Song inspiration for this chapter: When I See You Again (feat. Charlie Puth) – Wiz Khalifa

-

When I See You Again

Haymitch hasn't changed much since we last met at the Training Center. The same blond hair that falls in unruly strands across his face. The same short beard that can hardly be called that because it's all stubble. The same gray eyes, only today they study me with an alien focus. The look in them is concentrated, he seems to be wide awake. However, the deep, dark circles under his eyes are evidence of the opposite. He wears a gray uniform. It's similar to that of the soldiers I saw in my cell or in the video that Caesar Flickerman showed me in one of the interviews. Just like Dr. Jennings.

With cautious steps that Haymitch tries to carefully gauge, he approaches my bed and finally stops at the foot of it. The look in his gray eyes reminds me of an inexperienced child who encounters a deer in the woods and tries to approach it without startling it.

When I look past Haymitch and realize that Dr. Jennings has left the room quietly and secretly, I actually feel a little like that deer. Shy and anxious, not knowing if this child might want to harm me. I don't dare speak. All I can do in this moment is examine Haymitch wide-eyed and wait for him to make the next move.

Haymitch is looking at me as well, now with wary and reserved eyes. I can't tell what it means. But I'm sure that, even before all this, I wouldn't have known how to interpret it. It's new to me. It's part of the new Haymitch. All I see is an alien distance. Like he's afraid I'm reading something in his eyes that he doesn't want to reveal. Before I can wonder if he's looked at me the same way before – back in the days when he didn't tell me about the rebellion – and if I just never noticed it because of the stress, confusion and emotion of the Hunger Games, he starts to speak.

"Johanna's fine," says Haymitch, to my surprise. "More or less at least. She doesn't seem to be dealing with the pain that well, so she's mostly drugged. The doctors give her more morphine than is good for her. But even if she's awake, she probably wouldn't be in the condition to recognize you."

His voice sounds hoarse and rough, as if he hasn't spoken in a long time. The rhythm of his pronunciation has also changed. He strings the words together differently than before, which has changed the sound of his sentences. Almost inaudible. The energy that was in his tone back then is missing. As if he didn't have the strength to raise his voice. Today, when he speaks, he seems to swallow the words rather than pronouncing them.

I don't know what to think of that. When I look at him, I see the Haymitch I've known for more than ten years. Time has not spared him, as it does with very few. When I think back to the image of our last encounter at the Training Center, the man who is now standing in front of me has obviously changed. Anyone who doesn't know him as well as I do might not have noticed the changes. But I know him. Do you, still?

And now his voice, which, when I listen to Haymitch, hardly seems familiar anymore. During my time in prison, I have often reflected on how much I have changed over the months. But it never occurred to me that he too would change. So much has changed.

As Haymitch waits for an answer, I ponder his words. I didn't expect him to start our conversation like this. What did I expect? An apology? An explanation? A small part of me may have hoped for that, but I've known Haymitch long enough. I can count the number of times he's apologized to me over the past eleven years on one hand. Shouldn't my suffering be reason enough to add one more time to this short list? Because a small part of me blames him for this suffering and I don't know how I'm going to bridge this huge gap between us if he can't admit his guilt.

Part of my brain is still busy with the hundreds of questions running through my head as the meaning of his words slowly sinks through to me. I narrow my eyes. Johanna would recognize me even in her worst delirium; one thing I can be sure about in all this mess. Just as I would recognize her anytime, anywhere. There is no doubt that I would still recognize Johanna in twenty years' time, if I have the chance to live that long. Her smell. Her body-shape. The warmth she radiates. Even the sounds she makes when her body moves. I don't think I could ever forget all this, even if I wanted to.

Haymitch watches me as I think about all this. He doesn't say another word and gives me the time I need. Only the expression in his eyes has changed. I could swear I've seen the expression before. I could swear I used to know what it meant. But there's an invisible barrier over his eyes that reminds me a little of the haze of alcohol that often accompanied Haymitch in the past. This wall isolates me from the feelings behind it. Back then I could mostly read his mood in his eyes. Now Haymitch seems rigid and distant, devoid of any emotion. He seems alert.

We look at each other in silence for a long moment. I search his gray eyes for any emotion. In vain. I'm starting to get the uncomfortable feeling that he's changed more than I'd like. I know I'm the last person who should be judging. I'm more changed than ever, a completely different person. Still, it gnaws at me. Haymitch returns my stare, but at the same time he doesn't really seem to be present. It feels like I'm looking at an empty shell of himself.

The feeling of loneliness is about to overwhelm me and I look away. Haymitch may be different, but watching him brings so many memories and emotions to the surface that I fear losing control. I'm afraid of choking. My breathing is still normal, but the beeping of the monitor alerts me that my heart is beginning to beat faster.

I can't explain the panic. I thought prison took away all the pictures and memories from my first life; a life that seems so long ago now. Shouldn't I be relieved that not all impressions and feelings have disappeared irrevocably? Instead, the surprise of that fact turns into fear of the unknown. If my emotions can return, then sooner or later I will have to face completely different problems. These problems, in turn, could put me in front of a whole new mess. Do I even have the strength to face this challenge?

I turn my head and undo my previous move. Our eyes meet. I can hear the sound of the monitor from a distance. My heart is beating faster. I clearly remember the emotions I felt when I used to look at Haymitch like this. Looking at him now, I'm not sure which side predominates: the ever-present fear that has accompanied me since my dark days, or the broken fragments of my affection for him.

I'm almost glad of the panic that drives my heart into a faster gallop with every breath. The noise distracts me, and I forget the confusion of my feelings regarding Haymitch. But Haymitch doesn't seem to like it because he takes a frantic step forward, around the bed and towards me.

I reflexively raise my hand. "Stay there ..." The words tumble and blend into a slurred exclamation. My voice is as hasty as his feet, which come to an abrupt halt. Only now do I realize how much this situation overwhelms me.

Haymitch raises his arms in one quick movement, signaling that he's up to no harm. I'm sure he can hear my sigh of relief. "I won't hurt you, Effie."

Almost immediately I notice the absence of his usual pet names. Normally, he used to call me sweetheart or, on occasion, princess. Haymitch rarely called me by my real name. He only used it when he was truly serious about something. Today seems to be one of those days. I don't know what to think of it. I rather liked it when he called me by one of his pet names. He only used them on a few people, and it gave me the feeling of belonging to the select few in his inner circle. Now I'm grateful that he doesn't take away the seriousness of the conversation. I don't know how my body would react to that.

The fear in my stomach, which regularly throbs against its wall like a clock's hand, isn't afraid of Haymitch in particular. It's generally afraid of the pace at which Haymitch has approached me. In the past few weeks, when someone approached me in this manner, it was usually associated with pain. Mostly, it were Peacekeepers who came to torture me. The sense of alertness can't be easily exhibited. And still, I'm not sure if all of this is actually real. A small part of me still fears that this could be another Capitol ploy to break me. And in the past, Haymitch would have been a good resource for that.

"I know a lot has happened," Haymitch says slowly, not looking at me. "I'm here because ..." He falters. His voice sounds more vulnerable than minutes before. "I don't know what to say or what you expect of me."

Maybe the sudden anger I feel is the wrong way to go about this conversation. Maybe Haymitch doesn't deserve it, but I can't stop it. I only know that the lack of recognition of guilt in his words makes me forget my fear.

"How dare you show up here without knowing what to say to me? After everything you've done, you don't know what to say?" To my surprise, the anger can't be heard in my voice. It's the pain in my words that gives me goosebumps. It sounds so real that I have to blink to push the dark images out of my mind.

Haymitch too hears the pain, for his right hand is tugging at his hair and his eyes tell me he's struggling. He tries to stay in the here and now. But his next words are just as dull as his previous ones. "An apology then."

"So I'm supposed to choose something now?" I hiss and now the anger is finally present. "May I make a wish and you will grant it to me then?" The tone of my voice is sharp and burning hot, like a knife held over an open flame. I try to let him feel the fire.

Haymitch gives the impression that he really doesn't care for his words as long as I get to hear what I want to hear. He gives me the feeling that he would say anything just to have said something. As if this conversation were just another nuisance on his daily list to work through.

Haymitch shakes his head and sighs. "I don't mean it like that," he remarks cautiously and then sits down on the edge of the bed. It's so long and I'm so small that there's enough space between my feet and his body. Otherwise I would have intervened. "Do you know Fulvia Cardew?"

Although his question throws me a bit off track, I nod. He will have a reason. "I first met Fulvia a few years after you joined the Games," Haymitch continues, and something starts to make sense in my head. "She's Plutarch Heavensbee's right hand. It was through her that I first came into contact with the rebellion. She told me about District Thirteen."

"At first I didn't believe her and wanted to brand her as a crazy Capitol, but Plutarch had brought other victors on board before me. Finally, it was Mags who convinced me to join the cause," says Haymitch, and then finally looks directly at me. The wall that separated me from him a moment ago is gone and I see the pain he always feels when he thinks back to the past.

Haymitch hesitates before continuing. As if he would have to force himself to say the next words. He lowers his eyes. "You have to know, I was terrified of the Capitol. They probably told me last because they expected my rejection. None of them lost as much as I lost to the Capitol, to Snow. And I was just as defensive at first as they had expected."

His words form a lump in my throat. The image of my parents pops into my mind and my limbs stiffen. "The rebellion was planned in the dark for a long time. They just needed the right moment to get things rolling. They needed a spark."

"And then Katniss came," I whisper quietly.

"And then Katniss came," Haymitch confirms in the same empty voice. "And I, wanting to be as far away from the rebellion as humanly possible, was suddenly forced to take a lead role in this very one." He pauses for a long time. His eyes glaze over me for a moment and he grimaces to hide the emotions coursing through him. Then he raises his head again and looks at me sadly, almost pleadingly. "I had no choice."

"You always have a choice," I breathe back. I barely understand the words myself, but I can tell he hears them.

"If it weren't for the rebellion, Katniss would have died long ago, and so would Peeta. I had no choice," Haymitch reiterates. It's his explanation. He doesn't ask for my forgiveness, he just tells me the reasons for the decisions he made. Would I have done the same? I would have given anything to prolong the children's lives. I'm sure I would have done the same if I hadn't been a blinded woman from the Capitol in my first life.

"I had to leave the Capitol for the rebellion or they would have killed me," I hear Haymitch say from afar, and it feels like a stab in my heart.

"No," I whisper, feeling the tears suddenly run down my cheeks. My gaze slides into endless nothingness and I know I must look dead from the outside. "They would have done much worse things to you. Death would have been a mercy."

Haymitch is silent. I cry silently. "I would have done anything to get you out of there, Effie. If I had been given the choice, I would have traded places with you immediately." He moves closer to me and takes my hand in his. I've drifted too far into my own reality to stop him. "I fought for it every day."

His hand is warm and somehow the touch even gives a little comfort, while my head is in a completely different, dark place. All I see are Peacekeepers, sardonic faces, and blood. In my ears, my own screams echo off the walls. The menacing beeping of the heart-lung machine gets through to me from far away. My heart has to run a marathon because the beeping has turned into a screeching.

"What can I do?" Haymitch's voice sounds as panicked as I feel.

"I understand you," it slips out of my mouth, and I have to force myself to speak reasonably normal. The sobs pounding through my body make that almost impossible. "I understand your motives, Haymitch. I really do. But that doesn't mean I can forgive you. Everything that's happened ..." Everything I've been through ... "I need time to heal."

"You have all the time in the world," Haymitch assures without hesitation. "I'll wait." I'm starting to get the feeling this is going to be our most honest conversation ever. For years, we talked around our feelings. We never processed anything. We just ignored and forgot.

"I just don't understand ... There must have been other solutions. Why did you leave me in the Capitol? You could have taken me to District Thirteen." He could have saved me. I look into his eyes, searching for the truth, but my vision is beyond blur from all the tears. I wipe my face in a quick hand movement. Then I see the regret in his eyes and wince.

"I couldn't have kept you safe here. By the time I left, you hadn't fallen out of favor with the Capitol. President Coin wouldn't have accepted you without further ado. She's hostile towards Capitols anyways." Haymitch squeezes my hand, but I don't know what that means, so I tear myself away from him.

"Can you ..." I don't know how to put it. "Can you move back?"

Confusion flashes across his face for a second. When he understands, his expression changes back to the icy landscape from before. He nods, however, putting more distance between us and sitting down on the edge of the bed again. "I thought you would be safe in the Capitol." Suddenly, his eyes drift back into the threads of his thoughts. "Then, at the very beginning of the war, they executed the escorts and stylists. One by one they were dragged onto the stage, District by District. They put a bullet in everyone's head, but I didn't care. I was sitting in front of the screen the whole time, waiting for them to call up District Twelve. The whole time I was waiting for them to drag you up there and do the same to you."

His voice drops and he briefly raises his hand as if to reach out for me but thinks better of it. The lump in my throat gets bigger because I can imagine exactly how he must have felt at that moment. How he waited there to see my face. Just as I stared into my parents' faces as they were doing the same thing to them.

"I didn't know what I would have done if they had executed you up there. In the first few seconds I was just relieved when I didn't see you on stage. But then I realized what that meant for you." I break our eye contact and bow my head. "If I had known they were aware of our past, I would have never left you in the Capitol."

"You would have taken me with you?"

Haymitch nods firmly. His eyes have darkened. I know what that means. He thirsts for a drink. He needs alcohol to escape the demons. For a split second I wonder what it will take to live with mine. A few tears found their way down my cheeks again.

"If this had happened, then that would have happened and everything would have turned out completely differently," I murmur to myself almost resignedly. His words don't change reality. I would like to believe him. Today he spoke more openly than ever before. Still, it all sounds like one big excuse. As if he didn't know what to do himself. Like he couldn't handle the whole rebellion.

"Octavius is dead?" I ask softly as the meaning of his explanation slowly seeps into my brain. Over the months in captivity, I have completely forgotten about Octavius. I can't tell if Haymitch even remembers him. It was his first year as escort. We were friends at university. A long time ago I would have called him my best friend, even before I had decided to join the Hunger Games. It feels like a lifetime has passed since then. Did they execute him?

Haymitch nods somberly, unable to meet my eyes. The image of Octavius being shot in the head in front of the camera doesn't conjure up connotations. Imagining him in this situation seems impossible. He, who was always so giggly and cheerful, so jittery and excited. Just as blinded by the Capitol as me, if not more.

There's no pain in my chest, maybe some surprise and dismay, but no pain. Haymitch's explanation brings another execution to life in my head.

"I need time to think," I say before Haymitch can stray into further excuses. "I think I've heard enough for today. I'm tired and need to rest."

Haymitch is perplexed by my polite expulsion. For him, our conversation probably ends quite abruptly. Maybe he was hoping for more. I'm grateful for that, even if I'm not fully aware of my own feelings.

Before Haymitch leaves, he promises to visit me again.

-

Aaaand what do you think about this chapter? A lot was said and a lot of emotions are out in the room! Effie has a lot to think about and there's a long way to go for both to get back together ... 

Please let me know your opinion for this chapter! 

See you,

Skyllen :)