drop me a line and let me know what you think! This story is all mapped out already and will continue to rewrite mockingjay. Keep an eye out for more chapters in the coming days/weeks

SOMEBODY THAT I USED TO KNOW

CH. 1 EVERYTHING YOU WANT

"We've no idea what happened to Effie Trinket." says Plutarch without even a hint of remorse or curiosity as to the state of her well being. Haymitch lowers his head at the statement hoping it goes unnoticed by the others in the small hospital room. Prim, Katniss, Plutarch, Beetee all eyes too close to the cause, all too willing to identify his concern and maybe his lessening resolve in the rebel cause. His unkempt dirty blonde hair falls forward shadowing his face. Death is so definite, it's an answer. Peeta's team is dead. The gray space between the solid colors is indefinite and perhaps where his emotions stem from. Haymitch allows himself a small mental concession. Unaccounted for is not dead. But it's not alive either. He may have poked fun at her but it was a rapport built out of many years with Effie Trinket. Sharing the pain of sending children to their deaths, a way to lighten their burdens and deny the pain they both concealed so well through one vice or another. Cinna's gone, and those they carried the burden with leave them and release their guilt onto the shoulders of those remaining. Alcohol was his only remedy for the ache in his chest but it isn't likely to be strong enough for the weight he'll carry if she too is unloading her pain in her accent elsewhere. He ceases the thought, unwilling to accept death so quickly just to ease the questioning in his mind. It's too quick a fix and one likely to haunt more than the ghosts that linger around him.

The others begin discussing Peeta and Haymitch while still visually present mentally checks out, holding a tinge of resentment at their ability to forget her so quickly. He's surprised by his own feelings. With the loss of so many in his life, she was the one who was guaranteed to be safe should the storms rise. She was a citizen of the Capitol and better off than the richest in any of the districts, but the game turned and with it the rules. She's not safe. She's nowhere to be found. A pause in his mind lets the thought sink deeper into his chest. And if there's one thing Haymitch has come to know most about Effie it's that she's not the type to survive on her own will, her consumption in the Capitol culture has forfeited her ability to survive outside the means she's been provided her entire life. Even in her decadence she too is an orphan of the country, like Haymitch. No siblings and parents that no longer walk in the mortal world she has only herself and the friends who would not hesitate to cast her aside should she carry the slightest bit of scandal with her. She's alone. There's nothing to report on her because she has no one with her to relay the message, no one who cares enough to make sure people know of her plight. But he cares.

"We need to take care of her." says Prim who decides the stress of Peeta's brainwashing is enough excitement for Katniss tonight. Haymitch is grateful for the cue to exit as it saves him the trouble of finding a reason to leave on his own. He slips from the sterile room, drapes his hands loosely into his pockets and lets his eyes glaze. He's unaware of the distance he's traveled until he's face to face with the door of his housing unit. He enters the room without even a flick of the light switch and falls back onto his cold, hard, bed, eyes wide open. His mind races as he tries to formulate possible reasons someone would be unaccounted for. Death, too easy. They would know where to find her and Snow would never execute someone he could manipulate for his needs. Escape is all but ruled out, even under the direst of circumstances Effie wouldn't be able to get far and if she somehow managed to flee the Capitol she'd be captured by Rebels who would spot her quickly. The only option left... Imprisoned. His mind leaps to the conclusion as his body sits upright. He quickly turns to sit on the edge of the bed as if the sheer acknowledgement of the thought will allow him to move into action immediately. But this will take forethought, this will take planning. He may be wrong, but the thought nags at him, it's the only explanation that fits. If she's imprisoned it will likely be at the Capitol Building in a place away from prying eyes.

I have to get to the Capitol. I have to make sure they don't hurt her like they did Peeta.

She doesn't have the strength that boy does, she would break and fast. Just the thought of them trying to torture her gives him the motivation he's longed to feel for so many years. He has to save her. Action must be swift and it must come with an outside reason that will appease Coin. Trying to tell the President of District 13 that you want to risk another mission to the Capitol to rescue one of it's citizens that assisted in the grooming of it's agenda, that you may have a 'deeper than friendship bond' with isn't likely to make President Coin sign on to the expedition. It's risky but times running out. With the rescue of Peeta the Capitol will be getting ready to counter the move and with whatever ammo it may have unused.

Effie.

Haymitch lays back down, mulling over the plan. He has to keep himself focused as his mind wanders to what this could mean... for them. He strays from waxing poetic about how they both come from such different worlds and how one agenda doesn't meld with the others, but at the most basic level she comes from the world of the games and that's a factor that unites beyond District and blood.

In the past he safeguarded his feelings for her, not allowing them to show through more than the occasional banter, but his lingering stares told of an intoxication stronger than any liquor. One that longed to know if she kept up the rouse of punctuality and perfection behind closed doors. He wished to see her forgetful of her manners, motivated by her inhibitions and willing to let herself love him. The same way he had grown to love her. He would never admit it, too strong a character to allow her the privilege to see him taken by her so easily. Breathless over a woman from the Capitol. By all means they shouldn't work, but choices are a matter of the head, the heart does what it does without the permission of the owner. But if ever he felt himself too close to leaning in to kiss her after a late night in the main room when the tributes retired, he had to stifle himself. One too many times he reached with the intent to take her hand, but fear crippled his fingers and curled them back into his palm. What he would have given to just have held her hand in his. What he wouldn't give for that now. The clear liquid brought these feelings solace, the only thing strong enough to fight off the past and control the future. The more intense the desire, the more the bottle met his lips, and in return the more Effie backed away. These actions were a choice he never got to make. Afraid she would become a casualty, as so many had, from his love. He couldn't risk that. Even if it meant hurting her, causing her confusion and eventual heartbreak at his inability to publicly requite her feelings. She could never know why, she would have to learn to think of him as a callous drunk, which he was sure she never really truly believed. She had been in this game long enough to know that there are reasons people disconnect and when the Games are involved they're usually reasons manifested out of a need to survive and protect. So he became a drunk and she became fixated on herself, each punishing themselves for not being the brave ones, victims of a love they could never even acknowledge.

Haymitch has to pull himself from a memory long ago of when he almost tasted her lips to remember there was a mission at hand. One that could not wait.

CH. 2 BE STILL

She curled her feet under her on the sofa facing the television screen. An eerie moment of solitude that should have struck her more than it did. No one was around, she assumed Haymitch had wandered off into the night trying to avoid sleep as he so often did, a habit she took note of early on in their first games together and she hadn't seen Cinna or the stylist since they prepared the kids on the day they entered the arena. Her shoes neatly settled side by side on the floor, it was late and she knew that soon she would be forced to turn into bed if she wanted to stay on schedule but not before checking in on the games. Staying in the penthouse was a perk for the escorts during the games, to Effie it provided her company and a job that kept her mind from the harsh realities the loneliness her own home would conjure. For every thought that wavered to the inhumanity of the Quell she would pull out her planner and project days, weeks, months into the future, plan her next outfit seek out a distraction, whatever it took to ease the panic and guilt. She found herself watching the television screen, sighing with a relief that would have to be internal at the sight of Katniss and Peeta still alive.

Even though the Capitol strongly discouraged sympathizing with your Tributes, Effie always found it hard to see the kids march to their deaths. Sharing the burden with the Stylists and Haymitch helped but it still weighed on her. There was too much time, effort and at risk for her to make it publicly known that she loathed the moment her Tributes left her. Her cheery demeanor an over compensation, fearful if she didn't project sunshine they'd see right through her to mixed emotions and call it rebellion. Haymitch could always tell though, he always knew she felt internally conflicted. The sideways glances always a mixture of pain and remorse, a comfort knowing at least one person understood she wasn't as unfeeling toward others as she led on. That is, when Haymitch was actually able to see clearly enough that he could tell she was even looking at him.

The Quarter Quell was on the large screen in front of her. She came in just as Katniss aimed her bow toward no particular target and shot. Something fell in Effie's stomach as her planner dropped to the floor releasing it's contents across the rug that centered the room. Something like electricity surged through the air of the arena, a fog of no color rippling to reveal a hovercraft taking her and a few other unidentifiable tributes up into the air. Just then the television cut out. Suddenly the vast quiet of the penthouse felt claustrophobic. What had happened, were they okay, why had the games stopped. Effie knew, something was wrong. Unsure what her role was, she knew she had to contact Haymitch or find a stylist. Gathering the papers back into her planner she contorted her feet back into the heels she had no business wearing this late at night. She rushed to the door to head down the elevator but upon its opening she came face to face with two Peacekeepers.

Ever the ideal Capitol citizen she let a smile frost her face as they were here to inform her and take her to her Tributes, "Thank you for being so prompt, I must find Haymitch, he's probably at the bar." she states with a flick of her wrist indicating that she wishes to take command of the help they've sent her. But the Peacekeepers just stand blocking the doorway.

"If you'll just let me go to Haymitch, we can figure this whole thing out... now please step aside...come on now dear don't be shy" she stammers on still in her signature voice of whimsy. The two peacekeepers move like an impenetrable wall as they walk in backing her up into the Penthouse further. "Excuse me, it is polite to state a reason before barging in to someone's residence!" she miffs in a huff, annoyed by the interruption in her plan. Effie goes to move around one Peacekeeper but he reaches and grabs her upper arm hard and stops her. Her face a mixture of shock and utter bewilderment at the man who had the audacity to lay his hands upon her. "You want a reason Rebel?" said the peacekeeper firmly holding her arm. He holds no trepidation in speaking out so colorfully stating not so much a question as an accusation. This is serious. The word churned in her head. Rebel? But before she could even attempt to process the thought the other guard grips her free arm and pushes her along toward the door. As she drags her feet in both reluctance and confusion. "Stop! You will take your hands off me!" she screams, breaking her manners as the Peacekeepers drag her out of the Penthouse.