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Effie felt uncomfortable as she watched Haymitch toss their clothes in the open suitcase on the bed with a mix of relief, anger and relish. She didn’t have it in her to protest the way he was treating her dresses and delicate lingerie because…
Because all she could do was sit on the expensive Capitol hotel’s bed and feel… guilty.
She was very familiar with the notion. She wasn’t sure when she had started feeling guilty, really… Some times after her first year as an escort, probably. And she had never truly stopped. Even now, ten years after the war, she still felt guilty about her part in it all and, given the circumstances…
“Can you get me my glasses?” Haymitch asked, still with that weird mix of gleeful triumph and fury.
She glanced at the reading glasses abandoned on the bedside table with the book he was currently reading but she didn’t reach for them. Her hand wouldn’t move.
Because it was too easy to imagine that, a few rooms down the hotel corridor, the children were doing the exact same thing he was: tossing everything in their suitcases and getting ready to hightail out of a city they hadn’t been back in for a decade.
“Are you certain you want to leave?” she asked, her voice smaller than usual, quieter. She sounded like she had during those months after she had finally caved and crawled her way to Twelve, like the broken doll that had survived torture. Not at all like the woman she had become since.
It alarmed him, she knew, because his sharp grey eyes suddenly darted to her, assessing.
“You don’t have to put up with this shit.” he spat. “I won’t let them.”
She did her best to sit straighter, to look more in control. She laced her fingers together on her lap to hide their slight shaking. “Haymitch, it is the highest distinction in Panem…”
There was to be a medal. For him. For the survivors of the Star Squad including the Mockingjay who had finally be allowed back in the city. For Plutarch. For former President Paylor.
None of them, except Plutarch, cared for shiny trinkets of metal, she knew, but it was the ten year anniversary and their presence was mandatory – even if nobody had formulated it quite that way. So they had come. To meet the new President. To smile and wave for the cameras and pretend this was a day to celebrate instead of mourning the dead who still haunted them.
It was a small mercy nobody had tried to drag Annie and Johanna from Four at least…
Effie had followed because where her victors went, she went too…
Where her husband went, she went too.
They wouldn’t be apart. Never again.
“Yeah, well, he can shove it up his ass for all I care.” he growled.
“It isn’t that bad, really.” she lied. “I could…”
“Don’t.” he cut her off softly, shaking his head. “Don’t.”
She swallowed hard.
She had had an inkling that it would end that way when Plutarch had awkwardly greeted her at the hovercraft airport with a kiss on her cheek. He had been ill-at-ease the whole drive to the hotel and had hinted that he hadn’t thought she would make the trip… They had enjoyed a night of peace and then… That very morning…
As it turned out, well… The freshly elected President – a President Haymitch had voted for, which only rubbed salt in the wounds, in her opinion – didn’t think it would be particularly good for optics to have the last living escort in the public eye once more, never mind right next to Haymitch in the spotlight.
Plutarch had delivered the news with the face of a man who knew he was going to the gallows.
The discussion had gone from awkward to hostile in a handful of seconds and had culminated with Haymitch shouting so loud his face had turned red. The children hadn’t been much better though. Even Peeta had lost his temper. But it was Katniss who had cut through the shouting with that cold harshness she could sometimes displayed and who had declared that since they weren’t welcome, they were going home. Plutarch had to argue – as politely and respectfully in regards to Effie as he could – that it wasn’t them who weren’t welcome but Katniss had stared him down, hissing that Effie was part of the team and that if one quarter of the team was quietly asked to leave then so would the rest of the team.
And that had been that.
Haymitch had jumped on the excuse to escape the ceremonies and events, triumphant because he had been saying from the start nothing good would come of them going back to the city, angry on her behalf, and more than a little relieved to be going home.
And none of that sat well with her.
“You earned this.” she whispered. “They brushed you aside ten years ago but you earned this, Haymitch, and you should…”
“You really think I care for the laurels?” he scoffed, abandoning his frantic packing to come and stand in front of her. He cupped her face in his hands with that gentleness he so rarely displayed. “You think I’m gonna let them humiliate you just for a shitty medal that comes ten years too late?”
She licked her lips, more nervous than she wanted to admit. “I simply do not want to take this moment from you. Or the children. It is unfair that…”
“What’s unfair is that they can’t see you for who you are.” he interrupted, his face hard and grave. “And I don’t give a fucking flying shit about their anniversary or their medal. Nobody’s gonna order me to hide my own bloody wife like I’m ashamed of her.”
“If the President of Panem…” she argued, leaning into his left palm.
“Telling the President of Panem to fuck off is why they want to give us this medal in the first place.” He snorted. “I think it’s been too long. They’ve forgotten what victors are like…” He shook his head, meeting her eyes once more. “I choose you, Effie. I’m always gonna choose you. No matter who comes in the way. There’s no one else. I won’t lose you over some fucking stupid power play.”
“You certainly won’t.” she remarked. “Because I would not mind if…”
“Of course, you’d mind.” He smirked knowingly. “And you should mind. We’ve come a long way, you and I. I’m yours first. Always and fucking forever. That was the point of toasting bread. Right?”
They had come a long way.
Long enough that a few years back he had surprised her with a picnic in the living-room and bread to toast in the fireplace…
Long enough that he sometimes managed to awkwardly gift her with those three words that soothed her soul.
Long enough that she knew without a shadow of a doubt that they would finish their lives together.
Long enough that it made everything they had been through worth it.
“Always and fucking forever.” she granted, her lips twitching in a small smile. “Although I wish you would mind your language when you are trying to be romantic.”
He snorted and leaned down to plant a long peck on her mouth. “That’s my girl. Come on, pack all your beauty shit. Peeta wants to grab the early night train.”
Hovercraft tickets were too expensive and hard to book last minute.
She let him pull her up to her feet with a sigh and headed for the en-suite bathroom to do as he wanted. “You do know we are not leaving this city tonight?”
“No shit.” he scoffed, resuming his terrible packing job. “Ten bucks Plutarch shows up before we even leave the hotel.”
“Fifteen that he profusely apologizes and pretends this was all a misunderstanding.” she called back from the bathroom.
“As long as he doesn’t bring up this bullshit of keeping you away from me at all times, I don’t fucking care how he wants to spin it.” he grumbled, anger spiking again in his tone. “Like it’s a big secret anyway. Everybody knows we’re still together…”
“It is bad press for them.” she hummed. “A former escort and a key figure of the rebellion…”
She was certain that was, in part, why they had brushed him aside after the war. His weakness for liquor, his weakness for a Capitol escort… That had proven to be the two nails in his political coffin.
“Yeah, like victors are saints.” he muttered under his breath but she heard it anyway through the open door.
She lazily put some stuff in her vanity case, dragging her feet. “Why are we packing if we know we are not going anywhere?”
The children must have known too that they wouldn’t be allowed to leave in a tizzy now that their presence had been announced everywhere… Now, that would be even worse press than her being seen with her team…
“To make a point.” Haymitch retorted.
She leaned against the bathroom doorframe, their toothbrushes in one hand and her face cream in the other, arms folded in front of her chest. “Could you please make a point without creasing all my outfits?”
As if on cue, a determined round of knocking banged on the door and Haymitch shot her a look.
He opened the door with barely restrained violence and barely consented to step aside to let a sheepish Plutarch in.
She knew Plutarch was between a rock and a hard place, here. They were good friends, all of them, and she was certain the Secretary of Communication wasn’t exacting enjoying having to tell her she was persona non grata.
Plutarch’s eyes darted to the full suitcase on the bed and then to the toothbrushes in her hand.
Haymitch’s point, evidently, was made.
The Capitol cleared his throat. “This is very awkward. There seems to have been a slight misunderstanding…”
“You don’t say.” Haymitch scowled. “What kind of misunderstanding?”
Plutarch gritted his teeth and then glanced at her for help but Effie remained stone-faced. She understood why she wasn’t exactly the government’s favorite person but she also wasn’t going to make it easy for them.
“Effie cannot stand with you during the ceremonies and official events.” Plutarch winced. Haymitch opened his mouth, no doubt to shout abuse, but the Capitol was quicker. “However, she can walk red carpets with you and be your date at the Anniversary Ball at the Mansion.”
“She ain’t my date, Plutarch.” Haymitch growled in a very, very dangerous way. “She’s my wife.”
Plutarch made a face. “I know. And if you think I am enjoying this, you are wrong because, in my opinion, this is stupid. It is the best I could get though.”
“We will take it.” Effie decided before Haymitch could send him packing. He whirled around, his grey eyes on her… She pursed her lips. “If I am standing at your side at the ceremonies and events…”
“Where you belong…” he hissed.
“Where I belong…” she humored him “The press will have a field day and it will be all about my pardon and how it relates to our relationship. It won’t be as bad if I am present but in the background. I am happy with the compromise.”
“I ain’t.” he argued.
She let herself smile the soft smile she only reserved for him, usually in the privacy of their bed. “I know you are not ashamed of me, darling. You have nothing to prove to me.”
Plutarch cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the pet name. Haymitch didn’t pay him one bit of attention. He was watching her, studying her… “You’re sure? Cause I’m happy to leave this hellhole and go back home right now, sweetheart.”
She pouted. “We cannot leave, I haven’t even gone shopping yet.”
He snorted.
But that was that.
Plutarch looked relieved when she offered to let the children know about the change of plans and left after having made sure there was no ill-feelings.
Effie, though, had to delay telling Katniss and Peeta because Haymitch pushed the suitcase off the bed and proceeded to make sure she truly knew how proud of her he was…