Attachment

"Miss Trinket! Mister Abernathy! I ask for a moment of your time!"

The voice sounded shrill and penetrating and made Haymitch instantly want to grab Effie's arm and disappear before they were drawn into the Capitol's vortex again. But Effie wouldn't be Effie if she hadn't stopped immediately and turned around. She really had a way with her manners ...

They had left the lounge behind them and were just about to cross the hallway to the stairs that would lead them to the elevators when a plump man in a bright yellow suit stepped in their way. A wide smile was on his orange lips and a camera in his left hand, which he was now waving in front of their faces. Haymitch sighed to himself and looked at him over the top of his sunglasses. The headache had still not gone away, and something told him that this man wasn't going to help it get better any time soon.

"How can I help you?" Effie asked, politeness personified, a friendly smile on her own dark red lips. For a split second, Haymitch wondered what his lips must look like, after all, he had kissed them. But Effie wouldn't have let him walk around like that, would she?

"My name is Hilarus Levin and I photograph the mentors and escorts for the annual feature in Capitol's Magazine," the man explained with a thick accent and Haymitch automatically rolled his eyes. If he noticed, he skillfully ignored him. "In recent years I have mostly had to photograph Mrs. Cajolery alone, so I am even more pleased to have you both in front of the lens together!"

"Who?" asked Haymitch, raising his eyebrows in confusion.

Hilarus Levin stared back, equally confused, and Effie gave him a piercing, almost stunned look. "Petunia," she finally managed to say, not quite sure if Haymitch was joking or not. "Petunia Cajolery. Cajolery is her last name."

Haymitch returned the eye contact unimpressed and shrugged, not in the least dismayed that after fourteen years of working with Petunia, he had never remembered her last name. "Ridiculous woman, ridiculous name."

Effie gritted her teeth and her forced smile widened. "I apologize ... I am sure he does not mean it. Back to the topic. We are more than happy to do our duty, of course. Where are the photos being taken?"

The photographer seemed satisfied with Effie's answer and led her back to the lounge. A small photo booth had been set up in a corner next to the victors' area. A square green screen, shielded on two sides by white curtains, with some studio lights and a tripod for the camera around it. Haymitch wanted to turn on his heel and run away. Effie must have thought the same thing because she instinctively grabbed his arm to hold him in place. He gave her a dark look that she deliberately ignored; instead, a smug smile danced at the corners of her mouth.

Hilarus Levin waved to them and indicated that they should enter the box. "Getting Mister Abernathy in front of the camera ... I am absolutely delighted. Congratulations on your rehabilitation! But please take off your glasses, they do not fit our theme."

Haymitch opened his mouth and then closed it again, pausing on the red X that marked the position where they were supposed to stand. He turned to the photographer, who wasn't even looking at him anymore, but at his camera. The words had been so casual, as if they were the most normal thing in the world. It sounded like Haymitch was the biggest fool in all of Panem, completely wrapped around Effie's little finger, standing there only because of her manipulation instead of somewhere with Chaff, getting drunk out of his mind.

"You'd better take those photos quickly before I decide to disappear again. Rehabilitation, don't make me laugh!" His voice dripped with sarcasm as he demonstratively pushed his sunglasses further up his nose.

"Haymitch, really, where are your manners?" Effie narrowed her eyes. She probably had no more idea how these words could be interpreted than that clown of a photographer.

"All right ..." Now that Hilarus had the infamous Haymitch Abernathy in front of him, he seemed to be beginning to understand why this particular photo had taken fourteen years to come. His smile wavered for a moment, but caught itself when he focused on Effie, and Haymitch couldn't help but grin. "Just act natural, try different poses, and I will just snap some shots."

"Yeah, yeah, you just snap," Haymitch muttered to himself, still half annoyed.

Effie elbowed him in the side and gave him a long look. "My goodness, Haymitch, you are nagging like an old man," she muttered, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. She took a sideways step toward him so that her right shoulder touched his chest, grabbed his left hand and placed it on her waist. Haymitch tried to pull his arm away, but surrendered when he saw the warning glint in her blue eyes. Her lips curved into a wide, radiant smile and he couldn't help but smile back, albeit more cautiously.

The camera clicked and Haymitch's focus shifted to Hilarus. His mood darkened almost immediately, but before he could make another comment, Effie nudged him lightly with her foot under her dress. "Look at me," she demanded, and Haymitch sighed.

"I hate this," was all he said.

Effie giggled and playfully raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows. A second later, she was standing in a new position and Haymitch moved with her. "Chin up and smile on."

Haymitch had a feeling his smile wouldn't convince anyone out there. He wasn't the victor who smiled because he wasn't a friendly victor. He was the ironic, somber, charming, unapproachable victor who didn't give a shit about anyone or anything most of the time. Somehow, many Capitols found that no less appealing. Stupid idiots.

The shoot dragged on and Effie kept changing positions to capture every angle of her sparkling red dress. The camera clicked and the light flashed, but she didn't seem to have enough. It was obvious that she was the focus and not him, but that was fine with him. Sometimes Haymitch was completely behind her, sometimes they stood next to each other, sometimes they touched, sometimes they didn't. Effie literally melted into a single sparkle. She glowed from within and he ... didn't fit into the picture she was trying to paint.

"I do not think he will ask you for a picture again next year," Effie said so quietly that her mouth barely parted. Her pupils moved almost imperceptibly in Hilarus's direction, who tried to hide behind his camera for the duration of the photos and didn't speak to Haymitch again. "You have probably scared him away for good."

Haymitch grinned at the thought. "I should hope so."

"The poor man," she murmured reproachfully, but her dark lips twitched. "Seriously, Haymitch, you are a mystery to me. This cannot be the first time he has taken a picture of you."

Haymitch shrugged and Effie moved towards him. They stood side by side for the camera, their bodies turned toward each other. "He might have tried it a few years ago. I don't really remember. All I know is that I ran away, and Petunia was pretty pissed off."

Effie giggled, a little louder now. She raised her chin and her light blue eyes met his. She moved her hand from where it was on his upper arm and his own hand instinctively went to her hip. "You are incredibly rude," she managed to say, but there was nothing but amusement and affection in her voice. Haymitch leaned his head to the side with a smirk and shot her a look over the rim of his glasses, which only made her fake smile melt further. Their eyes remained locked and Haymitch couldn't tear himself away from hers. He felt the heat rising within him as her fingers stroked the hem of his suit in barely perceptible movements. His hand on her hip automatically pulled her closer to him.

"All right," Hilarus Levin said at that moment, and Haymitch almost jumped in shock. Effie in front of him flinched and took a quick step back, her cheeks turning red. "I think I have enough material! Thank you for your time and continued success with your tributes!"

Effie's mask was in place in a split second and she gave the photographer a grateful smile. "We have something to thank you for! Have a nice day!" she sang in a high tone that would probably make Haymitch turn in his grave. The burgundy stones of her dress reflected the light as she grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the photo booth. Haymitch stumbled after her and barely managed to give Hilarus a warning look before they were gone.

"You're in a hurry," he said a few minutes later as they walked through the basement, looking for their driver.

"I'm in no hurry at all," Effie replied, slowing abruptly. The blush had faded from her cheeks, but Haymitch couldn't shake the feeling that she felt caught. The Avox came into view and held the door open for them as they climbed into the black car.

"Are you sure we are not making the wrong decision?" Effie asked after a few minutes, her eyes fixed on a point behind the windows. "What if Elowen and Ramon need a sponsorship deal in a hurry?"

The car rolled slowly through the city and Haymitch turned the knob for the air conditioning. A second later, cold air hit him. Effie shivered and moved away from him to avoid the cold. Haymitch took his time answering. Instead, he reached for the hip flask in his jacket, took a long drag and put his sunglasses in the small pocket under his lapel. "We used every cent of the sponsorship money, sweetheart."

"But ..." Effie suddenly sounded lost, her wide eyes fixed on him in disbelief, as if he knew the answers to all her questions. Haymitch ignored the painful stab in his chest that look caused. A pain that even alcohol couldn't ease. Effie had no idea that he was completely clueless about the Games. She had no idea that everything he knew was based on dangerous half-knowledge that he had either picked up from other victors over the years or that his drugged-out brain had somehow pieced together over time. "We should be up there, finding them new sponsors."

"Elowen's moment has passed and Ramon hasn't impressed anyone yet," Haymitch said into the oppressive silence. His fingers trembled at the memory of Elowen's perplexed look when reality had caught up with her after Rye Hooker's death. He instinctively raised the flask to his lips. Effie's eyes silently followed his fingers, registering the tremor, not stopping him. The alcohol burned Haymitch's throat and pulled him back to the surface. "No one will be interested in her tonight. Their attention will be solely on Cashmere. We have a hard enough time getting a deal on a good day."

"I cannot accept this," Effie whispered, looking as if she herself didn't know why she had let herself be talked into sitting here in the car with him, driving back to the penthouse. "You think they are out of danger for now, but what if you are wrong? What if they–"

"Then they're on their own," Haymitch interrupted, trying to emphasize the finality of his words. "Then there's nothing we can do, Effie."

Effie's head turned away from him, the thoughtful expression replaced by an emotionless shell that forced itself over her features. Haymitch hated it when she put on her mask. He hated it when he didn't know what she was feeling. The car continued to drive through the Capitol's downtown area, and Effie stared ahead as if she wanted to block out everything else.

"Can you turn off the air conditioning? I'm cold." Her words were no more than a whisper, so quiet that Haymitch had to lean forward to catch her. He complied without hesitation. Effie nodded in thanks, but the distant look in her eyes signaled that her mind was somewhere else entirely. He didn't have to guess to know where.

Haymitch reached out his right hand and gently stroked Effie's back; the passion from earlier was gone. Still ... something about seeing her so ... vulnerable didn't sit right with him. Mainly because it wasn't her usual style, and it clashed with the spectrum of emotions that defined her. Secondarily, it frightened him to see her like this. That darkness belonged to him. It didn't fit on Effie's face; didn't belong in her world.

Effie slightly tilted her head in his direction and their eyes met again. Haymitch hoped she didn't see anything in his own face. She couldn't keep her mask up. She pressed her lips together, moved closer to him again and leaned her head against his shoulder. Haymitch wrapped his arm around her middle and traced random patterns on the embroidered fabric of her dress.

"Nothing will happen to them," Haymitch promised, but failed to find the comforting tone. At least not today. It was the alcohol speaking through him. At some point early in these Games he would have slapped himself for saying such a thing, but at some point he couldn't even name, he had lost control. All he could manage was a deep, exhausted breath.

Effie believed him. Haymitch could feel her relax against him, her cheek sliding against his collarbone. She believed his words; she trusted them. He was too involved to leave her alone with this. It was too late for that. Long too late. He couldn't bring himself to do it, and the self-preserving, smart part of himself that had become increasingly less important in the last few days cursed him for it.

A while later, it seemed like an eternity to Haymitch, the car pulled into the garage of the Training Center. He helped Effie get out because she was barely able to do it herself with all the layers of fabric. Her hand remained in his even when she was standing safely on her own two feet and Haymitch felt the need to kiss her. He wanted to kiss the worn, passive expression off her face. He wanted the sparkle to return to her eyes. So he pulled Effie towards the elevators. The ride to the top floor took less than a minute. Haymitch didn't let go of her hand, instead leading her through the hallway into the living room. The television turned on by itself as soon as they entered the room. Effie turned away, even though nothing had happened in the arena.

Haymitch grabbed Effie's shoulders and turned her so that her back was facing the television. Then he let go, took a step into her personal space and reached out to her. Invitingly.

Effie regarded at his outstretched hand and slowly raised her eyebrows. Her eyes wandered up to his face, a questioning expression reflected in them.

"Dance with me," said Haymitch, a faint smile creeping onto his face.

Effie's pupils widened and her focus jumped from his face back to his hand, thrown off track. "But you did not want to dance with me. Why now?"

"I knew you couldn't just accept the favor," Haymitch replied, grimacing. "So, do you want to dance now or am I just making a fool of myself for nothing?"

This time Effie didn't hesitate as she stepped forward and took his hand. Her thin fingers were cool against his skin, and when Haymitch closed his hand and intertwined their fingers, hers almost disappeared beneath his. He took one final step toward her, wrapping his other arm around her waist, giving Effie a moment to adjust before he started moving. There was no music, except for the faint whisper of the television, whose volume must have been turned down the last time it was used. Haymitch didn't need music. He knew the steps by heart, even though he hadn't practiced them once in years. Some things, haunting him since his Games, his mind just wouldn't forget.

"You can actually dance," Effie said, her voice in the here and now. There was a hint of disbelief in it.

Haymitch grinned and spun her around on cue. "I can do a lot of things when I want to, princess." He let go of her hand to wrap his arms around her back. Effie's face came up to meet his and he was pleased to see that she was smiling. His feet slowly glided across the floor and Effie's followed him, not really paying attention.

"You really are unfair," she whispered. Haymitch had leaned down so that their noses were almost touching. "People could have seen us on the dance floor. That would have been good for Twelve."

"I still don't care," Haymitch replied, no dislike in his voice. He took a step back, grabbed Effie's fingers again and twisted her. Her dress glittered as it circled around her body, turning into a red river of diamonds. Blood diamonds. Made and processed in District 1 for the rich and beautiful in the Capitol, where they were worn for a day, then disappeared into a closet forever.

As Haymitch brought Effie to a stop in a harmonious motion, her deep blue eyes sparkled at him, the regret and worry that had been present a moment ago successfully erased. He let go of her hand, irked by the need in his chest to undo the movement. He couldn't draw the line. He couldn't judge her for those diamonds. "Damn it, I hate dancing," he blurted out instead, but even his voice betrayed him, downplaying all of this; as if they weren't victor and escort, bound to different worlds by dozens of duties, loyalties, and customs.

Effie frowned and sighed softly. "Do you have to take the magic out of every beautiful thing, Haymitch?" she asked, as if she could read his every thought clearly; as if all these barriers were irrelevant to her.

Haymitch was already on his way to the bar in the corner of the living room. "That's just the way I am, sweetheart." A soft smile framed his face as he looked over at her standing there in the middle of the room, throwing him a look that was half disappointment and half longing. "Want something to drink?"

Effie blinked, perplexed, and seemed speechless for a moment. The whole situation was strange, so out of place. A dance in the deadly silent living room of a huge penthouse. Two people so close and yet so far away. The ease with which they interacted with each other, only to be almost torn apart by something else a short time later. The sheer size of this single room was so vast that the distance between them created a feeling of loneliness.

Haymitch pursed his lips as he rummaged through the fridge and filled his glass with ice. Unimpressed, his eyes ran over the many different types of alcohol, and he wasn't particularly affected by today's selection. The fancy bottles told him that most of the budget had been spent on advertising and that the contents would taste like crap. He and Chaff had drunk their way through numerous such brands over the past few years to be sure of that. In the end, he settled on one of the plainer glass bottles, and that was only because he didn't recognize the logo.

The ice cubes crackled as Haymitch poured the indigo liquid. The sound sent a tingling of desire through his fingers. "Will I get an answer in this century?" he asked with a hint of effort in his voice.

"One glass of wine will do," Effie finally said, slowly moving toward the bar. Haymitch watched her. Each of her movements was so fluid and smooth that she seemed to be floating a few inches above the ground. She was beautiful, surrounded by layers of burgundy fabric and glitter, her crystal blue eyes fixed thoughtfully on him, her golden blonde hair a little tousled.

Abruptly, Haymitch turned his back and reached for the untouched bottle of wine. It wasn't strong enough for him to drink except with food. Within moments he had removed the cork and poured her a glass. Effie grabbed the glass and wandered back to the television, settling on the sofa. She sipped her drink absently, her eyes fixed on the screen.

"Go get changed, sweetheart." Haymitch approached her, the cold of the ice pleasant against his warm skin. "This can't be comfortable. I'm holding the fort here."

Effie gave him a long look over her shoulder, wordlessly pressed the wine into his hand, and then nodded. When she returned an hour later, Haymitch had already made himself comfortable on the wide sofa. He had carelessly thrown his jacket over the back of the seat and his glass was more half empty than half full. Nothing had happened in the arena, just as he had predicted. The other Careers followed Cashmere, but the gap between them had grown since the quick end of Elira from District 2. None of them seemed in the mood to get into another fight. Regardless of whether the opponent was Cashmere or another tribute.

Without the bottomless dress, Effie suddenly seemed to have shrunk considerably in size. Haymitch let out a loud gasp as she appeared in the doorway. "Sweetheart, when I said change, I was thinking of something comfortable."

Of course, in Effie Trinket's world, getting changed meant nothing other than throwing on another spectacular outfit. Haymitch rolled his eyes in resignation and leaned further back into the cushions of the couch. "Someone could come by at any time, Haymitch. I get paid to dress up," she argued immediately, but added a more subdued "At least partially."

Effie wore a pink cocktail dress that might seem simple compared to the ball gown from earlier, but it was still striking. Designed like a corset with delicate lace details, it flared out at her hips into a skirt with multiple layers of tulle. She covered her bare shoulders and arms with a short pink fur jacket, and her makeup matched the color palette of her dress. At least she hadn't put on a wig; her hair remained unchanged.

Haymitch eyed her skeptically, but Effie only had eyes for his shoes, which he had thoughtlessly taken off to stretch his legs on the sofa. He had had enough decency after all. Apparently the golden line had already been crossed for Effie. "You are lounging here as if you were at home," she exclaimed incredulously. "This goes against all etiquette and certainly is not how it is supposed to be."

"Tell me, sweetheart, if the sofa isn't made for this exact activity, what is it for? You can't be serious," Haymitch stressed sarcastically. With his foot, he pointed to the coffee table in front of them. "Now sit down and drink your wine."

A huff of annoyance escaped Effie's throat, but she reached for her glass and sat down next to him. Close enough to let Haymitch know that he didn't really irritate her with his uncouth manner. They both sipped their drinks for a while; Effie – ever the lady, of course – slowly and elegantly, while Haymitch practically devoured his. They followed the debates of several psychologists who were trying to decipher the climate surrounding the Careers. Each of the experts had their own opinion, ranging from "Cashmere will kill them all" over "The remaining tributes will overpower her at the right time" to "They will part ways non-violently".

Haymitch had little interest in the opinion of any self-proclaimed experts. With every word that came through the speakers, the urge to simply disappear into his room and shut out the world for another night grew stronger. Instead, he stayed lying on the sofa, pouring the last drops of liquor down his throat and sinking deeper into the cushions as if he could disappear into them once he had drunk a certain amount of alcohol.

"How does it feel to give up control so often?" Effie's voice next to him pulled Haymitch out of his thoughts and he flinched. His eyes locked on her and his brain needed a few moments to register her words and understand the meaning behind them. A partly curious, partly tortured expression was on her face.

The alcohol burned his throat, spreading a cool numbness from his stomach into his muscles, lowering his pain tolerance. Haymitch waited until Effie took another sip of her wine before answering her. "Not the best feeling, but a thousand times easier than realizing I have no shred of control."

The words were dangerous, Haymitch knew that. He felt he had to say them nonetheless. For her. "That is not what I meant," was all Effie said, as if she already knew the answer. "I can only speak for the time in the Capitol, of course. Here you are among people, have your friends, and yet you are drunk half the time. Do you not feel like you are missing out on parts of your life?"

How could Haymitch make her understand that this was what he wanted? He wanted to miss as much of his life as possible because the pain was already unbearable. Effie was right, at times of the Games he had Chaff and Mags who supported him through their own suffering. Yet everything in this city reminded him of his own Games, which made the torment dimensions worse. In 12, it wasn't much better. There was no one there, he was always alone; alone with the ghosts his dead family had left behind. There, the pain was different; more personal, more accusatory, more blameworthy. In the Capitol, he mostly remembered that he was the victim, while District 12 reminded him that he was the perpetrator.

So what was Haymitch supposed to say to her now? What reason was there for him to still be alive if he thought like that? "I'm a coward," he finally said, his tone harsh and uncontrolled.

"You are many things, but you are not a coward." Effie sounded so confident in herself that Haymitch raised his eyebrows. She had turned towards him. Her knees were almost touching his body, and he had to tilt his head back to meet her gaze because he was lying so low.

"And you know that because?"

"You are not acting like a coward. You are rude, unapproachable and angry, but even if you pretend not to care, I know you do. You care about the children, you fight for them, even though you have clearly stated the opposite from day one. What kind of coward behaves like that?" Effie gave him a triumphant smile, as if she had hit the nail on the head. But that was just the tip of an iceberg that went too deep to be expressed in simple words.

All Haymitch knew was that he was waiting. He was waiting for the change. The other victors were too. Not that there was anything in the air or anyone had told him anything. Nothing like that. Mags was involved in things, Chaff knew it too. She was smart enough to keep quiet in front of them, but she was involved and that was enough for Haymitch. He just wondered how much longer he could wait.

Haymitch let her believe she was right, and the afternoon flew by before his eyes until the sun eventually set behind the city's glass skyscrapers. Except to get another drink a few hours ago, he hadn't moved. Instead, he had stared straight ahead, trying to block out everything around him, especially the television. Effie didn't say much, she followed interview after interview in silence, disappeared for dinner, which Haymitch couldn't bring himself to eat, and then returned to him.

Haymitch had no idea when Effie leaned her head against his shoulder, it must have been late. In response, he put his arm around her waist but didn't awaken from his trance. Holding her felt so natural that he couldn't bring himself to think about the meaning of anything. What they had didn't change one bit, they were still nothing more than District and Capitol performing a dangerous dance.

Effie mumbled something and Haymitch had to blink to regain focus. The monitor flickered and showed the image from a night vision camera in the arena. What time was it? He tried to turn his head and flinched when unfamiliar hair brushed against his chin. It took his brain several attempts to realize that Effie must have moved again. He couldn't remember. Had he fallen asleep? He had probably just dozed off for a moment. Actual, deep sleep was quite rare for him in weeks like this.

A thick haze plunged his head into a familiar emptiness. Haymitch carefully moved his right arm, which he had been holding Effie with just a moment ago. He felt the soft fur of her jacket under his fingers and moved his body a little in the opposite direction. Effie's head rested on his chest, her body turned to the side so that she was half lying on the sofa. Her eyelids were closed and her fingers clutched the empty wine glass as if it were a life preserver. Her hair spread like a veil around her narrow face. Her makeup was smeared, but she looked so peaceful that Haymitch couldn't bring himself to wake her. Even if the position she was lying in couldn't really be comfortable.

She had fallen asleep. Just like that. As if it were the most normal thing in the world. As if she felt safe enough in his presence that she didn't have to think about it any further. Haymitch didn't know what to make of it. Despite the alcohol, fear managed to pound against the inside of his stomach. This was dangerous. Not just for him. Especially not for him. He had nothing to lose. Effie, however ...

On the other hand ... A pleasant warmth flowed through his veins, fighting against the darkness in his core. It didn't have to be dangerous. Not if he knew how to prevent it. Not if it wasn't serious. They had clearly negotiated the boundary. Experimenting. This was nothing more than that. They could enjoy each other's closeness without ... attachment.

Haymitch ignored the rampant voice in his foggy head that accused him of being a blind, suicidal idiot. Attachment. He tuned out the voice that worriedly wondered if it might be too late for that.

-

Merry Christmas! Hopefully, you had wonderful days with your families. In Germany, we have two Christmas Days, so I will be out for diner with my family in the evening. Since I usually post Thursdays, I also wish you a Happy New Year! For this occasion I want to take the moment to thank you all, my dear readers, for going on this journey with me. I am most grateful to all of you, who enjoy my stories. Every like, every comment, it all makes my day and means a lot to me. So thank you!

As always, I hope you liked this chapter. Go to my Pinteres (ccskyllen) if you want to find the exact outfits I had in mind for Effie! :)

See you next year!

Skyllen <3