A/N: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but now it's a somewhat long multi-chapter story. It focuses on Effie throughout the end of Catching Fire to the Mockingjay book. It's much more introspective than my previous work, and a little darker, but I've never read an extensive take on Effie during Mockingjay and I thought I'd do it. It just evolved into a much longer fic than I had planned! :P

Warning: This story deals with mature themes such as sex and torture. If you wish to know more about the warnings (I'd rather not give much away) just send me a PM and I'll be happy to let you know if any additional trigger warnings apply. I don't like violence and I don't like writing about it, but this is from Effie's POV while she was taken as a prisoner by the Capitol. The scenes are usually cut before anything drastic happens. There is also no rape in this fic.

Colors

Chapter 1

He leaves early that night.

They're all on edge because of Beetee's plan in the arena. The tributes are waiting for the right time to go back into the jungle and so she and Haymitch take a break from everything — sponsors and meetings and viewings. They go back to the penthouse; she goes straight to her bedroom, hoping to be able to take a shower, and she's sure he's gone to get some liquor.

He enters her bedroom a few minutes later, carrying a bottle of whisky in one hand and a glass in the other. It's almost as if he has manners.

They don't say anything. He sits on her bed and watches as she takes her makeup off. She's a little uneasy when she reaches for her wig — he has seen her real hair before, but never in such a deliberate way. He stands up when her natural blonde locks are freed from the net that keeps them hidden under synthetic hair, leaves the bottle on the floor next to her bed, and the glass on her vanity table. He leaves kisses behind her ear and goosebumps on her skin.

His touch is almost lazy against her skin. His hands take off her dress slowly, when it had always been rushed in the few times they've done this before. She moans when a palm massages her breast, the dress pools on her lap and his breathing is warm against her neck.

They are both naked when they reach the bed, and she has the feeling he wants to savor it somehow, but they don't have time for that, not tonight, not when so much can happen in a few hours. So he slips inside her, gives her a few seconds to accommodate him, and starts moving.

It's slow at first, and that has her going as it is; his face is close to hers when in the past he would simply hide into her neck. He moves faster and she closes her eyes, unable to handle the intensity of the feeling, but opens them again when she feels his hands in her hair, baring her face to him. She comes and he follows; she's still clutching onto him as she feels him spill inside her. She gasps when he groans, and blue eyes meet gray ones. For a moment, it's as if they're frozen in time.

He's usually quick in disengaging, sitting up and grabbing his boxers to make a quick exit. Today, he kisses her, and she lets him.

One deep kiss is followed by another and then by a dozen of short, sweet kisses. He remains on top of her the whole time, but not crushing her completely; somehow, his weight is reassuring.

She doesn't know why there are tears in her eyes when he does sit up. She blinks them away, sitting up as well, feeling a little self-conscious at her nakedness. It's usually dark when he leaves her bed.

But he doesn't reach for his boxers straight away.

"Wanna grab a shower?"

The words momentarily freeze her. They've definitely never done this before. But she nods anyway. It seems better than to pretend nothing happened when they go back to watching the Games in an hour.

She turns the shower on and feels a little awkward, standing there with him. She thinks he will complain of her shower preferences but he doesn't really mind. He touches her a few times and she makes a big deal of washing his hair for him. It's strangely intimate, his smile is mostly tentative, and she knows she is trying too hard; she knows both their minds are in the Games, but she wants to remain positive and pretend the world isn't ending in an arena not too far from there.

It's when she's done washing her hair that he slips his hands on her waist and presses his lips against her shoulder.

"I need you to be on the roof at midnight sharp," he whispers, but she hears him loud and clear. "Do you understand, Effie?"

She is mortified. The shower makes sense now. She knows something is up. He has had too many meetings. He has disappeared from her view too often. He has too many appointments she hasn't scheduled. But she understands.

So Effie nods. "Will you be there?"

"No. But I'll meet you later," Haymitch kisses her neck now. "I need you to be there, Effie. This is the time to be punctual."

"Aren't I always?" She tries to tease, but her heart isn't in it.

He chuckles anyway, and starts to step away when she turns and reaches for him.

The bathroom is bugged, she knows, and so is her bedroom and the rest of the penthouse and the train, so there is no point in hiding this, not when they will be leaving in a few hours.

So she kisses him. They don't usually do kisses, actually, not unless it's related to sex, and they have no time for that now. She kisses him slowly, and months later she will look back to this and wonder if this was the one moment that gave her away. Their tongues move together slowly, stopping when they press their lips together one last time.

"Stay alive," Effie whispers.

He gives her a strained smirk. "See you on the other side, princess."

He leaves the shower then, and the penthouse twenty minutes later. Effie decides to stay and watch the Games here instead of downstairs, just in case. It's closer to the roof, and it gives her the notion that she'll see Haymitch sooner if she stays there.

She doesn't see him again that night, nor for many months to come.

—

Effie is anxious as she watches the Games. She doesn't even stop to think if Beetee's plan will work as they want it to. But things don't look good for Katniss, from where she's seeing it. Johanna attacks her, and Peeta isn't anywhere near the tree; Beetee electrocutes himself somehow, and hell seems to have broken loose in the arena and—

She has no idea where Haymitch is.

She decides to go to the roof when the clock marks 11:55. She wants to have a moment to spare, and she feels way too anxious to watch it alone. She hopes she'll see Haymitch soon, wherever that will be, and perhaps they'll be able to see the end of the Games together, however that may be.

She almost stops by her bedroom to get something — clothes? her favorite jewelry? her most expensive wig? — but decides against it. She wants to be on time. It's important that she's not late.

So she goes straight to the stairs. She arrives there with three minutes to spare, and watches the city around her, stomach in knots. She adjusts her skirt just to make sure it's not wrinkled and checks her watch every twenty seconds.

After a minute or so she leans against the wall and watches the square in front of the tributes' building. But she notices little things.

The air is quiet. It's almost as if no one outside is speaking.

The sky is clear. She can't hear anything. No hovercrafts.

Nothing from the penthouse too. No sign of Haymitch.

When the clock strikes midnight, the crowd in the square gasps in unison and Effie sees when the big screen turns black. She knows immediately that something is wrong. Her first instinct is to go back to the living room and turn the television on. Surely there can't be a blackout in the square. Is this expected? Is this what Haymitch expected?

Effie thinks that if he showed up right now she would strangle him for not telling her anything specifically. Doesn't he trust her? Does he think it's amusing to torture her like this? Truly, she has never been more disrespected. It is completely uncalled for. She knows something is up. She should have just demanded to leave with him when he did. Then she wouldn't be here, wondering what on Panem is going on.

She looks at her watch again.

12:02.

Of course Haymitch is late. Truly, she doesn't know why she's surprised.

She doesn't really know what to do, and she's still debating on it when the phone rings from the penthouse. Her breath catches. A phone call at this hour can only mean one of their tributes is dead — or both of them. Effie feels her bottom lip wobbling already. She must answer the phone. She must face this. They're a team, and this is — well, this is what she does for the team. It's her part.

So she goes downstairs, very quickly. Her heart is racing and she feels as if the air is stuck in her lungs. When she reaches the living room, however, she notices the television isn't dark like the one in the square. Caesar Flickerman is speaking, and his voice is louder than the phone.

Act of rebellion. Gamemakers do not know what is going. Not planned. Head Gamemaker Heavensbee could not be reached to answer our questions. No one leaves the Training Center.

She understands. The arena, Beetee's plan, Haymitch's leaving. They are out. She knows instantly that they are out. They are safe. That's what Haymitch has been doing.

She needs to get to the roof.

She walks as fast as her heels allow her. When she reaches the door that leads to the roof, she thinks she can almost hear something up there — a hovercraft, an engine, something.

But just as she hears that, the sound of the elevator reaches her ears, and she turns around before the peacekeepers can see that she was going up. Her blood freezes when she sees them, but she maintains her cool exterior. She frowns at them, walking into the corridor carefully.

The peacekeeper closest to her, clearly the leader of this group, approaches her as the others walk further into the penthouse.

"What is going on?" Effie asks immediately.

"We are sorry, Ms. Trinket, but we must search the apartment," he tells her mechanically.

She pretends not to notice two of them are now standing behind her back.

"May I know what exactly is going on?" she asks again. "The screen went black and I demand to know what's happening with my tributes."

Two peacekeepers go to the roof, and she doesn't miss the way they notice the door was open. The head peacekeeper throws her a questioning look.

"Were you on the roof, Miss Trinket?"

"Why, yes, I was looking for some fresh air when the screen simply turned off on its own," she tells him pointedly. "I was coming down to answer the phone, but you arrived before I could do that."

Another peacekeeper, who had been inside the apartment, shows up in the corridor. He shakes his head.

"Ms. Trinket, where is Haymitch Abernathy?" the head peacekeeper asks.

The two officers behind her step closer.

"He had a meeting earlier," she tells him. It's not a lie. "He left about two hours ago, and I haven't seen him since then."

She hears it then. The sound of a hovercraft above them. She hopes her eyes do not give her out.

The head peacekeeper nods wordlessly. The other two, standing behind her, grab her arms. Effie lets out a gasp.

"This is outrageous," she says very loudly. "What do you think you are doing?"

"You're to be taken into questioning, Miss Trinket," the head peacekeeper explains to her. His voice is rough and impatient, and she can't see his face, but she imagines he isn't a very agreeable man. "Anything you say from now on can be used against you. Or in your favor."

One of the peacekeepers push her so she'll start walking. She gives them a look.

"I can walk myself, thank you very much," they let go of her arms. "This is truly outrageous. I am an escort. I will demand to speak to Plutarch Heavensbee as soon as I have a chance. He—"

"Mr. Heavensbee is a traitor. So is your mentor," the head peacekeeper says slowly. Effie's step falters. "They are both wanted men. I'd advise you to keep your position and your connections to yourself."

Her mouth opens but no sound leaves her lips. She's pushes again and walks towards the elevator, the two peacekeepers in tow. On the back of her mind, she thinks of the shame, the scandal this is. She can't be seen like this, like a… prisoner. She's done nothing wrong. She's an escort, and escorts take care of their tributes, and she's done her best to take care of her victors. First and foremost, she thinks that Katniss and Peeta must be fine, both of them. And Haymitch is nowhere to be found. That must be a good thing.

She's done nothing wrong. Everything will be just fine. She's sure of it.

The last thing she sees before the elevator doors close on them is the peacekeepers walking around the penthouse, and she hopes they don't break her perfume bottles because some of them are very expensive.

She doesn't know then, but she'll never see those belongings of hers ever again.

—

The room is white, there's a gray desk in the middle of it and Effie has been sitting here for four hours. A peacekeeper asked her a number of questions, then left, and she's been alone for at least three hours. Effie hasn't lied. She has no reason to lie. She's tired, sleep deprived, hungry and thirsty. She's asked the second peacekeeper if she could call her family lawyer, but he never bothered answering. She knows they're still in the center, but she hasn't seen anyone she's known yet.

At last, a woman enters. She also wears a peacekeeper's uniform and holds a small projector, and Effie thinks she could really use a haircut.

The woman sits across from her, folds her hands together, and stares.

It's uncomfortable, and Effie feels as if she's trying to read her mind. Not to mention how rude it is.

"Effie Trinket," the woman says. She has not introduced herself properly. "You're a model citizen, it appears. You used to be an actual model, didn't you?"

Effie clears her throat. She really wants a glass of water. "Yes. Before I became an escort."

"Which was seven years ago, correct?" She asks, but Effie has no time to give her an answer. A rhetorical question, then. "Why did you become an escort, Miss Trinket?"

"I was invited by Head Gamemaker Octavius Jonesson, and I accepted. It really was such an honor to be invited, I never thought to decline it," Effie explains.

"You started with District 12, and you had good evaluations. How come you never got promoted?"

"I would have to have victors for that, and you know that didn't happen until recently," Effie gives her a pointed look. "May I know what is happening here? I have never been so affronted in my life. I have done nothing wrong, and yet I am being held here and I haven't even had a glass of water."

"We want you to cooperate with us, Miss Trinket," the woman says slowly. "If you do that, you'll be able to go home soon. Now, tell me the nature of your relationship with Haymitch Abernathy."

Effie takes a deep breath. The previous Peacekeeper made that question too.

"He's the mentor to my district," she explains patiently. "I've known him for seven years. We are colleagues."

"You wouldn't call him a friend."

Effie doesn't hesitate.

"No," she answers, because she's quite sure he doesn't consider her anyone, if she's being honest to herself. "We see each other for the Games and at the odd party Haymitch is required to attend. Why, I've only managed to get his phone fixed this year. We must have gone at least three years without me having a way to properly reach him when he's in Twelve."

"Can you describe your schedule for today?" The woman asks.

Effie takes a deep breath. She feels hot — perhaps someone turned the temperature up.

"I was up at seven. We had a meeting with sponsors at ten, Haymitch and I," she explains. "I had lunch with Four's escort, Tanya, as our teams are allies. Were," she quickly corrects herself. "I did organize Haymitch's schedule as my job requires it and he also had a lunch meeting, though I'm not sure with whom. We spent the afternoon in the viewing room and went back to the penthouse for dinner."

"After that, you had sex, showered, and he left," the woman states whilst reading something from a file.

Effie freezes. The woman looks up.

"We—"

"Don't deny it, Ms. Trinket, or I'll be forced to show you the surveillance video," the woman gives her a pointed look.

Effie feels her face burn, but it's not from shame.

"Surveillance? Is that what they call it now?" Effie asks her. "This is completely outrageous. My lawyer will hear about this—"

"You don't deny it, then, that you and Haymitch Abernathy had sexual relations?"

Effie breathes in and out, feeling more anxious. But she has vowed not to lie, and she'll live by that.

"I do not deny it, no," she says tightly. "It does not mean anything. Haymitch and I had a deal, so to speak. To… relieve stress."

"Then why keep it a secret?" The woman narrows her eyes. "It is a common practice in the Capitol, as you're well aware of. Especially if your lover is a victor. Escorts and mentors are known to get involved sometimes."

"It's private, not secret. There is a difference," Effie explains. "Haymitch preferred that way, and I agreed. It could ruin my reputation."

The woman gives her a tight lipped smile. "I believe it already has, Miss Trinket."

She thumbs a button in the projector and a hazy image appears. It takes Effie a moment to realize what it is — there's barely enough visibility, but she sees enough. The steam is thick but she can see her own head clearly, from above, outside the shower. Anything beyond her neck is invisible. And she sees Haymitch too.

Her voice is low, very low, but they're out of the shower momentarily and she can understand the words after she sees her own image kissing him.

Stay alive.

Effie's eyes falter slightly. That happened hours ago, but it feels like a lifetime already.

"Where is Haymitch Abernathy?" The woman asks again, but Effie is still staring at the projected image.

"I don't know."

Her words are truthful, because she doesn't. She has no idea where Haymitch is, yet she's comforted in the fact that he's safe. Safe, with the children. But she has ideas. She knows who he spent his meetings with. She knows many of the other people who are probably behind all this. Effie knows.

"Ms. Trinket, you will not leave this facility until you cooperate with us," the woman continues. The threat is there for all to see.

Effie tears her eyes away from the image, which keeps repeating itself again and again. She remembers Haymitch's last advice when they went to the arena. She remembers feeling confused and curious and scared, and she pretended not to have been eavesdropping in order not to ask anything.

Remember who the real enemy is.

Effie understands, just as Katniss did.

"I do not know," she answers firmly, her eyes darting to the mirrored wall and the gray, sterile door. "I do not know where he is. He never told me."

The woman's icy glare is enough to keep Effie's gaze fixed on her. "That is because you never asked him, Ms. Trinket," she presses the button on the projector again and the image is gone. She looks towards the mirrored wall and nods. "You are under arrest."

Effie wants to cry. She wants to scream, and screech, and demand for a lawyer. She wants to call for every connection she or her family may have. But she doesn't do any of that.

Effie Trinket keeps her chin up, her back straight and her legs crossed. If she's under arrest, she may as well be dignified about it.

For now, at least.

—

Her cell is small, white and clean. There is a toilet and a lavatory and a very hard mattress. There are no windows, just a gray door with an opening — they use that to give her food, because at least she isn't hungry or thirsty anymore. It's more than Effie expected.

She has no cellmates, but she listens — she hears voices and she knows there must be more people in here. Her mind is a whirlwind — the other escorts, the stylists, the prep teams, what's happened to all of them?

A part of her — a good part of her — thinks that this whole ordeal must be exclusive to Twelve, because it was Katniss who blew up the arena, and it's clear that Haymitch must have orchestrated at least part of it. Effie wonders if they'll keep her alive, if they'll free her once they see she's done nothing wrong. She isn't at fault, they must comprehend that. She hopes her aunt has caught news of her imprisonment, and perhaps she'll be able to get her free, but her aunt is not in great health and she's likely not missing her very much.

There's no clock and that throws her off a little. Luckily, she has her own watch. They didn't take any of her possessions so far, so Effie's hopeful — perhaps she's not staying here for long.

She has been in the cell for a day and a half when the hymn begins playing and a projection is shown in the ceiling. It reminds her of the Games and the way the tributes would know who had been killed during the day. So she sits up straight, but nothing could have prepared for what she sees.

Execution after execution.

She recognizes a few of the first ones — lined up against the wall, staring straight ahead, eyes widened in fear. She recognizes them as some of the prep teams from other districts, people she's known for years and some new ones she isn't close with but she knows all their names. All of them.

They are all killed. Shot to death by peacekeepers, certainly, hiding off screen.

She's in shock when it stops, but silent. She has remained silent through it all. She realizes she's been crying only when the anthem plays again and the projection has ended.

But it happens again, an hour later. This time, Effie isn't silent.

"No," she finds herself muttering. Her eyes are filled with tears once more. "No. Cinna."

She wants to look away, she needs to look away, but she makes herself watch, for her friend. Cinna disappeared when the Games began, and Effie had hoped… perhaps he had gone away, and a part of her knew that maybe he had been killed, but he's alive, right there, or just barely — he's beaten, and he can't walk, because the Peacekeepers are carrying him by the arms. She gasps when she notices him, properly — his bruised, bloody, broken body. Tortured, definitely. He's a fashion star. A star, in and out. She's always considered herself lucky that he considers her a friend, and…

She gasps when the shots are sound and clear and she sees Cinna's body slump to the ground. And, suddenly, Effie can't stop the tears.

She's crying and she wants to scream but she can't breathe — she struggles to keep her breathing regular and she tries holding her palm against her lips to stop crying but it's useless. Before long, she's sobbing, she feels a panic creep up her body and she doesn't care about her pretty dress or her heels or her wig anymore; she grasps her knees close to her chest and leans down, letting the tears fall freely.

The panic is still there when the anthem sounds once again, and Effie startles, unsure of what she can expect. She looks up, because she's afraid — she's afraid for Haymitch and Katniss and Peeta, she's afraid they've caught them and this can only mean there's no hope for her, there's no hope for any of them…

But it's not Haymitch, or Katniss, or Peeta.

They are all lined up against a wall again, same as the others, but there are only four people in this group. And she knows every single one of them, she's worked with all of them at some point in her seven years as an escort, but this year, especially this year, they've been working closely, because their teams are allies, and maybe she doesn't like them all but she never wished death upon any of them.

And this is what they'll get. The escorts from Three, Four, Seven and Eleven. They're all lined up according to the district, some still wearing the same clothes she's seen them in two days ago. Crowe, Tanya, Mila, and Bianca.

She doesn't understand why she's not with them.

Because of Haymitch. Because of Katniss.

Except she truly does not know anything. She cannot give them anything but what they surely already know. They must have found her clipboard with their schedules, and therefore they must know which districts were working with Haymitch. And, sure, Effie certainly knew something was going on, but she never knew the magnitude of it. She simply thought Haymitch was planning a way to get both Katniss and Peeta out of there, again.

And apparently he succeeded.

Effie gasps when she sees the escorts — her coworkers, people she sees all year long, people she's known — struck down; some tumble forwards, some fall on their backs. They are all dead.

Just as she will be, in a few hours.

Effie can't breathe.

Air can't seem to reach her lungs and she's groaning and moaning and — this is not how a lady behaves, she hears her aunt says — her wig is most certainly askew because she's trying to get a feel of herself and it's so hard to breathe — I need you to be on roof by midnight sharp — and she sees Cinna's body on the ground, and Tanya's and Mila's and she remembers Seneca — stay alive —

The sound of steps reach her ears and she perks up.

Stay alive stay alive stay alive stay —

Effie gulps and tries to control her breathing. She presses her thumb and forefinger against the outside of each nostrils and breathes through her mouth. Focus. In, out. Stay alive. In, out. Focus on what matters. She's Effie Trinket and she'll face whatever happens with her chin up. Haymitch is alive. Katniss and Peeta are alive. She's a Capitol citizen. She doesn't know anything.

By the time they open the door to her cell — she has a cell now, Effie Trinket, in a cell — she knows her makeup is smudged and blurred and her wig must be a mess and her dress has certainly seen better days, but she meets the Peacekeepers with her head held high and no tears are falling against her colorless cheeks.

"Euphemia Trinket," a woman's voice calls her. The same woman who questioned her the day before. "Your turn now."

A/N: So... what do you think? I'm very nervous about feedback for this one so I'd love it if you guys could take a minute of your time to let me know your thoughts - through here, or AO3, or tumblr (effiet dot tumblr dot com). Thanks so much for reading and stay tuned for a new chapter next week!