelve and, like a doting fool, Haymitch found her some wild carrots, leeks and mushrooms the very next day.
Effie had been thrilled by his gift. Her cooking was even better after that, and he began to look forward to her trying to cook something new every few days. The more she practiced and the more Peeta gave her tips the better she got. Before he knew it, she was making the most mouth-watering food he’d ever eaten.
He’d enlisted Katniss in helping him gather ingredients for Effie when she needed them, and eventually didn’t even have to ask. Katniss brought Effie something new every time she went to the woods, whether they were berries or new herbs to try cooking with.
“Look at what our girl brought us today,” Effie said with a grin one day, holding up a couple of bundles of flowers that Katniss had picked for her from beyond the fence. She was carefully arranging the flowers into a vase of water when he entered the kitchen, looking like the happiest woman alive.
“They’re nice,” Haymitch admitted, acknowledging that the flowers brightened up the space a bit more. He idly wondered when Katniss became our girl, but he couldn’t ignore the truth in that statement. She was their girl — just as Peeta was their boy.
“I didn’t realize how much I’d missed the smell of fresh flowers,” Effie said, bringing a long-stemmed bloom to her nose to inhale the scent. Haymitch watched as her blue eyes fluttered closed as she inhaled, the peaceful way her lashes fluttered as she clearly lost herself in a memory he wasn’t privy to.
Haymitch went down to the market that afternoon and traded a bottle of booze for a few packets of flower seeds.
After buying Effie the seeds, he hadn’t been sure what to expect.
He’d thought maybe she’d ask him to plant them one sunny day, or that maybe she would enlist Peeta’s help. There had been a spot where he’d tried to garden once — to grow corn he could make into his own booze back in the day — but he’d never been sober enough to tend to it like he needed. It would have been a perfect spot for flowers, and had mentioned it to Effie when he handed her the seed packets.
Despite suggesting she start her own garden, Haymitch never thought he would see Effie Trinket herself toiling in the dirt behind the house, just to the side of where he’d built the pen for the geese.
He’d been understandably caught off guard one day when he came home one day and found an unfamiliar person digging in the grass out back.
Lenore Dove’s hair was a rich, honey brown, but when she was in the sun her hair and Haymitch’s heart burned red like all-fire. She wore her faded overalls and flashy colors, and took his breath away every time he saw her.
Well, Effie took his breath away too. In a very, very different way.
Her overalls aren’t faded or patched with bright colors and her hair is a much softer, paler red in the sunlight than Lenore Dove’s was, but when he came around the corner of the house to see her digging in what was once the garden Haymitch nearly fainted as though he’d finally seen Lenore Dove’s ghost in the flesh. He’d gasped audibly, making Effie whip around to face him and hold a hand over her heart as though she was the one wronged here.
“Haymitch!” She squawks, hands pressed to her chest and eyes closing in relief once she sees it's just him. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! What on Earth has gotten into you?”
“What the fuck are you wearing?” He chokes out, finally getting a better look at her. Haymitch had no idea who he was looking at initially, and it was only when he heard her voice that he knew who he was seeing.
The overalls were about a size and a half too big, with the bottoms rolled and exposing muck-covered boots. The long-sleeved shirt she had on was form-fitting and ratty, littered with holes around the collar and sleeves. Her strawberry blonde-colored hair was pinned into a ponytail high at the back of her head, brushed-out curls just barely coiling and frizzed at the ends. He’d never really tried to imagine Effie’s real hair before, but this had certainly not been one of the options in his head in the few seconds he’d considered it. He couldn’t imagine Effie with anything but rainbow shades of hair — even now, looking directly at her face. It just didn’t fit with the image in his head.
“Katniss gave me these to wear,” Effie said — which explained the size difference, Katniss didn’t care about what looked good, just what was functional. Effie’s voice was unsure as she glanced down at the outfit. “I know it’s not really my style, but it’s better than my dress and wig getting covered in dirt. I didn’t think I looked that bad.”
“You don’t look like the Effie Trinket I know,” He said immediately, internally wincing at his words when she looked uncomfortable. It was just jarring! He should get a pass for not yelling, honestly. This change was entirely out of his comfort zone.
He heaves a sigh as she self-consciously brushes an invisible piece of hair back from her face. “You look like a regular woman from Twelve.” He adds, unsure how to cushion the blow.
Thankfully, she took his words for the non-insult they were. It was as positive as he could get when thrown for a loop like this. She picked at a loose thread on her long sleeve, and managed a smile for his sake.
“Katniss scrounged up some clothes that are more my size from somewhere. Skirts and the like. Less like the skirts that I would typically wear, but they do fit me quite nicely. I thought maybe I should try them out — that way I don’t stick out like a sore thumb when I’m in town,” she said.
“Yeah, good idea,” He offered, entirely unhelpful.
He was lucky she’s known him for so long, otherwise she might take offense to his stilted answers. After his back-handed assurance that she didn’t look like a story-book monster, Effie wore less and less of the wigs she brought with her.
Of course, she was still Effie Trinket. She could never be fully without color.
She surprised them all when she shredded the clothes she came to Twelve in and used the scraps to spruce up her new clothing. A bandana here, a ribbon there. She sewed a pink fabric belt onto the waistline of one of her new skirts, added brightly colored collars and frills to her dresses. She even sewed something she called a ‘scrunchie’ to keep her hair pinned back and out of her face — adding a pop of color to all of her outfits in a way that made Haymitch’s heart hurt.
It reminded him painfully of the Covey — of their bright colors and songs.
He was grateful that Peeta was much more open with his compliments for her — smiling in that sweet way he always does as he tells her she looks beautiful with her hair tied up in a bandana, or in her new muted colors. She seemed more and more confident by the day.
She assimilated in Twelve as though she’d been there her whole life, embracing their customs, their traditions. She seemed softer here, happier.
Haymitch learned through the grapevine that Effie was settling along splendidly with some of the locals. Greasy Sae just adored her according to Katniss. That old woman was always trying to get Effie to eat something and get some meat on her bones. Effie held long conversations with Delly Cartright every time she went to the market, according to Peeta. This wasn’t to say that everyone liked her. She’d been turned away from trading posts more than once in town.
Twelve’s population may have been reduced dramatically after the Rebellion, but its people didn’t forget the Games so easily. No matter how much she assimilated — no matter how different she looked now — Effie was always going to be remembered by some as the woman who came to take their children away. Just as Haymitch was going to be remembered as the mentor who let them die in the arena.
The most surprising relationship Haymitch learned about was how Effie got along splendidly with Clerk Carmine Clade. For all the man had disliked Haymitch, he seemed to embrace Effie with open arms — past mistakes and all.
Effie wasn’t quite like the others in Twelve, but then again neither was Clerk Carmine — not really anyway.
The Covey were travelers. Forced to be in Twelve and put on regular performances to survive. Clerk Carmine had lived in Twelve for the majority of his life, but the Covey as a whole were seen as outsiders for a long time — that was what Lenore Dove had taught him at least. Maybe he felt a certain kinship with Effie in that way. She’d been a frequent visitor to Twelve thanks to the Games, she lives here now, and yet she wasn’t District enough for everyone. She was still hated by some, adored by others.
They both called Twelve home, but neither were fully welcome.
Upon learning that Clerk Carmine played the fiddle, Effie called in a couple of favors and made sure that a shipment of instruments was on the next train from the Capitol. Banjos, brass instruments, wind instruments, fiddles — violins as she insisted — and a large piano were set up on the stage in the town square. She wanted them to be accessible to anyone who could play — or wanted to learn to play — in hopes of others coming forth to join Clerk Carmine when he had the urge to play.
The three victors all learned Effie could play piano at the same time. They were all shocked when she took to the stage with Clerk Carmine and began playing along with his fiddle — matching his speed and tone with reckless abandon. She’d taken lessons as a child, she’d explained later.
“I’ve never played like that before though!” She exclaimed excitedly, noting how different it was to just be able to let the music overwhelm her rather than read from a score sheet. She’d never improvised before.
Though he’d never tried before — never had the opportunity — Effie encouraged Peeta to join her on stage to learn. Haymitch and Katniss watched from afar as Peeta plunked out notes while Effie instructed him. He wasn’t very good at it, but Effie was patient.
“My grandfather taught me first,” She told him, words warm and full of happy memories, “Before my proper lessons we would sit and play scales for hours. He was a wonderful musician — a great singer, too!”
Effie couldn’t sing worth a damn, though — her voice warbling off-key and off-tempo when she tried. Thankfully, in terms of playing a physical instrument she could keep up with Clerk Carmine, and it was clearly enough to earn his respect.
They all had nightmares.
It was an unavoidable fact of life. How could they not be haunted in their dreams after all they’d experienced?
Just because things were good now — no more Games every year, no more reapings — didn’t mean they were okay. They’ve all lost so much. Their families have either been entirely eradicated or have become broken beyond repair. It hasn’t even been long enough since the end of the Capitol as they knew it to see the reaping come and go with no dying kids. All three of them had their scars — literally and figuratively — and they all coped differently.
That being said, it has been quite some time since any of them have had nightmares violent enough to make everyone spring from their beds.
They all heard Katniss’s screams from their separate houses, and individually made the choice to sprint towards her in their jammies. Haymitch and Peeta arrived at Katniss’s house at the same time, with the former alarmed to find the front door swung wide open. The pair feared the worst — that Katniss had run to the forest before they could get to her and soothe her troubled mind.
Surprisingly, it was Effie who had actually gotten to her first. As they walked in, she was already rousing Katniss from her distressing sleep with gentle shushes as though she were taming a horse. Katniss sobbed as she grabbed at Effie’s arms, scrambling for purchase as was held tight.
From the doorway Haymitch could hear gentle murmurings leaving Effie’s lips, soft and certain.
“It’s alright,” Effie whispers into the darkness with another shh, “I’m here, Katniss. You’re okay. We’re all right here for you,” When another sob wracks Katniss’ body, Effie squeezes her even tighter, acting like she wanted to absorb all of Katniss’ hurt so she wouldn’t have to feel it anymore.
“I couldn’t get to her,” Katniss half-screams, drowning in a mixture of reality and her nightmares. She gasps for breath as she keeps clawing at Effie’s arms, “She was my little sister! I couldn’t- I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t get to her. She was innocent, Effie! They killed her-” She dissolves into hacking sobs, throat tight with emotion.
“Oh my darling girl,” She whispers, before kissing her forehead — almost motherly in her approach. “Little Primrose is still your sister — death doesn’t take away sisterhood. She will always be your sister. Her death was not your fault.” The room goes quiet except for Katniss’ crying and Effie’s consoling shushes. She repeats over and over that it wasn’t her fault as she rocked Katniss back and forth, seeming to buy herself time to think of a more solid solution. After Katniss’ frantic sobbing subsides into spaced out weeping, Effie speaks once more.
“How about we have a sleepover tonight, yes? We’ll make it fun. It won’t be a proper sleepover without trashy television and sneaking cigarettes, though,” She fakes a put-upon sigh, as if it were a real trouble to have a sleepover without those things, which makes Katniss laugh even through her tears. Effie always had the unteachable skill of breaking through any tension in the air with the ease of breathing.
“We’ll make it work,” The younger girl croaks, sinking further into Effie’s arms as the older woman climbs into the bed with her. It was moments like these that Haymitch remembers Effie had a younger sister, once. As Katniss’ weeping begins to subside, replaced instead by the blank expression Haymitch has seen in the mirror one too many times, he wonders if Effie ever held Prosie like this while she cried. He wonders what a bubbly girl from the Capitol had nightmares about.
“Are you boys staying for the sleepover?” Effie asks, startling Katniss who clearly didn’t even know they were in the room. Peeta doesn’t verbally confirm that he was staying, but similarly doesn’t hesitate before springing into action. He pulls back the covers Katniss and Effie were curled under in order to fully lay on the mattress beside Katniss. Haymitch watches as Peeta wraps an arm around Katniss’ middle, his other arm snaking under the pillow in a position Haymitch is certain he’ll regret in the morning. The girl sniffles and rests her head back against his chest, visibly taking comfort in his presence.
It took Effie clearing her throat to get his attention again, and all he could do was nod and awkwardly slink closer to the mattress. He wasn’t as smooth as he pulls back the covers as Peeta had been, and struggles to find his footing. Eventually, Haymitch manages to slip under the covers behind Effie — spooning her like Peeta was spooning Katniss.
It was weird. It was ridiculous. Four grown humans crowded into a mattress for two.
Effie and Katniss had to be too warm where they were squished between him and Peeta under the blankets. Haymitch’s asscheek was a sneeze away from slipping down off of the mattress and sending him toppling — and he’s sure Peeta isn’t much better on the opposite end of the bed.
But it was also weirdly nice. They were here to comfort Katniss, but Haymitch felt like he was the one being comforted. He couldn’t help but remember when Sid would have nightmares and come crawling onto Haymitch’s mattress. The way his little brother would tuck his head under Haymitch’s chin and wait for his big brother to fight away all his fears.
He thought about all the times he woke up shaking, in tears after a nightmare disturbs his own sleep. How his ma always assured him he was never too old for a cuddle, and welcomed him into her arms every time without fail. He had no doubts that Burdock would have been there for Katniss when he was alive. Had Asterid, lost in her grief over the loss of the love of her life, done the same for her two girls?
He thought again of a young Effie Trinket he’d never met, doing her Big Sister duties and comforting her sister just like she was comforting Katniss now. Though he couldn’t imagine a scenario where Capitol children did any sort of roughhousing, he could still envision Prosie — with her puffs of magenta hair — sobbing with skinned up knees from a tumble, and little Effie wiping away her tears. He wondered for the first time, then, who had held Effie when she cried.
Haymitch didn’t even notice the silent tears slipping from his eyes until Effie’s palm found his cheek.
It was an awkward grasp — the woman was reaching behind her to pat his cheek and comfort him — but he couldn’t help but melt into Effie’s touch. After a few deep breaths he realized she only knew he was crying because tears had dripped down onto her neck. Embarrassed, he swiped his thumb over her pulse point to smear them away. She only hummed and rested her head back against him a little more firmly.
What a scene we must make, Haymitch thinks to himself, his hand resting comfortably on Effie’s solar plexus. Daylight would be upon them soon, he was sure. He could already hear the birds chirping in the distance, and the sun would soon rise to follow their song.
Even though he didn’t go back to sleep, he stayed there with his new little family until long after the sun rose. Haymitch took comfort in the soft sounds of their breathing — a gentle in and out that calmed his nerves and brought a semblance of peace.
When Katniss rose hours later, she was mute and restless. The tearful laughter and comforting snuggles of the night before are lost to her grief as she crawls away from their collective hold and rushes off to the woods. They didn’t deny her her solitude. They didn’t offer her empty promises of things getting better. Effie, exhausted, didn’t even stir as Katniss ripped herself from her arms.
Haymitch catches Peeta’s eye across the mattress, and says nothing as the baker's boy takes Katniss’ place — burrowing into Effie’s unconscious hold like a lost little kid.