Chapter Text
Effie was drowning. The Peacekeeper questioning her had his fist wrapped in her hair, wig long gone, holding her down fast.
Her head felt cloudy, her ears full of water.
“Miss Trinket...”
Effie shook her head fiercely, attempting to dislodge the Peacekeeper’s grip. But she was so weak and malnourished it made no-
“Effie Trinket?”
He was shouting something at her, but she couldn’t hear what it was, because her head was under water. She fleetingly wondered how he expected her to answer, let alone hear him. But then, the Peacekeepers didn’t actually care what answer she gave them. How many times she said she didn’t know where Katniss and Haymitch were.
“Effie...”
A gentle squeeze of a hand on her shoulder. Who?
But, oh, the water was cold, and so, so, dark.
She couldn’t see.
She couldn’t breathe.
She wanted to die. She deserved to. Just let it be finally-
“Miss Effie!” The voice was louder. Female. Not a Peacekeeper
The kind hand on Effie’s shoulder gave a firmer squeeze. Effie blinked rapidly, coming back to herself. Another flashback. She wasn’t in the cells. She was in the reception of her psychiatrist’s office. The hand on her shoulder belonged to the receptionist.
“Miss Effie,” she said gently, “Dr Ramsey is ready to see you now.”
Effie looked up at the receptionist, who looked like she came from one of the Districts. Eleven? Maybe. Effie couldn’t remember her name. She had trouble remembering things sometimes now.
The receptionist asked if she needed some water, and Effie shook her head. She didn’t ask Effie if she was okay. She already knew she wasn’t.
Once upon a time, Effie Trinket would have considered it the height of bad manners not to enquire how someone was. But now she would rather people did not ask her. The less people asked, the less she would have to speak. She preferred it that way.
Dr Ramsey looks like an owl.
It was the first thought Effie had whenever she saw him. It was hard not to make the comparison. With his round eyes, magnified behind his large, glasses, and his grey hair sticking up in tufts at the sides.
But he was kind and compassionate during their sessions, even though she was from the Capitol, and he was from one of the Districts.
“That doesn’t matter anymore Effie. We are all people, recovering from the same regime,” Ramsey had said during one of their sessions, after Effie had snapped at him and questioned why he was bothering with her. After all those names she’d pulled during the reapings...
“People in the Capitol were as much prisoners as people in the Districts were. The bars of your prison may have been covered in gold, but it doesn’t make them any less solid.”
But people in the Capitol had not been starved. Hadn’t had to watch their children die year after year. Had not been randomly picked by some peppy clown, sent to be brutally murdered.
Ramsey had gone over this with her at length. Discussed that Effie had been roped into the Games herself unintentionally.
She had wanted to work in architecture or design, not for the games, but within the Capitol itself. But Effie had found herself pushed into working in the Games, asked to take over as escort for Twelve when Drusilla retired and she couldn’t say no. People who said no without a good explanation disappeared. She had only wanted to help her baby sister.
Selfish. Selfish. All those District Twelve children, all because she was frightened of what would happen to herself, to Prosie, if she said no.
“But Effie, you said to me you also wanted to help. You wanted to help Haymitch?” asked Dr Ramsey.
Effie blinked, pulled out of her reverie. “I did?”
“Yes,” said Ramsey, flicking back through his notes. “A while ago, you said Haymitch was your friend, and you’d stayed to help him in whatever way you could? And also, that your predecessor was a terrible person to the tributes?”
“I don’t remember...”
“That’s okay. Do you remember I said that might happen sometimes?”
Effie nodded, shifting in her seat, wringing her hands in her lap nervously. “Yes, the Tracker Jacker venom. You said it had jumbled my thoughts up.”
“That’s right,” said Ramsey gently. “You were very clear that Haymitch was your friend.”
“Haymitch hates me.”
“I don’t think that’s true Effie. You worked together for over twenty years.”
Effie ducked her head down, her strawberry blonde hair falling forwarded, shielding part of her face.
“Not by choice,” she muttered. Definitely not for Haymitch anyway.
Ramsey considered her for a moment and then sighed. “No, perhaps not. But I think you both know each other better than anyone else.”
Ramsey leant forward in his chair, his hands clasped together, frown lines deepening. “And remember Effie, you did help with the rebellion.”
Effie shrugged.
So? So, she’d passed messages between Plutarch and Haymitch over the years? Big deal. Anyone could have done that. It wasn’t like she blew an arena up, or even knew they were going to do it. Oh, she’d known they were planning a rebellion all right, but the details were always a secret from her. No one could know everything and on the scale of knowing things, Effie had been at the very bottom.
Ramsey leaned back against his chair, rustling papers as he looked at his notes from their past sessions.
“Last time we met, I suggested perhaps some time away from the Capitol would be beneficial. Have you thought about that since we spoke last?”
She glanced up at him. Quick enough to see that he was watching her closely.
Effie looked down again and found an interesting bit of loose thread on the sleeve of her sweater. She pulled at it.
“No,” she mumbled, her voice tight.
“What about visiting District Twelve?”
Effie flinched and wound the thread around her finger until it was tight. “No one wants to see me in Twelve.”
“Not Haymitch?”
“Haymitch hates me,” Effie repeated.
Ramsey sighed again, “What about Katniss and Peeta?”
“Katniss and Peeta hate me too.”
I hate me.
“Ah, so they’ve told you that directly, have they?”
Effie’s gaze shot back up to him. He was still watching her, his eyes almost comically wide behind his glasses. He looked more like an owl than ever. Haymitch would have had something funny to say about him, probably.
“Have they told you they hate you, Effie?” Ramsey asked again. “Katniss, Peeta, or even Haymitch?”
Effie looked down, the finger she’d wrapped the thread around was turning white, so she began to loosen it.
No, she didn’t think so. They hadn’t ever told her they hated her. Well, no. Haymitch had. Once. He had been drunk, of course, and she’d just thrown a bucket of water over him to wake him up. So really, it was more than fair for him to say it then. He’d also apologised to her later on that day. “Didn’t mean it princess. Drank too much. You were just makin’ sure I got to where I needed to be.”
Effie huffed out a laugh.
Ramsey was still watching her. Waiting for an answer. One eyebrow raised at her laugh.
So, she shrugged.
“Effie, to be honest, I’m not sure what else I can do to help you get out of this cycle of thinking. I really do think that a trip to Twelve would be beneficial.”
Effie stared at him. “Are you ending our sessions?” she demanded, gripping the arms of her chair tightly.
“I am not,” he replied, but then frowned, “But the thing is, I may have to. I'm not saying this to force you to go to Twelve- perhaps a trip to another district? But to be honest, I think a lot of your patterns of self-hatred have roots in your links to District Twelve. And the only way to work through it- as nothing we’ve done through these sessions seems to be helping- is for you to visit Twelve.”
Effie’s leaned forward, her grip on the arms of her chair tightened until her knuckles went white. “And that’s your medical opinion, is it?” she hissed.
“Oh, yes. Absolutely. You don’t have to follow it of course though,” said Ramsey. “I could refer you on to a colleague, but honestly, I’m not sure there’s anything else they’d suggest.”
Effie released her grip and slumped down in her seat.
“Would it be helpful if I -”, Ramsey continued.
Effie didn’t hear what he was saying. Her fear of travelling back to District Twelve overwhelming her. Maybe she would go back, and maybe the residents of Twelve could dish out some form of punishment to her that she’d more than deserve.
“Effie?”
“Do whatever you think is best,” she said, uncaring.
“Wonderful!” said Ramsey, beaming at her.
Effie wiped away the steam from her bathroom mirror and stared at her reflection. She looked dreadful. She felt dreadful. Her face gaunt from lack of sleep. Blue eyes blood shot.
Her hair at least was growing out well from the short buzz cut they’d forced on her in the cells. It now fell to her shoulders, curling slightly towards the ends when dry. Water was dripping slowly from the tips of her hair, fresh from the shower.
Her gaze flicked down briefly to the scar that led from her collarbone, down her chest, where it disappeared behind the towel she’d wrapped around herself. She immediately looked away from it, and turned quickly from the mirror, into her bedroom, flinging herself face down onto the bed, wet hair be dammed, towel still wrapped around her.
She'd been there perhaps only a few minutes when the phone by her bed began to ring.
“Go away,” she groaned, voice muffled by the bedspread.
The caller did not go away. The phone continued to ring. Effie could feel a pounding beginning in her head.
Reluctantly, she sat up, still clutching her towel, and picked up the phone.
“Effie, it’s Plutarch.”
She held the phone away from her and cursed quietly.
“Effie? Are you there?” said Plutarch.
She held the phone back to her ear. “Yes, sorry, I am.”
“Oh good,” Plutarch said, “Good. Listen, your psychiatrist contacted me today, said you’d given him the go ahead to do so?”
Effie frowned. Had she? She must have done that when she zoned out towards the end. She twisted her fingers around the cord of her phone and made a noncommittal noise.
Plutarch continued, “So I’ve made a couple of phone calls, and I'm just calling you to let you know that Peeta is going to call you later.”
Effie almost dropped the phone.
“I-I’m sorry- what?”
She could almost hear Plutarch’s frown on the other end of the line. “Dr Ramsey said you’d agreed it would be helpful if he asked me to contact the others in Twelve for you? He said you were having issues working yourself up to reach out to them.”
Effie pulled the phone away from her ear again, only to bring it back and tap the receiver end hard on her forehead repeatedly.
No. No. No. Completely unethical- HA! Look at her, talking about ethics.
“Effie? Effie? Are you still there?”
Effie brought the phone back to her ear again. “Yes,” she said weakly.
“That was okay for me to do, wasn’t it?” asked Plutarch, sounding concerned, “Only, I can call Peeta back and ask him not to- “
“No! No! It’s fine,” Effie said, her voice shrill.
It wasn’t.
“I’m so happy Peeta is going to call!” she insisted.
No. He’s going to tell you how much he hates you and that you should die, and you just don’t want to hear it.
“Oh, that’s good then,” said Plutarch, sounding relieved.
Silence for a moment. Effie bit her bottom lip, and then asked, “Do...Do Katniss and Haymitch know Peeta is planning on ringing me?”
“I don’t know. I would imagine Peeta will tell them. He was just the first person that answered the call.”
“Oh.”
“Are you sure you’re okay with this Effie?”
“Yes!”
“Okay...” Plutarch sounded unconvinced, but said, “Well Peeta said he’d ring you about 7pm his time, so around 5pm here. So, make sure you’re in to answer.”
Effie nodded, before remembering she was on the phone, and needed to answer verbally again.
“And Effie?”
“Hmm?”
“Peeta said he was really looking forward to speaking to you. Genuinely,” said Plutarch gently.
He’d hung up before she could even fathom a response.
Effie got dressed. She worried about the call. She tried to not worry about the call. She paced her apartment. She made some tea. She thought about ringing Plutarch back and asking him to tell Peeta not to call. She put her coat on to go out and then stopped at the front door and took it off again. She forgot her tea, so it went cold, and she had to make more. She dialled Plutarch’s number, to tell him to tell Peeta not to call, and then immediately hung up.
Then she unplugged her phone.
And then plugged it back in again and picked a cushion up to scream into it.
What is wrong with you Effie Trinket! It’s Peeta!
But that little voice persisted- yes, and Peeta hates you. Katniss hates you. Haymitch hates you. You hate you, even.
But Plutarch said Peeta wanted to speak to her. He had said that hadn’t he?
So, he can finally tell you he hates you.
“Shut. Up,” yelled Effie to herself. To her thoughts.
She began to pace again and then jumped when the phone rang. She stared at it warily like it was a wild animal. How was it 5 o’clock already?
A brief burst of courage allowed her to step to the phone. Her hand hovered over the receiver.
“Answer it Effie,” she said out loud to herself.
Don’t answer it.
“Answer the damn phone,” she said louder, tears beginning slip from her eyes.
The ringing stopped. The phone was pressed against her ear.
Peeta said “Hello? Effie?”
Effie choked back a sob. “Peeta?”
“For a minute there, I didn’t think you would answer, but then I thought surely you wouldn’t miss a pre-arranged call. Effie Trinket would never!” Peeta laughed.
Effie pressed a hand to her mouth to contain a half laugh, half cry.
“Do you need a minute? You sound like you’re crying?”
“No! No!” Effie said, she grasped for the tissues on her side table. Dabbing at her eyes and taking a deep breath. “I’m fine Peeta, really. Tip top!”
Tip top? Tip top? Effie rolled her eyes at herself. What the fuck?
There was a pause then, before Peeta said “Effie, if you aren’t okay, it’s okay to say so.”
And then she burst into tears.
After several minutes of Effie apologising and repeatedly asking him if he hated her, with Peeta assuring her he absolutely did not and trying his best to calm her down, Effie finally stopped crying.
“I’m sorry,” she said, again.
“Stop it. You’re fine.”
“I haven’t even asked how you are Peeta,” Effie wound her fingers through the phone cord, her voice strained, “or Katniss. Or Haymitch even! Are they okay? Are they sleeping okay? Are you? Is Haymitch still drinking? How much is he drinking? He’ll kill himself if he- “
“Effie, Effie! Slow down. I can’t answer all of that at once,” laughed Peeta.
Effie managed a laugh too.
“We’re all okay, okay? Well as okay as we can be,” said Peeta.
As okay as they could be. Effie nodded. All right.
“But you’re not though, are you Effie?”
Effie clutched the phone harder, another sob threatening to erupt from her.
“Plutarch said your doctor has recommended you visit us in Twelve. But you won’t?”
Effie twisted her fingers around the phone cord more. She had no reason to go to District Twelve. No reason or right at all in being there.
And they don’t want you there Effie Trinket.
When Effie didn’t answer, Peeta continued softly, “Effie, why won’t you come and see us?”
“You wouldn’t want me there,” she said, she buried her face in the crook of her free arm because she was crying again, and she didn’t want Peeta to hear.
“Yes, Effie, I would,” said Peeta firmly, “We all would. Look, I’ve spoken to Katniss and Haymitch, and they want to see you too- “
Effie interrupted him, surprised “They do?”
“Yes of course- well Haymitch did grumble a little bit because you’d need to stay with him, unless we could make one of the other victors houses habitable. But he said, “as long as Trinket doesn’t bring too many bags of luggage with her” that it would be fine.”
Effie actually did laugh at that.
“Please come Effie,” said Peeta.
Effie wiped her tears away. “Yes, all right.”
“You will? You’ll come?”
“Yes, but please make sure the room I’m staying in at Haymitch’s is habitable, because one of the empty houses might be better if it isn’t.”
They both laughed.
“That is an excellent point though. Need to make sure there are no geese in there.”
“Geese?”
Peeta chuckled, “Don’t ask. Anyway, Plutarch said he’d already bought a train ticket for you. It leaves in two days’ time.”
Effie shook her head in exasperation. Of course he had.
“So, I’ll go now, okay? Let you start packing. I’ll see you soon.”
“Thank you Peeta, yes.” Effie found herself smiling. She couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled.
“Oh, and Effie?”
“Yes?”
“Bring as many suitcases as you like,” said Peeta cheerfully.
Effie laughed again as Peeta hung up the phone.
Waiting for the day the train was booked for was its own form of torture. Twice she packed and unpacked her bags, flinging clothes, shoes, and books everywhere.
Who was she to think that she deserved to see them again? What right did she think she had?
The third time she packed, she called Plutarch and asked if he could send someone to get her suitcases. He’d phoned her the day after Peeta’s call, insisting he accompany her to the train station to make sure she actually got on the train. He’d also offered to take her suitcases early, which she’d declined initially. But it was like he knew what she’d do if he didn’t offer.
He sent Fulvia Cardew to get them almost immediately. Which was good because she’d been on the cusp of unpacking them again.
Then it was just the waiting. Effie paced her apartment, wringing her hands together. Biting her lip until it bled and she had to stop. She’d wound herself up tighter than a coil by the time Peeta had called again to confirm he’d pick her up from the station in Twelve the morning she arrived. With Katniss in tow. Maybe.
“Don’t overthink it if she isn’t with me though,” Peeta had warned. “Sometimes on a whim, she takes off into the woods by herself, and I don’t see her for a few hours. It’ll depend on how she feels that morning.”
Effie wondered how and when Peeta had started to know her well enough to know that this was something to warn her about. She couldn’t pinpoint it at all.
And now she was sitting on the train, three days later, and only an hour or so away from District Twelve
Effie pressed her head against the cool glass window, soothing the dull ache in her temple. She’d been worried about how being on the train would make her feel. But it wasn’t the same train she had usually taken to Twelve, and already, in the year since the rebellion had ended, the Districts had begun to look so different. Or at least she thought they had; from the brief glimpses she managed to make herself take whenever there was a stop at a station.
District Twelve would likely be unrecognisable. She knew Snow had ordered it be obliterated after the Quarter Quell arena was destroyed, and that very little was left. Would it make it easier or worse, she wondered? She’d have to go through it to get to the Victor’s Village, so she would need to face it either way.
The closer the train got to District Twelve, the more anxious Effie could feel herself becoming. She was starting to panic.
What if Peeta wasn’t at the station when she arrived?
What if he didn’t come and collect her at all, and it was all some sort of trick?
The train began to slow, and Effie was pulled out of her thoughts to find that she’d bitten the nail of her thumb so much that she’d left the skin underneath raw and exposed.
Damn it Effie, calm down.
The train stopped, and Effie stood to collect her bags. One of the train attendants helped her retrieve her suitcase from the overhead railing. She had ended up only bringing two bags with her. One suitcase, albeit a large one, and one duffel bag.
Effie didn’t have as many things as she used to before the rebellion. Definitely not enough to fill the numerous suitcases she used to travel with. She had briefly contemplated bringing them all anyway, with just a few things in each one, with the sole purpose of annoying Haymitch, but decided against it. Even if it would have been quite funny.
The station was busier than she’d ever seen it before. But then, the only people using it before had been her and Haymitch, and the tributes of course. Now there were other people getting on and off the train. The tracks went all the way to District Thirteen now apparently. It was odd. But also, strangely comforting, to see such a change.
No one around her was giving her a second glance, much to her relief. She wheeled her bag away from the platform and began scanning the station for Peeta, and maybe Katniss. It took only seconds to spot them.
Both of them. So, Katniss had come after all.
They both looked tired, but they looked well fed. That was good.
Peeta was frowning harder as each person stepped off the train. When the last person got off, he turned to Katniss, shaking his head. They began looking around the platform again. Their gazes briefly touched on her and then moved away.
For a second, Effie felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. Had they come here to ignore her? Why ask for her to come if they-oh!
Effie looked down at her clothes. She’d chosen to wear a light green dress that morning, covered with a print of pink and cream flowers. A somewhat normal dress, not necessarily out of place in the Districts. No wig- she hadn’t worn one since Katniss had shot Coin- and no makeup.
Effie realised that Katniss and Peeta had no idea what she looked like without her Capitol clothes.