#hayffie twins

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 45

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

Summary: Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more?

Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming.

Chapter 45, Take me drunk, I'm home

He staggered through the rain, wetter than a shot of whiskey dropped into a mug of beer. Nothing but thick black clouds above.

No moon. No stars. You couldn't see anything but the path right in front of you. Nothing to guide your way but the distant lights of the district.

The duffel bag was lost. Probably in a ditch somewhere. Soaked and vile. Like its owner. Or maybe he just tossed the thing in some corner of the train, after he’d finished the last bottle. He couldn't recall.

Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered anymore. Now that Effie and the kids were gone.

Where were they now? Which district? Did she manage to get them to sleep on time or was she still on rocking duty? Exhausted. Alone. While the train added mile after mile between them.

Once his family had gotten onboard back in Eleven, he was supposed to just sit back and wait. Bags packed. Ticket in hand, until his own train pulled into the station.

But he didn't. Walking up and down that misty platform. The smell of damp concrete. Distant rumbling. The unforgiving sky, overrun by storm clouds as dark as the soul of president Snow.

He couldn't stand 5 minutes of it. Hell, not even one.

If he was going to wait, might as well do it on a bar stool.

One of the local pubs was just around the corner. Chaff told him as much. Back when they were passing a bottle between themselves, he described the way in detail. The shops. The landmarks. Which road to turn and when.

“We’ll go there someday”, he said, the last time they ever spoke to each other. “Bring the little lady. If we survive this blasted war, drinks are on me.”

The bell above the door gave a merry tinkle when Haymitch pushed inside, 10 minutes later.

Just like Twelve, he thought. The one Sae and Ripper put up at the Hob made the exact same noise.

In the end, he didn’t mount a bar stool. Place was far from empty, despite the bad weather. Or maybe because of it. He couldn’t sit and wonder which ones of them mourned Chaff. Or – worse – if no one was even left besides Pearl, still alive to do so.

“A bottle of wine please”, he said and set the duffel bag on the counter. “Red. Whatever looks good. Or better yet, make it two. And the amber one over there.” He gestured to the rows by the mirror. “No need for a glass.”

The barkeep recognized him. One glance told him as much. But then again, who didn’t?

Must be Bernard, he thought. Unless the owner of this place had changed since the end of the war. Lean fellow. Same skin tone as Chaff, but his hair was grayer by the temples.

At least he didn't tell him to get the fuck out of his pub. The man simply reached for the desired bottles and set them on the counter, one by one.

“Will I have my work cut out for me later?” Bernard’s voice – if it was Bernard – was neither merry nor hostile. Just practical. Matter-of-factly.

“No”, Haymitch said. “I'm not staying. Not for long.” He got out his wallet, handed over the last of the ruffled bills. “Keep the change. Can you remind me I need to leave in an hour?” He glanced at the wall clock. “Hour-fifteen minutes? There's a train I gotta catch. Can't miss it.”

“Sure.”

Bag clunky and heavy, clinking with bottles, he found his way out into the beer garden. Dumped himself by the first available bench. The moist which had collected in vast continents on the painted wood, instantly soaked through his underwear.

More of the stuff trickled inside the collar of his shirt. Tepid as a cup of tea, forgotten on the mantelpiece. Summer rain, the kind that made you sweat even more.

Whatever. Here he was alone. The leafy trees growing around him offered some shelter but still: No one dumb enough to loiter out here today.

He unzipped the bag. Twisted the top of the first bottle he encountered. Didn't even hesitate before he had the first sip.

What for? Effs and the kids weren’t here. Amy. Ian. God only knew when he’d hold them in his arms again. No. He couldn't think of one good reason why he should board his train stone-cold sober.

Just don't get too deep in your cups, you ass, he warned himself before the second mouthful. Or else they won't allow you on.

He had to go home. Couldn't – wouldn’t – embarrass June and Annabel in front of their friends and neighbors. He'd been enough of a pest whilst under their roof.

Talk about wearing out you're welcome.

Half a bottle. Then the train.

And so he drank. Watched by no one but a ruffled mockingjay hiding in the trees and the occasional pair of eyes through a window.

His recollections thereafter were hazy. Nothing but bits and pieces – the passage of time.

Birds like black confetti, high in the sky. A lone dog barking. The splatter of water through a downpipe. The aftertaste of wine. Fruity and sour.

But the barkeep must have kept his promise because hours later, in the dead of night, the mentor of District 12 staggered out onto his own soil once again. Tanked to the gills. Again.

Home.

Shoulders sagging, rain dripping down his hair, his hands, his eyelashes, he hardly ever looked up. No need. He could walk this way blindfolded.

The ground felt soggy, slippery under his clumsy feet.

Different district. Same downpour. He swore it followed him from place to place. Taunting him.

Not that he didn’t deserve it.

He staggered through puddles as deep as his ankles. Didn’t bother to swerve off his path much. Only mindful of people’s windows. Their vegetable gardens.

Last thing he wanted was to ruin someone’s future dinner or frighten the kids in their beds with the sound of his squelching boots.

Lights were on in maybe one in ten houses. The Goat Man, who had a history of insomnia. Delly Cartwright’s youngest cousin who couldn’t sleep without a night light. Bristel and her husband. Naked and tangled in bed perhaps?

Most were dark though. Doors bolted shut against the night.

Not all of them. Up ahead, he saw the open window. Just slightly ajar to let the air in, on a warm night like this.

Someone was awake. Golden light spilled through the curtains of the living room. As he approached, he could just make out the soft rattle of cutleries against china over the pattering rain. A cup of tea perhaps. Or maybe a bowl of soup.

Half-blinded he rubbed his eyes, his soaked face. A pointless attempt. More than a little round under his feet he made a slack fist and knocked. Once. Twice. Or, in his state, it was more like pounding.

Eyes downcast, the first thing he noticed when she opened the door was her house slippers. Woolly and soft in a quiet pink color. A birthday gift from Hazelle.

Hand against the handle, she wore the same simple robes her mother wore before her. His gaze lingered on the small baby blue flowers around the hemline and the hems of her wrists.

Effie’s work. She stitched them onto the fabric, back during that summer she spent with them after her overdose.

Peeta loved the details and Nella loved the very texture of the little leaves and blossoms. Used to follow them with the tip of her finger.

Forget-me-nots.

Throat choked up, his dull, blood-shot eyes finally met her gray ones.

Seam gray. Like the eyes of his mother. His brother. His son and daughter.

Sae gave a quiet smile. As if expecting him.

“You better come in”, she said. “Before you catch your death out here.”

Haymitch’s face crinkled up like a worn tissue. He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t hide it. Not from her. The tears he’d carried within, for hours and hours – just below the surface – finally welled up.

All at once.

His old babysitter spoke nothing further. Water soaked through her slippers, but she paid it no mind. Just stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

He tried to speak. Tell her how sorry he was about the hour, the fact that he was drunk, that he didn’t know where else to go – but no words came out. Only sobs.

The old woman held him. Her small frame so frail and yet so strong. She caressed the back of his head, just like when he was a toddler, speaking soft, soothing words in his ear.

And Haymitch clung to her. Like a child to its mama, while raindrops tinked against the sphere-shaped porch light.

[baubled]

prompt: 'you're cute when you're angry'

[I think this probably isn't the tone you had in mind when you suggested this so apologies for that but I am pleased with the way it turned out. No warnings - not even language. Surprise]

Five months had passed since any kind of communication from Effie Trinket had landed in the lap of Haymitch Abernathy, and he still didn’t know what he’d done wrong. Their love affair - if you could call it that, he was beginning to think that Asclepius had been right to call it infatuation - had been tumultuous from the very start. But it had seemed so real. More real than anything he’d encountered in the Capitol - where everything was temporary, coated in the most expensive lies he’d ever seen. All those shining reflections just to distract from the blood running underneath. Before Effie he had come to expect only shallow meetings there. Had thought he needed to focus only on what he could wring out of the Capitolites with both hands and desperation in his chest. He’d passed it all up for her. Begun to rely on her finding him when he came to do whatever it was was required of a Victor three years after the victory. They’d met on rooftops, in alleyways and stairwells, and always she had seemed so light but so grounded.

He had bothered to write her a letter. A real, genuine letter. More than once. She’d sent back envelopes speckled with glitter and smelling like strawberries - so different from the reek of roses he had come to associate with the place she called home.

Years. They’d spent years meeting in as much secrecy as they could find. Years with lips pressed to the crook of a neck, his silhouette guarding her from view of any passing gossips, his fingers tangled in the ends of her blonde waves, her name breaching the privacy of his nightmares. It was the final nail in the coffin, really, to find that the screams of everyone in his dreams now contained a thread of her breathy voice.

And then. Nothing.

So imagine his surprise. That morning the train rolled into Twelve for the reaping of the 56th annual hunger games and he stopped his pacing and the way he held one hand inside of the other, picking at his cuticles like she’d done so many times when the anxiety of what they were doing gripped her enough on the inside to spill out in a dozen tiny ways. Imagine his surprise when the door to the train opened before the engine itself had come to a complete stop and Clep wasn’t there the way he had been every year since Haymitch himself was reaped.

He’d have recognized the point of that toe anywhere. He was intimately familiar with the way Effie Trinket could walk into a room and make everybody wonder how they’d existed there in her absence. Haymitch’s breath caught in his throat, his brow creasing quickly in confusion and wonder, but all of the questions that crowded his mind had no chance. She was a flourish of baby blues and creams, ribbons dangling from her wrists where the laces of her garment curled into bows, the crushed velvet bodice clung to her curves, covered her clear up to her chin as if she were defending herself from the outset. He realised, quickly, that she was. She did not make eye contact with him. Her boot touched the ground and she was off, a familiar binder tucked up under one arm and a peacekeeper struggling to keep up with her as she strode past Haymitch and out of the station with a fervor that he recognized.

It was the night before an exam but she was up too late with him, her hair down, the hem of her dress a little too high.

But the tulle spilling from the split at the back of that bodice brushed against the back of his hand as she hurried past him and it pulled him back from the memory, rooted him to the spot. He glanced down at his hand, rubbed his fingers together, and the pieces began to slide into place. When he finally glanced after her retreating frame he stuttered back to life, frowned more deeply - the beginning of what would become his most persistent wrinkles blossomed on his forehead - and went after her.

Despite the height difference, the pulse hammering through his veins, and his knowledge of his home she outpaced him. Or just plain slipped out of his grasp. She must’ve studied a map until it dissolved under her gaze with the way she navigated those coal-dusted streets and made straight for the town hall. Even in five inch heels she took the steps to the front door two at a time, threw herself into the hallway, and then slowed. He ignored the call of the peacekeeper who had fallen behind them both as he grabbed her wrist - too hard - and she spun to face him.

There had been cracks even three years ago and here, again, it was as though they could both feel them deepen, splintering out into the rest of their lives. Effie had too much makeup on. Something he had never thought before. And her hair…wasn’t hers. It was a wig, a good one compared to most of what the Capitol called fashionable, but he could tell from this close. It was Effie, but it wasn’t his Effie. There was a hardness to her now, and he recognized it for what it was immediately. Or at least he thought he did. She’d finally gotten what she’d worked so hard for, and a nothing from the Seam wasn’t going to put that at risk.

“I have time,” she had murmured to him once. It had reassured him then, in the bright morning when he was sure he’d ruined it all for them. It seemed like that time might finally have run out.

“You really not gonna say anything to me?” He asked, expression pleading, his body far too close to hers and that peacekeeper trying to gage whether or not his delicate new charge needed him to intervene. “Five months Trinket.”

He hadn’t meant to use her last name. It had just happened. But he watched it cut her open for just a second before she regained her composure and stitched the wound up again. Good as new.

She removed her wrist from his hold, held the binder in front of her abdomen with both hands and looked up at him through too long, too dark lashes. “We have many things to talk about, dear, but none of them in the hallway.”

“Hallway seems fine to me,” his voice was still low, but he knew her too well, knew the buttons he was pushing, “you wanna tell me what you’re doing here?”

A deep breath pulled her already straightened shoulders straighter. Her head lilted a little to one side as she adjusted herself for this new bump in her perfectly planned road. It was the first time he could remember her using these tricks on him - it was the first time he could remember being the object of her disdain instead of her affection.

“Clep retired,” the nickname rolled from her lips before she could stop it, and she glanced around nervously, but Haymitch just waited for her to come out with the rest of it, “I’m Twelve’s new Escort.”

“You’re kiddin' me.”

“I am not kidding you, Haymitch.”

“Dream come true, huh?” He spat the words, and they landed with impact. Five months. No phone calls, no letters, nothing soft to rest his shredded heart on and then there she was. Dressed to the nines and completely changed and not even willing to tell him why. She was as pulled closed as that damn dress she was wearing. Her posture didn’t change, but her expression did. This time for more than just a moment her eyes went soft. They sparkled with tears but she didn’t let them fall. But it was the sharp inhalation - the way he knew it was anything but a dream and the way she wasn’t willing to share with him whatever hell she’d been put through back in the Capitol to be put on that train - that told him they were over.

Effie swallowed the breath down, rearranged her expression to one of determination, and Haymitch took a step back toward the door.

“You’re cute when you’re angry, Bauble. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Haymitch-“

“Nah, I think I get it,” his hands were up in surrender, and his mouth was aching for the burn of alcohol. “I’ll see you on stage, sweetheart.”

It was easy to move around the peacekeeper and back out into the open air. Harder to drink away the image of her standing there, hoping he’d come back.

[ellanainthetardis]

Okay so I know you said it was a nightmare for you to write this last episode but I just have to ask lmao. What are your headcanons for the whole Effie/Maysilee thing? I’m ofc a diehard hayffie girl at heart but man oh man did I love this KTVS ship!!!! I’ll literally take any bonus content of them lol I’m in love

A nightmare it was but mainly because of gale haha.

Do I have hc... Well, I sort of think it started rivals to lovers. Like, you know Caesar is Effie's mentor, she wanted to be the Slayer to please him, obviously she's not Called and Maysilee is and now Caesar has to go mentor so she's scared that means she will be send to another Watcher or home even. But he takes her with him so that's something? But still, she lives the comparison, you know. And Maysilee is a rogue so she has no idea at all about what is going on, she probably refuses to believe them for a while... They probably butt heads even if Caesar probably ordered Effie to befriend Maysilee. Plus there's her twin, they're inseparable which complicates everything for Effie...

Eventually, I figure Maysilee teaches Effie to see her own worth, that it doesn't really matter that she's not a Slayer because she's got that much more training than she does and she's a witch! I imagine Maysilee encourages her to explore that part of herself. And in return, Effie is her devoted "sidekick", the two of them kick ass. They're probably high on being powerful for a while.

It's first love and it's tentative and fierce and terribly wonderful but terrifying...

[allonsysilvertongue]

Imagine Hayffie + a baby (and Katniss watching over them being parents)

[dazeyrains-blog]

Cold outside - A fluffy Hayffie one shot. (Hey, it's Christmas)

"You're late" Haymitch said, making his way up to Katniss and Peetas porch at the same time as another familiar figure

"And you're here" The figure replied, just as surprised when they eventually met at the front door.

"Trinket"

"Mr Abernathy"

"Its been a while"

"Only a year since last Christmas"

She was cold.

"Yeah...last Christmas. When you left early"

"And you didn't bother to come at all..."

And she was bitter.

Effie turned to the door to knock but Haymitch suddenly stopped her, sliding his fingers around the wrist of her raised arm until she halted.

"Can we...start over?"

Effie dropped her arm reluctantly. The gift wedged in her other arm was heavy as she adjusted it against her hip.

"Why not" she said bluntly and he sensed hostility in her tone too.

Haymitch looked at her as she looked at the door. They could both hear the commotion inside, the music, the children, Katniss calling to her mother, Peeta laughing, an array of chatter and laughter from other guests...

They'd been passing ships for the last three years Effie and he, both of them purposfuly avoiding the other but neither of them understanding why.

She was angry with him, she knew that much. He'd called her a coward for staying away so much a few years back and she hadn't yet forgiven that... Even though it was said out of anger after she had missed the twins birth and the naming ceremony. It hadn't been her fault, she worked hard to keep Cinnas fashion line going, she couldn't just bail whenever an occasion arose. He had apologised, many times, just not to her. He'd done it through Katniss or Peeta and unfortunately for Effie, it wasn't good enough. So she had stayed away, she'd kept herself busy....She had been miserable. No matter what, she knew she still cared about him. Cared about his health, his well being, his journey in life. She had thought about him alot...and she had hated that.

Of course, he had thought about her too. Sometimes when he had least expected too. She would pop into his head at the most unusual times like when he was making coffee, or stacking fresh logs on his fire. Then he would wonder to himself about how she was or where she was. Then he would quickly shake the thoughts out of his mind, because, why should he care...

"Let's just...get tonight over with" she added, but she hadn't meant it hurtfully. He could tell by the sadness in her eyes "Then we are out of each other's hair for another year"

Before he could argue she had knocked on the door. They waited together in silence as quick footsteps approached.

"Effie! Haymitch!" Peeta beamed "You came... together?"

In unison, they quickly replied 'No'

"Well, good timing" Peeta continued "we're just about to start a game of charades before dinner"

"Great...a game" Haymitch said unenthusiastically, which made Effie purse her lips.

"A game sounds like wonderful fun" she declared, passing Peeta her gift, saying it was for the whole family. Then, just to add fuel to the fire, she turned back to Haymitch, spying his baren grasp "I notice you've arrived empty handed"

Peeta swallowed, waiting for an argument to erupt. He closed the door slightly, not inviting them in fully just yet. He then looked at Haymitch, waiting for a harsh reply to come but...much to his and Effies surprise, Haymitch just smiled and held his hands in the air.

"You got me, Princess" he said, equally turning his attention soley on her "But then, I already left the new play set that i hand carved in the back yard for Peeta, Katniss and the kids to see later on...as a surprise, so...thanks for ruining that one."

Effie went crimson.

This situation was not getting any better.

Suddenly Peeta had an idea...

"Well...please, do come in" he offered, but as they both made their way towards the threshold, Peeta stopped them and pointed upwards "But don't forget the Thistletweed tradition" he grinned, knowing that Haymitch had caught on straight away to his devious plan.

"Excuse me?" Effie replied in confusion "The what?"

"Peeta..." Haymitch warned, but Peeta was having none of it.

"What?" He said innocently "It's a tradition that's been around for centuries Haymtich, you know it's bad luck to pass under the Thistletweed without respecting tradition...don't you"

The boy grinned as Haymitch shifted uncomfortably

"Ive strict orders from Katniss not to let anyone inside without adhering to the tradition..." Peeta carried on "You know how suspicious she can get. I'll let you explain to Effie, Haymitch and I'll see you both inside shorty" and with that, Peeta left them at the open door, taking his gift inside with him.

Effie looked at Haymitch inquisitively, awaiting his version of the so called district 12 tradition that she clearly had never even heard of before now.

Haymitch sighed, knowing full well he couldn't get away with a lie as she would only ask someone else later. He turned to face her again.

"See that, princess" he said, pointing up above their heads to the bundle of what looked like dried weeds hanging above the door frame.

"That's Thistletweed..."

He waited for a response, some sign of recognition but Effie remained none the wiser.

Haymitch rolled his eyes.

"Look...It's an ancient tradition ok. One that states that any man and woman, unrelated, who happen to pass beneath the leaves of the Thistletweed, must share a kiss before taking a further step"

Effie blinked and her jaw fell open at the words "share a...a kiss?"

"Yeah... those who do are said to enjoy a life of fulfilment, but for those of us that ignore the tradition...are doomed to a much unfulfilled life, and condemn those they love around them the same fate"

He rolled his eyes uncomfortably, shoving his hands into his pockets, waiting for her to laugh out loud...

But she didn't.

"Oh" she replied simply taking in the story and remembering the promise she made to herself a few years ago about this place, to respect the odd and baffling ways of district 12 and their folklore tales. Especially after they had granted her permission to return here after the war...

"So...you have to kiss me?" She asked

"Well, I have to ask you first...you can refuse"

"And if I did?"

"Then life goes on, whatever, it's a stupid tradition, let's just go inside-"

"No!" She said sternly, wrapping her hand around his wrist "tradition is tradition I suppose" she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and took a deep breath in anticipation "We wouldn't want to bring bad luck upon our friends now, would we?"

"Guess not"

"Well then..."

"Well then."

He looked at her for a moment as she looked at him, the two of them silently figuring each other out.

"Well Princess, may I kiss you?"

That name again. She clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I suppose you may, and don't call me prin-"

His lips caught hers in one quick swoop.

The kiss felt rough and a little forced at first and Haymitch must have felt it too because instead of pulling away and making the kiss short and simple he allowed himself a second or two to adjust the pressure of his lips against hers, stepping in towards her a little more and gently, slowly guiding her lips apart for a deeper kiss.

As the two of them stood there, both eagerly trying not to make their kissing technique an utter disaster, seconds flew by into a whole minutes as their mouths slowly moved in a rhythmic pattern against oneanothers, his hands came up to cradle her face as he felt the sweet tip of her tongue, slip across his, sending an ache down his belly and into his groin.

They carried on like that until they eventually heard a throat clear beside them and suddenly, they were awake again, fully conscious of the fact that they had been kissing one another...like, really kissing one another, outside, on the porch, in the snow, for nearly 5 whole minutes.

"I...ah...I see your done arguing" Peeta smirked "We're all waiting, so we can begin the game but I'll...um...I'll distract them a few minutes longer" He closed the door again, leaving them alone

Effie cleared her throat. She could feel the burn at her chin from his stubble and it made her feel warm inside.

"We should...head inside" she said and Haymitch cocked a grin.

"I really can't stay..." he said suddenly and Effie was stunned

"What? What do you mean...can't stay?" She replied, fearful that it was her fault, the fault of the kiss

"I have to go away..."

Away? Where? Away away or back to his house away? She was confused

"But it's Christmas, Haymitch, where are you-?"

"This evening has been..."

And then it dawned on her

"Sooooo very niiiice"

"Oh, Haymitch!"

He laughed, watching her turn pink again

"You will never change!" She said, and it took her a few seconds but she eventually warmed to the joke, and found it quite funny.

She hit him playfully.

"If every kiss we share comes with its own song, you can bet your bottom dollar I'll be burning every piece of Thistletweed in sight!"

"Every kiss?" He grinned "So, they'll be more?"

"Don't push it, 'baby'" she winked "Come on, it's getting...cold outside"

~ Fin

Merry Christmas and a happy New year xxx

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 36

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M SUMMARY: Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more? Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming. Chapter 36 Plough a lonely furrow

Earthworms glistened in the blackness of the grave. Their writhing, pink bodies made Haymitch jam the shovel into the growing pile and fish up the silver hipflask. He tipped it into his mouth again and again, red eyes focused on the shrivels of blue sky through the greenery. He came up choking. That almost never happened but Ripper’s concoction licked his throat like flesh to an open flame. He liked it. Felt like justice. With the flask back in his pocket, he returned to the task at hand. The sound of metal against soil felt wrong in a place like this. Here in the midst of Katniss’s woods where mockingjays sang and the wind rustled through the underbrush. Lips pressed to none-existence he dug the shovel into the ground. Repeated the act, over and over, face tinged grey. It needed to be deep. Secluded. Safe from any predators. “I will come with you,” Effie said after the first death. “You shouldn’t do this alone,” Peeta said after the second. But he wouldn’t be swayed. None of them should have to see this. Especially not the kids whom had already witnessed far too much death for someone their age. “They’re my geese,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.” The morning it all began dawned like any other. No warnings whatsoever. A promise of rain in the air. Distant thunderclaps. Amy and Ian who woke them promptly at six, as per usual. At 9 months the kids were still full-fledged early birds. Oh, yes. Even Effie said she wouldn’t mind a sleep-in every once in a while. At least the nights were easier now. Good to know at least two people in this household slept fairly consistently, undisturbed by nightmares. “Mornin’”, he said as he walked into the kitchen that retched day, dressed in nothing but his underwear and some flimsy morning gown of Effie’s with pink flamingos on the back. “Hey,” she replied over her shoulder, prepping Ian’s oatmeal. The children sat together in the playpen, still in their jammies. Haymitch leaned over it and gave them a soft pat. “There’s coffee if you want it. Good and strong.”

“Great.” He poured himself a cup, added a few drops of milk. The table was already set. “Why didn’t you wake me?” Effie shrugged. “You slept hard. I reckoned you needed it.” “… Thanks.” He had a sip and set the cup on the table. “Hello,” he said and reached inside the playpen, lifted Ian out, up toward the ceiling lamp and down to his face, kissing his cheek until he giggled. “You sleep well? Any good dreams worth tellin’ me about?” After one last kiss he carried his son to the table and helped him into his high chair. Effie joined, bringing the oatmeal. She slipped a spoon into Haymitch’s hand and turned to their daughter. “I hope you’re hungry, my darling.” With Amy in her arms she took her seat at the table where Haymitch was already engaged in the messy task of getting food into their boy. “How about a trip to Sae’s later?” Effie asked, holding the girl who practiced her jumping skills, bouncing up and down on her mother’s lap. “For lunch, I mean?” “Sure. Why not?” Ian gaped like a newborn nestling and Haymitch slipped him another spoonful. Unlike his sister, the boy showed an interest in his parents’ food very early on and squeaked in anger when he dug his hands on their plants and they still wouldn’t let him have it. Like any child of District 12, they ate like horses. Both of them. “It’s their Seam side showing,” Effie said. Amy suddenly stopped her gymnastics. With the look of someone recalling something important she tugged at the neckline of her mother’s nightgown. Haymitch and Effie had introduced a variety of food to their daughter but with the exception of cooked pear blended with breast milk Amy wasn’t interested. When she got hungry she wanted her mama and her mama only. And Effie wasn’t difficult to persuade. “I take all the time I can get,” she smiled. “She’s reaching all of her milestones and she will self-feed too when she’s ready. I won’t rush her.” After breakfast and getting them changed, they carried the twins along with the playpen back into the living room. They usually played together for a good hour before their first nap. “I’ll go check on the geese.” “OK,” Effie yawned, curled up on the couch. It wasn’t even a lie. Some decoy to drink. Not that day. Even with the looming rain, the weather was fine and he only meant to release them into the outside enclosure. The moment he entered the pen, he knew something was wrong. Sensed it in the way they moved. Acted. The energy of the place. And that’s when he saw it. He crouched in the hay. Cupped his hands around the small, lifeless body. The gosling was still warm but there was no question about it. Haymitch knew death when he saw it. What happened? A wild animal? A badger perhaps? Or even one of the other geese? But there were no signs of struggle. No blood or broken bones. Nothing. Not so much as a ruffled feather. Where would an animal even get in? There were no holes on the walls. He always made sure. “Fowl cholera,” the vet said. “They need antibiotics and you have to separate the healthy ones from the birds showing symptoms. Make sure everything’s clean. Keep a close watch. I’ll write down what you need to know.” Haymitch followed the instructions to the T. No one watching could doubt his dedication. And yet, it didn’t make any difference. In the days and weeks that followed, the Victor’s Village grew quieter and quieter. Like with any disaster, the little ones went first. Then the older and frail. And before long, even the biggest and sturdiest of the lot crumbled away. And all Haymitch could do was watch. By that time, Effie and the twins were already gone. “You want to send us away?” She asked it like she couldn’t believe her ears. “Not for long, Eff. It’s only temporary.” “Why? Why do we have to leave? Fowl cholera isn’t contagious in humans.” “Still. Better safe than sorry.” “Can’t we just stay somewhere in Twelve? The Capitol is such a far way away. I’m sure Sae wouldn’t mind lending us a room in her house.” “Eff,” he said, tiredly. “Humor me. Just this once.” In the end they decided on a compromise. With the kids down for their nap Effie called up District 11. June and Annabel said they’d be more than happy to have the three of them over and in less than 48 hours Haymitch was on his own. The shirt was soaked with sweat. Clung to him in a way he’d hated ever since he was a boy. After one final dig Haymitch wiped his forehead and eyed his hard work. Yeah, that’ll do. He dropped the shovel and crouched before the bird. So utterly helpless, defenseless like this, shrouded in a knotty blanket. The last member of the original flock that he and Effie bought in Eleven. One of its wingtips peeked through the folds and he took great care cloaking it up properly before he lowered it into the grave. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he piled the earth on, covering more and more of his dead pet. At this very moment, the two survivors – both female – pecked away at the grass back in the enclosure. But it was probably just a matter of time before they went as well. It was all so fucking unfair. xXx What’s that… sound? Haymitch groaned. Bells? No, no bells around here. A phone. Yeah. Yeah, his phone. Christ, when did it get so loud? It carved his head like a cheese slicer you should’ve thrown in the trash years ago. Bottles created harmony. Empties that rolled out of the way when he moved. His cheek stung and throbbed as blood pooled back into it after hours on the stubby old carpet. What am I doing on the floor? With a painful roll he ended up on his side and gingerly touched a tender spot just above his right eyebrow. I fell? Eyes closed shut to keep the world from reeling out of control he tried to pull himself up. A hiccup racked his body and before he knew it, splatters of white liquor and stomach acid spilt from his lips. A mixture so strong and vile he swore it would burn a hole in the carpet. Coughing and spitting, he cradled his head. Air. He needed air. Mouth dripping, he forced it into his lungs. One ragged breath at a time. And still, the ringing. Only one person was that persistent. “Hello, Haymitch! It’s me. How are you?” Springs creaked under his weight as he dropped on the couch. With the phone to his ear, he stared vacantly at the forest of bottles on the coffee table. His head nothing but one big blister, ready to burst. But he heard Effie breathing on the other end, expecting a reply and he wet his lips. Cleared his throat. “Oh, same old, same old. How’re the kids?” As Effie prattled on he seized the moment and grabbed an almost empty bottle of aspirin, twisting the top. First once and then a second time. And a third. “… so we decided to go later. You would have loved it!” “Uh-huh.” Phone cradled between his ear and shoulder he wrestled the bottle but to no avail. Frowning, he squinted at the label. “Childproof.” Yeah, no kidding. “Oh, oh, and there’s something else I just have to tell you! The other day, we were out in the garden and you know how they have like their own language, right? Well, they were talking with each other in their usual manner and everything is fine and peaceful. And then Ian coos something to Amy and she goes absolutely livid! One minute she’s perfectly happy. The next she’s screaming bloody murder. I think he insulted her.” Effie chuckled. “Isn’t that the cutest thing?” “Yeah, totally.” He tugged and tore at the bottle cap, hands throbbing in time with his head. The phone slipped from between his ear and shoulder. Leaving it on the couch, he gave another almighty twist and POP! Pills flew in every direction, clinking against glass. “Haymitch? Haymitch, are you there?” Clawing underneath the table he slipped two pills into his mouth, spit out some lint and washed it down with the first bottle he encountered. “Hello? Haymitch?” He grabbed the phone. “Yeah. Sure.” “Sure, what?” “I mean, like… er…” “You didn’t listen to a word I said, did you?” He opened his mouth, then just dropped the act altogether. “Sorry, Eff. Got a lot on my mind, is all.” “The geese?” He rubbed his hand over his face. Eyed the bottles but decided against it. Best not tempt the fate. “Lost another one today.” “Oh, no! I’m so sorry, Haymitch.” “Yeah. So, now’s not really a good time. Maybe we can catch up later? Tomorrow perhaps?” “Of course.” “I’ll call you guys around noon. How’s that? And give ‘em a big kiss for me.” “I will. Bye, Haymitch!” “Bye, Eff.” *toot toot* xXx *ring ring* *mutters* How the fuck does this work? *clears throat* Alrighty. Eff says you gotta have an answer phone message on this thing so here goes. I’m not in or awake or… whatever so leave a message and I’ll get back to you at some point. Or don’t. I don’t really give a fuck either way but… I dunno. Do as you please. This lil’ machine is fucking cunning though so don’t hold your breath. Can’t say I check in all that often either so if your ass is on fire just call me up again. Don’t know why you’d wanna talk to me ‘bout anything but it’s your funeral. Gimme a ring or say something after the beep. Like I said, I don’t give a fuck. Oh, and yeah. You’ve reached Haymitch Abernathy. Suppose that was obvious unless you’re a complete moron. *beep* Oh, my God, Haymitch! That’s the worst answer phone message I’ve ever heard in my life! Honestly! *draws a breath* OK. I’m calling you up since you never got back to us earlier. They are up for a couple more hours but I know it’s a small window so how about we try again tomorrow? I wish you were here. I really do! District 11 is such a peaceful place! Being here has really done me some good and June and Annabel said that if you want to join us there’s a spare guestroom with your name on it. But, of course, that’s entirely up to you. No pressure. If you feel like you can’t leave the geese just yet, I understand. Call us when you get this message, OK? If we’re not home just say when I can best reach you and I’ll get back to you. Mid-mornings are preferable but any time is fine. We really miss you, Haymitch. I know you don’t think so but it’s true. Nothing’s the same without you. Take care, OK and we’ll talk again soon! *toot toot* xXx *ring ring* *mutters* How the fuck does this work? *clears throat* Alrighty. Eff says you gotta have an answer phone message on this thing so here goes. I’m not in or awake or… whatever so leave a message and I’ll get back to you at some point. Or don’t. I don’t really give a fuck either way but… I dunno. Do as you please. This lil’ machine is fucking cunning though so don’t hold your breath. Can’t say I check in all that often either so if your ass is on fire just call me up again. Don’t know why you’d wanna talk to me ‘bout anything but it’s your funeral. Gimme a ring or say something after the beep. Like I said, I don’t give a fuck. Oh, and yeah. You’ve reached Haymitch Abernathy. Suppose that was obvious unless you’re a complete moron. *sighs* Well, this answer phone message doesn’t grow on you, that’s for certain. When I get back it’ll be the first thing we’re changing. And yes, it’s me again. I know you have your hands full with the geese right now but I still wish we’d hear from you a little more often. It doesn’t have to be a long phone call. Just a couple of minutes. You know, I do feel like I’m lying when I tell the children they’re going to hear from you and then they don’t. OK, they’re already sleeping now but we’ll be staying close tomorrow. Just the house, the garden. So please, indulge me here. Bye. *toot toot* xXx *mutters* How the fuck does this work? *clears throat* Alrighty. Eff says you gotta have an answer phone message on this thing so here goes. I’m not in or awake or… whatever so leave a message and I’ll get back to you at some point. Or don’t. I don’t really give a fuck either way but… I dunno. Do as you please. This lil’ machine is fucking cunning though so don’t hold your breath. Can’t say I check in all that often either so if your ass is on fire just call me up again. Don’t know why you’d wanna talk to me ‘bout anything but it’s your funeral. Gimme a ring or say something after the beep. Like I said, I don’t give a fuck. Oh, and yeah. You’ve reached Haymitch Abernathy. Suppose that was obvious unless you’re a complete moron. *beep* Hello, Haymitch. You know, you wouldn’t have me call so much if you just learned how to your the phone! It’s not decoration. That’s not why I had it fixed! I don’t even know why I bother with these messages. You’re probably not checking them anyway. Your silence has me all worried, don’t you get that? It completely upset my digestion, as you’re well aware! I don’t believe I’m asking much. Just ten minutes of your time. So, please, please, please, Haymitch! Call me back! *toot toot* xXx *ring ring* *commotion on the other end* Goodness… Hello? Effs? No, it’s… This is Annabel speaking. Oh. Is Eff there? I think she’s asleep, Haymitch. We all are. Oh. Yeah. Right. Sorry ‘bout that. She told me to call back whenever. OK. Well, it’s… four in the morning now. It is? Shit, I’m sorry. Didn’t realize that. Don’t have a workin’ clock over here. Tossed it out for… I dunno. Reasons. Eff got me this alarm but... Look, Haymitch. *yawns* We’re usually up around 7. Why don’t you call us after breakfast? I can do that. OK. Good. I’m going back to bed now. Course. Sorry again. Between you and me, I’m a little hammered. No, no, not hammered, just… well, yeah, a little… That’s fine, Haymitch. Goodnight. Huh? Goodnight. Sleep well. *snorts a laugh* Sure. Thanks. I wish. But yeah, Imma hang up now. You know, Annabel, you’re a real good person. You’re both so good to Effie and the kids. Shame I never told you that. Cause you should, don’t ya think? Yeah, I think so. Haymitch… Yeah, sure, sure. You’re tired, I know. I’ll let you go back to bed. Could you do me a solid though? Don’t tell her. Effs, I mean. She gets weird ‘bout this kinda stuff. Don’t want her all worked up, thinking I was wasted cause I’m really not. I know what my body can take but she just … The thing you gotta understand about Effs … *in the background* Here, Bel. Let me. Haymitch! June? Yes, this is June! It’s 4.15 in the blasted morning! What kind of a nitwit calls someone that late!? Uh… Do it again and I swear to God, I will twist your ear right off! Go to bed! … Alright. Sure thing. I’ll, I’ll do that. Excellent! Bye! *toot toot* xXx *ring ring* Abernathy residence. This is Peeta. Peeta? Hello. This is Effie. Oh, hi, Effie! Good to hear from you! How’s everything in Eleven? Fine. Is… is Haymitch there by any chance? Could you get him for me, please?” “Er, of course. One moment. *in the background* Haymitch? Haymitch, it’s Effie. *mumbles incoherently* Haymitch, you have to get up. Effie’s on the phone. *after a moment* Hey. I’m sorry, Effie. He’s not quite up and about just yet. Can we get back to you? Maybe in an hour or two? That will give him a chance to grab a cup of coffee and … Oh, Peeta. Sweet child. You do not have to lie for him. Not to me. … Sorry. *draws a shallow breath* You don’t have to worry about a thing, dear. You go back to Katniss and let me handle this. OK. Bye, Effie. Goodbye, my boy. *toot toot* xXx *ring ring* *mutters* How the fuck does this work? *clears throat* Alrighty. Eff says you gotta have an answer phone message on this thing so here… *click* ‘ello? Hi. Eff? Wut time is it? Not 4.15AM. *floorboards creak, followed by a clink of bottles* Good to hear from ya, sweetheart. I know I should’ve called … Why didn’t you? Well, you know … You’re busy? With the geese? Yeah. Because that’s odd. I was on the phone with Peeta earlier and he said the vet checked in on them not two hours ago. Apparently they’re responding well to treatment. … You spyin’ on me now? I’m not spying on you. Cause it sure as hell sound like it! Well, I wouldn’t have to, would I? If you just picked up the phone now and again! The hell is this new obsession you have ‘bout me calling all the time? Sorry I have a life outside of talking to you! Not me, Haymitch! The children! Because in case you didn’t notice: You have a son and daughter now! Thanks, Eff. I’m well aware. So it’s for them! All these phone calls. I’m trying to get you three to talk to each other! How? They’re 10 months old, Eff. They can’t talk. It’s not like they’re missing out. They can’t even tell if I’m around or not.” They’re 11 months old and they can! You’re not some far off uncle or a second cousin that they see only on weddings and at funerals. You’re their father, Haymitch … Jesus … ... and sometimes I feel like you don’t even care if we’re around or not! That is so unfair, Eff! Even for you! I’m just saying … My geese are dead, sweetheart! Almost all of them! Gone! Maggot meat! So why don’t you get off your high horse and gimme a break for once in your life! If Katniss or Peeta were having a hard time of it they sure as hell … That’s exactly my point!! No one should have to go through something like that alone! Let me be there for you! What else is a family for!? Honest to God, Eff! Stop acting like you’re my fucking wife and just back off! I have! For months! Honestly, Haymitch! Do you really believe I don’t know what’s going on here? Of course I do! Not because I called Katniss and Peeta and turned them into my spies. I know because I know you! You didn’t send us away because of the geese. That’s not the real reason and you know it! Don’t try and tell me otherwise! You needed us gone so we left! Despite all my better judgment I gave you your space and I never complained. Not once! All I asked was that you put the bottle down just long enough to tell your son and daughter goodnight. *sobs* You couldn’t even do that! Fuck you, Effie. Sincerely. Fuck. You. Look … I know this is hard. I do. And I’m not pretending like it’s ever going to get easier. But you have to stop viewing me as some kind of enemy, Haymitch. I’m on your side. I always have been. And you should know that you’re missing out on moments that you’ll never get back. This time in their life… it’s precious. It’s for bonding. A chance for us to have a positive impact on what kind of people they will become. I do what I can but I can’t replace you. No one can. *in the background a baby monitor crackles to life followed by a baby crying* That’s Ian. I have to go. Eff … Later. We’ll talk later. That’ll give us both a chance to cool our heads. The children and I won’t go anywhere, so ... it’s just goodbye for now. OK? … Bye. *toot toot* xXx “Hi, Sae!” Peeta blew on his mug of tea, seeing the old woman come through the archway. “Want the last cheese bun? Katniss already had three.” “Two!” the girl protested. Leaned back against the door she rested her hands on the front step. The last rays of daylight warmed her knees. “Haymitch is not up yet,” she said, eyes on the mug in Sae’s hand. “Him and Effie, they had some kind of fight by the sound of it. He’s been in there ever since.” Sae looked to where she pointed. “He sleeps in the goose pen now?” she asked, pulling the rucksack higher up on her shoulder. “They’re his new therapist,” the boy said. “Cause God forbid he’d talk to one of us.” “’New’ implies he once had another,” Katniss said and seized the last cheese bun, since Sae never claimed it. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. He won’t thank you for it.” “I’ll be fine,” the old woman said and stepped inside. Golden light spilled through the windows, shining in the dust. A pair of geese nestled in the hay turned their head at the unexpected visitor but their curiosity was short-lived and they soon closed their eyes again. Their owner lay sprawled out before them, stomach-down. Covered in hay and goose droppings, face hidden behind disarrays of dirty blonde hair, he could’ve been nothing but a pile of unwashed clothes. If it weren’t for the knife clutched in a red-knuckled hand. She set the mug down, next to the rucksack and prised it from his fingers, endlessly careful. With nowhere to put it she slipped it in her pocket. For now. Anyone with common sense knew the dangers of waving a knife right in front of a victor, waking up. An empty bucket stood in a corner and she turned it over, having a seat. His hair fluttered with every breath he took. She brushed it from his face, untangled it from the caveman’s beard he sported these days and plucked a piece of straw. Haymitch gave a gigantic snore when he felt the tickling. She paused but when there was no further response she tickled his nose a second time. The man stirred. Mumbled something in his sleep. A smile curved Sae’s lips as she let the straw play in one of his nostrils. He sucked in a deep breath and sneezed the straw right out of her hand. “Wha… whuu-ugh…” A slack hand went to his face, rubbing his nose. She saw a glint of gray before he groaned and buried his face in the crock of his elbow. “You shouldn’t sleep in here,” she said. “All this dusty air isn’t good for you.” “Who cares?” he growled into his arm. “Lemme be.” “Here. Drink this.” That at least got his attention. Seeing the cup of broth offered he dragged himself up, muttering under his breath. After a mouthful or two he looked around, searching. His eyebrows came together. “Whatcha do with my knife?” Sae handed it over without a word and it disappeared in his pocket. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” he muttered into the mug. “Not today.” “Lemme guess. A former pink headed lil’ birdie whispered in your ear?” “No birdies. And even if they did, would that be so bad?” “Hmpf.” “How are Effie and the kids?” “Great. Splendid. Why wouldn’t they be? She told me it’s awesome gettin’ a break from me. She earned it, that’s for sure.” “Really, Haymitch?” Sae said, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, really.” “I highly doubt the sweet girl I know said anything of the sort.” “Yeah, well. That’s what she meant anyway.” “What exactly did she say?” “Does it matter?” “Course it does.” “She did say it. She said Eleven’s a peaceful place and it’s done her some good.” “That’s not the same.” “Pretty much.” “And?” “And what?” “What else did she say?” “I dunno. She told me to come visit cause I’ll ruin the kids’ lives if I don’t.” “Haymitch.” “What? It’s the truth!” “What did she say?” “She wants me to visit!” “Why?” “What does it matter why!?” “Just tell me. She wants you to come visit because …” “She misses me!” “And …” “Oh, for God’s sake, woman!” He glared at her. “Wanna be a pain in my ass now? Too late for that, Sae! Effie already called dibs.” A bright laugh burst from Sae’s lips. It was the first happy sound to fill the goose pen in ages. Haymitch sighed. A sigh of defeat. “She told me to come visit cause she really misses me even though I won’t believe it and that nothing’s the same without me.” He shot her a look. “Satisfied?” When Sae only smiled he downed another mouthful, staring into space. “I wanna go see ‘em,” he said, more to himself than her. “Course I do. I miss ‘em like hell but look at me! Look around, for fuck’s sake! I’m a shit person and a drunk who sleeps in a goose pen! I shouldn’t even be allowed around small children. How am I supposed to take care of Amy and Ian when I can’t even take care of myself? Seriously, Sae. Tell me!” He looked at her, demanding an answer. The wildman and a bird of a lady. A small smile still played on her lips. “Poor old Haymitch.” She touched his cheek with a tender hand. “Listen to me now. I’ve known you your whole life so trust me on this one. You may be a drunk and you may sleep in a goose pen but you’re not a shit person. Do you really think any of us would’ve put up with you all these years if you were? Do you think Effie would’ve fallen for you if she didn’t think you were a decent human being?” Haymitch averted his gaze. “Effie never fell for me”, he muttered. “If she did, it was a bad fall.” A wider smile stretched Sae’s lips but she soon grew serious. “I have something for you,” she said and reached for the rucksack. “Hope it’s scotch.” “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to give it back to you.” At the sound of the zipper Haymitch cast an eye her way. Then did a double take. His mouth dropped open. “Oh m’God.” The ornate, gold letters of the large, leather-bound book glinted in the setting sun. His gaze flitted to Sae, almost frightened. “Where’d you get that? I thought I lost it after the fire.” “No, no,” the old woman said with a gentle shake of her head. “You gave it to me. Told me to sell it or pass it on to my children.” “I did?” He couldn’t recall. Small wonder. After he lost his family there were hours and even days at the time that were just gone. Wiped from his memory. Severe stress had that effect on him. He gave her the cup and Sae placed the book in his waiting hands. With fingers that trembled a little he opened it to the brittle first page. Brushed against the elegant, yet childish words written with Mr. Henderson’s fountain pen. Ink long dry. To my brother Amadeus, who touches the heart of everyone he meets. I’ll love you til the day I die. Never stop dreaming. Haymitch “I held on to it,” Sae said. Haymitch’s bottom lip quivered but he pressed his mouth together, eyes downcast. “Kept it in a wardrobe through the years. For safekeeping. Because I thought that one day you might want to read it to your own children.”

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 35

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M SUMMARY: Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more? Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming. Chapter 35 Stolen moments “I’m home!” Effie thrilled and dropped the duffel bag on the hallway carpet. “Wait until you see what Sae got us!” Snow dripped off her muffler as she unwound it. The house was heaven after the vicious chill outside. Struggling with the buttons of her coat, she blew some life into her hands. Even with mittens on her fingers turned stiff as fish sticks right out of the freezer. “I ran into Hazelle on the way home,” she prattled on, carrying the bag through the house. “She said we’re welcome over for coffee on Saturday. That gives us more than enough time to practice baking those peanut butter cookies I told you about. Peeta got me this amazing recipe! Oh, and I arranged a play date for the twins and Sae’s youngest grandson next week. It will be fab…” Her voice trailed off. Through the walls came a sound she hadn’t heard in ages. No, not for many years now. Is that Haymitch? Couldn’t be anybody else. She followed the sound into the living room. Appeared just in time for the twins to join in. They sat on the floor. All three of them. Haymitch with his back to her, cross-legged on the carpet. Amy and Ian sat before him, supported by a sea of pillows. All around them were pieces of paper, torn apart. Haymitch just took a fresh one and ripped it in two. The children giggled like mad and they weren’t the only ones. With a big smile on her face, Effie leaned into the doorframe, watching. Before the twins were born she’d only ever heard Haymitch laugh like that, laugh until tears rolled down his face, when he got drunk with Chaff during the Games.

Unaware of her presence, Haymitch took another piece of paper and Amy and Ian squealed with giggles until they fought for air when he ripped it apart, letting it sail through the air. He repeated the game over and over and joined in their amusement with that big belly-laugh of his that she loved and got to hear so infrequently. “Oh, man,” Haymitch got out in between chuckles and wiped the tears with the back of his hand. “You guys are the best!” Watching Haymitch with his children these past few months had revealed a whole new side of him that Effie had never seen before. She used to believe that the Games killed the man Haymitch could have become but maybe a part of that happier, more relaxed side of him had always been there, deep down. Never dead, just dormant. Like tulip bulbs embedded in the earth, waiting for spring. It was a precious, precious thing she was fortunate enough to witness. Those tender new leaves, new blossoms that Amy and Ian brought out in him. Haymitch Abernathy’s capacity to love was enormous. Greater than anyone she’d ever known. She always suspected it of course, especially after Katniss and Peeta were thrust upon him. But ever since Haymitch became a dad she got daily reminders in a dozen different ways of just how big his heart actually was. He’d fallen head over heels in love with the twins. No question about it. “Knock, knock,” she said with her fist against the wood. Haymitch turned his head. “Oh, hey Effs. Come on in.” Smiling, she pushed herself off of the doorframe. “Hello, my loves.” She dropped a kiss to first Amy’s, then Ian’s head. “Having a good time with dada?” “Yeah, we’re havin’ a blast,” said Haymitch. “You could’ve saved a fortune in toys, Eff. I tell ya. Our tots are the most easily entertained kids in all of Panem. Here, have a go!” “Alright,” said Effie and accepted the paper. She ripped it swiftly in two and the twins gave a toothless giggle. She handed the pieces back to Haymitch. “I’m not even upset that it’s my most expensive letter paper you’re tearing to shreds.” Haymitch ripped the twos into fours, chuckling when they chuckled. “Huh? What?” he asked. “Nothing.” She joined them on the floor with the duffel bag on her lap. Ian had gotten his hands on a slip of paper and Effie retrieved it by second nature before he stuffed it in his mouth. The paper was still big enough to be ripped in half and she handed it to Haymitch, who didn’t disappoint. She treasured these moments. Even with the lack of sleep, the past couple of months were some of the happiest days of her life. Especially since their return to District 12. In times like this she could almost, almost believe there would be no more bad spells. Believe that Haymitch lead a sober life now. For his children. But sitting right next to him, there was no denying the fierce shakes in Haymitch’s hands, the redness of his eyes, his clammy forehead. It both warmed and pinched her heart that he managed to find happiness like this, even though he struggled more than ever before. Haymitch never used the word “alcoholic” about himself but he wasn’t a dumb man. You didn’t hallucinate during withdrawals, shaking and screaming at terrible things only you could see unless you were in serious trouble. Maybe, possibly there’d been a time when she believed he could find a way to drink responsibly. That with her help and the help of Katniss and Peeta, Sae, Hazelle – all the people who cared about him – he’d manage to keep it under control. But at the end of the day she knew it was all wishful thinking. Haymitch was an addict. The Games, losing his family and the hell he went through watching those tributes die year after year after year had driven him to drink when there was no other way out. And even though this new phase in his life had brought some unexpected happiness, she knew that a family who loved him and cherished him and needed him to be whole wouldn’t magically make him so. Deep down even Haymitch must know that the kind of help he needed couldn’t be given by anyone in this room. A grace period. That’s what these past few months were, really. And she could only wonder: How long this time? “Here,” she said and placed the duffel bag on Haymitch’s lap, brushing away those depressive thoughts. “I have a surprise for you.” Haymitch unzipped and peeked inside, upended it and the twins watched in wonderment as baby socks and baby mittens fell out followed by rompers and onesies and bodysuits, playsuits and all other suits you could think of. “Cute, aren’t they?” Effie smiled. ”Courtesy from Sae and her family. And these,” she added and picked up two snug-fitting, one-colored jammies from the pile, “are my favorites! Forest green and robin’s egg blue. Oh! Don’t you just love it? Sae told me they once belonged to the most adorable little boy you ever saw.” ”Who?” Effie chuckled. ”Why, you of course!” ”You kiddin’?” He reached out and brushed one of the tiny sleeves between his thumb and forefinger. Effie held the green pajamas up against his chest, head tilted to one side. “Can you imagine you were once so little you fit into this?” She let him have it and fitted Amy a gray beanie that the girl immediately pulled off and bit into. With her attention elsewhere, Haymitch’s gaze dropped to the baby jammies in his hands. He hadn’t laid eyes on them in ages. It was wrinkly and threadbare, being put to good use over the years. But he saw no reason why Amy and Ian couldn’t wear them if Effie really wanted them to. He ran his fingers through the fabric; sensed Ma in every stitch. Effie might think of the clothes as his but they weren’t, not really. Amadeus wore them last, before he outgrew them too and they passed on to Sae’s ever-growing family. “I cannot believe they’re already six months old,” Effie said and brought him back to the present. She watched Amy and Ian explore the pile of hand-me-downs and there was an odd air of loss in her voice. “In just a couple of weeks they won’t even need these pillows. They’ll learn how to crawl, how to walk, talk. One blink and it’s over.” “Yeah,” Haymitch said. “Time does go by.” Effie folded the blue pajamas and dropped it in the duffel bag. “I’ve been thinking.” “You don’t say?” “What do you think about making them godparents?” “Who?” “Katniss and Peeta, silly.” “Aren’t they already?” “No, we never asked them officially.” “Oh. Well… they would make great babysitters whenever we feel like getting the hell out of dodge.” “Language,” said Effie but even she was suppressing a smile. “By the way, Haymitch. About Sunday dinner. Wouldn’t it be nice if we invited them over for a change?” “Now, Effs. Remember our rule. We only cook for people we don’t care if we poison.” xXx “Bit further to the right. Lil’ more. Lil’ more. There you go!” “Haymitch,” said Effie, torn between amusement and annoyance. “I have built snow lanterns before.” She scooped up another handful and packed it into a firm snowball that she placed in the one existing hole in her creation. Since Peeta and Posy’s first one, years ago, the big snow lantern in front of Haymitch’s house had become something of a Victor’s Village tradition. “Did you bring the matches?” “Left pocket,” Haymitch said, leaned back against a frosty tree. Amy moved sleepily against his chest, snuggled up next to her brother. The stretchy wrap was a gift from June and Annabel, during the dinner party. Effie got one too but Haymitch hardly ever gave her the chance to use it. “Well, Effie carried them for nine months,” Peeta joked. “It’s only fair that Haymitch takes his turn now.” And he did enjoy keeping them close. At least then he knew where they were. Course, he had another reason – a secret reason – for using the stretchy wrap for all it was worth, even for short moments like building a snow lantern. The very first night after Effie and the twins moved in, he got out the biggest bags he could find and paid a visit to every single one of his stashes around the house. Clinking with bottles he then headed out and hid it in the one place he was certain Effie wouldn’t go to. The goose pen. And he wasn’t just keeping it out of her sight. True, it would be many months before the twins had the run of the place – a place that was baby-proofed, but just thinking about finding them playing with a bottle made him sick to his stomach. To say he was sober as a judge these days would be a big, fat lie but he was definitely close. As good as, really. All thanks to Amy and Ian. That’s where the stretchy wrap came in. Whenever he had a hard time and the goose pen looked more and more inviting he came up with some excuse to wear it. Hell, as of now the four of them had already visited ever single inch of District 12, including the slag heap and the neighboring woods. Because a secret sip or two when everyone else was asleep was one thing. Another altogether drinking while his kids were strapped to his chest. He couldn’t do it. He’d hang himself from the nearest beam before he let that happen. Effie put the match out and rose, admiring her soft-glowing snow lantern. She caressed the twins’ apple-red cheeks and slipped her hand through the crock of Haymitch’s elbow. “Let’s go visit uncle Peeta at the bakery,” she smiled. “I’m sure aunt Katniss will join us when she comes back from the woods.” xXx A full moon shone off of the ice crystals in Effie’s creation. The night and the cold had blown the candle out. Haymitch felt inside his pocket and sure enough, the matches were still there. Crouched in the snow it took him three efforts to light a flame. He stuck it through the opening but only managed to brush his wrist against the side. “Damn it,” he muttered when parts of the snow lantern collapsed in on itself. He put the match out and fumbled with the snowballs to try and fix it, only making the rest of Effie’s hard work cave in. Our life in a nutshell, he thought minutes later when he stepped inside the goose pen. A life where Effie tried to build things up, only for him to tear it all down again. “Hey, how you doin’?” he said and slumped into the hay of the secluded, free zone he now shared with the geese. Breathing in the scent of fresh straw, bird feathers and manure he dug inside the hay until he came up with a dusty bottle of the finest white liquor in town. “I’m having just this one, alright,” he told the geese. “Don’t let me go for a second.” The birds watched with round, expressionless eyes as he twisted the top, feathers ghostly pale in the moonlight. “Oh, don’t judge me. This is the first cold one I’ve had in like 50 years. Or… tepid, really,” he added after a sip. One sip that became two, that became three and four and five. He belched and wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve, throat so raw he felt just about ready to spit blood. Arms rested against his knees he rolled the content of the flask in slow, pondering circles. “You guys are livin’ the dream,” he said. “All you ever do is eat and shit and fuck around. No real responsibilities. No fear of losing anything. ‘cept for the eggs I take away and give to people,” he added after a moment’s pause. “Wish I’d been born a goose.” He tipped the bottle up. Finished almost all before he spoke again. ”You wanna know somethin’?” He pointed the bottle toward the dust-speckled window. “Over it that house is the best damn thing that ever happened to me. It’s true. A gorgeous, kind-hearted woman who really cares for me. The sweetest couple o’ kids a man could ever ask for. Three people who somehow manage to make life almost livable. And some time very soon yours truly will have to tell those three to pack up and leave so that when I obliterate everything they won’t get hurt. The best thing I’ve got!” The geese watched, silently in the dark. Even if they could speak, what would they say? Haymitch eyed the bottle in his hand. Watched the moonlight glint off of the clear glass like some precious jewel; imagined the lovely crash when he tossed it into the wall. Instead he drank it dry. Turned it upside down so as not to waste a single drop. When there was nothing left but cold, hard, dirty glass he just let the bottle slip from his hand with a soft thud. It sounded like defeat. Author’s note: I’m having too much fun writing Haymitch opening up to a couple of birds when he has like 5+ people in his life that he could confide in instead. The scene with the twins and Haymitch playing around with paper was inspired by a youtube video I saw which included a father, his baby son and a rejection letter. Hope you liked it! Leave a review and tell me what you thought!

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 37

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M SUMMARY: Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more? Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming.

Chapter 37 Oil on troubled waters

A warm summer breeze brushed through the apple garden. The grass rippled like waves in the sea, shimmering in shades of green. The rabbit stood alert, nose twitching as it sniffed the air. Its mate followed close behind, ears and eyes attuned to any sound or movement. Their chestnut-brown fur was sleek and shiny, the sunlight reflecting off of it in a warm glow. “Do you see that?” Effie whispered and nuzzled Ian’s strawberry hair that peeked from under the sun hat, breathing in that sweet baby smell. His pacifier bobbed up and down as he leaned forward, trying to get a better look at them. Amy, sitting on her other arm, pointed her little index finger and looked to her mother for confirmation. ”Yes, the bunnies,” Effie smiled. “Let’s be real quiet now so we don’t scare them.” Rabbits were a common sight in these parts. Well-fed and prospering they roamed the buffet that was District 11. At least here they found no traps or dried sulfur sprinkled on the plants. June said they were such frequent guests now they were practically family. Effie dropped a kiss to Amy’s cheek. “They have a name,” she said. “Do you know what they’re called? Cottontail. Cottontail.”

“Hey.” She turned her head at the sound. In a wash of sunlight, haggard and squinting in a hopelessly wrinkled shirt, stood Haymitch. He’d slowed to a stop several feet away, duffel bag over one shoulder. Like a stranger in their presence, unsure whether he was welcome or not. Worn out, yes. Exhausted? Without a doubt. But not a drink in him. She could tell just from his eyes. When he wouldn’t smile, Effie did it for the both of them. “That’s dada,” she told the twins. “Want to say hi to dada?” “My God,” Haymitch said when they joined him. He looked from Amy to Ian and back. “They’ve grown.” His voice was heavy with loss, heavy with regret. Effie gave a little shrug. “They have far to go yet.” Both children watched Haymitch, quiet and marble-eyed. The saddest of smiles curved his lips. “Hey, little uns,” he murmured and reached a hand out. “I really missed …” With a whimper the twins recoiled, burrowing into their mother. Haymitch’s hand froze mid-air. Dropped to his side. She hadn’t seen such raw pain in his eyes since the day he told her about Katniss and Peeta in the burn unit. “They don’t know me no more.” She held the children close in her arms. Felt the tension within their small frames, like a knot tied tightly just underneath their skin. She rocked them softly from side to side. “It’s OK,” she told them. “It’s OK. It’s just your daddy with a beard. They know you, Haymitch”, she said. “Small children don’t like change that’s all and it’s been a while since you last saw each other. But don’t worry. You’re quite unforgettable.” He shot her a look, unconvinced, and she dropped the playful banter. “Come. Let’s have a glass of watermelon lemonade. It’s homemade.” Together they headed for the picnic blanket, spread out in the shade. Mockingjays were going to town on the left-over crackers she had yet to clean up. They all took wing when the humans approached. Not far though. Just like the rabbits they’d always be nearby. One landed on the canopy of the double stroller, two retreated to the old bird bath and a whole score of them found refuge on top of the sunshine yellow house. “That’s Annabel’s”, Effie smiled when she saw him looking at the trumpet, glowing on the garden table. “She plays them sad trumpet sounds and ‘Baby Elephant Walk.’ They laugh so hard at that.” “Where‘s she now?” “By the lake. Out for a swim.” She settled the twins on the blanket. Ian immediately plucked a wooden block with the letter “S” on it. The space was littered with them along with picture books, packets of rice rusks, a half-eaten banana and abandoned sippy cups. “What happened to the tidy, well-organized Effs Trinket?” The words made her chuckle. “You try and be tidy and well-organized with two one year olds to look after.” She joined the twins on the blanket. “Just leave it,” she said with a wave of her hand when he picked some of the books up, stacking them on the garden table. “Join us.” Ian was too busy with the blocks but Amy watched Haymitch’s every move under the brim of her sun hat with that scowl on her face that made her look so much like him. When he crossed his legs, bag by his side, and it was a fact he’d be staying the girl threw herself against her mother lap, hiding her face with pitiful whimpers. “Oh, baby,” Effie said and caressed her back. “It’s alright. Come, sit with me.” With a little hug, she settled a very flushed Amy on her lap. The girl’s eyes were dangerously shiny. She glowered at the unwanted company with her lips pointing downward. ”Why don’t you try and read to them?” Effie suggested. “They’ll recognize your voice.” Haymitch nodded, grief still etched into every line of his face. A look all too familiar to her. The bear book lay open on the blanket, pages down, but he didn’t touch it. Instead he reached inside the duffel bag. Effie smiled at the sight of the hardcover. That’s a beauty. A collection of folktales by the look of it. Fully bounded in genuine leather with deeply inlaid gold accents. Gilded edges on the pages. Father would have called it a collectible. The kind of book that came with its own clothbound slipcase and would last you generations. She couldn’t recall ever seeing it before. She would have remembered. Precious few beauties in Haymitch Abernathy’s life. Maybe it belonged to his parents. A family heirloom? He opened it against his lap. Turned a few pages with great care, eyes impossible to read. “’The North Wi …’” His voice caught at the end. He cleared his throat and when he continued, the words were steady. “’The North Wind and the Sun.’” Music was Haymitch’s forte but he’d read quite a few bedtime stories as well during their children’s young life. It was yet another one of his unexpected gifts. One of many. Maybe they read a lot in his family. She could just picture them, by the fire. Or when he met up with his girl – maybe they read to each other? Ever since the birth of their children she’d gotten even more curious about Haymitch’s past life. The life she was no part of. To this day, she knew next to nothing. Didn’t want to pry. Never even saw their faces on television. The final eight interviews didn’t become a thing until the year after Haymitch’s Games. What were they like? Amy and Ian’s grandparents and uncle. She’d really like to know. No, she really liked for the children to know. So much of their family history, so much of what made them who they were, was shrouded in darkness, silence, secrecy. Ian sat with one block in each hand. His eyes were on Haymitch with an attentiveness unusual for both him and his sister. Soon, the little boy abandoned the game and made his way across the blanket. Slowly but single-mindedly, one sock half-off. Climbing was harder. His tiny fingers gripped at his father’s knees, face contorted with intense concentration. Putting the book aside Haymitch extended a helping hand and lifted his son up the final inches onto his lap. Nestled safely in his father’s embrace, Ian took the pacifier out of his own mouth and held it out to him. The ghost of a smile curved Haymitch’s lips. So brief it would’ve been lost on anyone but not Effie. “No, you hold on to that, sweetheart,” he said and put the pacifier back in his son’s mouth. “Now, where were we?” And he reopened the book against both their laps. Seeing her brother all comfy and relaxed, snuggled up against Haymitch, it didn’t take long for Amy to leave her mother’s safe embrace. Haymitch made room for her on his other knee, keeping one arm around each of them. Lips pursed, so much like her mother, his little girl looked him dead in the eye. Gray meeting gray. An intimidating stare so beyond her years. Or year, really. Her hand came up, fingers sprawled out, exploring the odd new beard. Then, before he knew it, she gave it a forceful yank. “Ow!” Effie burst out laughing. Haymitch nodded. “I deserved that.” Gentle-handed he untangled his daughter’s fingers from his beard and dropped a kiss to her knuckles, like the princess she was. “So,” Effie said, an hour later when the children napped in their stroller. She handed him a glass of watermelon lemonade, as promised. “How was the ride over with June?” “Wonderful.” He took a sip of the orange-red drink and, after a brief second, emptied almost half of it. “The silence was so thick I could cut it with my knife and make a brick wall. Something to hide behind.” Effie smiled. “Maybe you can make it up to them by chopping some wood for the winter? That bores the two of them to tears.” “Thanks for the advice.” The last of the lemonade went down in just a couple of gulps. Lost in thought, his eyes roamed over the landscape. The clear blue sky, the swaying apple trees that flanked the house, branches heavy with fruit showing the first blush of color, the meadows and fields beyond all the way down to the lake, stretching out for miles and miles. The vastness of water glittered like jewels on a bed of emerald green. “Place is gorgeous,” he mumbled. “Like something straight out of my Games.” “Except it isn’t,” said Effie softly. “No. It isn’t.” Without a word, she scooted across the blanket. So close by his side she could see the flakes of dry suds, lingering on his throat. The whites of his eyes were but a web of red blood vessels. His face pale, despite weeks and weeks of brilliant sunshine. She rested her hand on top of his against his knee. Felt the jitters and small jerks under her palm, like a frightened house mouse. When he didn’t pull away, she intertwined their fingers together. Like so many times before. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “And I’m so sorry about your geese. I really am.” Haymitch nodded. “Yeah. Me too.” xXx Oh, man! Haymitch jammed the axe in the chopping block with finality. Wincing, he gazed at his palms. Groaned at the sight of blisters. “Bloody hell …” He closed his hands and opened them, painstakingly slow. Reckoned a good and tight fist would be enough to make them burst like overripe tomatoes. When’d I become such a weakling? There’d been a time when he could swing that axe without even breaking a sweat. He was an idiot for being surprised. What did he expect? He hadn’t done any manual labor in how many years? You didn’t get calluses from drinking. His shoulders ached too. All hot and tingly. He’d have a killer sunburn before the day was out. Should’ve kept that shirt on. Fuck! He retrieved it from the nearby branch and limped in the direction of the house. “OK,” he said when he poked his head in the kitchen. Amy and Ian hardly even looked up from the rug rag. News got old fast, even in baby world. “There’s wood in the shed now to last you til rapture.” “Great.” Finishing the last sentence, Annabel looked up from her letter. Her eyebrows shot to her forehead at the sight of him. “My stars,” she chuckled as her eyes traveled from his flushed face, his dark blonde hair clinging to him with sweat to those broad shoulders and dripping chest all the way down his weathered old pants and the fossils he called shoes. “You look like something out of a Harriet Hopeshaw novel. Too bad I don’t have a single straight bone in my body.” “Thanks.” He wiped his face with the shirt. “Want me to take ‘em?” He nodded to the twins. ”Give you some peace and quiet in here?” “No. It’s OK. They’re no trouble.” “Not yet anyway.” He rubbed his nose. “Any news from the post office?” “Afraid not.” “Where’s Eff?” “In her room. Trying out some dresses for tomorrow.” The stairs creaked almost as badly as they did back home. Beads of sweat rolled down his back like rain. No wonder Annabel loved swimming. No other way to keep cool around here. He thought Twelve was bad. Eleven was ten times worse! A chink of light shone from under Effie’s door. He reached the top, hand soon on the handle, when he hesitated. Frowning he rested his ear against the smooth wood. A smile crept onto his face. Holy shit. That woman never failed to chide him for his language, especially since the arrival of their children, but hell, the words the prim and proper Ms. Trinket kept in her vocabulary for moments such as this they could kill a man! Course, she wouldn’t be caught dead swearing out loud. Not even when alone. Her calling Mrs. Bitch a cunt was as awesome as it was rare. But obscenities muttered under one’s breath – those were fair game. Those didn’t count. If he said “Language!” to her for a change she’d only gaze at him with those innocent looking eyes like, “What? I didn’t say anything.” “Eff?” He gave the door a soft knock. “You OK in there? Sweetheart?” “Yes!” She huffed out the word. “Do come in!” He pushed inside. Effie stood in front of the full-length mirror. Barelegged, barefoot, hair falling in sandy waves down her shoulders. Her eyes shot daggers but not at him. They were squarely focused on her own reflection, her own outfit. He tossed the soggy shirt on the foot of the bed. For a dedicated boozer he had a surprisingly keen memory when it came to Effie’s dresses. Bizarre as they were it was hard not to. There was her pink bath sponge dress, the purple poppy flower dress, her orange one with the butterflies and that ridiculous red get-up made from like a hundred paper fans. This one was white. Strapless. Emblazoned with a vibrant pattern of strawberries and green leaves. And just like the other ones, he could’ve sworn he’d seen it somewhere before. Then it clicked. The “hot damn” dress! Yeah, that’s right. She wore it to Octavia’s birthday party when the She-Devil Gloria showed up. Course, back then the outfit hugged her perfectly. Now on the other hand … “What?” she said, hands on her hips. “Nothing.” He bit his lip. “It’s just … ain’t it a little tight ‘round the ladies, sweetheart?” His eyes dropped to the zipper. It didn’t even reach halfway up her back. Effie snorted. “It’s supposed to be tight.” She tugged at the flowing skirt, examining herself from every angle. “And I love this dress. I’m wearing it.” “Fine. You’re the boss, princess. I hear breathing’s out of style anyway.” “Haha. Now zip me up.” “’Zip me up, please’. Where are your manners, Eff?” But he grasped the zipper, just to humor her, and gave it a tug. Didn’t budge an inch, just like he knew it wouldn’t. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart.” He let go. “You’re too big.” “I am not! Don’t be rude!” “OK, you’re not too big. The dress is too small.” “It can’t be! Look, sometimes the zipper snags on the fabric. Just make sure it doesn’t. Problem solved.” “I don’t think …” “Just do it!” He heaved a sigh and grabbed hold of the zipper. “And pull!” “I am.”

“Well it’s not working, is it?” “How’s that my fault?” “It’s not rocket science. You’ve done this a dozen times before. At least a dozen!” “Well, don’t piss and moan when I bleed all over your dress,” he said and with one hand on her shoulder he pulled, pulled, pulled! “Come on!” Effie exclaimed. “Put some District 12 muscle into this!” “Bloody … fucking … hell!” And it snapped. Snapped so fast and unexpected the zipper flew from his hand, clinked against the ceiling lamp and landed on the carpet. Effie threw her hands out.

“Unbelievable! It fit two years ago.” She glared at Haymitch through the mirror. “And it’s all your fault! You just had to get me pregnant, didn’t you? Now, what will I wear?”

“How about your birthday suit?” Haymitch said, sucking on his throbbing fingertips. “That’s your most striking look.” Effie frowned. “Birthday suit? I don’t own any particular birthday clothes.” Her eyes went back to her reflection, one hand against her tummy. “I cannot believe I am still holding on to all that baby weight.” Haymitch rolled his eyes. “Watcha mean ‘all that’? Ever got a load of this?” He clapped his own exposed belly. “So you’re not bony anymore. Big deal!” “I was never bony!” Effie protested. “Slender, maybe.” “Well, either way, you’ve got nothing to worry about so stop bitching about it, why don’t ya?” “I bitch if I want to, mind you. And it’s easy for you to be all mighty and confident when you look like that.” “Like what, sweetheart? Foul? Repulsive? Offensive to the senses?” “Naturally good-looking.”

He burst out laughing. “Well, princess, you’re the only one who thinks so.” “I am not. You’re quite handsome … when you’re sober. You’re just too stupid to see it.” Grinning he rested his hands on her hips, chin against the top of her head. Without her killer heels on she really was quite petite. Effie taught him that word. The last time he called her “short” she didn’t sleep with him for a good three hours. “Seriously, Eff. Cut yourself some slack, OK? You gave birth a year ago for fuck’s sake and who cares what you look like, anyway? It’s what’s inside the bottle that counts. And if anyone’s ready for the trash bin it’s me, not you.” “Stop!” The word burst from Effie’s lips. “That’s absurd! And cruel!” “Well, Eff …” “Don’t ‘well, Eff’ me, you big old brute! If Gloria said that to me I’d just … so don’t you do it! And by the way! While we’re on the subject: That kind of thinking reflects badly on both of us. Not just you! It insinuates I have a bad taste which I do not! I know a good thing when I see it and if you keep saying you’re just some piece of garbage I will wring your neck! No!” she snapped when he opened his mouth. “No.” Haymitch smiled. He wouldn’t fight her on this one. Knew he couldn’t win. He gave her hips a soft caress. Odd he never noticed the changes in her body post-birth. At least not the way he did when she was still pregnant. She wasn’t fat by any means just … softer. He moved his sore palm across her side until it rested flat against her tummy. Seemed only a heartbeat ago that two babies had been in there. Amy and Ian, dreaming their dreams. Unaware of the world. Effie looked gorgeous no matter her size but it was something about her now that sent tingles down his body. For all the old reasons, yeah but there was something else there too that felt brand new to him. Those extra curves. They were there because she got pregnant. Because she was pregnant. With his children. Effie watched through the mirror. A rosy shade colored her cheeks. “Taking a walk down memory lane?” “Mm,” he nodded. “You were so beautiful.” Effie tsked. “Thank you.” “The last time we had sex, I mean.” “I was huge.” “Yeah. That too.” He dropped a kiss to her hair. Didn’t really think about it. Didn’t think it through. He waited for the “stop”, the “no”. The slightest stir of her body and he would pull away. It didn’t come. He kissed her again, a different spot, and her eyes fluttered close. The room was so quiet he heard each and every one of her soft breaths. Felt them against himself when his arms encircled her, hugging her from behind. “I don’t get it,” he murmured. “I really don’t.” “What?” The word was hardly more than a whisper. “Why you slept with me all those times.” His bare chest pressed into her back. He was growing harder, fuller by the second. He couldn’t help it. “It makes no sense at all. You and me.” “Don’t start that again. I hate false modesty.” “’cept I’m not, sweetheart. You’re this … drop-dead gorgeous … one in a million beauty and I’m just …” Before he could finish the sentence, Effie turned in the cocoon of his embrace. He got but a glimpse of the fury in her blue eyes – like she’d really wring his neck – before her lips were fully on his. Author’s Note: OK, this note got long-long and I best put a TRIGGER WARNING on it for mentions of mental illness and such. I’m a little scared to write this - afraid I’ll tick some readers off by being too personal or over sharing - but yeah, here goes. You can just skip past it if you want to. There’s been a flurry of activity surrounding ToS lately - a response that has been absolutely amazing - and I want to thank you for it! I’ve done that before. Tried to express my immense gratitude many many times and each time I think it feels meh and flat because when I write back to you guys - in the notes or personally - my inner censor goes: “No, you cannot say ‘OMFG, thank you SO much! I LOVE you!!’ Let them at least hold on to the hope that you’re semi-normal.” But either way, that’s exactly what it’s like. I get so freakin’ happy, you don’t even know! And I’ve learnt - especially since last May - to never take anything for granted so I treasure every single like, every single reblog, follow, favorite, kudos, bookmark, comment so so dear to my heart. As those of you know if you read these Author’s Notes: I had a mental breakdown in the Spring last year. I’m not gonna go into a lot of details but it was bad. Really bad and it included a month long stay in a psychiatric care unit, oh yes. Maybe one day I’ll be ready to tell you the whole story but not today I think. Unless me telling can help someone else, if that’s the case then my inbox is always open. May-October was an excruciating 6 months walk through misery before my family, my doctors and I all together managed to perform the Expecto Patronum charm and send my Dementors flying the fucking hell out of here. Life got a 100 % better one tiny step at a time and back in November I was writing again. I am in tears just remembering because I love writing more than anything in the world, it’s my one true joy, and when I’m ill, I can’t. I just can’t. In December 2022 I published the first chapter post-breakdown and I didn’t really expect anyone to care, thinking most of you had probably abandoned the story long ago in the 8 months of complete silence with no explanation. But instead, it slowly but surely went and became the most popular ToS chapter to date! You were AMAZINGLY sweet in the comments and showed your support in so many ways and it was like getting an ice cold drink on a sweltering hot day. It really soothed my fried, patched up, still recovering mind that you still CARED for this story that I’ve poured my heart into and is so near and dear to me and it helped me to keep going, keep writing and sharing ToS with you. If the chapter back in December had been met with complete silence at that stage in my life I would have had to take an even longer break from it cause posting stuff online stresses the hell out of me even at the best of times. But because of your steadfast support I managed to post 1 or more chapters each month between December-March which is CRAZY fast for me! And, since I believe in inclusion, let me just add here that if you’re one of those who don’t wanna make yourself known when reading something (whether because you’re too shy or don’t feel like you have anything to contribute or simply don’t have the time or energy to engage) and instead flies silently like a butterfly from chapter to chapter: I’m grateful for you too. I am. If you’re reading this Author’s Note right now and you enjoy ToS in the peacefulness of your own quietude and in not having to be visible: I’m really glad that you’re here and I hope you will enjoy all of the rest of the chapters too! All of you help me keep going and now - in the middle of The Hunger Games Renaissance when we’re all eagerly awaiting the new movie - it is SUCH a joy to see the awakened interest both in my story and in the fandom(s) as a whole. Whether you’re just starting out on your THG journey or are an oldie like me: Your passionate love for Suzanne Collins’s universe, its characters and for ToS is a thrill to watch and it breathes life and joy into my tender, worrisome hayffie heart, again and again. It’s such a gift and I’m so grateful to see it! All in all, it’s made me feel like I didn’t really lose anything getting sick - not in my personal life, not in my work life and not in my writing. Instead I came out stronger and more balanced, on the other side. I lost some time, yes but I have plenty of time left and someday I will infuse that painful experience, the learnt knowledge and those felt feelings into my writing somehow. Cause that’s what I’ve always done. Tried to take my loss and pain and struggle and use it for good, in life and in my writing. ToS is about hope, first and foremost. The dandelion in the spring. When I struggled or felt really low and downhearted but still well enough to be able to take anything in I often went back to that speech Sam does in “The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers”: “Sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy. How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened. But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer.” And that’s the words I try to live by and believe in. That’s why I want to spend the rest of my life writing stories about hope and acceptance and peace of mind. I do believe in the healing power words can have and it’s something I hope that I give or will be able to give to my readers one day. Hope and the simple, heart-felt joy of reading something you love. If I can make even one reader feel better then I’m happy and content. Lastly, I just want to add that you don’t have to worry about me. I feel much much better, my life is back on track, I would never, not ever try and end things, I have a super strong safety net now with lots of IRL Katnisses and Peetas and Finnicks and Mags and Greasy Saes and Hazelles and (sober) Haymitchs and Effies and of course my very own Dr. Aurelius - only mine is a lady and she doesn’t fall asleep in her chair. All my love to you, take care of yourselves out there and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Author’s note 2: This chapter took on a life of its own. 6000 words in I simply had to cut it in two since long chapters break my back! So, chapter 38 is pretty much finished (just another round or two of editing needed) and should be up before the end of May. Also, as some of you “Eat, Pray, Love” fans probably noticed: Yeah, I totally stole “Put some District 12/Swedish muscle into this” from the awesome Elizabeth Gilbert movie. I just couldn’t resist!s

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 33

Hayffie Post-mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M SUMMARY: Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more? Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming. Chapter 33 Clouds on the horizon Mrs. Pluckrose had a silver door knocker shaped like a wolf’s head. It shone with moist after the latest rain. Empty eyes stared into Effie’s when she lifted the heavy ring between its jaws and knocked three times. The November wind whispered in the apple tree and she wrapped her cardigan, Haymitch’s cardigan that was, tighter around herself as she waited. Almost a full minute passed and right when she thought they would simply ignore her, the door swung open. Mrs. Pluckrose’s ten year old looked back at her, startled and big-eyed, standing there in his stocking feet and red knitted sweater with blue dots on it. Then his face closed shut and he stared her down, defiantly and suspicious. “Hello, Timothy. Is your mother home?” But she needn’t ask for now Mrs. Pluckrose herself appeared in the doorway, next to her son. “Something I can help you with, Ms. Trinket?” Effie’s gaze flitted to Timothy who remained behind his mother’s skirts. “Do you want to tell her, Timothy or shall I?”

When there was no response her attention returned to Mrs. Pluckrose. “Your son has been harassing my children. Calling them names.” “I didn’t! I just…” “Today wasn’t the first time either and I will not stand for it.” Mrs. Pluckrose turned to her son. “Have you said anything inappropriate, Timmy?” Timothy worried his bottom lip. Looked surly from Effie to his mother. “No. I only said what you…” “In!” Mrs Pluckrose snapped, pointing. “Go to your room!” The boy shot one last glance at Effie and walked off. With him gone Mrs. Pluckrose turned to her neighbor again, smiling a smile sweet as a lemon. “I’m sure this is nothing but a big misunderstanding. You probably just heard him wrong, that’s all. I know how tiresome the baby years can be.” “I heard him perfectly clear, Mrs. Pluckrose.” “Our Timmy is a good boy. And this is a good neighborhood. Nothing like what you said has ever happened before. Not until you moved here.” “Oh, my dear Mrs. Pluckrose,” said Effie and shook her head. “If you are bent on playing this obtuse, then can I at least talk to Timothy?” The neighbor flashed another sweet-sour smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “That is never going to happen, Ms. Trinket. Pardon me for being so frank but if you feel like the Capitol isn’t agreeing with you then there’s always the option of moving. Why don’t you just heed my advice and take your family back to District 12. You’ll be happier for it.” xXx “I should’ve gone.” More rain tapped against the glass ceiling of the roof terrace while Effie poured coffee for them both. “Goodness no.” She checked on Amy sleeping in her baby bouncer before settling into the sofa with her cup, her feet tucked underneath her. “I’m way too exhausted to wipe that woman’s blood off the walls.” Ian moved sleepily against his father’s chest but with the rocking of the old hammock he didn’t wake up. Haymitch rubbed his free hand against his aching eyes. Felt like someone had poured sand into them. Effie was probably right. A few weeks ago she wanted fresh tulips to celebrate the fact that the house was now hers. Later, when they pushed the stroller out of the flower shop they crossed paths with an elderly couple. 80 years old or more. Him leaning heavily against a cane and dressed in a pearl gray suit and matching hat. Her, petite and viciously laced up with a dead Eastern bluebird on top of her elegant hairdo. “Oh, don’t mind about them, dear,” the old lady said and patted her husband’s arm. But the man had halted to a stop and when Effie met his frosty stare with her head high he spat on the ground. “Filthy half-breeds!” “Hey, pal!” Haymitch shouted after them. “If you don’t want me to knock those false teeth out you’ll keep your opinions to yourself!” So yeah. Haymitch had always fancied himself a level-headed man. Someone who could keep his cool under pressure. Even be diplomatic when the situation called for it. But with Amy and Ian… If something threatened them, he saw red every time. “Do you want me to take him?” Effie asked when Ian let out a long whine and bumped his mouth into Haymitch’s shoulder. “No, it’s alright.” He kissed the top of his son’s head. “Boy’s just determined to have his father jump off the fire escape. Aren’t you, sweetheart?” In response, Ian hiccupped and the next moment something warm ran down Haymitch’s shoulder. Effie burst out laughing and covered her mouth with her hand. Haymitch shot her a look. “You gonna do that every time they spit up on me?” Effie cleared her throat to try and contain herself but her eyes glittered with mirth as she helped him with the paper towels. “At least you have a burp cloth,” she said. “If you could just remember wearing it. That’s more than I had when you puked on me during the Games.” Down bellow, the door bell suddenly rang in a fury, followed by a thunder of feet and distant laughter. Haymitch sighed. In the weeks and months that followed their first visit, they’d spent a lot of time in the Fountains of Youth. Other places too. The river Theseus, Cupid’s Garden. Always in the morning when the least people were up and about, giving them a hard time. But it was only kids who advanced like this. Who dared more than looks and whispers. And Timothy Pluckrose wasn’t the only one. Far from it. It got so bad that Haymitch and Effie would probably have kept to the roof terrace with its bullet proof glass as much as possible, if it was all up to them. It wasn’t a bad place for someone who needed a break from the world. If not a safe haven, then at least a quiet, peaceful hideout, overflowing with potted plants. A comfy couch, armchairs. Soft carpets. A small book case stood in the corner filled with children’s books and glossy magazines and a family of Effie’s origami frogs. In here they fed and changed and cuddled the twins. Read them bedtime stories and played records for them on their grandfather’s old gramophone. Even enjoyed a good lunch or a catnap, when given the chance. It was a good house. No matter what his feelings were toward the rest of the Capitol, he had to accept that it really was. The rooms, the roof terrace, the little garden with the tree and the wishing pond. A good place for children. And with each memory built that included them, the more it became their house. Amy and Ian’s. And that made it the one place in the Capitol he could actually stand. But Amy and Ian loved being outdoors. They loved riding in the stroller. Especially through the Fountains of Youth. Haymitch didn’t know if it was the sound of water or the wind chimes or simply the soft bumps and bounces of the stroller itself but it was the single best way to make them fall asleep and sleep hard. Overall, their sleep cycle was out of whack, despite Effie’s careful planning. When she was still pregnant, it had seemed like a non-issue – staying up with a newborn at three in the morning – since he’d be awake anyway. But what he didn’t take into account was the fact that Amy and Ian needed him just as much during the day. Every day. 24 hours a day. No wonder sleep deprivation was used as a torture method. He’d confess anything at this point. The crying was another matter. Effie said it was all normal but he’d be damned if her genes hadn’t given them a head-start in the voice department. Because how else could someone so small be so fucking loud? He’d be deaf in one ear before their first birthday. His entire existence had narrowed down to just recognizing what the twins needed and give it to them. Course, his life hadn’t exactly been chockfull of ambition prior to them either. Or any kind of meaning, for that matter. xXx ”Tattletale! District breeder! Twelve Whore!” Hands banged on the windows and the twins shrieked, startled awake just minutes before being put down. “Goddamn punks!” Haymitch hauled himself out of bed. Seeing him coming, the kids fled, giggling hysterically. He slammed the window open. “Come back here, you ignoramuses!” Their laughs echoed as they all scattered to the wind. “Go back to District 12, traitor!” one of them piped. ”It’s OK. It’s OK, baby girl. I’m here. Mama’s here.” Amy wailed in Effie’s arms. Ian too, alone in the crib. That’s what finally moved Haymitch from the window. “Come here. Don’t cry, little ‘un.” He lifted his son up, holding him close. “I ain’t never gonna let anyone hurt you. Not ever.” Haymitch knew his children’s cries. Had heard plenty of it since the moment they were born. He’d even started to recognize some of them, able to tell what cry meant what, with Effie’s help. But he had never heard anything like this and he never wanted to again. The wrong cries. Frightened cries. Like they were scared out of their minds. He cradled Ian close to his chest, rocking him. With his hands clutched into fists the baby wailed from the top of his lungs. Amy did too and all they could do was waiting for it to pass. Ian calmed down first. With his little face buried in his father’s sweater, the safe and familiar smell comforted him. Amy had a worse time. Sometimes there was a pause in her cries with nothing but the occasional whimper but then it was like she remembered it anew and it set her off all over again. Effie rocked her and kissed her and whispered a soft lullaby. Wonderfully out of tune, yes, but the sound lit an idea in Haymitch’s head. “Come. Imma try something.” Holding the twins, they headed for the living room. Haymitch laid Ian down on the couch and Effie had a seat next to him with a crying Amy to her chest. June and Annabel’s piano went with all the rest of the furniture when the moving van rolled out of the Capitol but Effie had one herself. One that belonged to her parents, though not nearly as fancy. Now Haymitch pulled out the music stool in front of it and had a seat. With his fingers on top of the ivories, slow and sweet music filled the air. His first performance since before they were born. It was one of her absolute favorites. Haymitch had played it to her as many times as she liked during the pregnancy. Baby Mine. That’s right. Or Babies Mine as Effie’d come to call it. A mountain air as old as the hills. Haymitch even taught her the lyrics when asked. She heard the words in her mind now, just as clearly as she did the music. Amy quieted down as the music registered. With tears shining on her cheeks her cries turned to sniffles and then nothing at all. Ian nibbled on his knuckles, blinking up at the ceiling. Both the twins listened, in wonderment over the sounds. Then, almost immediately, their eyelids started drooping. “Oh,” said Effie in a hushed voice. “I think they remember.” Haymitch’s dirty blonde hair fell into his eyes as he kept playing the soft lullaby. Effie kissed Amy’s temple, holding her with one arm; her other hand rested against Ian, throughout the rest of the song. xXx “You should’ve let a Capitolian knock you up instead of me.” Haymitch lay on his side, watching Amy and Ian’s chests rise and fall with each breath. They slept soundly now, lying in the middle of the bed, safe between their parents. Effie met his gaze from the other side, caressing their hair. “What kind of rubbish is that?” “I’m serious. You wouldn’t be having this problem if they weren’t my blood.” “Don’t start that again. I don’t care what people think. Amy and Ian are yours and it’s exactly how it should be. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. You know that.” “OK,” he said. “What about them? What will their lives be like?” An hour later the cab pulled up to the curb. The glowing sun was on its way down, setting the world ablaze. Just the kind of orange Peeta loved. Mrs. Pluckrose stood in her doorway, watching them lift the last of their bags into the car. So giddy she was practically flying on her feet. “We’ll be sorry to see you go,” she thrilled. “Oh, just let it be, Effs,” said Haymitch but Effie had already turned around and left him there with the twins, slumbering in their child safety seats. “We’re not moving, Mrs. Pluckrose,” she said, coming face to face with the neighbor. ”We’re going to District 12 to visit our other children.” Mrs. Pluckrose snorted a laugh. “Your children?” “That’s right. And while we’re being this neighborly, let me just inform you that if you don’t teach your son some decent manners until I get back I might just tell your darling husband about the gentlemen you enjoy spending time with while Timothy’s at school.” Mrs. Pluckrose’s face turned an ugly red. “That’s a filthy lie! And even if it wasn’t, my Carl would never believe the words of a fallen woman like yourself!” “Maybe he will and maybe he won’t. Do you really want to take the chance?” Mrs. Pluckrose’s teeth were clutched so tightly it was a miracle they didn’t shatter like dinner plates at a tourist attraction. Her pale eyes stared into Effie’s who looked straight back, steadfast and unwavering. ”Twelve Whore,” she murmured through pressed lips. “Capitol cunt,” said Effie, loud and clear. Mrs. Pluckrose gasped, gaping like she couldn’t even believe the words. “You!” was all she got out. “You… you!” Effie didn’t stay to hear the rest. She turned on her heel, back to Haymitch and their children. Mrs. Pluckrose wasn’t the only one who stared. Haymitch looked at Effie like he’d never seen anything so magnificent in all of his 40 odd years. “Did you just…?” “Oh, shut up, Haymitch!” She lifted Ian into the car. “Let’s go.” Author’s note: And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why Effie is boss! Baby Mine is from the movie “Dumbo” of course. The 2019 version. You can listen to it on Youtube: “Disney Piano – Dumbo Baby Mine – Relaxing piano.” I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Leave a review if you wanna make my day and make for faster updates.

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 47

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more?

Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming.

Author's note: You get a canon character returning in this chapter. Yay! Three guesses who? 😉

I hid the title of a young Woody Harrelson movie in this chapter, just for funsies. An Easter egg for you fans out there. Kudos if you found it! Tell me on the comments if you know which movie I mean!

Chapter 47, Tickled pink (or green?)

Ding!

The shiny doors slid open. With a steady hold on her coffee-to-go, Effie pushed the double stroller into the elevator.

There were many places to get coffee in a city like the Capitol. Any way you wanted it. Latte. Affogato. Café au lait.

But none of them, not even the pancake house, held a candle to the Forum’s long black.

It was a poor substitute for sleep. Obviously. But as of late: the only consistent fuel to keep her going.

She pressed the ground floor button. Glanced under the hood of the stroller. Amy and Ian’s sleeping faces, shadowed by the mosquito net.

Sweetlings, she thought, adjusting the boy’s arm so he’d lay more comfortably.

She’d pay for it dearly later. The fact that their nap routine was so out of whack.

The twins had had something of a regression ever since they left Eleven. They used to sleep through the night. Mostly anyway.

Now, that was hardly ever the case. Well, yes. They fell asleep. They just didn’t stay under.

And every day, without fail, business started at the crack of dawn.

Yes. She needed those espressos.

Sometimes, when the children were completely inconsolable, she brought them into bed with her.

Her own mother would have shuddered.

“They will grow too dependent on you”, she’d say. “Next thing you know, they won’t ever sleep on their own.”

But Effie dismissed her mother’s voice in her mind. You couldn’t over-coddle one year olds. She knew Haymitch felt the same way.

But when she lay there in the dark next to them, lips close by their silky skin. Hand against their soft downy hair, passing the time by listening to the little noises they made in their sleep – she couldn’t help but wonder.

Which most of them needed the comfort?

The twins or their mother?

She still waited for his call.

Haymitch.

A proper ring. One that counted.

“I’ll send over some money”, he’d told her answering machine. “Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

Need something? she thought to herself. How about my co-parent? My co-pilot.

The time registered on the machine, told her he left his message while she was still on the train.

She couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that it was not an accident. Him calling her when he knew she couldn’t pick up.

All so that he didn’t have to deal with anything she might say.

Apparently, he stayed over at Sae’s for now.

Made sense.

Wasn’t she doing the very same thing herself?

Pushed this stroller, up and down the pedestrian streets, because she couldn’t stand being at home.

The house. Those empty rooms. As morning turned into night and morning anew, they only seemed bigger. Vaster. While she herself grew small.

Downtown, at least there was the open sky. The green parks and gardens. Swans bathing in the glittering blue of the Barrage.

Those getaways, those … distractions, escapes, if you will – provided crucial pockets of air.

Space to breathe. Deep belly breaths as compared to the short, shallow ones that barely moved your chest.

Outside, it was so much easier to just cast off the dashed hopes – the constant disappointment – like a suffocating overcoat.

The ball’s in his court now, she reminded herself. When the need to speak to his children is greater than the need for a drink, he’ll call.

And while she waited for that moment to happen, she filled the twins’s days with love and attention and play.

Poured from every inch of her being – to compensate for the fact that their father wasn’t around.

The elevator slowed to a stop. Broke her thoughts. Well, paused them really. Like a bookmark of a particularly depressing must-read.

Her mind had no sooner registered it was not yet her floor before the doors dinged open a second time.

The young, plump woman hurried inside. Caught completely off guard, Effie all but started, instantly recognizing her, but the girl didn’t notice.

Distracted, eyes not on Effie but her own bulky purse she pressed the already lit button – all the while digging through her belongings with a stressed hand.

A stressed, green hand.

Standing so close, the scent of her perfume curled into Effie’s nostrils, bringing back vivid memories, despite months and months of no contact. No contact at all.

Octavia on the other hand, had yet to see her. The elevator resumed its journey downward and she sifted through the content of her bag, more and more panicky each time.

Hair ribbons and strawberry bubblegum. Tampons and bobby pins. Squares of wet tissues, breath mints, nail varnish the same beetroot color as her hair. They all passed through her fingers.

It wasn’t until her hand closed around a tube of mother pearl lipstick, still in the box, that relief flooded her face. Her brown eyes flitted up.

Looking straight into Effie’s.

Such Déjà vu.

Her former co-worker, her once friend, paled – then immediately blushed a basil green.

Same as last time they crossed paths with each other. That one time by the Fountains of Youth.

The prep team coming in one direction. Haymitch, herself and the twins from the other.

Meeting halfway.

A far-off glimpse of Amy and Ian – just a few weeks old at the time – buckled up in their car safety seats was all it took. The prep team had hurried ahead, eyes downcast, without saying hello.

She couldn’t run now. Octavia. Not instantly.

But not for lack of motivation. Her gaze dropped to the stroller, the twins sleeping inside, and she gave a small gasp. Turned her back, swiftly.

“Hello Octavia”, Effie said softly. She had to at least try. “How are you? It’s been a long time.”

Octavia pressed the button in response. Once. Twice.

“I just swung by to get a coffee”, Effie continued. “But really, we’re heading for the playground. The Children’s Castle, you know? The really big one.”

Now the girl was positively assaulting the button. Like one would a candy machine after it ate your money.

“I spent so much time there when I was a girl”, Effie said. “Climbing, jumping, going down slides. Proper little girls weren’t supposed to, mother and father told me, but I sneaked out anyway. This’ll be the twins’s first time.”

“We shouldn’t be talking”, Octavia whispered through pressed lips. “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“Why not?” Effie slipped her coffee in the stroller’s cup holder. “I thought we were friends. Well … I always considered you one.”

Octavia’s bottom lip quivered.

“Things aren’t what they …”, she mumbled. “We can’t … I can’t …” She shook her head. Pressed a well-manicured fingertip into the ground floor button, desperately. Long and hard.

And the elevator slowed. Slowed, slowed, slowed to a stop.

Heavy-hearted, Effie waited for the ding. For the doors to slid open, allowing Octavia’s escape.

But they didn’t. And they still didn’t.

It was eerie how quiet the compartment had gotten.

Too quiet.

“What?” Octavia whispered. “No!” She tried the button again. Then a different one. It lit up at her command but that was it. No moving up or down. “No, no, please no!”

Ian moved sleepily, but Octavia didn’t notice. Breaths growing short, frantic, her eyes darted to the display above the door. The one with the current floor number.

Two.

“Oh God, this is not happening! It’s … we’re going to …” Her gaze darted around the elevator. As if searching for something to use for a ram. Coming up with nothing, she shrieked and dashed for the doors.

Tried to pry them open with her bare hands.

“No, wait.” Effie stepped forward. A gentle hand on Octavia’s shoulder. “Don’t do that. Hold on.”

And she pressed her own finger against – not the floor buttons but the big yellow one. For emergencies.

“Oh, for crying out loud, Timmy”, a male voice barked on the other end. “I’ve told you a hundred times, stop messing with the buttons! I’ll tell your mama on you.”

“Um, hello”, said Effie.

“Who is this?”

“Me”, she replied and swiftly added, “I’m calling from the Forum. Seems like we’re stuck in here. The large one, close by the main entrance.”

“Uh-huh. How many are you?”

“Four. Two grownups and two toddlers.”

“Right.” A tapping sound followed. Like someone typing on a computer. “Don’t worry. We’ll send someone down as fast as we can, lady.”

And the line disconnected before she could say neither “great” nor “thank you”.

In the short span of time that Effie’s attention was elsewhere, the young beautician had backed herself into a corner.

Bag at her feet. Palms sprawled back against the cool surface of the walls, Octavia’s chest heaved. Fast. Way too fast. Nothing but short, sharp gasps. Catch-breaths.

“We will die in here!” she squeaked, so worked up the whites of her eyes showed. Eyes like a horse when a snake slithered across the sand. “Who’s going to feed my mice if I die in here?!”

“No.” Effie shook her head, hands up in a calming gesture. “No, dear. No one will die here today.”

But the words fell on deaf ears.

“They’ve sealed us in like a tomb! Just like Thirteen when they dropped those bombs on us!! The air … I can’t breathe!”

Ian squirmed by all the commotion and from the stroller came a piteous whimper.

Hand against the handle of the stroller, Effie bounced him, face still toward Octavia.

“It’s going to be OK”, she said, voice as tender as if she’d spoken to Amy or Ian. “Follow my finger. Do you see that?” She pointed high on the wall. “Vents”, she said. “That’s where the air comes in. All the time. Doesn’t matter if the elevator is operating or not. These things are built for emergencies. You’re safe here. Safe as can be.”

“That’s what they said about Thirteen!” Octavia gasped. “And they shackled us up. They beat us and they left us! They left us!”

Effie bounced the stroller. At a loss. Four seconds passed. Five. Her mother heart wanted to just wrap her arms around her. Hold her tight.

But she didn’t want to corner the girl. Frighten her more than she already was.

Her gaze dropped to the beautician’s bag.

“I really like the new lipstick”, she blurted.

Octavia stopped, mid-breath. The brown of her irises little more than pinpoints.

“W-what?”

“The tube of lipstick you just bought”, Effie continued, encouraged by the way in. Slim as it may be. “Such a lovely shade! I wish I could remember what it’s called. Peach? Um, apricot?”

“Mother of pearl?”

“Exactly!” Effie beamed. “I bet you have lots of gorgeous lipsticks and lip glosses at home. What are they?”

“What are what? I … I don’t know what you mean?”

“The colors. Which are your favorites?”

“I … I don’t …” Confused, scattered, her eyebrows came together. Cheeks still hectic, breathing still shallow. “Azure?” she said. “One’s azure.”

“That’s nice. What else?”

“E-eggplant.” She stumbled a little on the word, but her voice was growing stronger. “And … mustard: the perfect middle way between yellow and orange. Cinnamon of course. And magenta. I like magenta.”

“Me too.” She dared reach out her hands now. The girl’s palms were slick with sweat. They trembled. Just like Haymitch’s might, coming out of a nightmare.

Effie gave them a soft squeeze.

“You’re going to be OK. I promise. Try and take a big breath. You’ll feel better. A big, deep breath, like this. In … and … out …”

They did it together, hand in hand. Octavia’s eyes hung on to Effie’s, all throughout. Like a child not quite believing it but trusting you enough to follow suit.

“Good. That’s perfect. And again. Breathe in …”

Four breaths later, the beautician had visibly calmed. Eyes heavy-lidded. Hands slack and still.

“I feel a little bit better now”, she said. Voice small but steadier.

“So glad to hear it”, Effie said. “Why don’t we have a seat, you and me? While we wait for them to come get us?”

Octavia’s eyes immediately went to the floor. Her nose crinkled.

“It’s filthy”, she said. “I can’t sit where it’s filthy.”

So, Effie crouched by the stroller. Reach inside the storage basket between the wheels where she kept things like toys, food and the picnic rug.

She spread the latter over an empty spot. The pretty checkers facing up.

It wasn’t until they were already seated, sitting opposite each other, that Octavia’s eyes flitted back to the twins. As if now first remembering that they were there.

A shadow clouded her face, by the sight of their chubby legs sticking out from the stroller.

No, it was more than a shadow.

Wariness. A watchfulness so unlike her. Almost like … fear.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s the matter?” Effie said. ”It’s just us here.”

Octavia’s eyes fluttered her way, then down. She fidgeted with the hem of her orange dress; lights reflecting off her long, painted fingernails. She mumbled something.

“What?” Effie said. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“It’s dangerous”, the girl repeated. A little louder this time. “They’re dangerous.”

“Who?” Effie glanced to the stroller. “The twins?”

Octavia nodded.

“They’re one year old”, said Effie softly. “How can they be dangerous? They’re just children.”

“But they’re not”, whispered Octavia. “They’re no ordinary children. They’re cuckoo chicks.”

Effie was quiet. Absorbing this new piece of information.

“What are you saying?”

Octavia drew a deep breath. Spoke to her hands still, but she spoke.

Now, Octavia was no wall flower. Neither of the preps were. Effie had heard her speak from the heart plenty of times. Many dinners. Many train rides across the country.

Things that excited her. Fixer-uppers like Haymitch Abernathy or, for that matter, Katniss Everdeen. Their wells of latent potential – if only they would remember to bring a bucket.

Or her pet mice. She could talk about them for hours. How smart and funny and affectionate they were.

“And so different from each other!” she’d beam, eyes brimming with pride. “They have such distinguished personalities. All of them!”

Things that didn’t excite her. Like bodily odors, body hair or an especially anti-climactic party.

Yes. Octavia had opinions. Same as everyone.

But this … this was different.

The more she spoke, the more she sounded like – not a woman convinced, but a child reciting something in class.

A passage in a textbook, learnt by heart because someone told you to.

“The cuckoo birds are parasites”, Octavia said. “They look innocent enough. Soft and gray with a cute sound. Cou-cou! But at the core, they’re tricksters. Charlatans. Frauds who prey on others. Uses them for their own benefits.

Like the little reed warbler. She builds her nest, lays her eggs and what happens? The moment she’s elsewhere, the cuckoo bird arrives. Not to steal. Not to eat. No. She has only one thing on her mind. One plan: to lay an egg of her own.

She sneaks it in, hides it among the others. Just like her mother did and her mother before her. Not a single cuckoo bird has ever cared for their own young. They just make other birds do it for them.

When mama warbler returns, ready to sit on her eggs again, warming them so that they may grow and hatch – she doesn’t realize she’s been duped. That there are now four eggs in her nest instead of three. She simply can’t tell the difference between her own babies and the killer among them.

Because they are killers. From the moment they crawl out of their egg. It’s in their genes. Their DNA. Natural born killers.

Every time the mother flies off, looking for food, the cuckoo chick seizes the chance. This blind and weak, featherless little newborn now wiggles and squirms about the other eggs. Dead set on getting rid of the competition. Because she won’t share. Not the cuckoo bird. Not ever.

She tries again and again and she won’t stop until she’s forced all the other eggs over the edge of the nest.

Her own siblings. They plummet to their death and the mother … she doesn’t even understand what’s happened. Let alone who to blame.

She cares and nurtures and protects her children’s murderer, thinking it’s her baby. Someone just like herself, who will carry on her legacy.

But it’s not. And they won’t.

This poor mother, she feeds her and feeds her and feeds her but it’s never enough. And the chick grows bigger. And bigger.

In just a couple of weeks she’s almost four times the size of her foster parent. So large that the nest may even break apart from under her.

Even after she’s left her birthplace, old enough to care for herself, she still demands to be fed. And come Spring, she too will fly over the high grasses, the trees, looking for a nest to lay her egg in.”

Octavia paused. Maybe to catch her breath.

“That’s what’s happening right now”, she said. “All around us. Imposters, usurpers, are hatching left and right. Now that the borders are open, people from all around the country travels here and for one purpose and one purpose only.

To breed. District women sleep with clueless Capitol men and return home with babies in their bellies. District men seduce Capitol women with false promises of love and devotion, all so that they will carry and birth their offspring.

There’s a war coming, and they’re creating an army. Programmed to destroy us. Every man, woman and child who carries a Capitol pedigree. That’s their plan, their dying wish, and before we realize it, what they are capable of, it’ll be too late. Unless we do something. And fast.

We must throw them out, before they throw us out. We were here first and unless we close the borders – once and for all – with the biggest chains we can find, they will sack this city for themselves. They’ll torture us. Enslave us. Kill us.

Especially those of us who … who worked in the Games. Because they’ll never let us forget what we did to them. To their forefathers. And this new generation of people … they’re all so much more dangerous than any of us alive.

Because they have the wits and brains of the Capitol but the black hearts of the districts.”

It was very quiet, once Octavia finished. A lot to take in.

Finally, Effie wet her lips. Had to ask the question, despite being quite certain she already knew the answer.

“Who told you that?”

“Gloria Highgrass”, Octavia said.

Effie nodded. Of course. She should have known. Who else could create such a massive pile of hot, stinking garbage? As Haymitch would have said.

“Gloria says what she does because she's deeply unhappy”, Effie said. “She wants someone to blame for her own misfortune and it's a million times easier to just be furious than heartbroken.

But she makes things up, Octavia. She lies. The girl hasn’t set foot outside this city. Not once. I don't think she's ever even had a real conversation with someone born in the districts.”

She reached her hands out. Curled her ringless fingers over Octavia’s green, adorned ones.

“Let’s just think about this for a moment”, she said. “Like the sensible women we are.”

Two years ago. Well, almost two years, when the roundness of her belly left no space for further speculation, people had acted like fishermen around a sinking ship. Rowing their boats as far away as possible, so as not to go down with it.

The Peaseblossoms. Flora. Mrs. Q.

But Katniss’s prep team? After all their years together. After everything that happened. The revolution. The war. She was certain they’d stay. Certain. Octavia, Flavius and Venia wouldn’t stand idly by, while the wolfs tore her apart.

So, when they deserted her. When they joined the masses against her, just by staying quiet – it hurt. Hurt more than she could possibly imagine.

They may not spit or throw rocks or even slander her with rumors, as far as she knew, but in a way, them putting their head in the sand was all so much worse than anything the others did or said.

So, when she told Haymitch she couldn’t get through to them – not like Cinna – that wasn’t altogether true.

Not a lie per se, or if it was: she lied to herself as well.

She just didn’t want to. That was the plain, unpainted truth. Couldn’t deal with any of it. All that painful stuff. Not then. Post-partum. Still healing. With two babies so new, the carton of eggs in her fridge (bought before their birth) was still fresh.

But sitting with Octavia today. Right here. Right now. How different was it really, from sitting in a ring in class, talking with her students? Girls who had also been spoon-fed “facts”, based on people’s fear and ignorance.

She squeezed her friend’s hands.

“Come”, she said, with a nod toward the stroller. “Come say hello to my two little ‘warriors’ in here.”

Octavia paled.

“I … I don’t want to.”

“Please. I promise you, it’s going to be alright.”

Standing on her knees, Effie carefully brushed the edges of the mosquito net aside. Revealing their sleep-soft faces.

Half-hidden by Effie’s shoulder, Octavia peered at them. Still cautious. Still watchful. But at least she did it.

“Don’t worry, they won’t bite”, Effie said. “Well”, she added with a smile. “They might, but they hardly got any teeth yet so it’s mostly just wet and sloppy.”

She brushed a strand from her daughter’s forehead.

“Their names are Amy and Ian”, she said. “But I suppose you already know that. They just celebrated their first birthday, about a week ago. Back in Eleven. Lots of chocolate cake. Before the day was out, they were all but covered in it. Same as I was, a couple of years prior. As you’ve probably heard by now?”

“Naturally”, murmured Octavia, eyes locked on the twins. Like they were a couple of sharp-teethed dogs that might yet strike at any given moment. “It was all over town.”

“Yes”, Effie said. “Naturally.” Little crow’s feet appeared by her eyes when she smiled. “They carry both our names”, she said. “Trinket Abernathy. They haven’t said their first proper words yet, but they’re really getting the hang of crawling.

If I want to get anything done now, I must put them in the playpen or else they’ll shoot across the floor and not always in the same direction. Before I know it, they’ll figure out how to pull themselves to standing and it’s: goodbye potted plants.”

Octavia didn’t respond. Tense and awkward. A little crease between her elegant, plucked eyebrows.

“They love playing with letter blocks”, Effie continued. “Or when we blow raspberries on their bellies. They love bathing, peekaboo, dada playing them songs on the piano. They’re exploring their world, little at a time, and they do it without hate in their hearts.”

She hesitated.

”It is true”, she said, softly. “People on ‘opposite sides’ have procreated since the end of the war. Children with a Capitol father and a district mother and vice versa.

But I promise you, it’s not for the reason Gloria has you believe. It’s all just a natural consequence of peace. Of the way we people function. For the first time in forever we can travel around the country safely. Free to get to know people outside our own birthplace if we want to. Friendship and even love … they are bound to grow in such a soil.

If you read some of Haymitch’s history books, you’d find it’s actually quite common. Even in the middle of bitter conflicts, bloody wars that last for decades, people have a way of finding each other, finding common grounds, no matter what. Despite the fact that they’re supposed to be mortal enemies.”

She caressed Octavia’s hair and down her back.

“You’re so much wiser than Gloria”, she said. “And unlike her, you have friends from the districts. Think about the people you know. Katniss for instance. Does she have a black heart?”

Octavia’s brow furrowed. She shook her head.

“Of course not”, she said. “She saved us. After the people of Thirteen imprisoned us, Katniss got us out of there.”

“But she’s from the districts, isn’t she?”

“Yes. I mean, um …” Octavia wavered. “Yes, but … not when it counts.”

“How about Peeta? What can you say about his heart? Is it black?”

“Oh no”, Octavia said in a hushed voice. “Not Peeta. Peeta’s heart could never be black. It’s full of all the colors. Just like his paintings.”

“Well, that leaves Haymitch”, Effie shrugged. “If anyone’s got a black heart, it’s him.”

“How can you say that?” Octavia’s eyes welled up with tears. “You wouldn’t even be alive if it wasn’t for him! How can you say something like that? And in front of them”, she whispered, pointing to the twins.

“But he’s district”, said Effie. “All three of them are. Same as Primrose. And Posy. Their species is so evil, they pass their bloodthirst down through their genes.”

“M-maybe not all of them”, Octavia said. Uncertain. “Some are different. Katniss and Peeta and Haymitch … they’re different.”

“But are they?” asked Effie. “Are they really? Or can it be that you just know them better than you did the other tributes?”

Octavia’s eyebrows came together, trying to make sense of it.

“If there’s anything I’ve learned these past few years”, Effie said, “it’s that we really aren’t that different. Not at the core. Capitol. District. You’d be surprised how much we have in common.

Sure, there are always people who will behave like asses. Every group has them. I can’t speak for everyone but this I know: When I was at the bottom, my absolute lowest, people were there for me. And some were from the Capitol and some were from the districts.”

Octavia’s eyes found the floor.

“It’s alright”, said Effie and she meant it. “But just think about it. Really think about it. If you met a man. A sweet, kind, thrilling man that you had a really great time with. Someone who made you laugh. Made your heart flutter.

A man who thought you were hands down the best, most wonderful girl in the world. Who never failed to make you feel special. Loved. Would you really care where he came from? If he was district, would it matter?”

Misty-eyed, Octavia didn’t reply. She brushed the edge of Amy’s footrest with an absent-minded finger.

“We didn’t have the twins as part of some greater scheme or plot”, Effie said. “Neither did Lysistrata Vicker’s grandson or his wife.

We never even planned it. I got pregnant simply because Haymitch and I made love, followed by a birth control mishap.

That’s all. And I’m so glad we did! Because I cannot imagine my life without them. Neither can Haymitch. It’s not about vengeance, Octavia. It’s about love.”

All throughout, Effie had kept her voice low – so as not to wake the two in the stroller. And she didn’t.

It was the silence that drew a reaction.

Ian stirred again. Stretched his little body as far as the seat allowed. From Octavia came another gasp, but it sounded more like being taken unaware than frightened. As if nervous, he might ask why she saw fit to break his slumber.

The boy blinked at them. No cries or rages. His gray eyes just moved between Octavia and Effie.

A gurgling sound came over his lips, and he reached for mama.

Effie clicked him loose and lifted him out.

“Hi handsome”, she said and kissed his cheek. “Did you enjoy your nap?”

She settled the boy on her lap and Ian’s face turned swiftly to the other grownup in the room.

“Buh?” he asked his mother, questioningly. Pointed his finger out, as always when something piqued his interest.

Effie kissed his strawberry hair.

“Ian … I’d like you to meet my very good friend, Ms Octavia Haze.”

Octavia’s lips curved into a nervous smile. She gave a small wave of her hand.

“Hello”, she said. “Nice to meet you.” Her eyes met Effie’s. “Goodness. He looks just like Haymitch, doesn’t he?”

Effie smiled.

“He does. So does his sister. Especially when they’re laughing. They have Haymitch’s smile.”

“Haymitch laughs and smiles?”

The question pinched her heart, but she nodded.

“Much more than he used to.”

Octavia’s gaze returned to the child. You could still trace a slight vigilance in her manners, but it was quickly melting.

“He … he doesn’t look dangerous. I mean, as far as I can tell. And I’m a great judge of character. Says Venia.”

“No, he’s not dangerous at all.”

“Gloria doesn’t know everything in the world.”

“No.”

Ian cooed. As if to second that.

Octavia’s eyes softened.

“Such a little jellybean, aren’t you?” she said. “Little guy.”

“Would you like to hold him?” Effie asked.

“Oh”, said Octavia, startled. “Well, I … OK. Yes.”

Effie helped the child over and soon the boy had settled on Octavia’s lap.

Ian wasted no time. With the bold, self-righteous hand of a toddler he grasped for her nose, her cheek.

“Oh!” Octavia gave a chuckle, somewhere between amused and alarmed. “What’s he doing?” she asked as he poked and kneaded her.

Effie grinned.

“Sorry.” She reached out, lowered Ian’s hands from Octavia’s face. “Got to be careful, sweetheart. Play nicely. I think he likes the green of your skin”, she said.

Octavia’s face brightened.

“He thinks I’m pretty?”

“You’re always pretty”, smiled Effie. “We tried our hands at finger painting a few months back”, she explained. “He was over the moon. And then there are the shiny things”, she added, when Ian grasped for Octavia’s earring next, nudging the pretty gemstones with his fingertips. “Haymitch says he was probably a magpie in a previous life.”

Octavia giggled. She gently removed the boy’s hand from her ear, but she didn’t let go.

“Well”, she said. “Let me just tell you, Ian: You have great, innate taste! This shade is called emerald green. I get it done at Aphrodite’s Beauty Spa.  She is pricy but she’s the best in town. Well, until the day Flavius and Venia and I have included it in our services, of course. But, I don’t think”, she added, unsure, “I don’t believe you’re allowed to get a full body tan if you’re just one year old. I can ask for you, if you want?”

Effie gave a brilliant laugh. Octavia looked up, surprised, then allowed herself a small smile.

“You hungry?” asked Effie. “I brought some for the park but since it seems we’re going to be stuck in here for a while … I’ve got pasta salad. Banana muffins. Some yoghurt with mashed blueberries. It’s not homemade but …”

“Yes please”, beamed Octavia.

When the repairman finally arrived to get them all out, Octavia sat with both twins on her lap.

It was with near reluctance she returned them to their mother.

Free as birds, the four of them headed for the main entrance together.

“I have to be at the salon”, Octavia said, once outside. The sun glinted in the purple of her hair. “Flavius and Venia are probably worried sick.”

“I get it”, said Effie. “Tell them I said hi.”

They kissed on both cheeks.

“If you ever feel like a visit”, Effie added, “you're more than welcome to come over by the house. Any time.”

Octavia nodded eagerly.

“I will.”

Author's note: I wish I could tell you I came up with the cuckoo bird metaphor myself but that's actually from the 2016 movie version of "The Jungle Book". The chapter words are all mine but I drew inspiration from one of their scenes that start with: "But the one you have to watch out for is the cuckoo bird. Do you know how the cuckoo bird survives? By preying on a mother's weakness."

As a writer, I thought it was an absolutely brilliant way to manipulate someone younger and/or more trusting and so I wrote my own take on the idea, putting Octavia in the role of the wolf pups and Gloria as Shere Khan. 😉

Lastly, this chapter would not have come to fruition if it weren't for a comment I received, about a year ago. I won't put the reader's name on here in case she (you) doesn't want me to but I'd still like to talk a little about the power of feedback.

This reader had a hard time seeing that sweet, loving Octavia (and the rest of the prep team) would treat Effie so poorly. Octavia's heart is just too big for all that and either way, it would instantly melt as soon as she saw the twins in person.

Now, I always planned for the prep to change their minds about Effie and the kids but: much further into the story. Near the end. I hoped that Effie's comments that someone unknown was manipulating them and "pouring poison into their ears" would be enough of an explanation until then but then I read this review and thought "Hm, maybe not. Maybe some more background info is needed."

So then it was back to the drawing board, fleshing out new ideas cause I love Octavia's character so much and HATE the idea of her coming of as cold or shallow or, for that matter, OOC.

This elevator scene came to mind and with it, several others that also included the prep.

So, thank you for the feedback! Now, instead of just two more prep team scenes at the end of ToS you get at least half a dozen chapters, several of them starting now. I hope you'll like them!

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 42

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more?

Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming.

Author's note: As always, thank you for your lovely support! It's almost midnight here, I've been editing for six hours (oh God) and finally had to call it a day even if it ain't perfect. I hope you enjoy the result! Please consider leaving a comment and tell me your thoughts! What do you think will happen next? :)

Slight TRIGGER WARNING for minor mentions like in previous chapters.

Chapter 42

A big big big day

His gift wasn’t among the others. Haymitch turned the presents over. Those big enough to qualify. Squeezed one here, shook one there, holding on to hope that Effie or June or Annabel had signed the delivery while he was passed out.

No such luck. Course not.

Should’ve called the shop sooner.

He ran a tired hand through his hair and poured himself a shaky cup of coffee.

For someone who considered gifts overrated – unless they consisted of food or clothes maybe – he was pretty bloody bummed out about the whole thing. Silly, yeah but … he really wanted the twins to have it and have it on the right day.

Maybe tomorrow. Or the day after. The post office in Eleven was famously slow, according to Annabel.

He was halfway through his cup of joe when the front door opened.

Annabel, smiling and carrying the topnotch chocolate cake. And in her wake, Effie. With one birthday child on each hip.

God, was she pretty! Prettier than usual, if that was even possible. With the strawberry dress gone – thanks to a certain retired mentor – she wore a white and pink plaid dress. A wide skirt just brushing her kneecaps, spaghetti straps and a large flat bow at the side of her waist.

Her hair was gathered in a ponytail for a change. Pink ballet flats. No “yank friendly” jewelry around her neck. No lipstick or lipgloss either. She gave that up after the twins were born since she kissed it all off on them anyway. Around her ankle: a simple silver bracelet. Simple but beautiful.

Yeah, she was gonna kill him for sure.

Amy wore pink too. Pink with ruffles. No matching bow or ribbons though. Even if she’d had any hair to speak of, the little girl would not stand for it.

Her mother had gone and dusted off one of her own princess dresses, by the looks of it, in honor of today. A toned down, less outlandish one but still – definitely more Capitol than district. He counted four different shades of pink. Posy would have loved it.

Ian on the other hand looked just about ready for District 4, dressed up in a little sailor’s outfit. White and dark blue with boats printed on the chest.

Silly ol’ Effs.

She wasn’t usually that all consumed by the whole “pink for girls, blue for boys” ideal. At least not anymore. But even she couldn’t help herself sometimes.

He had to hand it to her though – if this was Capitol it was Capitol low key. He’d seen toddlers back in the old city who looked more like fashion accessories than actual human beings. And sure, Effie wasn’t above wrestling Haymitch into gaudy outfits but she always went easy on the twins. Just like she went easy on Alexander, when she was but a girl herself.

Quite telling, if you thought about it. What kind of person she was at the core.

And contrary to popular belief, Effie preferred the district look for her kids. How was that for ironic? And the clothes he wore as a baby and toddler? Shit, she treasured them like they were truffles – the rarest, most (would be) expensive ingredient Sae used in her cooking, once in a blue moon.

Each night before bed, Effie laid out the children’s clothes for tomorrow and make no mistake! Unless they were currently peed in, pooped at or covered in baby spit-up, she always chose something of his.

“What is it with you and these rags?” he once asked her back in Twelve, while he helped Amy into a patched up romper the color of porridge. “Seriously. Capitol Effie would have shuddered. Called them poor man’s gear. Washcloth outfits.”

“I would not!” Effie protested from the other side of the bed, working the mismatched buttons of Ian’s playsuit. “District Vintage, maybe. And these aren’t rags! Don’t call them that! You know how special they are to me.”

“Why?”

She lifted Ian up. Held him close. With her cheek against the top of his head, she glanced over at Haymitch like he was the biggest idiot in all of Panem.

“Because you are!” she said. “Special. Something you really should know by now. I had your love children, for crying out loud. You’d think that if anything would be a tip off. And every time I see Amy or Ian wearing something you wore, it’s like I get a little echo of you. The child you once were. And since I don’t have any baby pictures of you, this is the second best thing. Well”, she added after a moment’s pause. A smile curved her lips. “Except for the twins themselves. Because of course they’d come out looking exactly like you. That’s just my usual luck.”

“Luck or curse”, Haymitch replied. Amy yawned as he lifted her from the bed. “There we go, baby.” He rested her against the side of his chest, her head on his shoulder. “They have your hair”, he said, pointing out the obvious.

“Mm. Only proof we’ve got that you didn’t actually make them all on your own.”

She never made the connection. Between the clothes and his kid brother. So obvious and yet, the lights never came on.

It was alright though. Really. Sure, he always felt a little pinch every time he saw the kids in Amadeus’s clothes. But not as much anymore. Not as the months passed.

Yeah. By some miracle, that particular gash got to scab over. Become a scar. Tender to the touch yes, but not bleeding, festering.

As time wore on he started to associate the clothes not only with his dead brother and dead mother but with Amy and Ian as well. That was one big reason for it. Plus Amadeus would’ve loved it if he knew that his niece and nephew spent their days dressed in his old stuff.

And Sae – that sharp-eyed ol’ busybody – she much have known this. Predicted his change of heart, or else she never would have given the clothes to Effie in the first place.

When the twins were still newborns he thought Effie might break out Alexander’s old clothes for them. The precious few garments she still had of her stars and butterflies and lady bugs baby after that prick Kane burned the rest or whatever.

But she never did. Too painful. And, obviously, he steered clear off the subject since she wasn’t ready to deal with any of that. Perhaps she never would be.

The reality of that heart-breaking situation only made it easier for him to let her have a field day with “his” old rags. Sorry, his special rags.

You couldn’t be flint-hearted with Effie anyway. Her over the moon excitement. You got to be pretty fucking cruel to take that away. Especially after she blessed you with two children.

Oh God. She’s gonna hold that over my head forever!

Little echoes. Special because you are special. Yeah, he could see what she meant by that. If he reversed their positions in his head.

After she bought the house from June and Annabel and the last of their moving vans had left for District 11 – they arranged for her things to be brought back in. Effie had donated a lot of the furniture to vintage and charity shops when she lost her home but some were kept in storage. As were most of her personal belongings. Like, for instance, the piles upon piles of little kiddie clothes.

Not Alexander’s. Effie’s own.

Now, Haymitch didn’t consider himself a sentimental guy. But when he first got a load of those silly little outfits he was almost overcome with tenderness and affection. As if a kitten – Scotch maybe – just rolled over in his chest, flexing his tiny claws.

They were just so small and so ridiculous.

Princess-pink, primrose yellow, spring green and pale shades of purple like a lilac branch. Effie’s ma and pa had stockpiled the stuff like they had ten kids instead of one. Either they planned on producing a shitload of offspring or they lived by the notion that even a newborn’s outfit was to be worn only once.

“Oh, haha! Look at these!” Effie had chuckled over by the couch, holding out a pair of the tiniest high heeled baby shoes you ever saw. White with black dots and red on the inside. “I forgot I even had them. Say what you will about me, Haymitch. I had style. Right from the very beginning.”

“Yeah, totally”, he said, cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by boxes. “But those Haute Couture diapers were a waste on you. You just soiled them 24-7.”

Effie chuckled and placed the little shoes back in the box. Reached for a soft pink hooded romper instead. Velvet, by the look of it. Patterned with raspberry colored hearts.

“My parents always knew they wanted to have children”, she said. “Especially my mother. She had this romantic scenario in her head that she would be blessed with a baby on her wedding night. Or maybe even more than one. Twins run in my family, did I ever tell you?”

“Noo. Really?”

She brushed the soft fabric against her cheek. “Mama was so disappointed when it didn’t happen at the drop of a hat. They ended up trying for years to get pregnant. You know, the old-fashioned way.”

“What other ways are there?”

Effie smiled.

“Well, I for one am an IVF baby.”

 “A what?”

“IVF. In vitro fertilization. Hospital procedure. They removed one of my mother’s eggs and mixed it together with my father’s sperm. So, unlike you or Katniss or Peeta I was first on a lil’ petri dish.”

Haymitch grinned.

“Created in a lab. I should have known.”

“Just the embryo, silly! Which was then implanted into my mother’s womb. I was carried and born like any other baby. Took a few tries though. Like … half a dozen eggs or so. My father’s juices weren’t too great. It drove my mother halfway up the wall. The hormone injections she had to take.”

“Yeah, well.” Haymitch gave a light shrug. “It was worth the wait.”

Effie looked up from the romper, an amused glint in her eyes.

“Is that your way of saying you feel fortunate to have me in your life?”

“Is there any other way to put it? The way I see it, I got a pretty decent deal out of it. Three for the price of one.”

Effie chuckled and tossed a pair of baby socks his way.

“You darling you.” She folded the romper neatly and placed it in the “let’s keep” pile on the couch. “So, what do we do with all this? I mean, some we can use but the rest? Do we give it away or …?”

“Nah, too cruel. I vote that we keep ‘em. As a memory. A timestamp. ‘Effs Trinket – The early years’.”

In the end though, even the things they did keep – they hardly ever used. Not only were the clothes hella impractical to get on and off. They were also a pain to wash correctly. Shrunk super easily – especially with Haymitch in charge – and 80 % of it had to be hand washed anyway, if you didn’t want the colors to bleed.

Annabel set the birthday cake on the garden table. The soft clink pulled Haymitch out of his reverie. Amy’s eyes landed on June and the one year old instantly held her arms out with a firm whine. The blonde woman’s face brightened and the little girl soon climbed from her mother’s arms and into her auntie June’s.

The sight pinched Haymitch’s chest, immediately bringing on a self-insult.

Grow up. What’s wrong with people lovin’ them?

Nothing. Nothing at all. But he couldn’t help it. It hurt. Hurt that his daughter’s first impulse was to go to June and not him.

Annabel’s wife may have a hard time dealing with him as of late but she adored his children. They both did.

Ian was still with Effie. His little fist keeping a firm grasp on one of her dress straps.

Haymitch ached to hold him. Hug the crap out of him and seek some comfort in his softness and warmth and sweet baby smell.

But Effie wouldn’t want him to. He knew without her saying it. She didn’t trust him with them yet. Not when he was still so hangover he couldn’t even stomach a slice of birthday cake without puking on the lawn.

He downed the last of his coffee. He was going to need a lot of the stuff to get him through today. All the while, ignoring how much better it would taste with a drop or three of hard liquor.

His eyes kept returning to June, holding his daughter. Annabel said something about “sugar dream cookies” and turned for the house but her wife hardly noticed, absorbed as she was by his little girl. She tickled her tummy and the child giggled and squirmed in her embrace.

It was all he could do not to yank his kid out of her arms and yell something like “Get your own!!”

Biting the inside of his cheek, he turned and poured himself some more coffee.

She’s not taunting me on purpose.

It wasn’t June’s fault that he was a stinking hot mess who couldn’t do a thing right. Not even when his kids had a birthday.

June and Annabel had been some of the first to ever meet the twins. Even before Katniss and Peeta. Annabel at the hospital. June, a few days later.

“Want me to bring you anything?” she asked over the phone and Effie said, quick as a flash:

“Coffee. Please, a bucket of it!”

Black. Just the way she liked it. Along with some homemade cheesecake, courtesy of June.

He remembered the way her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree seeing Amy and Ian, sound asleep against Effie’s bosom. That’s where the twins liked it best, especially since their so called father was still too freaked to hold them.

“Oh, I want two myself”, Annabel had smiled, her brown eyes shiny. “Two just like them.”

“Well, don’t look at me”, Haymitch said, stretched out on the hard leather couch. “This factory’s closed.”

Effie and Annabel exchanged a look and they both chuckled.

“That’s unfortunate”, the latter said.

They were just joking around of course. And lucky him. Because after everything the two ladies had done for his family, he’d be hard-pressed to refuse.

For some reason, he never gave it much thought at the time, but seeing June with Amy just now … It got him wondering.

Why didn’t June and Annabel have any children themselves?

Sure, you could be fond of kids and great with them and still choose to be child-free. Happy to be just “mom’s fun friend” – or “mom’s wacko friend” if you were say Johanna Mason.

But June and Annabel, they seemed like the type who’d want a baby of their own. And they’d been together for like forever.

In the districts, there were of course only two ways you could have a kid. Cum shot or adoption. But, as Effie’d told him, in the Capitol – things worked differently when it came to fertility and conception. And being in a same-sex relationship with no immediate sperm producer in the household didn’t make it that much harder either. Not if you had money.

People sold their semen for cash in the big city. The hospital even made ads about it, urging people to contribute. Hell, guys like Priapus took pride in having fathered half the nation one cup at a time – to hear him tell it at least. And if you had a few eggs to spare and wanted to trade them in for the latest handbag, you needed only book an appointment.

So if June and Annabel wanted to make an omelette, they had options.

Maybe they can’t have kids.

Annabel’s story earlier. Her struggles with food. Maybe starving herself had done something to her menstrual cycle? He was no expert. Far from it. But he remembered a conversation he overheard at the Hob once. Between old Cray and some other peacekeeper.

“At the end of the day”, the full-fledged bastard said, “what you want is a real skintight lass. The flow doesn’t go over barren land, if you know what I mean?”

As for June … He couldn’t say he knew a lot about the woman. She was no open book. Not with him and especially not lately. If anything, she was the quiet, observing type. A bit like himself, maybe.

The only really private piece of information he had about her came from someone else. Plutarch. Who never knew when to shut up.

Haymitch were out grocery shopping for a very pregnant Effie and ran into him on the way back. The man had just returned after a prolonged stay in District 7. Apparently they were shooting the pilot of some wildlife documentary that the former Head Gamemaker pitched for Capitol TV. The first of 12 planned episodes. One season per district, starting in the vast woodlands with its mountain lions and coyotes and river otters. Haymitch remembered because of how much the whole project would have annoyed Johanna.

“Panem et Circenses”, Plutarch said with a land out like Whatcha gonna do? “We have to find new and exciting ways to entertain the audience. Now that the Hunger Games are a thing of the past.”

As for Effie, and her precarious situation – he knew all about it of course. Just like everyone else in town.

Haymitch, standing there in the heat with his full bags of soy milk and brussels sprouts, brown rice and melting ice cream just wanted to get the hell out of dodge but there was no stopping Plutarch Heavensbee once he got going. That man sure loved the sound of his own voice.

“… and ah, yes the Summers. Good people. All of them. I’m friends with her father”, he said. “Great polo player! A real blue-ribbon champion during his time at the University. Shame what happened to his family! Such a tragedy! They wanted a second child, you see. A boy this time. So badly. And when they were finally blessed with another pregnancy, his wife suffered a late-term miscarriage when June was about 16. Little Otho Summer Jr. Oh! An awful, bloody affair. Then some emergency surgery and … that’s that. No more children. Poor man. Was never the same.”

Complications during pregnancy, childbirth and postpartum were not uncommon back in Twelve. Before the war. Especially among the starving families of the Seam. Thank God they had Sae and Tessa Everdeen but even in their expert hands mothers and babies were lost during Snow’s long reign.

“It’s a gamble at best”, Chaff once said, when they got to talking about it. “Not a month goes by in Eleven without us hearing the hammer blows of a coffin being made. A coffin meant for two.”

Haymitch remembered this one family. A young girl who broke off her engagement after her ma went through a really bloody labor, stretching out over three whole days. In the end, Sae managed to save both mother and child but the damage was already done.

Now, he saw no reason worth shit why you’d ever want to get married and have kids in a place like Twelve in a world like Snow’s. Some agreed with him on that note. Others didn’t. In this young woman’s case there was definitely a “before” and “after”.

Sae even had a name for it.

Tokophobia. Morbid fear of childbirth.

Maybe that was the case with June?

“Would you look at that”, Effie whispered, cheek against Ian’s temple. The words pulled Haymitch out of his depressing thoughts for a second time.

His son and baby mama were admiring Annabel’s cake.

“With a teddy for a candle”, Effie smiled and kissed the top of his head. “Just like Little Bear in the bedtime story we read at night. You remember Little Bear, my darling? But oh, we forgot the matches! You can’t blow the candle out and make a wish if not first we light it. Come baby, let’s set you down for a bit while I go look for them. Want to play with your letter blocks?”

She settled their son on the picnic blanket. The one under the apple tree. Kissed his soft, downy head a second time and turned for the house. Squeezed Annabel’s shoulder in passing when the brunette re-appeared with the plate of cookies and a jug of water and cucumber slices.

Haymitch watched as Effie bounded up the front steps and was gone.

She’s stressed out of her mind.

No question about it. She hid it but he could always tell. Recognized that stiff upper lip from the Games, covered behind bright smiles and weird exclamations like “You two are in for a treat! Crystal chandeliers, platinum doorknobs.”

As if the Games weren’t bad enough. With Haymitch Abernathy on your “team”, Effie had her work cut out for her. Because of him, her attention was constantly split. Pretty much since day one and especially in the last few years prior to Katniss and Peeta’s Games.

Her mind was in a constant state of, “Time to get them both on the train and where’s Haymitch? How many drinks has he had?” or “Let’s get these children ready for their interviews and where’s Haymitch? How drunk is he now?”

Yeah, he was little more than added stress on her shoulders.

Same thing now.

But I’m not drunk today. Haven’t had a drink since last night. What’s she thinking I’m gon’ do? Get wasted right in front of my kids?

He thrust the thought from his mind. He had exactly zero right to be annoyed today.

Instead, his gaze went to Ian sitting by himself on the blanket. Haymitch set his cup on an empty spot on the garden table and turned for June. June and Amy.

“Mind if I take a balloon? For the kid. I don’t know how to work that thing.” He nodded toward the container.

June eyed him with those green orbs, then nodded.

“Sure. Help yourself.”

With no knife at his disposal, June’s killer double knots were a challenge. Ian watched his struggles and each time the branches rustled overhead, a giggle rose from under it.

Haymitch allowed himself a small smile.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Laugh at your old man.”

He worked the knot loose and extricated the balloon from the tree. Orange. Like Effie’s hair. Once upon a long time ago.

“Here. Got something for ya.”

He crouched before his son, keeping a firm hold on the end of the string. But he was a little too quick about it, wobbled and slumped back on his ass. Tiny black dots swam across his field of vision. Like specks of dust from a fire.

Ian’s round gray eyes followed his every move. Forcing his lips upward, Haymitch struggled to regain his balance. Swallowed a flood of saliva against the summersaults his stomach made.

Please. Not here. Not now.

Feeling the cool grass underneath his palm he breathed slowly through his nose. And he was in luck. For once. The nausea subsided. The ringing as well. His vision cleared, leaving him with goose bumps all over and stinging armpits.

With shaky hands he tied the balloon string around Ian’s wrist.

“There you go, sweetheart.”

The boy shook his arm eagerly. Gave a breathy grin when the balloon bobbed.

Haymitch caressed his hair. His chubby cheek. Reached for the silver baby rattle next, a old gift of Annabel’s, and struggled to his feet with the gracefulness of someone twice his age.

The rattle found a home in Amy’s hand. He gave her strawberry hair a soft caress, just like he did Ian. His eyes went to her auntie.

“I’ll get you a balloon too if you want. Or … maybe a coffee?”

The woman drew a deep sigh.

“Fine”, she said, slightly less up in arms.

Back at the table he poured another cup. Added some cream and sugar. Behind him the front door opened. Effie with the matches no doubt. He set the hot fragrant peace offering in June’s hand. Contemplated if he actually remembered all the verses of “Happy Birthday” when his gaze dropped to Ian again.

He had but ten seconds to see it before Effie did.

The sight closed his throat up, like someone actually kept a choke hold on him. His hand flew to his back pocket, confirming what his eyes were already telling him.

The hipflask.

In his son’s hands.

Ian’s chubby baby fingers grazed against the scratched silver surface while he explored the corked up lid with his mouth. Chewing on it like he did everything.

Haymitch’s feet were already moving but it was too late.

“No!” The shriek escaping Effie’s lips made them all start. She was by Ian’s side in a heartbeat. Pulled him from the ground so fast that Haymitch’s knot unravelled and the balloon floated into the sky. Up and gone.

The boy was bawling, startled by his mother’s sudden cry. Effie clutched him to her chest, holding the hipflask a meter away.

“You brought this to the party?” she spat at Haymitch. “How could you? Take this revolting thing away from the children this instant!”

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 40 (part one)

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more?

Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming.

Author’s note: As always, dearest readers, thanks for supporting ToS through likes, reblogs, kudos, bookmarks, follows, favs, comments and messages! You fill my hayffie beating heart to the brim and I’m so happy you enjoy reading. Happy New Year to you all and I wish you the best 2024!

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING for chapter 40, both part 1 and 2. Mentions of sexual assault, physical and mental abuse, eating disorder, suicide and animal cruelty.

Chapter 40

The writing on the wall (part one)

God, he needed coffee! Something strong at any rate.

Arms loaded with laundry Haymitch pushed inside his guestroom, a towel wrapped around the waist. The dirty clothes landed at the foot of the bed and he parked himself next to it. Cautiously so as not make his head explode.

Effie wouldn’t let him help with the twins. He offered but all she did was tell him to stay put while she carried them upstairs. One at a time.

Her excited murmurs fluttered in through the wall. A groan, more like a whine, slipped between Haymitch’s lips and he rubbed his face, still dripping from the shower. Big mistake. The room tilted. Like a bloody ship. Aspirin. I need aspirin.

Breathing through his nostrils, he sifted through the pile of yesterday’s clothes. Not a minute in, the silver hip flask dropped to the carpet with a sloshing sound. He peered at it, like finding a patch of strawberries. Or a rattlesnake. He hesitated, then plucked it. Cleared his throat. Swallowed what felt like a bucket of phlegm and gave the flask a little shake.

More left than he expected. But then again, Mr. Neighbor Whose-Name-He’d-Forgotten had been more than generous last night. All those stowaways in cupboards and cabinets. Apple whiskey. Passion fruit vodka.

He unscrewed the lid. Inhaled. Relished in the sting of those fumes. Inviting. Familiar. Full of promises.

But he could almost hear Effie’s voice, low and dangerous like a Buttercup growl,

“Go ahead. Do it. You’ll be on the next available train before you can say ‘Happy birthday!’”

The words were enough to cork the flask up. He headed for the garment bag instead. The one Effie laid out for him. Draped over an armchair.

The towel dropped to his feet but Haymitch paid it no mind. Curtains were all pulled and no one had any business going in here in the first place. Well, Effie possibly. But she‘d seen him naked so many times she wouldn’t bat an eye.

Z-i-i-i-p!

He peeked inside. Suspiciously.

Hm. At least I won’t be punished with a tuxedo in August.

He draped the outfit across the bed, having a proper look. Yeah, it could’ve been way worse. This was “casual” or pretty close. Something you might wear on the beach. A white floral shirt, patterned with soft green leaves and baby blue … forget-me-nots? Dress pants with room to breathe. Even a pair of underwear.

In short: a worthy male counterpart to Effie’s strawberry dress that she would have worn had he not ballooned her up via a twin pregnancy.

He pulled the shirt on. Worked the buttons, save the last two. Unlike her own self, post-birth, Effie knew his size down to the T. Still! Pants on he ran a hand through his damp hair. Combed it with his fingers.

Really, he’d got off easily.

Don’t fuck this up.

The quest for coffee brought him downstairs. Gray skies. Sun gone. Fingers crossed, they’d make it through today without a downpour.

He had but a second to relish in the empty kitchen before he realized it wasn’t.

Annabel stood by the counter, bent over a glorious chocolate cake the size of a small district. With deft, dexterous motions she piped out buttercream swirls through a star-tip, all along the edges. One more elegant than the last. He recognized the frosting technique from the bakery. And in the middle of the creation: a lone, unlit candle shaped like a teddy bear.

“Hey,” he said to say something. “That is some cake.”

“Thanks,” Annabel replied, eyes on her work. “It’s Eden’s old recipe.”

“That your sister or …?”

“Our nanny. We had many coming through but she was always my favorite. And she baked a chocolate cake every time one of us had a birthday.”

“Must’ve been a lot o’ cake.”

“I guess.”

They lapsed into silence. Annabel wasn’t the kind of woman who cared for pointless chatter and Effie’s spirit loomed over him, nudging him forward.

“I’m really sorry ‘bout last night. Don’t know what the fuck happened. That’s no excuse but …”

“I don’t need your sorrys, Haymitch.”

The words were spoken without anger. Without distance. No more heat behind it had she asked “Can you pass the marmalade?”

Haymitch gave a slight nod. Point taken. His eyes wandered across the room. The stack of plates. The pretty glasses. The napkins yet to be folded. “Something else I can do?”

Annabel’s hands stilled. He just had time to ponder if he said something stupid when she put the star-tip down and looked him straight in the eye. The sight pinched his insides. Chocolate brown eyes, holding within them the ghost of her father. Caesar Flickerman. Whom at the least expected moment would spring forward and send his 16 year old ass flying back into that plush interview chair of long ago.

But this wasn’t Caesar. This was Annabel. Just Annabel.

He waited for the berating, the chew-out, the more than fair scolding. Wondered if she’d serve him a dish he hadn’t already gotten over the years from Effie, Peeta, Katniss, Hazelle … The list was endless really.

Annabel brushed a lock from her forehead. Using her wrist, what with her fingers stained with chocolate. And the words finally uttered were the last he ever expected to spill from her mouth.

“Do you know we had a fall-out? Effie and I.” His surprise must have shown for she nodded. “Oh, yes. This was years ago. Before Kane and Alexander. Even before I became a spy for Plutarch.”

Leaned back, she rested her palms against the edge of the kitchen counter top.

“In the Capitol that Snow molded like a lump of porcelain clay … well, him and Volumnia Gaul, the Trinkets and the Flickermans weren’t even supposed to be friends. We’re all the top 1 % to the rest of Panem but there’s a strict hierarchy also within the city. But I guess Effie’s already told you all about that.

The higher up you go the less important the Trinkets get. There’s a reason you won’t find their name on any tape in any archive, before Effie became a Games escort. They’re wealthy enough but new money and trifle in comparison. In the eyes of the big dogs the Trinkets are what their name suggests: Knick-knack. Fool’s gold. Of little value.

We became roommates at the Academy through a simple error, nothing more. One I could have easily corrected had I reported it to professor Sickle. But why on Earth would I? She was so much fun. So fun and full of life. Extremely ambitious. Hungry to prove her worth, up to the point she sometimes didn’t see the forest for all the trees.

And a fashionista, of course. Oh yes. She loved her dresses! I barely knew her family existed but one hour with her and it was like I’d known her all my life. I wish I’d met her sooner.”

The woman fell silent.

“The Flickermans were part of Snow’s circle. The inner circle. One of five grand families moving in his orbit. The Heavensbees were another. The Cranes a third. So while Effie had play dates with people like Flavius Dolittle, I ‘networked’ over at the president’s mansion. From the moment I was born I belonged to Cordelia Snow.”

Haymitch’s eyebrows creased together.

“Cordelia?”

“Yes. His oldest daughter.”

“I thought he only had one.”

“Mm-hm.” Annabel’s voice was dry. “That’s what he wanted people to think at any rate. But he fathered four children, whether he liked it or not. Two boys first, back to back. I reckon a woman in Livia Cardew’s position wouldn’t dare otherwise. Two strong, blonde, sturdy little gentlemen with dimples to carry on his legacy. 18 months apart as is the ideal between your first and secondborn in the Capitol.

Oh, the citizens all but devoured them and it wasn’t until a few years later that they came sniffing back for a baby girl Snow. They adored the idea of a little briar rose. Adored and expected it. And before long, their first lady was pregnant again.

It almost killed her to have her. And the moment the girl was born it got clear something was wrong. Wrong in the eyes of the Capitol, at any rate. The light skin. The snowy hair. The red eyes.”

“Albinism?” Haymitch asked. He’d read about it somewhere. Annabel nodded.

“And there was something wrong with her foot as well. Some kind of birth defect. Even after multiple operations done by the finest surgeons the Capitol had to offer, she still walked with a limp. She was a slip-up in Snow’s eyes. A blunder. A chapter you didn’t particularly like and so you leafed through it as quickly as you could. When the baby was first presented to him, did he entertain thoughts of eliminating her? Seneca once told me that the president, and I quote: ‘takes pride in not being wasteful. He takes life for very specific reasons.’ So, at the end of the day, I guess he saw no reason to kill his infant daughter. Maybe that’s how unimportant she really was to him.

He still needed a girl, of course. A proper girl, worthy the name of Snow. And he got one, years later, despite the doctors’ verdict that his wife would never bear children again. His miracle daughter. A rainbow baby, at least in his book.

After that, Snow wouldn’t give Cordelia the time of day. Not the way he did the two boys and his youngest: ‘A once-in-a-lifetime beauty that people will write poems about.’

His oldest was brushed to the very corner of the Capitol’s eye. ‘Too sickly’ to preside over the Hunger Games or any other televised event alongside her family. The Capitol wasn’t that interested in the gangly, odd-looking, never-smiling girl anyway. Not when they had the little sister with her long eyelashes, lush curls and cute little hand-wave.

You’d think being confined to the mansion like an embarrassment, would turn miss Cordelia into a rebel but no. The little girl worshiped her father. Idolized him. I spent most of my childhood in her company. Apart from Tigris, Cordelia was the lowest of the Snows but she was still a Snow. A piece that would strengthen her father’s empire one day once she came of age. So, she never lacked company. Her rooms were always filled with girls, carefully handpicked. Saplings of prominent family trees going back generations. Not friends. More like ladies-in-waiting. All eager to win her favor, and yet I was the one she gravitated toward. Right from the start. I used to come home covered in bruises from where she pinched me. ‘Love taps’ as the grownups called them.

I think, of all the people in my life – even before my mother and father, before my sisters – Cordelia was the first to figure out I like girls. I remember when we were eight or nine, playing with her doll house, just the two of us that day. How those peculiar red eyes bore into mine with a fire that made me cower in fear.

‘Have you ever kissed someone?’ she asked. I didn’t know what to say and she never gave me the chance. Her little hand took mine with the grip of a child getting what she wanted. Then her lips pressed to mine and I was so chocked I couldn’t move. I just sat there – frozen-still, eyes open – until she bit my bottom lip so hard I shrieked and tasted blood.

I was scared to death of her. But I soon realized how dangerous that was. To be anything but delighted in the presence of a Snow. Just as it was dangerous to be anything but delighted when watching the Games.

The Capitol was a prison. A fancy prison but a prison nonetheless. We never suffered the way the districts suffered. We didn’t starve. Our names were safe from the reaping bowl. But life under Snow’s reign wasn’t a bed of roses either. Not in the way you may think. For every petal there was a thorn and if you weren’t careful they ripped you to shreds.

Do you know the suicide rate used to be sky-high in the Capitol? Especially among young people. Up to the point Snow created a new law, charging the family a penalty fee if your child jumped in front of a train.

Like most people, I learned to keep my feelings on the inside. Made myself a master of self-control. But back then I was still a child. And I dreaded the Games season every year. Since they wanted Cordelia out of the spotlight, Mrs. Snow arranged slumber parties during those weeks. At the mansion. Just for her daughter and her closest friends.

Big television screens. Loud girls dressed in their finest, packed tightly on sofas and recliners and pillows on the floor.

And food. Tables loaded with delicacies. All of Cordelia’s favorites. Way more than any of us could finish. Plates just carried in and carried out. Hours and days and weeks of leftovers just scraped into the trash while kids, kids like us, starved and died on the screen.

How many of us understood what was really happening? That the scenes played out wasn’t just some pretend reality witnessed through a camera lens? Watching, I wondered if I was going crazy. Wondered why no one seemed bothered by the nightmares unfolding before our eyes. The cold hard reality of those boys and girls pitted against each other. Children whom had done nothing wrong.

Every single one of us spectators were born into families whose wealth and privilege were built upon piles and piles of dead children and we could all stomach it?

I think that’s when my struggle with food first started. During those annual slumber parties. Even years after they released me from the psych ward there were still moments when I gagged on my food because images from the Games flashed in my brain.

Not Cordelia. She soaked up the Games, like a sponge. Each year getting just a little fuller.

They kept animals at the mansion. Snow may not spare her a minute of his time but he never questioned the expenditures when the girl wanted a new puppy. A new goldfish.  A batch of kittens. Without hesitation, without remorse she’d stab a tortoise shell with a corn holder. Clip a bunny’s paw with a stapler. Break her songbird’s wing and give it to the cat, watching the warbler fight for its life. I tried to stop her. Truly I did. I begged her to leave her pets alone.”

She held her arms out, palms up. Haymitch’s eyebrows came together getting a clear look on what he’d only glimpsed before. Cuts. Marks. Scratches. Pink reminders, not of Annabel’s unhappy mind like he thought, but another child with sharp objects. Scars not so different from his own.

Her arms dropped to the sides.

“Her own family didn’t care whether she lived or died. She hardly ever got to see the world outside those walls. Maybe torturing creatures smaller and weaker that herself gave her a sense of control. Made her feel big and powerful.

Maybe she hoped it would draw the attention of her father. Show him she was capable of doing what he already did to those children in the arena. In many ways she was his most loyal ally. Maybe he would have noticed, seen the potential in her, had she lived longer.”

To be continued …

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 43 (part one)

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more?

Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming.

Author's note: Some pretty awful stuff going on in this chapter so: TRIGGER WARNING, just to be safe.

Chapter 43

Between a rock and a hard place (part one)

The party was over.

Haymitch carried the last of the sticky cake-smeared plates over the threshold. Kicked his shoes off with a heavy heart.

Outside, the wind rustled through the branches and balloons. Made them sway. Dance.

It was almost time to get the children ready for bed.

He could see them before his mind’s eye. Back in the living room. With their auntie June and auntie Annabel. The two ladies doing their best to keep up appearances. Pretend like everything was fine. Normal.

He entered the kitchen. Effie didn’t even look his way. Her hands were wrist-deep in water and suds and the pony tail bobbed with each violent stroke of the dish brush.

She’d hardly said two words to him all night. Not since the hipflask incident. Small wonder. If he was smart, he best keep his mouth shut too. Go upstairs. Get the twins’ jammies out. Live to see another day.

Instead, he set the dirty dishes on an empty spot near the sink. There was already a neat stack of dripping plates and mugs and cutlery waiting and he pulled the wash towel off its peg.

Drying one of the sippy cups in slow, precise motions he glanced her way. Each time hoping she’d look back. Or at least throw him a vicious comment. God knew he deserved it!

She didn’t. For several minutes they just stood there. Shoulder to shoulder. Just inches apart. Inches that might as well be miles.

“Eff”, he finally said, voice soft.

She ignored the olive branch, lips pressed to non-existence.

The cloth turned damp in Haymitch’s hands. White fabric sewn with a vegetable pattern. Carrots and lettuce and pea pods. Sae would call it a tea towel. He drew a silent breath. Gathered his courage. Started over.

“Effs, don’t you think you’re just … overreacting … a little bit? I mean, it’s not like he drank from it.”

Not a sound in the room. Nothing but the splatter of water. The clinks and clanks of submerged kitchenware.

”He didn’t get wasted. He didn’t even taste it”, Haymitch went on. “Even if he knew how to work his two thumbs I always cork that hipflask up, good and tight. He was never in any danger.”

He wet his lips. Set the dry plate down. Reached for another.

“I shouldn’t have brought it to the party. You were right about that. It was wrong, I know. But I didn’t put it in my pocket to … Effs, it was just old habit! Not a scheme, I swear! I didn’t drink. Not one drop! And just listen to them out there.”

He gestured toward the twins’ giggles in the other room. “Kids are fine, princess. They’re OK. They aren’t even old enough to understand, or remember, what happened here today. Yeah, it was scary but … if you really think about it, it was no harm, no foul.”

Effie didn’t reply. Nothing. Nothing but the growing red spots on her cheeks. Crestfallen, Haymitch put the plate down. The tea towel.

“Sweetheart”, he said. “Please. Listen to me. I will never … never let my drinking hurt our children. OK.” He touched her shoulder. ”I’d die before that happens.”

Her reaction was instantaneous.

His touch, those words. Might as well be a branding iron. A steel poker. The kind he used back home to shovel coal over in the fire place.

Red, hot, flame-heated metal shoved into her flesh. That’s how hard she flinched. The plate slumped to the bottom of the sink and he staggered back a step when she pushed him out of the way.

“Eff?” She was already at the door. “Effs, wait a minute! Hang on!”

She didn’t listen. Didn’t stop. He followed her into the hallway, just in time to see her put the final shoe on.

“Effs, what’re …?” She flew out the door. Didn’t even stop to close it. “Where’re you going?”

Rain – like cold, hard needles – penetrated Haymitch’s skin when he hurried after her, down the front steps and into the garden.

Effie was already far ahead. Past the remnants of their little birthday scene. Past the edges of the garden, leaving the house further and further behind.

He couldn’t keep up with her. Not after years of abusing his body with alcohol.

“Eff!” He clutched the stitch in his side. Panted as he followed her into the two ladies’ orchard. The meadow beyond. “Effie!”

A bright yellow flash. Followed by a clap of thunder. Low at first, almost indecisive, then exploding overhead. As if the bedrock itself had come alive, moving and grinding together.

“Not so fast, Eff! Please!”

And that’s when he heard her sobbing. Wild, jagged cries that she made no effort to try and hide. She stumbled on her feet, nearly fell and the pink silk hair ribbon which had untangled more and more during the chase, floated onto the ground.

Haymitch slowed just long enough to get it. Grab it, along with a fistful of grass.

“Please, come back!”

“Leave me alone!” Her shriek echoed, travelled across the orchards. The meadows. The steel gray body of water. “Go away! Get away!”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart! I’m so sorry!”

“Leave me be!”

Her voice cracked and she staggered. Staggered and slowed. Slowed to a stop.

Haymitch had but a second to relish in the relief; in the fact that she wasn’t running anymore.

When,

“Ugh!” She clutched both hands to her forehead. Moaned. Unsteady on her feet, like a tree in a storm.

“Effie? Effie!” he shouted when she sank to her knees.

He was by her side in a heartbeat. Knelt to the ground, cradled her in his arms.

“What’s the matter, Eff?” The wet grass soaked through to his knees. “You hurt? What’s wrong?”

“I … I don’t know.” Her frightened blue eyes came visible for a fraction of a moment. “It’s like … ahh! Aahh!!”

Eyes squeezed shut, she clutched her head tighter. Body rigid and stiff in his arms, her mouth fell open and a cry of pure agony spilt over her lips. A cry growing louder. Louder, until he couldn’t breathe. Horrid screams he’d never heard from her before. Not even when she gave birth.

The stuff of nightmares. Like they’d both been thrown inside an arena where he’d hunted her down, overpowered her and wielding a knife.

Cutting bits and pieces out of her.

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 48

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

SUMMARY: Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more?

Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming.

Chapter 48, Kettles and fruitcake

The playful September breeze lifted the yellow leaves off the street. Made them whirl. Dance, across from Effie’s window.

One of them, dry and withered, landed in the middle of the pond.

“Haymitch’s pond” as she’d come to call it, ever since that fateful night when he made his wish. His two wishes.

The leaf made rings on the surface. A ship fit for a beetle. Or maybe a family of fleas, sailing for the promised land.

The mid-morning sun filled every corner of the living room. Basking in its light, Effie set a plate of finger sandwiches on the coffee table. Found herself humming along with the radio.

It was a relatively new station. A group of ladies and gems who played music, mainly nursery rhymes, certain hours of the day.

They weren’t the first in that field, but they were the first to play more than just Capitol songs, approved by President Snow.

It’d been quite the project. A two years-long enterprise – supervised by someone other than Plutarch for a change – where they’d set out to collect folksongs and melodies from all around the nation.

Out in the districts of course, but also by digging in Capitol archives and through the mouths of the aging generation who still remembered the songs of old.

They had broadcasted throughout Panem for a couple of months now. For anyone who owned a radio and a curious mind.

Could’ve turned out tacky, only it didn’t. Caused something of a controversy, sure. A few Capitol stuck ups who wanted the show shut down, both before and after it first aired.

But those negative voices were soon drowned out, as the station grew increasingly popular. Here of course, and in District 4 and – out of all places – District 13.

No surprise there really. Not to Effie. Finnick’s district had always been a home for singing. And the latter: just starved for entertainment and fun after all those years in isolation.

If I replace Haymitch’s demolished radio,she thought, he might enjoy listening as well. Anything is possible. He’s such a music lover at heart. Could easily find these melodies on the piano. Play the twins something live.

Hands on her hips, Effie eyed the table critically – set with her finest bone china.

Plump, elegant coffee cups. Matching plates with gilded rims. All decorated with the same hand-painted flowers as the pot out in the kitchen, waiting to be filled.

“My family heirloom”, she could’ve told Haymitch. A wedding gift that once belonged to her grandparents.

Over the course of the years, the pretty coffee set had survived two rebellions, four toddlers (back to back) and one drunken Abernathy.

“What do you think?” Effie asked. “Will this do?”

Harnessed up, safely secured in their doorways, Amy and Ian bounced in response. Like the world’s tiniest skydivers. Dressed for play. Their toes just touching the floor.

Jolly jumpers, Annabel called them. It was a birthday gift from her and June.

What better way to dance with the beat, while you were still figuring out the art of standing?

“We should’ve gotten some fresh flowers”, Effie thought out loud. “Pity.”

She hummed along with the music. Adjusted one of the spoons. The linen napkins.

“Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true”, she sang. “Here is the place where I love you.” She kissed Amy. “And you”, she smiled and kissed Ian. “Yes”, she nodded to herself. “I am not in the least tone deaf. Your father doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

The boy grasped for the flowing skirt of her dress. A creation layered with autumn leaves in shades of orange, yellow and red. Not real ones but real enough. She hardly ever indulged in such fancy fashion anymore – fancy and toddlers didn’t go well in hand – but sometimes she just couldn’t help herself.

Low rumbles of a car engine broke her thoughts. Effie looked up. Just in time to see the cab roll up to her curb. The sky turned the side windows into mirrors and no sooner had the driver slowed to a stop before the doors opened.

One, two three.

The sight, their tell-tale chatter, high heels against gravel, curved Effie’s lips.

Moments later, the front door gave a merry tinkle.

“Who can that be?” Effie smiled the twins’s way.

“We’re here!” Venia thrilled, out in the hallway – seconds before they all burst into the living room. A carnival of big smiles and colors.

Orange, green and aqua taking the lead.

“Look who it is!” Flavius spread his arms out, like a circus director. “Your favorite uncle!”

The twins bounced like mad in their jolly jumpers. Like popcorn in a saucepan. Kicking their arms and legs, they both let out ecstatic little squeak-breaths at the sight of the three.

“Aaw! You’ve missed us terribly, haven’t you? Sweet darlings!” Venia bounded straight for Amy. The sunlight glinted off her gold tattoos when she smiled. “Hi, precious! Are you training for your bungee jump certificate, today?”

“How was breakfast?” Flavius smiled, over by the boy’s side. “What did you eat, young master Ian? Anything good?”

“Oh, look at you! You match the flowers, dear!” Octavia kissed Effie on the cheeks, holding a bouquet of bountiful blooms. “This is for you”, she beamed. “It was Venia’s idea. To take the route through Heaven’s Square. Flavius loves tiger lilies you see, and I simply adore sunflowers. We couldn’t decide on one, so we got you both!”

“Why, thank you.” Effie gave the bouquet a tentative sniff. “They’re gorgeous.”

Octavia nodded eagerly.

“We are such thoughtful friends, aren’t we?” she said, half overcome with emotion. “Oh, what would you do without us?”

Effie smiled. She gestured toward the coffee table.

“Please, help yourself while I get some water for these.”

“I’m glad we didn’t miss the concert”, Flavius beamed. He’d taken a seat on the rug, across from the boy while Ian bounced, bounced, bounced with the music. More or less in-sync. “Oh”, the man giggled next, pointing a well-manicured finger in the air. “I remember this one! An all-time favorite! We played it by my crib day and night!”

He cleared his throat behind a fist, opened his mouth and sang – in a fair and surprisingly beautiful voice:

“The people on the bus go up and down. Up and down. Up and down. The people on the bus go up and down. Throough the Capitoool!”

It was hilarious how fast the prep team had warmed up to the twins.

During that surprise first visit post-elevator, Octavia brought lidded mugs of hot chocolate and her two friends along.

And, kid you not, it took less than an hour. Not only did they melt like popsicles in August. They seemed to have forgotten they ever even had a negative opinion to begin with. Not about “borderless lovers” and certainly not “half breeds”.

The twins won them over in no time at all.

Cinna would have been proud. Katniss and Peeta too.

Since then, the three Capitolians checked in every other day or so. Brought food and iced tea, laughter and stories from town.

A welcome distraction. Their presence, their bright and sunny positivity couldn’t help but rub off. Lift her spirit for the first time in … she didn’t even know when.

Everything just fell into place. No need to sit down and talk things through. And frankly: it was a relief.

To just leave the past in the past. Look ahead.

“Are those Peeta’s work?” gasped Octavia, brown eyes on the table. The three-tier cookie stand. “I recognize the frosting!”

“It is.” Effie set the vase of flowers in the center of the cloth. “He mailed a crate full, the day before yesterday. Have one.”

Octavia smiled and plucked a sugar cookie, frosted with a bright green four-leaf clover. She had herself a small bite. Groaned.

“It’s divine! Venia, you have to try this!”

“How is our precious painter?” the older woman asked, once nibbling on a cookie of her own. “And Katniss too, the sweet dear. Is she still designing women’s fashion? We’ve been dying to visit, but life’s been so hectic. Something always comes up. Like just the other day!”

“Yes”, Octavia said. Voice low, almost conspiratory. “We finally told her. Not, not Katniss of course. Gloria. We put a foot down and kept it down. Didn’t we, Flavius?”

“Oh yes”, the man said, still on the floor, nodding his orange corkscrew curls.

“We explained how much we love you and Amy and Ian”, Venia said. “And Haymitch too of course. In his … best moments. We simply laid down the law and told her if she didn’t have anything nice to say, she shouldn't speak at all. Or else, she cannot get her nails done at our salon.”

“She was livid”, Octavia whispered. “She pushed over a mannequin. And then she said … tell her what she said!”

Venia mimicked her voice:

“‘I don’t need you, do I? Go to hell, for all I care! You’re crap at your job anyway!’”

”Ha!” Flavius laughed, as if the very thought was too ridiculous to ever be taken to heart. “Honestly, I feel sorry for her. Don’t you? I mean, think about it! Her nails will look absolutely dreadful from now on.”

“Why don’t we all take a seat?” Effie gestured toward the table. “The coffee will be ready any minute now.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Flavius got to his feet, a real spring in his step. “You know, Effie, we were thinking. Since there is something of a breath of fall in the air today. How about, we celebrate? By brewing ourselves a pot of nice, hot tea.”

Effie’s heart sank.

And not just to her stomach. Down down down it went. All the way down to the very soles of her feet.

It must have shown, for Octavia quickly reassured her:

“Not that we don’t appreciate your coffee making skills. We simply adore it!”

“Absolutely”, said Venia. “Especially your con panna. It’s to die for!”

“I don’t really drink tea anymore”, said Effie, heat rising to her cheeks by their curious gazes. “It’s just not for me.”

“But why?” asked Octavia. “You had it during the Games. Plenty of times.”

“It’s complicated”, Effie said, hoping they’d leave it at that. “I had a bad experience with tea a while back. Lost my taste for it.”

“Oh!” said Flavius, hand against his heart. “I know exactly what you mean, love! I once indulged myself at a Pick & Cheese. A fine restaurant, they said. Trustworthy. What a joke!” He drew a heavy sigh, eyes on the ceiling. “I wound up”, he said, “with the worst food poisoning of my entire life! Shooting out both ends, if you know what I mean? God, I thought I was DYING! For years to come I couldn’t even look at a slice of gouda without feeling queasy.”

He patted Effie’s shoulder. Hand heavy with sympathy.

“You just have to tell yourself the same thing I did last year, that one time I fell off a carousel horse. ‘Flavius’, I said. ‘Now is the time for courage. Don’t let fear creep into your heart. If you do, you won’t ever try anything daring ever again. Dust yourself off and get right back in the saddle. Don’t worry. It will all be OK in the end.’”

“It’s not quite that simple”, Effie said. “Besides, I don’t even have any tea.”

“That’s alright!” Octavia beamed. She darted for her bag, bringing with her a fancy box of organic, flavored green tea. “We bought it downtown”, she said. “Just to be safe. Some people’s teas are simply awful! Even the best of people. But this, this is what Cinna and Portia always drank. Remember? Very tasty and it boosts the immune system.”

“Let’s get the kettle on!” sing-songed Flavius and Venia in chorus and before Effie knew it, the three of them bounded into the kitchen.

Ten minutes later they all returned. Carrying her plump china pot, heavy with something other than coffee for the first time in ages.

“Now don’t you worry, love”, Flavius interjected her weak protests. “We will cure this unfortunate mental block of yours in a heartbeat!”

They ushered her toward the couch. Planted her on the middle seat with Flavius and Venia on her left. Octavia on the right.

“Don’t be scared”, the latter smiled. “We are here for you.”

“No need for thanks either.” Venia patted her hand. “Just relax and let us provide with some much-needed tea therapy.”

“You know, this is something we could have charged you for”, said Flavius lightly, armed with the tea pot. “But of course - since it’s you – it’s on the house.” A steady stream, the color of fall itself, poured into her cup when he tilted the pot.

“How about a nip of milk?” Venia lifted the cream pitcher. “For extra flavor.”

“And one of sweet Peeta’s sweet creations to nibble on in between”, said Octavia and placed a pink-frosted cookie on her plate. She lifted the cup off the table. “There you go”, she said sweetly. “Nice and hot.”

Effie had no choice but to accept.

Holding it by the ear, she stirred with the silver spoon. Buying herself more time. The scent swirled into her nostrils. This tea – Cinna and Portia’s tea – smelled nothing like her last time, but the lump still grew in her throat.

Her eyes flitted to the twins, bouncing in their jolly jumpers. As if making sure they hadn’t disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Octavia saw her look.

“Yes, there’s Amy and there’s Ian.” Despite the aching in Effie’s chest, the softness of the woman’s voice coaxed a smile out of her. Octavia gave the children a flickering wave of her fingers. “Hello little dears! Look at your mama. So brave.”

Effie focused back on the tea. Drew a deep breath. Let the air out slowly. She lifted the cup to her mouth. Misty heat warmed her upper lip as she took the tiniest of sips.

As the beverage touched her tongue, flavor spreading across her taste buds, Mrs Q – relentless, tight-lipped, eyes hard as the gemstones in her hollow cheeks – flashed before her mind.

“You should never have let him into your bed.”

A choked sound came over Effie’s lips and, unable to stop them, tears welled up in her eyes.

“Oh, honey!” Venia gasped.

“Don’t cry!” said Octavia and in an instant, they hugged her from all sides. Three sets of arms, cocooning her in their embrace.

“It’s OK.” Flavius gingerly removed the cup from her hands. Set it on the table. “It’s only tea. Just tea. It won’t hurt you.” Patting her hair ever so softly, he said: “Don’t you worry, darling. We’ll bring you a different flavor every single visit and the more you drink it, the easier it’ll become.”

“Absolutely”, Venia said.

“We will help you. We promise”, said Octavia, cheek against her cheek. “That’s what friends do. How about, we braid your hair now? Would you like that, sweetie? Let’s braid your hair.”

“Mama.”

The sudden sound turned every head. Effie’s. The prep’s. Four pair of eyes glued to the same spot.

Amy waved her little arms about.

“Mama!” she repeated. Firmer now.

“Oh my God”, whispered Octavia.

“Did she just …?” Venia stared, arms still around Effie.

“Was that her first word?” Flavius asked under his breath.

“Yes”, Effie said, just as stunned. “I mean, they’ve strung together different vowels and consonants. Tried them out, for some time now, but … this is the first real word.”

“Oh, my God!!”

The prep team jumped from the couch, as one. Octavia heading for Amy. Venia and Flavius for Ian.

“That was so beautiful!” Octavia had already broken into sobs. “Can I hold her? Oh, please, can I?”

“Go ahead”, said Effie.

Ever so gently, the girl lifted Amy out of her sling. Tears rolled down her emerald-green cheeks as she cradles her close.

“Oh, precious, I’m so proud of you”, she sobbed, rocking her. “Goodness, that’s the most amazing thing I’ve seen since Venia’s last birthday!”

“Can you say ‘Flavius’, young master Ian? ‘Flaavius’!”

“Come, angel.” Venia smiled and lifted the boy out. Propped him against one hip, so naturally you’d think she’d done nothing else all her life. “Let’s get you to mama.”

The two women resumed their seats around Effie. And Amy, she immediately climbed onto her mother’s lap, like: “enough’s enough”.

Octavia just couldn’t stop smiling. Caressing the girl’s silky hair with the back of her fingers she said,

“We must take them to the Aquarium soon. Celebrate! Jellyfish are such magical creatures. Do you think the twins will find them magical?”

Riing!

Effie nearly jumped at the unexpected sound.

“Oh, allow me”, said Flavius, the only one still on his feet. And before Effie could stop him, he snatched the cordless telephone.

“Hello!” he thrilled. “Trinket residence!”

“Oh, um”, Effie said. You’d think she sat on an ant hill, by the way she moved. “Please Venia, can you scooch over?”

“Haymitch Abernathy! As I live and breathe!” Flavius exclaimed. “My, my, do I have news!”

“Flavius, hold on.” Effie struggled past Venia, and Ian sitting on her lap. All whilst Amy kept a firm hold on her mama’s body, dress, hair. “Please, the call’s for me. I’ll take that …”

“Your daughter”, the man nearly bounced on his feet, deaf to her words, “just said her first word! She said ‘mama’! Loud and clear! Oh, it was so incredible! Extraordinary! I could’ve kicked myself I didn’t bring a camera!”

“Flavius, let me talk to him.”

“Well, old man”, Flavius went on, “it was so good hearing from you again but as you probably guessed, we’re a little bit busy at the moment. Octavia and Venia and Effie and I – and the little ones of course! – are just about to have ourselves a green tea o’clock. Don’t mind if we call you back? OK, then. Take care. Bye!”

And before Effie could stop him, he ended the call.

xXx

*ring ring*

…

Hello? Haymitch? Are you there?

My stars. Good ol’ Effs Trinket. To what do I owe the pleasure?

I’m sorry. I wanted to get back to you sooner. But we had something of a full house before and then I needed to get the twins down for their nap. Took longer than expected.

You didn’t have to call at all.

No, of course I do! I wanted to. I’m so glad you rang us up. Flavius just beat me to it. Sorry about that. He gets a little over-excited sometimes. You know how he is.

*scoffs*

So … how is everything in District 12? Are you still living at Sae’s?

What’s it to you?

Um, nothing … I guess. It was just a question.

Well, use your imagination. How do you think it’s been?

Fair enough.

Sorry I missed the party. From what I hear, it was quite the talk of the town.

Oh, no. Not a party. Far from it. And we only had tea.

Yeah, well. Must be marvelous to have such all-weather friends. You’re one lucky girl, aren’t you?

… what?

I mean, who am I to judge? If you wanna hang out with the people who threw you under the bus a minute ago, that’s on you. I mean, fuck, knock yourself out. But as the father, one would think I deserve to at least be consulted about what kind of people you expose our children to.

Expose?

You heard me. I may be a drunk but I’m not that drunk. Did you honestly think I’d let you get away with it? That I’d sit here quietly? I know all about your fucked up city’s fucked up ideas! Plastic surgery. Neurotoxins. Puking your guts on purpose! And now those … those … “friends” of yours are gonna pollute my children’s young minds with all that Capitol horseshit? Over my dead body!

They don’t! Not at all! What kind of a mother do you think I am?

Well, you welcomed them back with open arms, didn’t you? I bet they never even apologized for the way they treated you. They ganged up with Gloria for fuck’s sake! Remember? I certainly do. I mean, hell Effs! Where’s your self-respect?

It’s different now.

How? What changed? How do you know it isn’t just some ploy to get an inside scoop? Gossip material for later. Extra, extra, hear all about it!

Stop it! They wouldn’t! They’d never! They’ve been nothing but good to me …

For a precious few weeks …

… and the twins! I chose to forgive. To let bygones be bygones and trust my own heart in this matter. And that should be enough for you too! If you ever knew me at all …

*snorts* Well, don’t come weeping on my doorstep when they discard you. And trust me, sweetheart. They will.

Oh, don’t you worry! And don’t call me sweetheart! I can take care of myself, thank you very much! *inhales a shaky breath* You’re mad about earlier. And I get that but … you don’t have to be mean. I know the prep team far better than you do and you … you wouldn’t even be saying those things, had you seen them today. They adore the twins.

Yeah, they love ‘em. Same way Octavia loves her pet rats. Amy and Ian are little more than dolls to them. The moment something else piques their interest, they’ll toss them aside without a second thought.

Who are you?! You sound just like Gloria!

I d…

Yes, you do! You’re being vicious and prejudiced when you don’t even have a clue! Nothing improper goes on under my roof and I cannot believe you think I’d even allow it! The only thing the prep team’s done is bring happiness back into this house. They make me laugh. Make me feel … hopeful. They even promised to help with my tea anxiety.

Your … what?

I … I mean. They make things better, OK. Easier. Whenever I need help with the children or just need a few minutes for myself to breathe or take a shower, they’re always there. They help me, Haymitch!

Yah, unlike me.

I didn’t say …

Cause last time I checked, princess, you already have a support system. Right here! You didn’t have to break the family up.

I didn’t!

You fucking did, Effs! I didn’t up and leave! Not once! Not even when you dropped your twin pregnancy on me like a fucking nuclear bomb. I always remained loyal to you. To our family. No matter what! You’re the one who saw fit to pack your bags. Who decided to put a whole fucking country between us!

Because you left me no choice! What else could I do?

Like … not leave! Get a place nearby.

Right. And when you come stumbling through the door at night, wasted out of your mind, what then?

Fuck you! I offered to go! Offered my whole goddamn house on a silver platter! I would’ve been fine stayin’ at your fancy-ass place. If it meant that you and the …

No, you wouldn’t! You wouldn’t be fine at all! I wanted to come home! More than anything! But you in the Capitol? Alone with your ghosts and no one checking up on you. You’d drink yourself to death for sure!

I don’t need a fucking babysitter!

Since when?! I can’t be in charge of everything, Haymitch! The twins already claim me day and night. I can’t be in charge of everything all the time! It’s too much!

Well, if things are so taxing for you, then come the fuck home! Your village isn’t the prep team, you hear! It’s Sae. It’s Hazelle. Katniss. Peeta. Fine, I’m just some big and scary monster, so to hell with me, right? But those people, they love you! They care for you deeply and every single one of them is a far better influence than your trio of …

Don’t you dare say it!

Well, they’re nutty as a fruitcake, on that we can all agree!

Better nutty than callous! Callous and unkind! At least they are here! Part of their lives. There’s nothing wrong with that! All they do is read stories to them, sing a song every once in a while, put on puppet shows …

Yeah? ‘bout what? The history of the Hunger Games?

Go to hell, Haymitch! I haven’t heard from you in a month. More than a month! Don’t you think I wanted to tell you about the prep team? Or anything concerning the twins, for that matter? But how can I, when you never pick up the phone? When you refuse to return my calls. It’s been weeks and weeks of worrying and caring for the children without you and now, here you are, after all this time, intoxicated …

Oh, that is so you! Effie Trinket in a nutshell! Yeah, maybe I did have a snifter or two, just to take the edge off things. Of course you’ll hold it over my head forever! Never mind I missed my daughter’s first word. Never mind you took my own flesh and blood away from me! Little Ms. Perfect Mama of the Year … Go, then. Go on! Have a ball with your nutty little friends. You already ruined everything else and if you’re too dense to realize they’re not good for you, then …

You ever stopped to think that maybe you’re the one who’s not good for me?!

So file for sole custody then! Be done with it!! *SLAM!*

*toot toot*

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 44

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more?

Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming.

Chapter 44

Haymitch’s lullaby

Night again. Midnight.

Cleo, June and Annabel’s bearded dragon moved quietly in her tank. Her claws rattled against rock and root in her shadowy world, illuminated only by the pale shafts of moonlight.

Haymitch peered inside the living room, half-hidden by the doorway. Effie had yet to come back to her room. Not that it was any of his business. If she was restless tonight she had good reason.

But an hour passed, an hour-fifteen, and finally he followed her.

Not to try and make her reconsider. About Twelve and all. Her mind was made up. He’d certainly done everything in his power to cement her belief that the children were better off as far away from him as possible. Even if she was too polite to say so.

All he wanted was to check on her. Make sure she was OK.

As OK as could be expected.

And there she was. Curled up in the old armchair. Eyes closed, knees under her chin. Breathing softly.

Their trusty side-kick – the baby monitor - stood on the table, next to a half-finished glass of milk. Goat milk probably. She bought a bottle just the other day. Some local farmer, downtown.

Maybe she misses Twelve, he thought. Katniss and Peeta and … all the rest.

That or she just needed something sweet to help her sleep.

If so, it did the trick.

He watched her pale face, framed by soft strands of strawberry blonde hair. That special hue from the Trinket family tree that she passed on to her children. Their children.

In just a couple of hours, they’d all be gone. Effs, the kids. She already bought the tickets. One for the Capitol. One for Twelve.

He couldn’t even follow them part-way. Not when they were going in two completely different directions.

He’d hinted, several times, at the solution of him setting up camp in her house while she and the twins moved to the Victor’s Village. But every time he tried to open that door, Effie closed it again.

Didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

He would have joined them for the whole trip. Gladly. All the way to the Capitol and home again. It still wouldn’t feel like enough time.

But who wanted to lock themselves on a train for 24 hours with a dumbhead in withdrawal? Not Effie. Especially not when she already had two young children to take care of. The liquor was gone. No hair of the dog available. He’d be a wreck, not two districts later. He couldn’t do that to her. Wouldn’t expose her or the children to any of that bullshit.

Yeah, the booze really was gone. The hip flask. The bottles. He poured all of it down the drain. Something he’d done maybe never in his lifetime

While he waited for news on Effie.

A feverish act. A mad frenzy. Nothing but a desperate man’s desperate pact with … whoever might be listening. Bent over the sink – blood pounding in his ears, his pipes clenched to what felt like half – he just snapped one seal after another.

As if his tossing the lot would somehow make Effie return home unscathed.

Unscathed? Fuck. Effs hadn’t been without scars in decades and definitely not these past couple of years. Or days, for that matter.

With bated breath Haymitch stepped over the threshold. Occasional splatter of rain drip-dropped down the misty windows as he threaded soundlessly across the carpet.

He wasn’t always a bull in a china shop. Katniss would be amazed (or maybe not) if she knew how quiet he could be still. When he had a mind to. And was sober.

He plucked the baby monitor from the table. Turned it off and slipped it in his pocket. His empty pocket.

Effie only mumbled something in her sleep when he spread the blanket over her. Tucked her in. He touched her cheek with a feather-light hand.

“Sleep well, princess. See ya in the mornin’.”

The brisk breeze elbowed the house in the side. Over and over. Made it creak and groan on Haymitch’s way upstairs.

Just like my place, he thought. It too was a talker. Course, had this been his house and his hour he wouldn’t have noticed. He’d already be three sheets to the wind by now.

Or four or five.

He stopped by Effie’s bedroom. Polished the wood with his ear, listening for anything out of the ordinary. Hand against the handle, he hesitated. Then pushed inside. One inch at a time.

Just to check on them.

The kids usually slept through the night now. Thanks to the tireless hard work of one ms. Effie Trinket. And like a drop’s effort on his part.

So no wonder his heart jumped – like a cat off an electric fence – when Amy turned her head the moment he walked in.

Wide awake. Sitting upright in her side of the travel crib. Not an ounce of fatigue in her Seam gray eyes.

Mostly, when the girl woke up at odd hours – sleepy and overtired – she had no problem making herself heard.

But for whatever reason she only blinked her long lashes. A look in her eyes like “Do you have an appointment?”

Haymitch crouched before the crib.

“What’re you doin’ up, sweetheart?” He whispered the words because Ian was still sound asleep. Eyelashes dark against his chubby cheeks. The beloved binky propped in his mouth.

Haymitch caressed his daughter’s silky hair.

“This is bedtime”, he said. “Not playtime.”

Maybe it was the word. “Play”. That or simply the cadence of his soft dad voice. But Amy instantly put both hands up in front of her, palms facing him. Expectantly.

When he didn’t immediately respond with the double high five (or something equally enthralling) she let out a bright bird squeak, like he was a little slow and she had to spell it out.

Haymitch’s lips curved upwards. But it was a smile that couldn’t quite quench the sadness in his tired red eyes. He flopped down on the floor, cross-legged. Held her perfect little hands between his shaky, timeworn thumbs and forefingers.

“Tomorrow”, he said. “Now’s night-night. OK?”

Amy shook her head violently from side to side. A bull’s eye coincidence but enough for him to flash a hint of teeth.

“No. You gon’ need your energy in the morning. Come on. Lay down your head. And close your eyes. Just like it says in aunt Katniss’s song.”

Ever so gently he helped her down on her back, but Amy’s body had no sooner touched the mattress before she struggled back up again. Shot him a look that was so Effie-like he half-expected “Manners!” to be snapped his way.

He tried it a second time. Put her down. Scanned the room for the pacifier.

Big mistake.

Amy’s bottom lip jutted out. Eyebrows creased, her face turned a darker shade of pink as it crinkled up dangerously.

“No, no, no ...”, said Haymitch hastily. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry, girlie.”

Too late.

Fucking hell, he thought as he reached inside the crib. Lifted out his wailing child. When would he learn? Almost a year in and he still made these clueless first dad mistakes.

“There, there, I got ya”, he mumbled into her hot temple. “No need to work on my deafness. I got ya.” Her arms clutched his neck and he rocked her, speaking the same soft words as many a night before.

And, of course, her cries had not yet subsided before her brother stirred. The boy rubbed a fist into his eye, the pacifier slipped out onto the mattress and from him came a few pitiful whimpers.

Before long Haymitch had both arms full of his two cranky children.

Got no one to blame but himself. Why didn’t he just sit with her? Read a bedtime story or hummed some of the songs they liked. Girl would’ve passed out eventually, without him pushing and prodding her.

He gave them both a kiss.

“Whatcha say we go back to my room, hm? Don’t think you’ve ever been there, like once, this whole trip.”

Said and done.

“His” quarters weren’t nearly as neat as Effie’s, obviously. But he put in the effort to make the bed at least. The fact he’d hardly slept in it this whole time helped of course.

Guided by moonlight, he unloaded his precious cargo onto the embroidered bedspread.

And there they felt right at home. Because if there was one thing his little cubs had always enjoyed, it was beds. The bigger, the better. Here, in the Capitol, in Twelve. Everyone’s but their own really.

Their whining instantly stopped, like turning off a tap. Ian flopped forward against the pillow with an excited huff.

“Don’t fall off”, Haymitch warned, head inside one of the wardrobes. “Can’t return you to mama with any bumps. She’ll wring my neck.”

“Aa-mm-uh!” squeaked Amy eagerly, clutching her toes with both hands. “Mmm-amm-amm-amm!”

“Mama’s sleeping”, Haymitch said. Hangers creaked when he nudged the jackets and sweaters and raincoats aside, looking for his secret further in. “Long day. We just gotta look after ourselves for now, yeah?”

Getting a good grip he carried the box out. Just a regular-sized cardboard parcel. Big enough to carry … what? A dozen bottles of beer?

He lifted it onto the bed, before Amy and Ian’s mildly curious gazes.

“I know it should be tied up with strings and all that fancy-schmancy.” He climbed in with them. “But I can’t wrap for sh… A drunk orangutan would do a better job.”

Not like Eff, he thought. Seriously, what’d she do? Apply for a gift wrapping certificate alongside her escort courses?

The old man could’ve probably fixed it. When Haymitch called in the order. But it just didn’t occur to him at the time. To ask the favor.

Ian tugged at him. The usual cue when he wanted to be picked up. Haymitch settled him on his left knee. Amy, on the right.

“Think of this like it’s mama’s cooking”, he said and inched the box closer. “Just cause it doesn’t look right doesn’t mean you won’t like what’s inside.”

The seal was already broken. Earlier. Not with his knife. Effie would have had a fucking asthma-attack had he brought it here. Just a regular pair of scissors with ring handles made out of hickory wood.

He flipped open the flaps. The outer the inner. Reached through the bubble wrap.

It was heavier than he remembered. He needed both hands to get it out of the box. The twins watched with peaked interest as he placed the object, the present, before them.

“You were supposed to have it when you were born”, Haymitch said quietly. “And then again the other day. I messed up but … better late than never.”

Ian reached a hand out. Gingerly grazed his five tiny fingernails against the left one of the three.

Three goslings sitting on a patch of grass.

Amy followed her brother’s example. Touched the bird on the right. The soft down. The pearly eyes. The little beak. Babbled something, questioningly.

“Nah, it ain’t real goslings”, Haymitch said. “Don’t worry, I already made sure. It’s called a music box. I want you to have it. Take it with you when you …”

His voice faltered.

“Crazy day that was.” He kissed the top of her head. Kissed Ian’s too. “First time I ever met ya. Feels like a hundred years now. You were so squished. Both o’ ya. Got these … purplish lil’ monkey faces. Hollering at me like I’d broken your grandmother’s china.”

He smiled at the memory.

“And I knew I’d never seen anything more beautiful in all my life. And yeah, that’s including your poor mother. I was a goner. From the start. Never been more proud, more terrified, of anything. Ever. Lucky too. Cause out of all the people in this world, I get to be your dad.”

Eyes shiny, he swallowed hard against the painful lump in his throat. Caressed Amy’s cheek with the back of his fingers. Dropped a kiss to the dimples of Ian’s knuckles.

“But I can’t be a good dad to you now. Not the kind you need and deserve. Tomorrow when it’s time for bed I won’t be there. I don’t know when we’ll see each other again. Properly. But if you ever feel sad and anxious and can’t sleep cause I ain’t there, mama can play you this song and wherever I am or whatever I’m doing I’ll be listening with you. No matter what happens, we’ll always be a family. In here.”

He touched the spot right over their hearts.

“And whenever you look out on the night sky, remember that even though we’re far away from each other I’m looking at the same moon you are. The same stars. OK?”

He tilted the goslings over, carefully, having a look at the underside.

“So, watcha say?” he asked, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. “Wanna try and play some music? See what kinda song it’s got?”

There was something engraved in the metal. Haymitch squinted at it, ran a thumb over the old letters.

“’Someday’”, he read. “Never heard of it. Have you?” He looked at the twins. “Maybe mama knows … and there’s the key …”

He grabbed a good hold. Gave it half a dozen twists. Just like Paulus Bell had taught him.

The music box came to life immediately.

But what Haymitch first noticed wasn’t the tinkles, the chimes, the melody itself.

No. It was the goslings themselves.

They were glowing.

All three of them. Carried within some kind of light, burning right where their hearts would be. Warm and comforting.

A night lamp. Not painful to the eye but warm. Ember-soft. Like a campfire. But not the fire you lit with cold-stiff fingers in the arena. Fires that got you killed.

No. The kind you lit on your own hearth when it was time to eat, time to sleep. The shadows cast: not frightening. Not dangerous. Just … playful. Calming.

This, he’d already sensed of course. Back at the Forum, when Paulus Bell first demonstrated the music box to him. It had a light of some kind, sure.

But in the vivid and bright cascades of artificial bullshit that the Capitol spewed all over you – spotlights, billboards, fairy bulbs – this tiny little source was all but drowned out. Leaving only glimpses.

But here, in the quiet and the dark, it was different. Now they burned strong and steadily. Unswerving. Always had … course … It’s capacity to shine never changed. Never went anywhere. Even if he was too distracted to realize it.

And then the music. He strained his ears; once again, tried to place it. Where it came from. He’d always had a remarkable memory. That was his curse. One of them, anyway. And as for songs and melodies, he was a living breathing archive.

Sae said he reminded her of Katniss’s grandmother in that regard. She never forgot anything with a tune either. One hearing was all she needed.

The song was simple enough. He could easily find it on the piano – if he’d had a piano at his disposal. A lullaby, obviously. Soft and gentle, like the light it emitted. Kind, if that made sense? Tenderly merry. Like a kiss on the cheek. One of Effie’s kisses.

Someday. Someday, what?

The twins had fallen completely silent. Marble-eyed. Sitting very still, as always when they were really into something. Mesmerized, either by the light or the music or both.

His good, sweet children. How odd to think they weren’t always in his life.

So many more things he wanted to say to them. While there was still time. Not that they understood what he was telling them or even if they did, they wouldn’t hear a word he said, being so awestruck by their new present.

He ought to just let them enjoy the show. Have it lull them to slumber before he carried them back to Effie’s room.

But one thing he had to say. Couldn’t let them leave without it.

”I love you, little uns.” He kissed their soft, goose-downy hair. “I know I don’t say it a lot. Not like mama does. I never got to keep anything to call mine and I know it’s silly but … it’s like if I say it too often someone will pick up on it. Like a frequency on the radio. They’ll know and then … But I do. So much. You’re the best thing I ever did with my life.”

Heart aching, he rested his chin against the top of Ian’s head. Cupped his hand around Amy’s little foot.

“I’m really really gonna miss you.”

Author’s note: Now they’ve all gotten geese for a gift, did you notice? Haymitch has the origami goose that Effie made him, Haymitch gave her a porcelain goose on the December Fair before knocking her up and the twins now has their music box goslings.

“Someday” is a real song. There’s even an actual music box version of it on Spotify and YouTube played by Nibble Pig. And if you’ll wonder, just like I did: “Where the hell have I heard this melody before?” it’s because it’s a roll credits song from “The Hunchback of Notre Dame.” Go check it out! The Alan Menken version. It’s got the loveliest lyrics ever! Very “Deep in the Meadow” and “What I need is the dandelion in the spring” themed. ;)

Also, the sentence “You’re the best thing I ever did with my life”. I can't take credit for that cause it’s a variation of a line (said by another addict) in “Riding in cars with boys”. A movie (and book) I was obsessed with when I was 15. If you ever get the chance, watch it on dvd. That way you can also enjoy Drew Barrymore’s beautiful voice-over commentary!

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 30

Author’s note: It’s been 7 chapters (and 2,5 years, oh God!) since I introduced the Hayffie baby names Ian and Amy/Amandalyn to our fandom for the very first time. Will we watch them being born in today’s chapter? Read and find out! Also, wanted to take a moment to thank you all for the AMAZING response to the last chapter! You absolutely rock and it’s a big reason why this chapter was written and published so fast. That’s the kind of power readers can have on a story’s progress. I hope you enjoy the chapter! Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M Chapter 30 As old as life itself ”How would you like rabbit pie with wild mushrooms for dinner?” Katniss asked and dropped her game bag onto the table. She took a cheese bun from the top of the bread basket and had a bite. It was good to be home again. She’d been a-foot all day. “Rooba says hi.” Peeta nodded, hands cupped around a mug of tea. No sugar. There was still some left in the pot and Katniss poured herself a cup. Talking about her day out in the woods she joined him at the table. Peeta listened but like his father back in the day he didn’t seem to have a lot to say this evening. Nothing but a nod here and there as the cup turned cold in his hands. Finally Katniss couldn’t miss the lack of response. “What’s wrong?” Peeta drew a breath. Let out a sigh before he said, “Effie called. She’s gone into labor early.”

“Oh. That’s normal, isn’t it?” Katniss frowned, not sure herself. “With twins. You just go to the hospital. Have them.” “Yes, I don’t think there’s anything wrong.” He silenced. “Haymitch is not with her.” “Why not?” “No idea. She woke up and… he just wasn’t there anymore.” “Oh, Haymitch,” Katniss sighed into her cup. “Effie believes he might have taken the train home. Asked us to let him know what’s going on once he gets here.” A frown marred Katniss’s face, hearing those words. She tapped a dirty nail against the ceramic mug, then gave a firm shake of her head. “I don’t believe it.” “He’s only had four months to get used to this…” “I know and I don’t believe it. Haymitch is not a quitter. He’s just at a bar somewhere.” “Maybe. And that’s not much better. Either way, Effie’s alone and he’s gonna miss it all.” “If he’s drunk it’s probably best if he’s not in the room.” The harsh words were betrayed by the tired look in Katniss’s gray eyes. “He can see them all come morning.” They lapsed into silence. What else was there to say? Peeta lifted his mug but lowered it again without a sip. “I want to do something for them,” he said, lips pressed together in determination. “Like what?” “I don’t know. Something.” They sat across from each other, racking their brains for anything good. Katniss spoke up first. “I’ve got an idea.” xXx ”99 bottles of beer on the wall. 99 bottles of beer.” Haymitch lay cheek down against his arm slung over the counter. He reached inside the peanut bowl, got himself a nut and placed it after the wobbly “E” on the smooth surface, creating a dot. “Take one down, pass it around. 98 bottles of beer on the wall.” He lifted his glass and drank but not too steady on his hand liquor rolled down his chin and onto the front of his shirt. ”Oh, shit…” “Mr. Haymitch?” He wiped his face with his hand and dried it on his pants. Helped himself with another mouthful. “98 bottles of beer on the wall. 98 bottles of beeer.” ”Mr. Haymitch? Mr. Haymitch!” Someone tugged on his shirt tail and he waved his hand in the air, like warding off a fly. “Take one down, pass it around. 97 bottles of beer on the wa... aah!” His arm shot out clutching the counter by the next forceful tug that damn near pulled him off his stool. Peanuts flew every which way. “What the hell!?” he spat and turned around. A pair of big brown eyes stared into his. Frightened but standing her ground. Light brown hair tied up with ribbons. A girl. Just a little girl. She couldn’t be older than twelve. He blinked hard several times to make the two images of her emerge into one. “Who’re you?” She looked familiar. “Grace, Mr Haymitch,” the girl said. “Gracie.” Oh. Right. Effie’s student. He grunted and returned to his drink. “You shouldn’t be here, girl. This place ain’t for kids.” He lifted his glass and slumped it back down. Bone dry. His wallet was on the counter. He opened it and sighed at the lone coins. He’d burned through both his and Effie’s money in just a couple of hours and he didn’t even notice. He glanced at the girl, still there. “Why don’t you go play with your friends, kiddo.” Gracie didn’t move. She crossed her arms and un-crossed them, watching him. “What?” He turned fully on her again. Couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice. “What can I help you with?” “Ms. Effie,” the girl said, her voice small but clear. “It’s about Ms. Effie, Mr. Haymitch.” “What about her?” “She’s at the hospital right now. Everyone says so. They say Ms. Effie’s gone into labor and that you’re not there.” It took a moment for the words to register. Even longer for them to make sense. ”What?” he got out, limbs flooding with panic. ”What?” “They think you abandoned her, Mr. Haymitch, but I thought maybe not so I went to come find you.” “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” He stumbled more than climbed down from his chair and the world made an alarming tilt. “When!?” He all but shook the answer out of her. “When did she go to the hospital?” “I don’t know.” “Fuck!!” He pocketed his wallet. The brightness of the mall hit him like a sledgehammer when he staggered out the pub. “No, Mr. Haymitch. This way!” Gracie called after him and he skidded to a stop. Almost tumbled over when he followed her. Across the way, seated at his old table, Paulus Bell watched them go. xXx “Effie Trinket. She’s here. I mean… Haymitch Abernathy. Here to see Eff. I mean Effs Trinket. She’s in labor!” Ocean resided the reception today. That was his usual luck. And yeah, Ocean really was her name. Sky blue hair. A heart-shaped face. Cold pink eyes. Her lips were pressed to non-existence as she watched the wild man before her. “Please keep to your side of the glass, Mr. Abernathy.” Haymitch cussed and stepped back. “There, happy?” he said, arms out. “When do I get to see her?” “ID, please.” “What?” “I need to see some identification.” “You’re kidding, right?” “I am not, sir.” “He’s the mentor of District 12,” Gracie chimed in. “Damn straight, I am! Whole bloody country knows my face!” “That doesn’t earn you special treatment, sir.” ”I haven’t had an ID in all my life! You know me! You’ve seen me here with Effie a dozen times!” “Sir, if you don’t keep the volume down I must ask you to leave.” “Oh, for fuck’s sake! Is this cause I said you got a stick up your ass? Well, I’m sorry. Couldn’t tell what else was wrong with you.” Ocean sucked in a breath, back straight as a steel poker. “You district people are all the same! Every last one of…” “Something the matter here?” All three of them looked up. An Asian doctor approached. Haymitch knew it was a doctor. He’d recognize that white coat anywhere. His silver streaked hair and beard matched the ten well-tended finger nails. “She won’t let me in!” Haymitch pointed to the tight-lipped receptionist. “Eff’s giving birth right now!” The doctor listened to the spew of words with a vacant look in his dark brown eyes. Finally he cut in. “You’re drunk, Mr. Abernathy.” “I know I’m bloody drunk!” The other men and women in the waiting room squirmed uncomfortably in their seats. “What kinda morons runs this place!?” “Mr. Abernathy. This is a hospital. I must ask you to contain yourself.” “I’m the father, damn it! I should be here! I promised her I’d be here! If you don’t want me to turn this place upside down you let me see her NOW!” The doctor turned to Ocean. “Call security.” “Oh, for Christ sake, no! No,” Haymitch said and all his fire died out. “I’ll be good. I swear it. Please just… They’re my kids. Come on! Let Effie know I’m here at least. That’s all I’m asking. If she doesn’t want me in the room, then I’m gone. I’m gone!” xXx ”Unbelievable.” With a protective hand over her belly and pinching her nose the last lady rose from her chair and walked to the opposing wall. She was in good company. More than one set of eyes glared at the former mentor surrounded by all those empty chairs. People who would rather stand and wait than succumb to the smell of hard liquor reeking out his very pores. Haymitch didn’t even notice or if he did he didn’t care. Collapsed in a pink couch, elbows on his thighs he kept his head braced between his hands as if to block out a painful sound. “You pathetic, low-life, useless, no-good, miserable, vile, foolish, loathsome…” “Mr. Abernathy, I presume?” “Mr. Haymitch.” Gracie whom had remained faithfully at his side prodded Haymitch’s shoulder. He scrambled to his feet like his ass was on fire. Arms helplessly at his sides, body swaying like a sailor at sea his eyes hung on to the male nurse before him. “How is she? Did I miss it? Can I see her?” “You arrived at the last moment, Mr. Abernathy,” he said, neither kind nor unkindly. “Follow me.” He struggled to keep up. Bit the inside of his cheek until it bled to stop the world from reeling out of control. The elevator arrived, mercifully empty. It was a slow ride but the slight sucking sensation in his stomach was enough. He groaned, thrown back in time to those retched elevator rides with Effie at the Training Center. Twelve fucking floors! Now he only had to suffer through four but even that was almost more than he could bear. “Why’s there no air in this thing?” he slurred, more to himself than the nurse. Groaning, he leaned over against a corner, one hand clutching the wall, the other one the mirror, leaving a hand print of cold sweat on the surface. “Mr. Abernathy,” said the nurse, more in alarm over the clean floors than him, that’s for sure. “I’m fine,” Haymitch snarl at the floor. After what felt like 84 years the elevator dinged open on the fourth floor. He heard her before he saw her. When the nurse opened one of the many anonymous doors and he stepped inside. The hair on his forearms stood right up from the sounds she was making. The door closed behind him but he was frozen to the spot. His mouth filled with saliva at a ridiculous rate. He swallowed and swallowed but it didn’t help. The fresh waves of nausea turned into cramps that seared through his stomach. Wanted him on his knees. Walk. Just walk. He approached the bed surrounded by stranger nurses. “Eff.” The room swam before his eyes and now she saw him. Panting hard and quick, her color hectic, her soft, strawberry hair clinging to her with sweat she wasn’t able to form any words. Neither good nor bad. There was nothing left but agony. A pain he caused. He wanted to run away. Just run for Twelve and hide under a blanket. Most of all he wanted to escape Effie’s eyes. A look that would haunt him for as long as he lived. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. But not a single word came over his lips. He was avox-mute. Either way, there was no time for forgiveness now. He’d never felt more powerless. He didn’t even take Effie’s hand. He did bloody nothing but stand by her side and try not to puke, like the drunken fool he was. What do I do? He wanted to holler it from the top of his lungs. What do I do? Tell me what do to! New cramps clutched his insides like Effie clutched the sheets. With her eyes squeezed shut, a guttural noise started deep within her throat. A sound that only grew louder and louder and he stumbled back from the bed, away from her. “Haymitch!” He heard her desperate cry, like something out of a nightmare, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. He pushed inside the adjacent bathroom and hurled into the toilet bowl. A vile concoction of cheese and toast and salami and floods of hard liquor. He heaved and heaved until there was nothing left but bile. Tears dropped down his nose and into the mess. He wiped his mouth with his hand and only managed to soil the shirt sleeve. “Mr. Abernathy.” A nurse stood in the doorway. The same or a different one, he couldn’t tell them apart. “I think it’s best if you go get some air.” For the most fleeting of moments he considered the idea. The offer of a way out. That it would be better for Effie; better for all involved if he just removed himself from the situation. He could be a house plant for all the good he did Effie right now. Then he heard her voice from the other room. Words he could hardly even make out for the ringing in his ears. “I want to go home,” she sobbed. “Please, just let me go home.” “No.” He struggled to his feet, knees shaking so badly they almost didn’t carry him. “Mr. Abernathy…” “No! She needs me. I won’t fucking abandon her.” The nausea had subsided. For now, anyway. He rinsed the foulness from his mouth. Washed his hands and cupped them under the faucet. Gave his red, bloated face a good splash. His shirt was soiled with puke and he pulled it over his head, dried himself with the clean part and tossed it in a corner, standing there in just his threadbare old undershirt where pink skin showed through the moth holes. Effie lifted her gaze when he reappeared and he expected something along the line of “Get out of here!” and “I never want to see you again!” Instead she reached her hand out to him. Tears and perspiration ran down her face. She reached out like a woman drowning and he was there. Clasped her hand in both of his. It didn’t strike him as nearly enough but what else could he do? One of the nurses helped him with a chair and he sank into it thankfully. “I know you’re tired, Ms. Trinket,” said the women in between Effie’s legs. Steel hair. Red rimmed glasses. Her he knew. Loredana. The midwife. “But I need you to give me a few more pushes. Just a couple more and they’ll be here. Amy and Ian will be here.” Effie clutched Haymitch’s hand and he squeezed back. “OK.” She sniffed and wiped her tears with her free hand. “OK.” And when it happened it happened quickly. Standing by Effie’s head he didn’t see much of the action. When the first baby slid out of Effie and into the midwife’s waiting hands. Nothing but a foot when it poked up between Effie’s legs. Just a little foot, dotted with blood and God knew what else. He couldn’t tear his eyes off of it and the next moment fierce cries filled the room. Impossibly loud and absolutely furious. One moment it was just them and the next someone else was in the room, demanding to be acknowledged. Loredana’s skilled hands held the baby and Haymitch got a glimpse of a beet-red face, toothless gums, hands clutched into fists. Their first one. Their girl. He resisted the urge to cover his ears at the sounds she was making. Like she couldn’t believe what they were doing to her. One of the nurses went to the silver tray where they kept the torture instruments or whatever the hell it was and picked something up that looked like an odd pair of scissors. She handed them over to Loredana, holding his daughter. “No,” Haymitch said, in alarm. He tried to get up but Effie held him back, speaking soft words. “Don’t worry, Mr. Abernathy,” said Loredana, focused on the infant. “I just need to cut the umbilical cord. She won’t feel a thing.” She took care of her and swathed her in a blanket. Amy kept on crying and Haymitch kept on staring. Effie wanted to hold her but she never got the chance. “Oh, sweet mercy!” She clutched her tummy. Loredana smiled. “Someone is eager to join his sister.” She handed Amy over to one of the nurses who stepped back from the birthing bed and Haymitch was struck by the same irrational fear. A stab to the belly. No! Don’t take her away! But Effie clutched his hand and he couldn’t run in either direction. This was only half-done. And so their son was born. Another purple little bundle. Loredana welcomed him like she had his sister and swathed him up in a blanket. Ian was slightly smaller than Amy but with the same full head of hair. Slick and wet, you couldn’t tell the color just now. Not yet. Beautiful. He let out a series of squeaks that were Effie spot on. Their cries filled the room, brother and sister both. Filled the whole world. Haymitch’s heart pounded in his ears as he watched Ian. This precious little person. Good God. “Haymitch?” Effie’s voice reached him like from underwater. All he really heard was their helpless cries, growing louder and louder all the time. His breaths grew short and quick. His mouth had gone so dry he couldn’t even swallow. “Haymitch, are you OK?” Loredana and the nurse walked in on them to put the newborns to Effie’s chest and it was like he snapped out of his daze. “No!” They stopped in their tracks. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Effie. I can’t! I’m not cut out for it. I can’t do it!” Effie didn’t let go of his hands. Her eyes flitted to Loredana. “Can you give us a minute?” “Sure,” said Loredana and all of them quietly retreated to the other side of the room. “I can’t be a father!” Haymitch’s blood-shot eyes shone with tears. “You were right not to tell me. I’m a toxic wasteland. I’m nothing but broken pieces. You should keep them as far away from me as possible!” “Haymitch, listen to me,” Effie’s words were soft as a caress. Firm as a cliff in the storm. “It’s OK to be scared. I’m scared too. Everyone is.” Tears rolled down Haymitch’s cheeks and into his beard. He couldn’t help it. “I’m gonna destroy them.” “You won’t. Their lives will be better for having you in it. They’re going to be fine, Haymitch. All three of you will. Just… surrender. I’m here with you. I’ll be here every step of the way.” Haymitch sobbed, eyes squeezed shut. Shoulder-racking sobs he couldn’t control as he clung to her hands just as much as her words. “Do you hear that?” Effie said. “How quiet it is. They have already come to a rest. It was just the initial shock. It’s no fun being squeezed out from a warm, snug place into this cold, bright world.” She caressed his hand that clutched hers. Spoke in the same soothing voice. “The only thing that really matters is that they’re loved. Loved and secure. You do love them, don’t you?” Haymitch choked back a sob. “Yeah,” was all he could manage. He nodded. “Yes.” Effie cupped his cheek. “Then everything is going to be OK.” Loredana and the nurse holding Amy and Ian returned to the bed. “Ms. Trinket. Mr. Abernathy,” said the midwife. “Would you like to meet your son and daughter?” Haymitch rubbed his tears with his forearm as Loredana placed the newborns in Effie’s waiting arms. Amy on the right and Ian on the left. Their eyes were closed. They’d gone to asleep, at least as far as he could tell. Effie smiled at him. Her cheeks were rosy from the ordeal. Her strawberry hair a mess. She’d never looked more beautiful. His gaze returned to the babies, stunned over how everything had changed so fast. “Why’re they covered in cream cheese?” Amy and Ian bounced against Effie’s chest when she chuckled. He didn’t dare touch them. Not with his big, clumsy hands. Nothing so pure and innocent should ever be man-handled by him. But Effie, when he caressed her hair – uncertain at first if she even wanted him so close – she leaned her cheek into his touch. He tried to speak but not a word made it over his lips. She dropped a kiss to the inside of his palm and gazed back at the twins, sleeping in her arms. She smiled. “I did good, didn’t I?” “They’re perfect.” His voice was little more than a whisper. “But they’re yours, so…” “They’re ours.” Author’s note: And Haymitch and Effie are parents! What did you think? Tell me in the comments! And heroine Gracie to the rescue! <3 I actually have a theme song for her called “Tiny Voice” by Lexi Walker. If you don’t get goose bumps listening to it you don’t have skin. ;)