Work Text:
It was late morning by the time she heard activity through the kitchen’s open window and, by her own account, she had been lying on the back porch’s swing seat for at least two hours.
That was how Haymitch found her, on her back on the swing seat, her bare feet tucked under a throw pillow, a cigarette – her third that morning, the evidence of her smoking plain to see in the ashtray on the floor next to her – wedged between two fingers, the mug of tea that she had hoped would be soothing forgotten somewhere near the pile of brand new gossip rags and glossy classier magazines she had bought on her very early excursion to town.
Truly, when she had woken up a little after dawn, she should have just rolled over and woke him up so they could enjoy a lie-in together. Instead, she had slipped out of bed, following that burst of energy that hit her most mornings – bursts of energy she had missed in the immediate aftermath of the war when it had been all apathy and exhaustion – and she had gone downstairs to fix herself some breakfast. That was when she had realized they were almost out of everything and had jotted down a grocery list while drinking a cup of coffee, thinking she might as well take care of that before Haymitch woke up so he could cook her breakfast when he did.
The grocery shop opened early in Twelve. By the time she was dressed and ready for the day, she wasn’t even the first customer. But she wasn’t a customer the shop owner particularly liked – tolerated, yes; liked, no.
“You let the geese out.” Haymitch remarked with a slightly puzzled frown as he surveyed her, hands on his hips.
He should have put on a shirt. He would get cold. That habit of his of wandering around naked or half-naked… She supposed she should have been happy he had remembered to put some sweatpants on before coming down…
“They were making a racket. They wanted out.” She pouted and took a drag of her cigarette, glaring at the various birds wandering around the backyard. It was one of the reasons she was lying down on that swing seat. They had been known to climb the porch’s stairs and, if the door stayed open, to go into the kitchen – and the rest of the house, dirtying everything. She didn’t want to risk losing her toes to those toothy beasts.
Haymitch’s grey eyes narrowed on her, studying her with far too much perspicacity for someone who had just woken up. “You never go anywhere near the geese if you can help it.”
“Well, you were not up to take care of your pests so I couldn’t help it, could I?” she retorted, a tad too viciously, taking another irritated drag of her cigarette. She spared him a glare and then went back to watching the yard and the birds that could have been pretty if they weren’t so terrifying.
“You also went grocery shopping…” he pointed out. Probably because she had only put away the perishables and had left everything else in the bags on the kitchen’s table. “We could have gone together later…”
They usually went together. First, because without a car it was easier with two of them to carry everything, then because the shop owner really didn’t like her. He had never outright provoked them, he wasn’t that kind, but he muttered under his breath and she had heard him refer to her as the bitch escort more than once. Mostly, she ignored him and she would continue to do so unless he turned threatening. People were entitled to hate her. It certainly wasn’t as bad as it could have been.
But with each new year that passed, Haymitch tolerated that kind of remarks less and less.
“I only bought the bare minimum.” she informed him. “We should go to the market tomorrow.”
The market happened three times a week and it was, perhaps, one of her favorite things in Twelve. It was a far cry from an avenue of luxury boutiques but there were fabrics from Eight and a lot of booths that changed all the time – outside of the locals’ – and she loved wandering around for hours.
“Someone said something?” he asked, clearly done trying the subtle route.
She supposed it was obvious she was upset.
She was smoking, she hadn’t put away all the groceries despite the fact he would inevitably disrupt her system if she let him do it unsupervised, she had willingly gone near his terrifying birds, and she had been snapping at him since he showed up.
She dropped the cigarette in the ashtray and then sat up. She pushed the ashtray back into the shadow with her foot, where the children would hopefully never think to look, and then grabbed the stack of new magazines.
Maybe she had gone a bit overboard.
Maybe she hadn’t needed to buy them all.
But the grocery shop owner had taken one look at her skimming through them and had told her it wasn’t a library and she could either buy them or move on. Everyone had turned to stare so, with a blush, she had bought them. The whole stack of them.
“Thought we were done reading the trash press?” he asked, his tone softening, as he came to sit next to her.
“Something caught my eye.” she muttered, still angry. She couldn’t help it. It bubbled right under the surface and it didn’t matter that she should have let it go. It didn’t matter that so much time had passed. The anger had only festered and now…
“It’s been five fucking years…” Haymitch sighed. “You’d think they’d find something more interesting to talk about than us.”
“It is not about us.” she replied, searching in her pile for the magazine that had started it all. Fortunately, they were old news now. Mostly, gossip rags only talked about them when the rebellion’s anniversary was looming or when one of the Gamemakers who had managed to escape the Purge by running away was caught. “Well… I am mentioned quite a few times but it is not about that.”
“The kids?” he asked.
“Read.” she snapped. That earned her an annoyed glare but she ignored it. “Here.”
She tapped the corner of the glossy cover right where a bubble claims wedding bells were ringing for one Lyssandra Flavershym.
Her sister had been a B list celebrity for a long time now, more famous for being the daughter of Elindra Trinket and the sister of Effie Trinket than for her own short and long forgotten modeling career… But, with Rufus dead, she had also inherited – or the boys had inherited, she supposed – a financial empire and that made her worthy enough of gossip rags…
“Your sister’s getting married again?” He frowned, flipping through the pages until he could find the article in question. It was a short one, full of speculations really. “Might be bullshit, you know. It ain’t…” She plopped another magazine on top of the one on his lap, already opened at the relevant page. An exclusive interview from the future bride herself. He winced. “Right.”
“She is marrying a hot shot business lawyer, it seems.” she summed up dispassionately. “He apparently works with Father of all things.”
Haymitch’s eyes traveled over the page but didn’t read anything. Mostly, he studied the picture of her sister with a middle-aged man who was attractive enough. “Leonardo Caldwell… I’ve heard that name before…”
“You would have. He worked with the government to establish formal trade agreements between Districts and the Capitol after the war.” She rummaged in her pile of magazines and tossed one aside. “It is in this one if you want to read it.” The magazine wasn’t quite a gossip rag, more of a serious paper about preeminent Panem figures… “My future brother-in-law is quite influential, it seems.”
“Love match or convenience?” he asked, slouching against the back of the swing seat, rocking them a little. He unconsciously kept the movement going by pushing back and forth with his legs. Or perhaps it wasn’t so unconscious. Perhaps he just wanted to soothe her nerves.
“How would I know?” she scoffed. “I was not even aware she was seeing someone. You will be happy to know we are not expected to go to the Capitol for the wedding though.” She selected yet another magazine in her pile and tossed it on his lap. It slid right off and to the floor but Haymitch made no move to pick it up. “Apparently, there are rifts that are far too wide to be bridged and Lyssa unfortunately does not expect any sort of reconciliation.” She pursed her lips tight. “Can you believe…” She shoved the second to last magazine at him, the one that had really angered her, the one where Elindra and Lyssa had given a joint interview. “…that Mother had the nerves to say that they had never been opposed to mending bridges but that I was the one who had fled to the other side of the country and is now refusing to talk to them? Can you believe she told the press – if you can call that rag that – that I have always picked you over them and that she is not surprised it ended this way even if it saddens her? Can you believe she called me selfish?”
Out of breath, she bundled her hands into fists and clenched her jaw at the first threat of burning in her eyes. She clung to her anger. Anger was easier to negotiate than the hurt that was still so fresh even after all those years.
“Why are they even talking about you?” he grumbled, tossing the magazines to the floor so he could wrap an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into his side more than willingly.
“Because that is the hot gossip, isn’t it?” She sighed. “They always elude when it comes to me, they deflect. I am embarrassment to them. They probably would have found it easier if I had been executed with everyone else.”
Haymitch tensed and tightened his arm, nudging her chin up with his free hand. His grey eyes were stormy when they met hers. “Don’t say shit like that, sweetheart.”
“But it is true.” She snorted. “You should see what my future brother-in-law has to say about me. Two sentences but you can tell he is a good lawyer. They hit right where it hurts.”
She handed him the last magazine.
He didn’t even bother looking at it. He shoved it to the floor with the rest. “We’re gonna light a fire and burn all that shit.”
“Language.” she chided through force of habits. “Don’t you want to read what he has to say about me?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t even know you. Who cares what the fucker thinks?”
“I apparently misused Lyssa so terribly that he thinks it is a good thing I chose to retire from society.” she told him anyway. “And he condemns the two-levels justice that spared me a trial when I was not officially a part of the rebellion simply because of my victors’ associations..”
Haymitch snorted but there was absolutely no amusement in it. “That’s a brand new way of calling you my whore.”
Abernathy’s bitch.
She took a deep breath, refusing to let her mind go there. Flashbacks and panic attacks were so few and far in between nowadays… She wouldn’t relapse just because her future brother-in-law was being… an ass.
“Quite.” she commented and then shrugged, kicking one of the magazines further away. “Well, I would rather be your whore any day than a filthy liar anyway. I never misused Lyssa. I hardly even talked to Lyssa.”
“Don’t call yourself that.” he scolded her, even though he was the one who had started. But she supposed he was only quoting the recurrent articles that had a lot of opinions about her pardon.
She ignored him even as she leaned back into his chest, letting him rock the seat slowly. It was peaceful and she was usually happy to stay like that for hours but that day she couldn’t relax.
“Was I being naive, Haymitch?” she whispered. His thumb stroke the side of her neck, encouraging her to keep going. She sighed. “I always thought… I thought they would understand eventually. I thought if I kept reaching out…”
She wrote to them regularly. Well… She wrote to her mother. The letters she had sent Lyssa had all been sent back to her. The ones she sent Elindra at least didn’t come back… She didn’t know if her mother actually read the letters or just burned them unopened but she still wrote. To give them news about her, to ask how they were, her parents, Lyssa, the boys who must have been so much bigger than the last time she had seen them now… To tell them she missed them all. She never asked for forgiveness but she always made sure they knew she hoped they could all reconnect, that she was open to it if they were…
She had never heard back. Not once.
And when she tried the phone, a butler always told her the family wasn’t at home even when she heard her mother’s piercing voice in the distance.
“It ain’t naive.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. It was hard not to hear the carefully caged fury in his voice though. Oh, he wasn’t angry with her, she knew, he just hated it when someone or something upset her… “They’re just fuckards.”
“Every time Katniss comes to me to talk about her mother, I keep telling her to try and understand Aster’s position…” she whispered. “I keep telling her she will regret if she severs all ties, that it is not entirely her mother’s fault if she cannot be here for her the way the girl would want…” And it was a struggle every time because she had her own problems with Aster Everdeen but her feelings weren’t what was important there and, always, when Katniss turned bitter, she advised compassion and understanding and… “Perhaps I was hoping the same was true for me. Well, I am sorry but I am done waiting.” She took a deep breath but it wasn’t quite enough to make the lump in her throat disappear. “They are ashamed of me. They kicked me down when I was at my lowest. They do not want me. They do not love me.”
“Then, they’re stupid, sweetheart.” Haymitch scoffed, bumping his nose against her head. There was an edge of pain in his words. For her. “And that doesn’t mean anyone else’s ashamed of you. Or that you’re not wanted. Or loved…”
The last part was more hesitant. The word still difficult.
She rewarded him with a kiss. A small peck but a firm one.
“It does not matter.” She forced a smile, burying the hurt deep deep down. What had she thought anyway? That Lyssa would invite her to the wedding? That because her sister had moved on from Rufus she would move on from the part she thought Effie had played in his death? That her parents would forgive the fact she had irremediably gone against their wishes by living in sin with Haymitch Abernathy whom they hated? “I do not need them, I have my own family. And I would not exchange you and the children for the world.”
This kiss was not a peck.
Haymitch deepened it just enough to make her entertain the thought of simply dragging him back to bed and perhaps staying there all day. Hiding under the blankets with him seemed very appealing right about then.
“It does matter.” he argued against her lips. “And I’m sorry they’re such assholes… But, you know what, princess, we can be assholes too.”
She drew back to frown at him. “What do you mean?”
He picked up one of the magazines and thumbed through it. “When are they getting married?”
“Oh… In the spring.” she dismissed. Long enough, she supposed, that Lyssa might yet have a change of heart and reach out but… She didn’t think that would happen. And she would stop hoping for it. She would stop writing too. It was time to properly let it go.
“You’ve got the date?” he insisted.
Suspicious, she stole the magazine from him and tossed it back on the ground. Then, after a glance around to make sure nobody was about to interrupt them – the backyard was private but the children had a bad tendency to cut through there and directly into the kitchen – she straddled his lap, loosely wrapping her arms around his neck. The swing seat rocked a little harder but Haymitch’s feet were firmly planted on the floor and slowed it down.
“We are not crashing their wedding.” she declared firmly.
She had actually thought about it while she was smoking her second cigarette. She had gleefully imagined her family’s reaction if she just showed up with Haymitch. They would never have been able to turn them away without creating a scandal.
He shook his head. “Who cares about their lame wedding? I’m thinking bigger, sweetheart. Let’s get married the same day. We’re gonna get all the attention and it’s all everyone’s gonna be talking about. Your harpy of a sister can suck it.”
She frozen, blinking at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“We’ll even tell Plutarch he can air it live. You know he loves turning weddings into huge things…” He shrugged. “Tell me our wedding wouldn’t overshadow theirs…”
It would.
It one hundred percent would.
People may hate her and have mixed feelings about their relationship but they were still famous enough that Plutarch would probably make a nice amount of money out of it too. And it would, without a single doubt, overshadow her sister. And ruin her day.
And, oh, her mother’s face…
She let herself picture it for a second: Elindra’s enraged face…
“I am not getting married to spite my sister.” she finally countered, once she was done entertaining that silly plan. “And you hate being in the spotlight.”
He simply shrugged again, no trace of hesitation on his face. “I’d do it for you.”
“I am not getting married to spite my sister.” she repeated and then wrinkled her nose. “Although I have to say it does sting a little that this is her second wedding and I still have not done it once.” She waved her hand in the air and leaned in to kiss him. “But the joke is on her because I do not care how much of a hot shot that lawyer is, he cannot measure up to you.”
What they shared had been forged in blood and pain… It was stronger than anything and she was entirely confident in that.
She hadn’t used to be but now…
Five years of peace, four years of living with him…
She knew she would spend the rest of her life with him, that they would grow old together and that was the only thing that mattered.
He responded to her kiss but it was slightly hesitant and he ended up drawing back. His grey eyes took in her face, he pushed her loose blond curls back…“You don’t wanna get married to spite your sister but it does annoy you that she gets to do it twice and you haven’t done it once.”
She brushed her hand against his cheek, smiling at the familiar sensation of his out of control stubble under her palm. “You do not want to get married. I have always known that and I am alright with it. And, honestly, if we ever get married, my sister should have nothing to do with it.”
She doesn’t deserve to, she didn’t add but thought so strongly it must have been written all over her face.
She stole another kiss and didn’t have to force herself too much for the next smile. “I apologize for being in such a huff this morning, the magazines took me aback. I feel better now. Let’s have breakfast?” She checked her watch and wrinkled her nose. “Or maybe an early lunch?”
It was almost noon. It seemed silly to have breakfast now…
Haymitch was still studying her, clearly thinking… “Do we have any bread left?”
“Half a loaf but it is getting dry.” she hummed, using his shoulders as leverage to get back to her feet. “Peeta will probably bring back some tonight… It is our turn to cook dinner, isn’t it? Oh, do you think you could do that tomato sauce with whatever meat Katniss brings back? I picked up some olives…”
She babbled as she walked back into the kitchen, barely aware that Haymitch had picked up the magazines before following her inside. He tossed them on the counter while she started putting away what was left of the groceries, her smile finally turning entirely genuine when he briefly wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into him only long enough to press a kiss to her shoulder over the silky pink blouse. She didn’t ask where he was going when he wandered off, figuring he was just going to the bathroom or maybe even to get dressed before lunch.
He was only gone a couple of minutes and he was still only wearing sweatpants when he came back though. He was also hiding something in his fist but when she furrowed her eyebrows in question, he ignored her.
“Grab the bread.” he told her and then seemed to think better of that vague order. “And a knife.”
Once, he wouldn’t have needed to ask because he never went anywhere without his old hunting knife, not even when he was wearing only pajamas. When he snatched the magazines and left the kitchen again, she frowned.
“What…” she called after him.
“Come on, sweetheart.” he cut her off.
Curious, she grabbed the bread and the knife and followed him to the living-room. She only got an inkling of what he was doing when he tossed the magazines in the hearth on top of a couple of logs. It was starting to get chilly but nowhere near enough to light fires. And yet, in seconds, he had one roaring.
But the fire…
The bread…
“Haymitch…” she said cautiously, a bit nervously.
He tossed a handful of pillows snatched from the couch on the floor and then flopped down, patting the cushion next to him with a smirk. “You’re gonna stand there or you’re gonna marry me, Effie?”
It was the rare use of her name that got her moving.
But instead of moving toward him, she clutched the bread harder against her chest and stepped back. “I do not want to get married because my sister is…”
“Your sister’s a bitch and this ain’t about her.” he dismissed as if the whole thing hadn’t been triggered by her being in a huff over Lyssa’s upcoming nuptials.
She winced. “Haymitch…”
“Didn’t think you still wanted it.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. Don’t need rings. But if you want it…” Suddenly, he froze too, as a flash of realization passed over his face. “You wanna make it a bigger thing? You wanna have a party?”
A party would be nice, she mused, but not necessarily for this part.
Toastings were private more often than not, she knew. This was just…
“I do not need to get married.” she argued but it was hard to hide the yearning underneath. Because a part of did want it.
“But you want to.” he argued knowingly.
“I understand why you do not. I respect it.” she insisted.
His gaze softened and this time when he patted the cushion next to him, she didn’t resist and went to sit down.
“Can’t say I’m not still terrified this is all gonna be snatched away…” he confessed, a bit reluctantly. “But… It’s better now. Don’t mind being married. Maybe now you can stop bitching when I call you my wife.”
“Language. And I correct you only because we are not married.” she countered.
“Well, I ain’t gonna call you my girlfriend and this way we’re gonna be.” He shrugged. “We’re as good as anyway… Should have done it before.”
He was serious about this, she realized, as he grabbed the bread from her and started cutting large pieces from the loaf.
“You should have grabbed a plate.” she remarked. He tossed her an amused look, his smirk almost boyish. “You are putting crumbs everywhere.” He was. And she was the one who would have to sweep it up later. “Can I take your name?”
The question slipped past her lips, her heart pounding in her chest. It was a complicated question, she knew, for a lot of reasons but she didn’t want to be Effie Trinket any longer. And, perhaps, that was enough of a problem they probably should pause and discuss it before toasting that bread but pausing and discussing wasn’t how they had ever done anything, really. And he was right… They were as good as married so…
“All the kids in the District already call you Mrs Abernathy anyway.” he mocked.
And that usually made him ill-at-ease if not outright annoyed. But children assumed things. They were living together and almost every couple living together were married in Twelve…
“I want to be Effie Abernathy.” she confessed. “Sometimes I think… I think it is the only other name I have ever wanted.”
All the failed engagements…
She had never once considered changing her name even though it would have been expected.
His eyes softened even more. When he leaned in to kiss her, she didn’t resist. It turned a little desperate. The kind of desperate that would turn frantic and then lead to more.
She drew back before they could forget about the bread.
He wasn’t fooled and his eyes promised a lot more later. But he still stabbed the bread with the poker and put it over the fire.
She wrinkled her nose. “That does not seem very sanitary.”
The poker was clean because everything in their house was clean. She hated the thought of anything being dirty. But still. It rummaged in soot all the time and it had been there forever and what if it was rusty or…
“You don’t have to eat the piece that touched the poker.” he explained. “You only need to have a bite.”
“Oh…” She hadn’t actually seen a Toasting before. The children had had a small party when they had gotten married but they had done that part in private, just the two of them. “Is it legally binding? The Toasting? Or…”
“We can swing by the Justice Building this afternoon and sign the papers.” He shrugged, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “We can bring the kids as witnesses, if you want. Make it fancy.”
“Does that mean you will wear a suit?” she teased.
“If you wear see-through lingerie under your dress.” he retorted.
She laughed.
He seemed to like that because he kissed it right from her lips and, then, he blew on the smoking piece of toasted bread until it was cool enough and brought it to her lips.
“Are there traditional vows?” she asked, a flutter of nerves in her belly.
“I fucking love you. How’s that for vows?” he challenged, waving the toast in front of her face.
She took a big bite, always a bit shocked and moved when she heard those words from his lips. He handed her the poker and, with shaky hands, she stabbed another piece of bread and roasted it over the fire. Somehow, she managed to turned it black.
His lips twitched, his eyes twinkling…
“Not a word.” she commanded as she brought the piece to his lips. Then, she amended. “I love you.”
Chuckling, he bit into the charred bread and made a show of chewing before swallowing it.
When he kissed her, he tasted like Peeta’s buttery – although slightly burned – bread.
“Wife.” he whispered against her mouth.
That part, she knew from Katniss’ explanations during the children’s wedding preparations, was the traditional way to close the Toasting.
“Husband.” she whispered right back, kissing that smirk off his lips.
She barely noticed him taking her hand but she did notice when he slipped something on her finger. She looked down to find an old flower-shaped ring sitting against her skin.
“I’m gonna get you another one.” he mumbled. “Bought that one for my mother. You know, before…” He didn’t finish his sentence but he didn’t need to. “You should have it.”
She liked it. She liked it because of what it meant to him.
“I do not need another one.” she protested, lifting her hand to admire it. “I love it .”
“We’re gonna need wedding bands at least.” He shrugged and then frowned. “You wanna wear wedding bands?”
“Do you?” she asked, her fingers hooking around the old golden bangle with the ease of familiarity. “You are already wearing my token, I won’t be mad if you do not want a ring…”
He kissed her again, a little harder. She didn’t resist when he guided her down onto the pillows… There weren’t enough pillows and they would end up having sex on the hard floor and they were far too old for this but she didn’t protest.
“I can wear a ring.” he mumbled against the tender skin of her throat. “Can wear whatever you want me to. You’re mine.”
“I think you mean I’m yours.” she hummed, arching her back a little when his hand found her breast under her blouse.
“That’s what I said, sweetheart.” he mocked, his smirk smug.
She kissed his triumph away.
Her sister could keep her lawyer and her fancy exclusive wedding…
She wouldn't have exchanged this for the world.