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His gaze had been tracking Effie while she moved through the party. District Twelve was out of the running this year, but that never stopped her from networking potential sponsors for the following year. Haymitch downed the rest of his whiskey and set the glass back on the table.
“How’s the work wife?” Chaff’s voice pulled his attention back to the man beside him.
“Huh?” Confusion was written all over his face as his brow scrunched. “How drunk are you?” He’d thought they were pacing themselves, but then again the pair of them always managed to get a little over indulgent once their tributes were dead. It was easier than dealing with the alternative.
“Not drunk enough to watch you making eyes at Trinket.”
“The fuck you on about? What’s Trinket got to do with this?” Sure, she looked stunning in that glittery red dress she’d chosen, but the way she was batting her eyelashes at a sponsor caused his stomach to twist in an uncomfortable way. He wasn’t jealous of course. That would be crazy. Why would he be jealous if someone was talking to his escort? That was her job.
“She’s your work wife, obviously. Though judging by the look on your face, you might wanna make her your real wife. Or at least get her in your bed before that sponsor does.” Chaff’s booming laugh was paired with the man grabbing the whiskey bottle to top up both their glasses.
He reached for the refilled glass and took a long sip. “Now I know you’re fuckin’ drunk. The last thing I wanna do is have a wife. Much less Trinket.” Though he couldn’t stop his gaze from lingering on her leg in the slit of her dress. Somehow those impossibly tall heels just made her legs look even better. It was so easy to imagine stealing her away from the sponsor and slipping his hand in the slit, sliding it higher up her thigh…
He swallowed hard and shook his head to force those thoughts away.
“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t wanna fuck her.”
Haymitch rolled his eyes and pulled his gaze away from Effie to focus on his best friend. “Of course I don’t. Clowns aren’t my thing.” Though he knew in his gut she was stunning. He could look beyond the bright colors and puffy wigs. She was beautiful, even if he hadn’t truly seen her.
“Sure kid.”
—
“Well you two sure bicker like an old married couple,” Caesar said with a laugh. “That’s why they call you two work spouses, isn’t it?”
With the bright lights of the stage, Effie desperately hoped that the cameras didn’t pick up the way some color undoubtedly drained from her face. “Work spouses? Hardly.” The exasperated sigh that fell from her lips was definitely exaggerated, but called out on camera like this, the last thing either of them needed were more rumors circulating.
“Work enemies more like,” Haymitch added with a laugh of his own. “Sometimes I’m surprised she hasn’t murdered me yet.”
Despite the tension coiled tightly in Effie’s belly, she bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself to relax. Clearly Caesar meant it as a joke and she’d never be caught dead having that sort of relationship with Haymitch Abernathy of all people. The scandal that would be.
Yet, when she glanced over at him where he sat beside her on the couch, she couldn’t help but wonder what his lips would feel like pressed against her own.
“Truly, Caesar. I have much better things to do than constantly chase after him and yet somehow that’s become my main job. A travesty, really. And a waste of my exceptional talents.”
“You keep telling yourself that, Princess.”
The glare she shot him would’ve made a lesser man wilt but Effie could see the challenge still blooming in Haymitch’s gaze. Perhaps it was a mercy that Caesar noticed it too and seemed to try and wrap up this fiasco he’d brought on himself.
“Well, that’s all the time we have today. For District Twelve, Haymitch Abernathy and Effie Trinket.”
Without another word the pair were ushered off stage. Haymitch immediately plucked his flask from the inner pocket of his suit jacket the moment they were backstage. In that moment, whatever thoughts she’d had about his lips disappeared from her mind. Under no circumstances would she let the word spouse and Haymitch be uttered within the same sentence. It was too laughable to even consider.
—-
“If you’re not careful this will be the year I convince Effie to ditch you and come work with Four instead,” Finnick teased, leaning against a wall while holding a champagne flute between his fingers.
“Paws off my escort, kid.” It shouldn’t have bothered him, the thought of Effie being promoted, but it did. It really did. After so many years together he wasn’t sure how he’d function without her there to keep him on track and marginally sober until the tributes launched into the arena. But he wasn’t so oblivious as to realize she was good at her job. She deserved the promotion that came with moving out of Twelve. But he couldn’t let her go; not that he thought she would ever leave him. At least not truly.
Snickering, Finnick lifted his glass and took a sip of the bubbly liquid and let his eyes find Effie in the room. Haymitch followed his gaze and he took a moment to admire the beautiful shade of light green she’d chosen for her dress. It wasn’t as garish as so many of her outfits. “Work wife really has you by the balls, huh?”
“She’s not my wife,” Haymitch protested almost too quickly. Over the last few years he and Effie had certainly gotten closer. Maybe they’d even fallen into bed on more than one occasion, but that certainly didn’t make them married. Not even the backwards thinking of the Capitol would claim that.
“Keep telling yourself that. That’s the only reason you’re so possessive,” Finnick teased with a playful glint in his eyes.
“I’m possessive because she’s mine, Haymitch countered without really thinking it through. He wasn’t sober, of course not. It made it easier to say things he might’ve not otherwise said.
Laughing, Finnick grinned and shook his head. “Effie might have something to say about that, you know? Proper to ask a lady how she feels about being possessed like that.”
It was Haymitch’s turn to grin then as his mind drifted to all the ways Effie had made it perfectly clear she was happy being his. There were still some purple marks on her skin from their latest rendezvous. He wondered how long they’d stay once he left the Capitol. Will she think of him when catching sight in a mirror?
The thought warmed him and he took a breath to reign in his mind. The last thing he needed was letting those thoughts run away with him now, when he didn’t have a chance to steal Effie back to the penthouse at least for a few more hours.
“Guess you’ll just have to ask her. Trust me, she’s not going anywhere even if you wave that fancy promotion in front of her.”
In the past it would’ve made him anxious, the thought of Effie transferring districts, but after so many years together he knew in his gut she wouldn’t leave him. There was peace in that familiarity and they were a team. As dysfunctional as possible, but a team nonetheless.
—-
Since the Quell announcement there had been no relaxing. Not when the reality that she’d be forced to pull the names of her victors out of the reaping bowls had settled in her bones. It didn’t matter how much Cinna and Portia tried to help her relax. Nothing worked.
Even now, sitting on the balcony of her apartment, wine glass in one hand and cigarette in the other, she couldn’t truly relax. Not when somewhere on the other side of the country, Haymitch was alone and waiting for the day she’d show up and upend his life all over again.
“You’re thinking about him again,” Portia’s voice broke through her mind and she turned towards the sound. Her best friend had exhaled a puff of smoke and she watched the tendrils curl through the air.
Effie sighed and tapped the ash off her cigarette before taking a drag. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The work husband. Though at this point you might consider dropping work from the moniker,” Portia attempted to tease.
Even the mere thought of him made her heart clench, but the thought of him as her husband was one that truly amplified the horrors of the Quell. They weren’t married. They never would be. Even if he somehow survived this, Snow would never allow it. It was funny to think that years ago, the thought of Haymitch and husband in the same sentence was enough to make her cringe.
Oh how times changed.
Effie took a long sip of her wine, emptying the contents of the glass before she set it on the wall. “He’s not that. He could never be that.” The protest felt empty and for once, Effie was defeated. There was no chipper and bubbly angle she could spin on this pain, and she didn’t need to. The balcony was the one place in her apartment where no bugs could pick up the conversations.
“But you wish he was.”
Portia’s comment was so simple yet somehow it threatened to knock the wind out of her. Not since she was a little girl had Effie truly allowed herself to dream. Back then her dreams had been so innocent, full of hope for a bright future. The path she saw for herself back then was so different from the one she ended up walking. Dreams were for children.
“I don’t wish for anything anymore.” How could she when the only thing she’d ever truly wanted was being taken away from her? Her victors were suffering and nothing she could do would be enough to stop it.
Portia’s hand came to settle on her wrist as the other woman flashed her a sympathetic smile. “Maybe you still can. Who knows? There could be a light at the end of the tunnel. You can get back to being his nagging wife, work or otherwise.” Her friend winked at her, but it did little to lift her mood.
How could she dream or wish for anything when the sliver of hope she’d had when Katniss and Peeta won had been ripped from her hands? “Maybe,” she sighed, lifting her cigarette to her lips once more, “but I don’t think so, Portia. It’s not in the cards for us.”
—
The rebellion may have kept him busy, but that didn’t ease the guilt he felt for leaving Effie behind. She should’ve been there with him. He’d hoped she was safe, but after the victors were rescued, it was clear she wasn’t. The fact that she hadn’t come back with them made it even worse.
Annie was clinging to Finnick. Peeta was all kinds of fucked in the head. Katniss was a wreck because of it, and Jo had been out of it for days. Everything was a goddamn mess. At least he was too busy to think of much else and too exhausted to let his mind run rampant when he could finally sleep.
Not that he ever had much of a chance.
He’d gone to the hospital wing to check on Peeta, see how Katniss’ throat was, and see if Jo had managed to wake up yet. He hadn’t held his breath for it. She had been in rough shape when they brought her in.
Though when he pushed open the door to Johanna’s room, Haymitch was pleasantly surprised to see her conscious. “You’re awake,” he stated simply.
“Yeah, guess Trinket was right. You came for her after all.”
A knife to the heart would’ve been kinder and instantly he winced. Effie thought he would come for her and he’d left her again. She was alone now and there was no way Coin would allow a second rescue mission. He stood there, gaping at Johanna for so long without saying anything that the young woman’s eyes narrowed. “She was right, wasn’t she? Where the fuck is Trinket?”
Blood pounding in his ears was the only sound he could hear. It shouldn’t have been like this. Effie should’ve been there. He should’ve made Plutarch bring her or dragged her onto the hovercraft with him, protocol be damned. She didn’t sign up for this. She didn’t ask for this.
His hands were sweating and he wiped them on his pants. Buying himself a moment to collect his thoughts didn’t help when the look in Johanna’s eyes was growing more murderous by the second. “She wasn’t there,” he finally admitted. His voice was gruff, but steady. It was killing him that she wasn’t safe in District Thirteen, but what could he do? He couldn’t take the Capitol and save her on his own. “We don’t know where she is.”
The cruel laugh that passed Johanna’s lips instantly should’ve surprised him. It was sharp and hollow, piercing right through him as she glared. “So much for looking out for the work wife, huh? She trusted you and it’s going to get her killed, if she’s not dead already.”
Bile rose in his throat at the thought but Haymitch forced it down. He couldn’t think like that. He had to focus on the rebellion. Once the war was won he could find her. He could save her. He could beg her forgiveness on hands and knees if that’s what it took. “She’s always been strong,” he said, but he didn’t believe it. Not when his mind filled with the image of Portia and the prep team being executed. They wouldn’t need Effie anymore. It was only a matter of time and he hoped more than anything they could win this war before that time ran out.
—
Against all odds, peace came to Panem. It took a long time to get there and after the war there was much recovery to do, but Effie was grateful everyday that they survived it. Not everyone had been so lucky. Whenever Effie thought about the war and the suffering that had happened, it took her back to those cells, to the hopelessness that claimed her for a time. She would think about her friends that didn’t live to see the world without the Games they’d fought so hard for. It wasn’t fair, but Effie wouldn’t waste this chance at life.
Sitting on the porch swing with a mug of tea on a crisp fall morning, her gaze tracked Katniss as the younger woman left her house, bow over her shoulder, and crossed the courtyard towards her. “Heading on a hunt?” Effie asked when the younger woman approached the steps.
Katniss nodded, “Yeah, but I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes first.”
The younger woman’s posture was far from confident, almost as though she was insecure about something. Effie scooted over on the swing and patted the spot beside her. “Of course. You can talk to me about anything. Is there something bothering you?”
For a moment Katniss shifted her weight between her feet, as if she was trying to decide if she wanted to sit or not. Eventually she did though. The girl leaned her bow against the railing and sat with Effie, one foot tucked under the opposite knee. “How’d you realize you wanted Haymitch to be your husband?”
It wasn’t the sort of question Effie had ever come to expect from Katniss, but the way color was rising on the young woman’s cheeks let her know this wasn’t necessarily about her or Haymitch. A knowing smile spread across her lips and she brushed her thumb against the worn gold of her wedding band. “It was a lot of little things that built up over time,” Effie started. She brought her mug to her lips and took a sip of the warm liquid before continuing. “Some people seemed to realize even before I did.”
Katniss nodded and took a breath. “But how did you know you wanted to marry him?”
The knowing smile on her lips spread and she wondered, not for the first time, if Peeta had built up the courage to ask her for real this time. “I don’t remember how or when it happened, Katniss. I just know there was a moment when I realized I didn’t want to ever have him out of my life.” Thinking back to that realization was jarring and twinged with sadness. For so long she’d thought what she had now was impossible, yet against all odds they made it work. “Marriage seemed impossible. I knew I loved him and wanted forever long before the rebellion. It wouldn’t have been possible before. The Capitol wouldn’t have allowed it.”
The younger woman seemed quiet, as if she was puzzling together all the pieces of this reality. It was certainly not the typical love story, but nothing about Effie’s life had ever been typical. “I think I know what you mean,” Katniss finally admitted.
“When you find that person you can’t imagine waking up in the morning without seeing their smile, even when things are hard and you aren’t always happy, that’s when you know it’s real.” Effie had seen that on Katniss and Peeta and she prayed the two of them would finally acknowledge everything they had. The years since the rebellion had pulled them closer and they deserved their happiness. It was hard fought and hard won.
Those two more than anything deserved to enjoy peace together. Now that it was finally attainable. Happiness was something worth holding on tightly to with both hands. There was no reason to give it up; not for anything in the world.