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It was whispered behind her back, how Haymitch and Plutarch had a hard time keeping her alive. She didn’t entirely know what that meant - rather what that instilled - she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. On one side of the fight, she was a trusted rebel in the eyes of her peers, captured just like the rest, but an escort to other rebels, nonetheless. On the other, she betrayed her country and needed to be punished. If she was asked when she was still in the Capitol cells, she would’ve expected her execution no matter the outcome. She was seen as a villain on both sides.
But she wasn’t in those cells anymore. She was free, and freedom meant safety. Her life was being tossed around by Capitol’s and rebels alike for a while. Safety wasn’t promised to her until only two months prior. She had the hushed promises from her victors that she would be safe, that they would vouch for her to President Coin, but those promises meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Not until Katniss put an arrow through Alma Coin’s heart.
She was lucky to be so close to The Mockingjay, their precious star of the rebellion. They were standing where they were because of her and Katniss’s immunity list; it was how she found herself in District 12. Escaping the trials Coin had wanted to implement was a blessing alone, but escaping the Capitol to join her victors in their home was something else entirely. She was damaged, sometimes she wondered if she was as damaged as they were, but she realized the irony in that silent comparison she made. It was her fault Peeta and Katniss were damaged to begin with, after all. She was the one who pulled their names, and she would forever damn herself for that.
The last few days had been a reality shock to them all as they approached the Reaping Day, well what would have been. She struggled with the mentality that she was living- as comfortably as she could- in District 12 where so many had died almost a year ago. It didn’t feel fair to her, because it wasn’t. She was reminded of that every day she was surrounded by the members of District 13 after her rescue.
No one expected keeping Effie Trinket alive would be far more difficult than a simple rescue and a hospital stay- until the lashes on her back were healed and cured of the infection. No one accounted for her mental state, the intense suicidal thoughts that gnawed at her. That was how she found herself under Haymitch’s conservatorship; not that she would complain. He promised he would take care of her, never let her out of his sight again. He constantly reminded her of that, of the guilt he always carried with him even before she was taken, but it seemed to be worse now. He was overbearing at times, but now she was grateful.
It took weeks of constant bickering to convince her to eat more than a few bites. It started with her saying she didn’t deserve to eat; it was drilled into her brain in the cells. Food shouldn’t be wasted on traitors; she had been told. There were plenty of loyal Capitols starving during the war, rations had gone out for everyone, and the guards didn’t hesitate to eat her one meal. Once he had convinced her that she did in fact deserve to eat it was her appetite that resisted. The nausea was relentless, he told her it would fade with time, the more often she ate the more it would subside, but it didn’t make the first few days any less miserable. Finally managing to eat just to throw it up was not helping her psyche.
Learning to enjoy food was one of the more difficult struggles. Teaching herself she was allowed to eat was one thing, but believing it was another. And she did it. It took time, but she did it. She couldn’t stomach large meals, so small portions three times a day, and a not-so-gentle reminder from Haymitch to eat whenever she felt hungry was helpful. She never would’ve allowed herself that in the past, much less in the fragile state of mind he brought her home in.
That was still a weird word, home. It wasn’t until she was with Haymitch after being rescued that she realized home wasn’t a place, but a person. It sounded so cliché, it still made her laugh, but it was true. Nowhere felt quite as scary when she was with him.
The intrusive thoughts were mostly under control, she still suffered from them but the urge to act on them wasn’t anything like it was right after her release from the hospital. She didn’t try to grab the bottle of pain pills and swallow them all, they didn’t have to hide knives anymore, Haymitch didn’t need to watch her as she shaved and then confiscate her razor. The urges were there, she wasn’t sure those would ever go away. The urge to cease to exist, it seemed so much simpler to accept that months ago, when she had nothing left, but when Haymitch fought so hard for her, and eventually Katniss did too once she was in her right mind, it helped.
Things were better, they were good. As good as it could be when she and her victors were damaged. Patching each other up as they took turns falling apart.
Mornings were still difficult. It always took her a few minutes of grounding herself, specifically the 54321 technique her therapist had taught her before leaving the Capitol with Haymitch.
Five things she could see, she thought to herself: the window, the wardrobe, the laundry hamper, the lamp, and an old painting on the wall across from her.
Four things she could feel: Haymitch’s bare chest pressed to her back, the sheets she was moving off her body, the cold wooden floor under her bare feet once she got out of bed, and her hair as she pulled it up into a messy bun.
Three things she could hear: The soft snoring from the man she left in bed, the ticking of the clock next to the bathroom door, and the geese honking so unnecessarily loud.
Two things she could smell: The deodorant she applied once she was in the bathroom, and then the creams she applied to the scars she could reach.
One thing she could taste: The minty toothpaste.
It initially seemed so silly, but it helped her realize she was safe. Her new life was very much real, a desperate reminder she needed on difficult days, and today would be the most challenging yet. None of them had talked about it out loud. How one year ago to the day she was pulling their names from the glass bowls to send the people she loved back into that arena. How that was probably the very start of the revolution. They didn’t need to talk about it though, it loomed over them and they were haunted by it.
She sauntered into the kitchen with Haymitch’s sweater over her silk nightgown and turned the electric kettle she insisted they have on and took two mugs out of the cupboard. Instant coffee wasn’t her favorite, but it was the best she had in a still reconstructing District. She added the boiled water into her mug and stirred the contents absentmindedly as she stared out of the window into their backyard.
Any other day she would’ve made his coffee the way he liked and returned to bed, waking him up with her cold feet pressed to his legs seeking warmth, a sheepish grin as she offered him the warm beverage as a peace offering, but instead, she was pulled to the backyard. She hesitated momentarily about stepping into the dewy grass barefoot, the nagging of her mother’s voice in the back of her head about how unladylike it would be, but everything about her these days was unladylike, so she pushed the thought away and stepped into the yard, pulling the door closed behind her.
She didn’t quite think it through when she settled on the cold wet grass in only her nightgown and a sweater with a grumble, crossing her legs at the ankle stretched in front of her in the only decent position she could sit in given the short length of the gown. She stared at the thick foliage before her. She didn’t know how long she had been sitting there, the burn of the mug in her hands had subsided, completely lost in her thoughts, slipping away from reality like she often did when it was too quiet. It wasn’t until a firm, yet soft, hand clasped her shoulder that she was pulled back.
“Morning.” His voice was gruff, still sleepy, she noted.
“Good morning.” She replied with a small smile as he sat down beside her, and she leaned into his side as she sipped her coffee.
“So, what’re you doing outside, sweetheart?” He was careful in his approach, noticing she wasn’t quite all there when he joined her.
She swallowed her coffee in a far larger gulp than intended and shook her head. “I don’t know. Fresh air?” She shrugged, “This morning hasn’t been kind.” She admitted in a whisper.
His arm wrapped securely around her as he nodded understanding what she meant. It was a silent agreement to not talk about what today meant just a year ago. They didn’t have to dread the day anymore, but the past was vicious, and their scars would be a constant reminder.
“Well… the good news is we can sit out here as long as we want. No plans- other than lunch and dinner with the kids, but that’s it.” He shrugged.
She smiled a little at that and nodded before sighing as she took another drink. “Usually when people say what the good news is there is bad news that follows.”
His free hand rubbed his brow with a sigh. “The bad news ain’t important. And it ain’t something we don’t already know. It’ll be a hard day, but we will get through it just like we get through the rest, yeah?”
Her lips pursed and she nodded as she leaned into him a bit more, her head pressed against his shoulder. “Yeah.”
“Surprised you’re out here without your shoes or even pants.” He chuckled trying to lighten the mood.
“Perhaps I needed to feel at one with the earth.”
That made him laugh and she smirked, both knowing damn well that was not how she felt about anything outdoors.
“Alright, I’ll entertain it.” He smirked back. “Maybe next time it rains we can run through the mud barefoot. Be one with the earth or whatever.”
“Absolutely not!” She chided.
“You never ran through the mud before?”
She shook her head with a laugh. “Where in the Capitol have you ever even seen mud? Secondly, a lady doesn’t run, much less in the mud.”
“A lady don’t sit in the yard with barely anything on either, princess.” He added as he took the mug from her hands and took a drink before making a face. “Fuck, I don’t know how you can drink it black like that. Too bitter.”
She rolled her eyes, something else that was very unladylike that she had picked up from him, no doubt, and tugged the sleeves of the sweater down to cover her hands. “It is good. Well, as good as instant coffee can be.”
“Kinda makes it worse; don’t you think?” He laughed.
“I did not want to be rude.” She smiled and closed her eyes as she relaxed into his side. “Can you tell me that this is real? The Games don’t exist anymore?”
He tensed and tightened his arm around her and nodded, “Yeah, sweetheart. We are safe, it is real. The Games are over, and we are going to have food with Katniss and Peeta, it’s always good to see them, yeah? They are safe too.” That bit was added mostly for his benefit. “We won. As fucked up as it may be, we get to be happy.”
It was bittersweet, she thought. To be happy in District 12 seemed cruel for all the names she pulled over the years. All those people should be here too, the ones from the Games, the people who died in the attack, the war, all of them should be here, not her. The thoughts started to consume her again and she felt Haymitch move from her side to behind her, his legs on either side of her as he wrapped both arms around her torso and pulled her into his chest. Grounding her.
“Thank you.” She whispered as he kissed the top of her shoulder.
“You ain’t gotta thank me for shit. We are in this together. Have been for a damn long time. That won’t change. Ever. Now, come on. Do that number thing the doc told you to do.” He nudged her head forward with his nose. “Five things you can see, what do you see?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat as she rested her hands on his arms and stared in front of her. “The tree’s, the birds, the geese, and…” She stopped, leaning forward a bit in his arms to see better, “Are those butterflies?”
He was absentmindedly drawing circles on her stomach with his thumb as she listed what she saw, his head lifting to where she was looking at her question. “Yeah, looks like it anyways, kinda far away.” He shrugged.
“I’ve never seen butterflies out of captivity.” She muttered in awe. “They are always so beautiful, but I hated them being trapped in a room no matter how well taken care of they were. They deserved to be free.” She whispered, realizing how messed up that probably would’ve sounded to anyone else.
“I guess we were all like that once.”
“I guess so.” She responded as she reached up to wipe the tears that had started to flow down her cheeks. “Do you know what butterflies symbolize?”
He shook his head.
“Transformation, rebirth, hope… freedom.”
That was… something. His arms tightened instinctively around her and hugged her close. “You wore that butterfly dress last year. Maybe that was our hope then. Maybe now… seeing them over there, that’s the freedom.” He shrugged.
That shocked her to her core, the realization of it all was almost too much, the symbolism was uncanny. She turned in his arms and stared at him. “That was awfully philosophical of you, Haymitch. I quite like that though.” She turned back in his arms and settled, more relaxed as she leaned into his arms once more. “Butterflies was four. Five is clouds.”
“I have my way with words when I’m not black-out drunk.” He mumbled and kissed her shoulder once she turned back and nodded. “That’s good, four things you can feel?”
She hummed and rubbed her hand against his forearm. “You.” Her hand fell from his arm into the grass, and she scrunched her nose, it was still wet and becoming a bit itchy. “Grass.” Her free other hand took the mug from him and took a drink. “Mug.” She hummed and looked around for another thing to feel, ultimately reaching up behind her to cup his face. “Beard.” She said firmly with a nod.
“Trying to tell me to shave?” He laughed and kissed the palm of her hand. “Three things you can hear?”
“Mmm, not yet. Perhaps shave it tomorrow, though.” Her head turned to the side as she pressed her ear to his chest and she closed her eyes, “Your heart.” She lingered there for a moment, enjoying the closeness as she cuddled into him. “The leaves, and the crickets.”
His fingers tangled in her hair as he gently scratched her scalp and hummed, “two things you can smell?”
She turned in his arms again and hummed, “You.” She said then took a drink of the coffee, keeping the mug up at her face a moment longer as she inhaled, “coffee.” She breathed out and sat the now empty mug down in the grass.
His hands dropped to rest on her waist when she faced him, and he hummed. “One thing you can taste?”
She wasted no time as she leaned in to capture his lips in a heated kiss, straddling his lap as her legs wrapped around his torso, her arms secured around his neck. “You.” She husked against his mouth.
The kiss was hungry and lazy all in one, his hands slid under the sweater to better hold her waist as he pulled her closer, practically crushing her body into his. Nothing felt more freeing than holding her and kissing her like that in his own backyard, with no worries of peacekeepers, spies, or hovercrafts. No one was there to separate them or to take her from him ever again.
The hope turned into freedom, just like the butterflies, they were no longer in their own version of captivity. He never cared for the insect, but if it meant more of whatever this was with her, he welcomed them to fly this way.