Hi! Here we go again with a (long) new hayffie story.

First thing first : kudos to Akachankami for the beta and having found the title.

A word on that story if you're interested : I was re-reading Mockingjay and noticed how many times Dalton (the guy from District 10) as well as Katniss mentioned the fact that District 13 see the refugees as "breeding cattle" because they have so many problems having children. It also made me think that for people who had been together for years, Finnick and Annie make a baby awfully fast considering that they're married what? 3 weeks? Most of which Finnick spends in training? And before that they're together… about 2 or 3 weeks? So… Since there are so many fertility problems, I assumed means of contraception as well as abortions would be banned and that maybe other steps would be taken to make sure a lot of babies were conceived. I won't say anything else to not spoil the surprise.

I talked about that on twitter and Allonsysilvertongue prompted me to write it so here is the prompt that had gotten so big it became a multi-chaptered story. I hope you will all like it.

Ah, yes, and I go with movie canon for this one, so Effie is already in 13 from the start (although she doesn't have her customized uniform but the regular one because I'm not sure I'm still okay with that customized thing.)

Must Be Something In the Water

Beds in Thirteen weren't made for tossing and turning, all the more so when two people were crammed in a single bed. Effie kicked off the covers, ignoring Haymitch's displeased grunt but it didn't make it any better. She was too hot, she felt nauseous, and the warm body holding her close wasn't helping matters in the slightest.

She escaped the arm wrapped around her middle and sat at the edge of the bed, focusing on her breathing. Same time every night, she mused, dropping her head in her hands. The feeling was unbearable.

The hand that lazily ran up and down her naked back didn't bring her any relief and was of no particular comfort.

"Feeling sick again?" Haymitch mumbled, only partially awake. It was how he spent most nights nowadays, dozing off on the edge between sleep and alertness, unable to truly sleep without alcohol or his knife. He held on to Effie instead but just as his hand wasn't terribly soothing at the moment, she doubted she brought him any particular comfort. It was kindly meant but some things were beyond the reach of even the kindest of intent.

"I hate this." she whined. She felt on the verge of throwing up but she knew she wouldn't actually be sick. She had gotten used to the feeling during the last two weeks. It had taken almost a month and a half for her body to start protesting yet she was surprised it hadn't happened sooner. The hunger was almost excruciating, that was where the nausea came from she was sure. Her stomach was a pit that demanded to be filled and not with the poor-excuse for food they were allotted at each meal. "It's not right. They're starving us."

He remained silent long enough that she knew she had said something wrong. That was also a feeling she was quickly getting used to. In Thirteen, everything she said was considered with loathing if not outright mocked.

"You have three meals a day." he scolded harshly, as if she was a child. "It's more than we ever had back home."

She was probably supposed to say she was sorry. She did feel a bit sorry but she was more nauseous than repentant and it was on the tip of her tongue to remind him that he was a victor and that if he had decided to spent his monthly allowance on liquor rather than on food, it wasn't her fault. Fighting over something neither could control or change seemed, however, a bit pointless right at that very second.

"It doesn't change the fact that I am hungry." she muttered anyway, bending down to pick up her shirt. It was dark and she realized too late it wasn't actually hers but Haymitch's. She slipped it on without thinking about it, feeling a bit better once she wasn't as exposed.

"You will get used to it." He wrapped an arm around her middle and tugged her back into bed. She didn't answer right away. It was a promise he had made several times already : she would get used to living underground, she would get used to looking like a District person instead of the Capitol woman she was, she would get used to only eating enough to keep her functioning, she would get used to follow schedules that dictated every possible second of her life thus diminishing her own love for a well-organized time-table… Plutarch told her the same things, except he usually added that the war would hopefully be over soon and they could go back to their usual way of life. Unlike Haymitch, he never berated her for lamenting the loss of her old life.

She laid down on her side, letting him spoon her in an effort to gain space. He was always so quick on telling her to get used to it, she mused, but he was just as quick to dismiss rules he didn't like. For instance, people were supposed to be in their assigned compartment right before lights out and spend the night there. Haymitch had been allowed private quarters because of his night terrors but Effie wasn't supposed to sleep in there. She should have been in the compartment she shared with Cressida. It was lucky that the director wasn't the kind to report her yet Effie still risked being found out and seeing her rare privileges cut out. She didn't think they would throw her in confinement for that. Thirteen didn't frown on intercourses outside of wedlock as much as some other Districts did. The fact that it could even be a problem was strange to her Capitol mind. She didn't see how what she did with her own body was anyone's business but her own.

His hand slid under the shirt, he dropped a kiss to her neck. "Think of something else." Since his fingers were teasing their way to her breasts, she had a good idea of what he wanted her to think about.

"I can only think about strawberries dipped in chocolate." she replied flatly. "And even the mere idea of food is making me want to be sick."

He sighed so loud her hair were blown in her face. "Sit next to me tomorrow morning, you can have my turnips."

"I don't want turnips, I want strawberries." She pouted before making a face. "No, forget it. I just wish I could have some tea and could we please not talk about food anymore?" It was making the queasiness worse. If only she had some bread… A single roll would have been enough to calm her stomach, she was sure. She had tried to take some with her out of the dinner hall but Haymitch had caught her and had asked her if she fancied being thrown in a cell with all it implied. For a roll of bread. She hated living in that place.

"You're worse than a pregnant woman." he grumbled against her neck.

The thought made her falter for a second but then she chuckled at how ludicrous the statement was. There wasn't any other mean of contraception in Thirteen than chastity – a solution that had appealed to neither of them – but between the two of them the chances of her getting pregnant were slim to none anyway. Effie had been told years ago that getting pregnant would be virtually impossible if she didn't follow a fertility treatment beforehand and as for Haymitch she had been standing right next to him when one of Thirteen's doctor had told him, on the most disapproving tone Effie had ever heard, that his heavy drinking had very probably destroyed any chance he had of ever fathering children. Haymitch's answer had been "good riddance" which, they had come to learn since, was deeply offending given that fertility rates in Thirteen were very low. Her discreet enquiries about condoms, pills or anything else that could prevent a pregnancy hadn't been more appreciated…

Nevertheless, chastity had never been for them – even when they still hated each other, they could barely keep their hands off the other so now that they were tolerating boarding on affectionate, it was worse – and although there was always a very small risk, they thought their respective medical problems, mixed with some caution as to what they were doing and how, were enough safety. Both of them were practically sterile, she simply couldn't have been pregnant. She dismissed the thought as a good joke.

"I don't feel well." she complained for what felt like the thousandth time. She knew he couldn't do anything for her and she knew there was no use in repeating it aloud but she had been brought up in a world where hunger was simply a game on TV and even though her mind could rationalize the discomfort, her body wasn't agreeing.

He dropped another kiss to her neck and held her tighter but she could sense his growing impatience. He had no tolerance for her Capitol quirks. "It's only three hours to breakfast." – which really meant "Shut up and let me not-sleep in peace.".

Cressida was always more sympathetic when Effie inevitably woke her up with her pacing the room to kill time before she was actually allowed to eat. You weren't even authorized to roam the corridor before six am – important people like Haymitch and Plutarch could, they were always coming and going at odd hours, but Effie's security clearance wasn't high enough for that, they trusted her to assist Plutarch but not to wander on her own in the middle of the night – there was nothing to do but wait.

So wait she did, leaving Haymitch to his slumber.

She was dressed and gone before he even had a foot out of the bed, feeling ill and irritated for all the wrong reasons. She still sat next to him at breakfast but only for the promised turnips. Given the dark looks some people were giving her, food sharing was probably a huge no-no; she couldn't begin to care. The food soothed her nausea away but try as she might the gruel disgusted her and she couldn't swallow more than two mouthfuls, she was certain that if she forced herself to eat it, it would come right out again. The smell alone made her want to gag. She pushed the small bowl Haymitch's way which made him roll his eyes.

"Don't complain to me later that you're hungry." he warned her, eating it in three spoonfuls.

"Oh, I don't think I will be seeing you later." she huffed, grabbing her empty tray and hurrying out the dinner hall. Heads turned on her wake but it wasn't as flattering as it used to be; there was no admiration in their gaze, only contempt. She checked her wrist instinctively even though she knew her schedule by heart.

She was tasked with beginning filming propos about victors of each District with Finnick while Plutarch and Haymitch took care of the Mockingjay. Even though it had been her idea, she had been surprised to be granted so much responsibilities and happy at finally being in charge of something but then she had realized how difficult it would actually be to talk – and make Finnick, who was barely standing on his feet, talk – about people she had known personally and who were all dead. She wasn't in any hurry to start Chaff's, Seeder's, Cecelia's or Mags' propos.

The documentaries took all her time and focus during the next week which suited her just fine since she was still miffed at Haymitch's lack of sensitivity and very much enjoyed watching him stare at her figure from the corner of her eyes every time he thought she wasn't looking. It was sometimes good to remind him he shouldn't have been taking her for granted and a sex strike was often the way to go. To add insult to injury, she only spoke to him concerning work-related topics and avoided being alone with him as much as possible.

Haymitch would never apologize, of course, not to her anyway – that wasn't in the nature of their relationship – but when he grabbed her arm on her way back from dinner almost nine days since the last time they had privately spoken, she didn't resist being dragged to his room. He didn't waste time with empty speeches, he pinned her to the door and kissed the breath out of her. They tore at each other's clothes angrily, the door rattled with every move and she briefly wondered what people passing in front of his compartment must have been thinking. The thought was a fleeting one though because soon enough she wasn't thinking at all.

"Teeth, sweetheart. Watch the teeth!" he half-hissed, half-grunted when she bit his neck a tad too passionately. "I'm not a bloody piece of meat." She might have been too violent, she realized that even through the lust fogging her brain. The mark of her teeth was neatly visible. She kissed and licked the abused patch of skin. "Fuck." he grunted.

She tightened her legs around his waist. "Yes, dear, that's an apt description although I don't approve of your vulgarity." It was meant to be mocking but he didn't take the bait.

He tilted her chin up to get access to her throat. "I really don't know why you turn me on so much, you're a pain."

She wasn't sure if he said more or not because she was too far gone by that point. The only sound that she registered was the incessant rattling of her back hitting the wood.

She let him carry her to bed afterwards, utterly exhausted. He grumbled about her taking up all the space but it was more for show than anything else, it gave him an excuse to snuggle close and, for once, she felt truly happy.

"If I didn't know better, I would think you missed me." she mumbled sleepily, her face nuzzling the crook of his neck. She never heard his answer, she was already asleep.

It was his nightmare that woke her up. He was moaning quietly, his hands battling invisible enemies. It wasn't as bad as it could have been but she knew she had to get out of the bed anyway before she got hurt or, worse, he opened his eyes and screamed at her for not walking away when he started thrashing. Waking him from his nightmares wasn't as difficult as it used to be when he was drunk, she simply threw objects at him : her pillow, a pen, a towel and finally his pants after slipping on his shirt. The pants did it.

He sat up, startled, his hands were still flying around his head and his grey eyes were desperate. They held no flicker of recognition when they fell on her and Effie stood very still, afraid that he would lunge at her. During a long painful second, they both seemed to hold their breath. Then he blinked and the terror in his eyes was gone. He hunched as if someone had hit him and tossed the pen, towel and pants off the bed.

"Sorry." he mumbled at last.

"It doesn't matter." she replied softly even though it did. It must have been close to dawn because now that she wasn't concerned with his nightmares the hunger – and the nausea that went hand in hand with it – kicked in. She frowned when she felt a new discomfort settling in. "What did you do to my breasts?" She rubbed them but that only made it worse. They were sore and heavy and they hurt.

"I didn't hear you complain earlier." He rolled his eyes.

"I'm complaining now." She climbed back into bed.

"You're always complaining, Princess." he snorted. They ended up spooning again, it was the easiest way to sleep on that bed – she added a decent sized bed to the list of things she couldn't wait to go back to. "What's wrong with them anyway?" There was a tinge of concern to his voice but when he brushed a hand against one of her breasts over the shirt, she almost gasped.

She whacked his hand away. "I don't know. They're very sensitive. I'm probably going to have my period."

He grunted and buried his face in her neck. "You're going to turn into a bigger bitch."

She ignored him, trying to calculate but days tended to blur into one another in that place. Still… She didn't quite like the conclusion she was reaching. She had been in Thirteen for about two months and she couldn't remember having her period once. She had been so focused on Katniss and Peeta and adapting to life in that strange District that she hadn't even realized – she blamed the temporary schedule on her wrist, she had been so busy following it that she had completely forgotten to check her own planner. She had always been fairly regular, that was odd. Stress, she told herself before the prickle of panic she could feel spreading from her very core could fully bloom into outright terror, nothing but stress. It couldn't be anything else and there was no point worrying about it.

She buried further into his chest and shut her eyes tight, forcing herself to relax. She was simply going to have her period, it explained the heavy breasts as well as her exhaustion and the strange urge to start crying in odd instances. It was all hormones.

"Language." she chided him, a bit too late.

He simply tightened his arms around her, sliding a leg between hers and burying his face in her neck. He often wrapped himself around her like that to sleep. She wondered if it was comforting to him or if he was unconsciously attempting to protect her still. He did that a lot in Thirteen for all his claims that she had to fend for herself: he shielded her from the most nasty comments, he called out people who insulted her and he did his best to keep Coin off her back. The latest wasn't very effective though, she still could feel the President breathing down her neck, waiting for her to make a mistake big enough that it would warrant exceptional punishment.

Over the next few days, her breasts remained painful, her nausea didn't diminish and she sometimes started to cry for no good reason at all to everyone's puzzlement. Haymitch said nothing but she knew he was torn between irritation and worry. Worry was her predominant feeling, two more weeks and she still wasn't having her period, her breasts were slightly bigger and she could feel the doubt nagging at her mind even though she knew a pregnancy wasn't a logical possibility. Another medical problem, more probably, but that wasn't totally reassuring either.

The need to know what was happening to her body, to do something about it, was what made her approach Katniss' mother in the hospital. The woman was always as nice as could be expected given the fact that Effie was the escort who reaped her daughters. Katniss' fondness for her helped some but, Effie suspected, not much.

"Miss Trinket!" Mrs Everdeen exclaimed in surprise when she glimpsed her lurking on the threshold of the supply closet she was busy organizing. Lurking. Was that what she had come down to? Effie spared a thought for the over-confident cheerful escort who had never been afraid of trespassing on anything.

"Effie, please." she corrected her as lightly as she could, forcing a bright smile on her lips. The smile hurt. "I'm afraid I'm in need of a favor." That seemed to catch the woman's attention because she frowned. "Do all medical exams have to go on record?"

Everything was recorded in Thirteen, down to the amount of toothpaste one used to brush their teeth. It was ridiculous in her opinion.

"Medical exams that involve supplies or tests, yes." Katniss' mother replied, placing down the plastic tubes she had in hand in a drawer and closing it before turning to her with an enquiring gaze. "Would that be a problem?"

Effie resisted the urge to rub her face. Even if there was no make-up there anymore, it wasn't ladylike and her mother's voice was raging in the back of her mind, telling her off about her general attitude. A lady smiled in every circumstance and dealt with her personal feminine problems discreetly and efficiently.

"I… Never mind." She was sure the second her name was typed in one of their computer, Coin or one of her lackeys would jump on the file and everyone would know about it. Depending on what was wrong with her, she wasn't sure she wanted to tell Haymitch. "I am utterly sorry, I fear I am imposing on your working time."

Mrs Everdeen placed a hand on her arm before she could walk away. "I am due for a break." Her blue eyes were calm and it eased some of Effie's anxiety away. "Perhaps I can examine you. You might not need tests and it can stay between you and me."

"Thank you." she breathed out in pure relief. She didn't even care that Katniss' mother wasn't a proper doctor and that she wouldn't have dreamt of ever consulting a healer who wasn't certified before she came to Thirteen. She trusted the healer more than she trusted any of that District's doctors by that point.

Mrs Everdeen led her to a small room at the end of a corridor that was less busy with people in white coat. Effie had carefully chosen her time to visit the hospital. The schedule on her wrist read 12:30 lunch and it was the same for almost everyone.

"Good." the woman said in a soft voice after Effie had hopped on the table. "What seems to be the problem?"

She listed her symptoms from the first apparition of the hunger induced bouts of queasiness to her aching breasts. Mrs Everdeen's conclusion was so plainly written on her face, Effie almost started crying again in sheer nerves. She explained what she had been told when she was younger or, at least, what she remembered of it, how her ovaries weren't working properly and needed regular checking. The healer felt her stomach, asked a lot of personal questions that made Effie blush and in the end pursed her mouth while she thought.

"A blood test would tell you for sure…" Katniss' mother said. "But we never had those at home and I've seen enough pregnancies to know what they look like. You're pregnant, Effie."

"But how?" she cried out in dismay.

"I'm assuming this is a rhetorical question…" the healer joked but Effie wasn't amused in the slightest.

"I can't be." she insisted. Her heart was hammering so hard in her chest, every thump felt as if it would break her ribcage. She felt dizzy. The room started spinning. She felt hot tears running down her cheeks. "I can't be."

She couldn't be pregnant without medical help. She clung to that thought because it was easier than to think : I can't be pregnant in the middle of a war, stuck in a District where food is restricted and children prepped for the army before they're fourteen. I can't be pregnant when we could all die tomorrow. I can't be pregnant when it would be so easy for Coin or Snow to rip the baby away from me and use it to hurt me. She simply couldn't be.

"Effie. Effie. I need you to breathe."

She barely registered Mrs Everdeen's instructions or the gentle hands that prompted her to lie back down on the examination table. Black dots danced in front of her eyes.

"It can be." she begged. "It must be a cyst or… or a growth… Something else."

A baby would be a catastrophe. She couldn't take care of a baby. Not now. Not when she had Katniss to worry about and when Peeta was still lost to them. Not when she was barely more than a prisoner. Not when she was ill with concern over two children she loved like her own being used by two different sides in a war that, she felt, would result in nothing but the destruction of Panem.

"We're going to do an ultrasound. I've seen them use the machine twice, I'm sure I can do it myself. It will tell us for sure." the healer said quickly, brushing away blond strands of hair stuck to Effie's cheeks by tears.

"I… I don't want it on record." Effie stammered. If she was really pregnant and Coin learned about it… She shuddered. "No one must know."

Mrs Everdeen didn't seem pleased by that but she relented when Effie moved as if she wanted to get off the table. "Alright. Just stay here and try to remember to breathe before you faint. I will… see what I can do."

She waited while the healer sneaked an ultrasound device out of another room. She almost torn her shirt in her hurry to pull it up and let Mrs Everdeen rub a small amount of sticky gel to her stomach all the while praying that she wouldn't see or hear anything. For a few seconds after the sensor touched her skin, she felt relieved because she couldn't glimpse anything on the screen that remotely resembled a baby. Of course, that was when her brain kicked in to remind her a baby wouldn't even look like a baby at this point.

"Here." Katniss' mother said, pointing at a dark spot that couldn't be bigger than a nut. "You're pregnant."

This time Effie felt no qualm in pressing her hands against her face as hard as she could. "It's impossible." she repeated. "It's…"

"It's very possible." the healer said softly, gently prying her hands away from her face. "Look. He's right here. This is a good thing, Effie." It was absolutely not a good thing. "Is it because of the father? Is he still in the Capitol?"

The father.

The father.

The sound that escaped her throat was midway between a whine, a sob and a hysterical chuckle. Haymitch. How was she supposed to tell Haymitch his worst nightmare was coming true? How was she supposed to tell him that she would soon be adding to the collection of people he struggled to keep safe? How was she supposed to tell him that, soon enough, both Coin and Snow would have a pressure point on him?

And how could she do that to this innocent unborn baby?

"What are my options in this District?" Her voice was flat. She tried to control the surge of emotions clashing in her chest. There was a peak of joy underneath it all but it was soon stifled by fear. Fear was overwhelming, oppressing and spreading to her whole being.

"If you're talking about abortion, I would say none." Mrs Everdeen's voice had become harsher, as if she couldn't quite understand how Effie could think like that. Perhaps she couldn't. The woman was a mother and a District person. Effie was neither. "I could tell you what some women did in Twelve but I wouldn't recommend it unless you wish to bleed to death."

Bleeding to death was a more pleasant prospect than to tell Haymitch, she thought, which was soon followed by the realization she couldn't tell Haymitch. Not yet. Not while they were all in danger.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" she whispered tiredly, grasping Mrs Everdeen's hand.

The healer's face softened again. "You won't be able to keep it secret for long, Effie, I think you're about seven weeks. We need to put it on record so they can adjust your food allotment. You will need to eat more and…"

"No." she interrupted her very rudely. "I… No. Please." She wasn't above begging. Begging often had gotten her what she wanted in the past.

"You need to realize…." Katniss' mother softened even more. "From what you told me about your medical history, this pregnancy is probably going to be difficult. You will need to eat more, they have prenatal vitamins here and their doctors would probably be more helpful than me. Let me find one for you now and…"

"No." Effie refused straight-out, squeezing the hand she was still holding to the point of pain. "You don't understand, I… Nobody must know."

"People will know." the healer sighed quietly. "You will start to show soon."

That was a nightmare. A pure nightmare.

"I don't want them to know yet." she amended. Or ever, she mused thinking of what Haymitch's reaction would be.

Probably sensing she wouldn't give in, the healer pursed her mouth in disapprobation but then, she yielded. "Come back next week so I can check on you and come to me at any time if you're in pain or if the sickness worsens."

"Thank you." She nodded gratefully and straightened her clothes. She glimpsed the flashing number on a clock in the corner and winced. She didn't need to consult her schedule to know she was late and to a meeting in Command, no less.

"Effie." Mrs Everdeen's used a no-nonsense voice that, Effie thought, was the mark of a true mother. "Don't do anything foolish and talk it out with me before you try anything… drastic."

Like find another way to get rid of the baby? If stealing a roll of bread warranted an undetermined stay in a cell… What was the punishment for an illegal abortion? She put the thought out of her mind and hurried to Command.

She was greeted by grim faces and the war hit her right in the face again. It was everywhere, on every screen. She thought she recognized the still-smoking ruins of Three's Justice Building, some screens showed different buildings in flames, others were focused on their own soldiers trying to battle through, the last ones were trained on the hovercraft marked with a Capitol sigil. Beetee's shoulders were hunched over, his hand covering his mouth but he obviously couldn't detach his eyes from the devastation. Coin had her hands so full shouting orders left and right she didn't notice Effie sneaking in. Nobody did except Plutarch and Haymitch and they were both too busy to comment on her appearance.

The single good thing about war, Effie had found out, was that there was no time to wallow on your private life or your personal worries. They remained in Command for the longest time. Effie took notes, watching Coin, Boggs, Haymitch, Plutarch and Beetee debating ideas and shyly offering her own when she deemed it pertinent. Coin didn't like it when she talked but she was used to discussing tactics with Haymitch during the Games and she had learned a lot throughout the years. Plus, when Plutarch was thinking like a Gamemaker, Effie was thinking like an average Capitol and it sometimes provided insight.

It was late at night when the fights in District Three finally died down without any side making any real dent in the other's troops. They had missed dinner and, having already missed lunch, Effie was starving. Of course, when she asked if it would be possible for them to have some food even if it was after hours, everyone but Plutarch stared at her like she had grown two heads because there were more urgent concerns. Fortunately for her, Effie had actually been useful that day so Coin was leaning towards leniency, she waved her away instead of outright raging at her.

"You're obsessed with food." Haymitch snorted as they walked along the corridors. "I've never noticed before."

"I've never been hungry before." she snapped, wrapping her arms around her middle and then taking them away as if she had been burned. Pregnant women did that, didn't they? Hold their stomach? The word hit her again, even in the privacy of her own head, slamming into her like a fray train. Pregnant.

"Better hungry than dead." he replied, harsh and insensitive. She wasn't sure he would have said the same thing if he knew because she was pretty sure once he learned about her new condition, he would regret not leaving her behind in the Capitol.

"I'm tired, I'm going to bed." There was nothing else to answer anyway. She didn't want another pointless fight.

He grabbed her wrist when she tried to take a corridor leading to the right. "Sleep at mine."

She hesitated and then shook her head. "Not tonight."

His grey eyes flashed with annoyance but then it was gone. He slept better when she was there, she knew that even if he had never said it out loud, but she was feeling the need for some alone time. Of course, she realized when she finally reached her compartment to find Cressida already ready for bed, even though she was quite lonely in that District, she was never actually alone.

Usually she would have appreciated the other woman's chatter. It was good to be able to talk to another Capitol woman even if she was a rebel through and through but, that night, Effie had troubles conjuring her cheerful mask and her bright smile. Pretending was almost more than she could bear.

She dreamt. Nightmares were a recurrent thing since she had arrived in Thirteen. That world was bleak and the whole situation entirely too stressful but that dream was new and she woke up with a scream. Seeing the children or even Haymitch die in her nightmares wasn't rare but seeing a toddler – that she simply knew was hers – getting bombed into oblivion followed by Haymitch's desperate accusation that she should have looked after him better… She hadn't been prepared for that.

She didn't truly answer Cressida's sleepy questions. She slipped out of bed and sneaked out of the room, not caring about the number of rules she was breaking. She was lucky, she didn't meet anyone on her way down to Haymitch's room level.

He propped himself on his elbow as soon as he heard the door opening and closing, not totally awake but never entirely asleep either. She glimpsed his frowning face in the light spilling from the corridor before she shut the door and the room became dark once more. She didn't attempt to explain, she crawled on the bed, laid on his chest and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Then she started sobbing.

He couldn't understand what was happening but, to his credit, he didn't ask any questions. He held her until she calmed down, petting her hair soothingly.

"Our kids will be alright." he told her when she had no more tears to cry. "We will take care of Katniss and we will get Peeta back eventually."

And what about the one you don't know about?, she wanted to ask. She remained mute from fear and exhaustion. She focused on the regular rise and fall of his chest under her body, he played with her hair and she let her mind wander, unable to clear her head enough for sleep. She thought about a way to make it work and found none. In the end she just gave up. It was an accident. It was never supposed to happen. Mrs Everdeen had warned her that her medical problems would probably make it a difficult experience at best. Effie almost hoped it would simply be too difficult. Accidents had a way of taking care of themselves, that was what her mother used to say. If it wasn't meant to be, it wouldn't. And it probably wouldn't. She couldn't understand how she had gotten pregnant in the first place. Soon enough, she would lose it. She felt it deep down : there was no point in getting attached or even worrying about it.

She wasn't the kind of woman who buried her head in the sand on important matters but, for once, she chose the coward's option and decided to simply stop thinking about it.

Except, as she found out over the course of the next days, there was no reprieve from thinking about it.

Everything was a constant reminder. The nausea – she refused to call it morning sickness – was less strong but still very much present around three am, she felt queasy around certain smells too and she could swear she would have actually been able to kill someone for some chocolate, her breasts were swollen, heavy and sensitive to the touch and, of course, there was the pouch. It was nothing remarkable, a simple bulge of fat to the untrained eye that stood out on her otherwise flat stomach. She didn't know how she had missed that before, it sometimes felt as if it had appeared overnight.

She didn't let Haymitch touch her anymore. Her body felt treacherous. She was certain he would notice the changes and put two and two together. He didn't understand why she suddenly took her distances and refused to sleep with him even in the most innocent meaning of the term. She had no good explanation for him either. She didn't know how to lie to him, she never quite got the hang of it.

Two weeks after she had found out, Effie was in full denial over the whole thing, pretending she was blind and didn't see the changes in her body and spent her time trying to avoid both Haymitch and Katniss' mother.

She had been so focused on not thinking about it that it was quite a shock to enter Command one day with her notepad full of ideas for new propos only to find the room in total disarray again. It was a weird kind of disarray though. Beetee was furiously typing on a keyboard, the clicking of the keys the only sound troubling the silence. The screens were only showing destruction – Three again, she thought – and they could barely glimpse human shadows running left and right. Plutarch greeted her with a strained smile, Coin didn't even look at her.

"Where is Haymitch?" she asked at once, seized by the kind of gut feelings she had learned to listen to over the years. His absence was not only odd but alarming. When he wasn't taking care of the Mockingjay, Haymitch was always in Command for tactics and strategies.

Plutarch sighed and pushed a chair her way. "His hovercraft was shot down fifteen minutes ago, we lost contact with his team."

She fell on that chair more than she sat down. Her escort persona took over before she could start babbling and sobbing hysterically, instead she managed a polite smile. "Hovercraft?"

Coin's grey eyes turned to her. It was the wrong kind of grey, she couldn't help but think, almost milky, too cold and too calculating.

"We needed a closer look at Three. The screens and maps are only so good on a tactical point of view." Plutarch explained. "Boggs went with him. We lost communication."

The racing of her heart was so loud in her own ears she was sure everyone could hear it. "Why wasn't I notified?"

"Why should you be?" Coin asked coldly.

Plutarch's hand touched her wrist under the table, a gentle sign for Effie to back down. She didn't. "Is he alive?"

She tried her best to make the question sound detached but she failed. It was almost a plea.

"We're trying to find out. Beetee is getting us back in contact." Plutarch said. "The hovercraft didn't explode when it crashed. It's good news."

Why did they have to send Haymitch?, she wanted to shout. Why couldn't it have been Plutarch? Haymitch had no business going to the front lines. Haymitch was supposed to stay behind with her and help protect the children.

"What did you want?" Coin looked at her as if she was the lowest person in the whole world. She probably was to her. She slid her notepad over to the President who reviewed her entries about possibly shooting Katniss in Twelve with Gale. The woman's reaction was a sharp nod. "Good. It's acceptable. Arrange it."

She probably meant at once but Effie remained right where she was, pretending to misunderstand and staring at Beetee who, probably sensing her distress, flashed her a quick smile. It took ten minutes before he managed to regain communication with the rebels in Three. Effie spent each of them counting the seconds and trying to ignore the cramps clenching her guts. Stress, she told herself even when they finally, finally got the communication back and Boggs confirmed both he and Haymitch were alive.

She breathed out so loud, Coin shot her a dark look.

The cramps didn't disappear when the slow process of waiting for the missing men to come back began. She dismissed them, keeping busy by helping Plutarch as best as she could.

"Are you alright?" he asked repeatedly during the afternoon. "You look awfully pale."

She joked about it each time and remained glued to his side, afraid they wouldn't allow her access to the hovercraft landing ground unless she was with him. The Gamemaker was only happy to grant her request when they were finally told the rescue ship was about to land and she found herself shifting her weight from one feet to another very impatiently while a flood of injured rebels were rolled out on gurneys or wheelchairs.

It was almost anticlimactic to see Haymitch and Boggs walk out on their own two feet. She probably shouldn't have launched herself at him – not that she had been thinking very clearly. The second she saw him, she ran and threw her arms around his neck, letting out something that sounded like a sob. She managed to keep herself collected but it was difficult. He embraced her back tentatively.

"Never do that again." she hissed in his ear.

"Sweetheart, you're hurting me." he replied and she finally let go, noting the stiff way he was holding himself. Bruised, she thought. Bruised but alive. His cheeks were slightly flushed and she realized, bemused, that he was embarrassed. Plutarch and Boggs were talking louder than necessary and very much not looking at them but they were both sporting knowing smirks.

She couldn't even begin to care.

"What were you thinking?" Now that the relief had settled in, she realized she was furious. "You're not a soldier, you're not fit to go on the battlefield. You're… You're… old. And you didn't even tell me you were leaving. What if something had happened? You didn't even say goodbye. Have you no manners at all? Not the slightest tinge of respect for me? You don't treat your friends like that, Haymitch, you just don't."

He seemed taken aback for a second but then his face hardened into irritation. "Sorry, Trinket, I think you forgot you're not my escort anymore. I don't need your permission for shit."

"Vulgarity is your answer to everything." she cringed. "You could have died. Do you even realize that?"

"Since I was in the hovercraft that crashed, yeah, I think I know that better than you." he mocked.

"Don't worry, Miss." Boggs laughed, trying to diffuse the sudden tension. It would have been hard for Plutarch and him to pretend not to hear the argument when they were standing right there. "I will never take him out in the field again. He's worse than Everdeen."

It wasn't the point.

She shook her head sadly, averting her eyes. "You just don't care at all, do you?" She felt ridiculous all of a sudden. How big a fool she must have looked… Pining after him all day, worrying sick about a man who couldn't even bother to let her know he was leaving for a dangerous mission, throwing herself in his arms like she meant anything more to him than access to easy sex… Her face flushed crimson and, once again, she lamented the loss of make-up that would have shielded her a little from the men's pitying gazes. Plutarch's was especially hard to bear because it was far too understanding. "Please, excuse me."

She turned around and left without another word. She didn't go back to the shooting studio or the remaking room even though her schedule read work. Let them arrest her, she wasn't sure she truly would mind at that point. She was starting to understand why Katniss had developed a fondness for hiding behind pipes or in supply closets when she first arrived in Thirteen. Effie was a bit too old for closets though so she contented herself with her room – empty for once – and inelegantly flopped on the bed like she would never have done hadn't she been alone.

She wasn't feeling very well. The cramps were still there and they felt… odd. She was hot too. And, of course, she was also sad which didn't help in the slightest. She curled up on her side and tried to breathe slowly through the pain, wishing it would ease down.

She didn't know how long she remained like that but when she heard the door opening, she closed her eyes and hoped Cressida would leave her be. After all, neither of them were supposed to be in their compartment in the middle of the day.

The bed dipped behind her and a strong arm wrapped around her stomach, flattening her against a man's chest. Tears burned her eyes but she blinked them away. She hadn't expected him to come.

"Plutarch said you worried a lot." He nuzzled her neck gently. "I'm fine, Princess."

"You should have told me you were leaving." she sniffled.

"Next time I will." he sighed, redrawing the line of her jaw with soft kisses. His stubble prickled her skin.

"There won't be a next time." she snapped. "You can't go on front lines, Haymitch. You're not a soldier."

There was a silence and then he let out another sigh – an annoyed one that time, either because he knew she was right or because he felt she was meddling – and then resumed kissing every inch of skin he could find. His hand slid under her shirt and went straight to her bra. She turned her head when he dropped a kiss at the corner of her mouth, responding to his invitation with a kiss of her own. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she urged him closer, rolling on her back. Everything was fine until the pain came back sharp like a knife stab. She groaned in his mouth – which he misinterpreted and pinned her further to the mattress.

She pushed him away instinctively but it was too violent and the bed was too narrow, he overbalanced and, during the short second before he fell, she saw the flicker of surprise and alarm on his face. He remained on the floor longer than he usually would have with a grunt of pain of his own. She supposed he had lived through enough crashes for one day.

"What's gotten into you?" he growled, sitting up carefully and rolling his shoulder a few times.

"Nothing." she lied. "I am simply not in the mood."

"You've been not in the mood a lot lately." he snorted bitterly. "If you want to stop our arrangement, you can simply say it, sweetheart."

She stood up slowly, hoping walking around would help ease the cramps. It didn't. The only result was an onslaught of dizziness that left her breathless.

"Arrangement?" she managed to croak anyway. "Is that what we are?"

She grabbed the dresser in an attempt to remain upright. It worked and didn't work all at once. The room was spinning, sounds echoed as if distorted… Suddenly Haymitch was standing again and pacing the room angrily but she couldn't remember when he got up. He was talking but nothing truly made sense. She placed a hand on the slight bulge of fat on her stomach. A freezing wave of panic washed upon her but it was different this time. She wasn't panicking because of the baby but because she thought she might very well have been losing it or was on her way to at least.

"Haymitch…" She wasn't sure she pronounced it correctly. She was fighting to remain on her feet, she slumped against the dresser. It felt as if heavy weights were pushing on her shoulders, as if she was slowly sinking underwater… "Something's wrong."

She meant with the baby but he had no way to know that. He stopped his pacing right in front of her, a sneer on his face. "Something's always wrong with you. You're the worst…" Then he stopped talking and grabbed her arms to guide her to the bed, his eyebrows furrowing together in worry. "You're white as a sheet. Sit down." He pressed a hand to her forehead and then to her cheek. She wobbled left and right, she felt weak as a kitten. Black spots were dancing in front of her eyes. "Effie, talk to me. You're scaring me. Effie."

That was the last thing she heard before she toppled sideway. Her name.

"Fuck. Effie!"

She tried to remind him to not be always so vulgar but her mouth wouldn't comply.

Then the whole world faded to black.