Silver and Gold

"Delly is here the most. She's the only person from my old life who made it here." Peeta doesn't look over at me as he says the words. There is not a hint of emotion in the two sentences, and I wonder if he is deliberately suppressing them or actually feels nothing. His left hand holds a wide bowl and he adds a few drops of blue food coloring to the icing he mixes in it.

I nod knowingly and lean forward in my chair. He stands on the other side of the makeshift table the doctors brought in for his baking supplies. "I met her once after I visited you. She's a very sweet girl."

A small smile spreads across Peeta's face and for a brief moment he raises his blue eyes towards me as if approving of my words. "I'm glad they let her come to me." He pauses briefly and pinches his eyebrows together. "But she could be more honest. Delly was always good at making others feel safe. Still, I notice that she doesn't tell me everything."

"What do you mean?" Peeta isn't stupid, he never was. His time in the Capitol made him suspicious. Rightly so. But his mind is still so foggy that he often can't tell reality from lies. Sometimes he gets so caught up in theories that he breaks down in front of me because he can't process it all. He suffers. Johanna and I are recovering, but Peeta is still suffering.

"She has a positive opinion about everything. District Thirteen, Katniss, Haymitch. They all let me down. And she doesn't know Haymitch at all." He says it without hesitation.

"Delly owes Katniss her freedom," I reply cautiously. These issues remain difficult terrain. Most of the time, Peeta accepts my advice, even if he doesn't see things the same way. But all I have to do is word it wrong to make him angry. Not with me. He is never angry with me, always angry with the others. I visit him as often as I can and not once has he shown any signs of wanting to attack or threaten me. He is always angry with the others. The one he thinks we owe the pain to. "And without District Thirteen, she would be as dead as we would be now."

Peeta stops moving and lowers the whisk he's holding in his other hand. If it weren't for the sterile white room and windowless walls, it could be an everyday moment in his kitchen in District 12. But when I look closer, I see that his facial features are deceiving. "They failed you too, Effie."

I suppress a sigh and force the expression on my own face to remain cheerful. This is the crux of our discussions. More than I would like. I have my traumas, but I'm learning to live with them. I'm feeling better, but that shouldn't be confused with being happy, because I'm not happy. Peeta can't understand it. He doesn't understand how I managed to forgive Haymitch. Forgiveness. I found it. He didn't. Unlike me, he doesn't look for it. He doesn't look for snippets of his old life that might remind him of good times with Katniss and Haymitch. A time that would have been worth forgiving. Peeta doesn't see the point in forgiving them. All he sees their recent actions. He doesn't care about anything else. And their recent actions speak of treason and conspiracy: They plotted against us and left us to die in the Capitol.

"Katniss didn't know about it," I answer quietly, quieter than I should. I've said the words so many times without getting through to Peeta. "She is still suffering from things that were decided over her head. She would have given herself over to the Capitol to save your life."

"That doesn't fit with the memories I have of her in my head." Peeta's voice sounds conflicted. He has heard these words as many times as I have said them. Maybe constant repetition will help. I have no idea. I can only speculate. "In my head she's a monster who wants to kill me."

"You were shown other shots of her. Did she look like a monster to you there?"

Peeta shrugs like he doesn't care, but his hands ball into fists. Sometimes I wonder what it looks like in his head. I'm not too good at reading emotions on his face anymore. "I don't know," he finally manages to say, continuing to stir the icing.

I shouldn't go any further than here. This is his reaction, which is a warning, the doctors say. He has reached the limit of his abilities, and I shouldn't push him to do anything else. It's one of the rules I'm given to spend time with him. Just one violation of the rules and they can revoke my visiting time completely. No matter how curious I am, no matter how much I want to help him, I can't cross that line.

Instead, I reach for the bowl closest to me and fish out a shattered piece of chocolate. Every time I let it melt on my tongue after days of tasteless and monotonous food, it feels like a small explosion of my nerves. As if my tongue doesn't know what to do with this sweetness at first. The first few times I had to hold back tears because the taste reminded me so much of the Capitol; of the good sides. Even today my thoughts wander to the glass city while the chocolate melts in my mouth. This way I can enjoy the aroma for much longer. Chewing it would be far too easy, the moment would be over far too quickly.

The moment drags on and for a second, I close my eyes and allow myself to think about Aurelia. I don't think about her often because I forbid myself to. I can't do anything about the dilemma I'm in and thinking about it only makes it worse. And being the coward that I am and always have been, I push thoughts of her away most of the time. It doesn't undo anything, but it keeps the tears away. Her sapphire blue eyes grow more reproachful on my retinas with each passing week. I don't know how much longer I can hold the gaze.

"Something is bothering you," Peeta suddenly notices, breaking me out of the second that must have stretched into minutes. In the meantime, he has started to spread the icing on the lowest level of the three-tier cake and flattens it with a thin dough scraper.

"The war in the Capitol has begun," I say, wondering at the same time whether I should have passed this information on to him at all. I'm not sure.

Peeta looks pleased until his eyes meet mine. It's a miracle to see the compassion in his eyes that is suddenly reflected there. He tilts his head and gives me a sad smile, as if he understands exactly what I'm thinking about. The gesture reminds me so much of the old Peeta that I hold my breath. "You're scared."

I feel my head start to nod, without consciously notifying myself of the movement. Suddenly the aftertaste of the chocolate seems bland to me. "I guess that's the point of war. At least one of them."

"Are you worried about your family?" Peeta has turned his head away, fully concentrating on the cake again. He assumes that I fear for my family from afar, just as many families in the Districts feared for their children during the Hunger Games. Except that during a war everyone is in danger. War knows no boundaries, neither for violence nor for cruelty.

I shrug and put my head back to stare at the ceiling. Sometimes my time with Peeta feels like the therapy sessions I never got after I was rescued. Are they healing my trauma? Probably not, but at least I'm learning to talk about it out loud. If that's good for anyone.

"They executed my parents," I say, pressing my fingers together. My voice doesn't sound as empty as it did when I told him the truth about Adrian. Still lifeless. I can't keep the guilt out of my tone. "Before the interview with Caesar, when we first met again."

"I don't really remember it anymore. They started messing with my head shortly after," Peeta admits. The cake between us is slowly taking shape. The baby blue of the frosting reminds me of a summer sky. The summer sky reminds me of garden parties. Garden parties remind me of Aurelia. "I'm sorry about what happened to them."

"They were never really good parents, but family nonetheless."

"That probably applies to mine as well. It doesn't change the fact that I wish they were still alive." Peeta's face contorts into a pained mask, and I hope I don't have to listen to a lecture from Haymitch or Dr. Jennings. I should approach him with caution when it comes to topics like his family, the Capitol, or death in general. Not like this. Telling him about Aurelia wouldn't be a good idea either. Too emotional. Peeta is my friend, a little like Johanna is my friend. Sometimes I forget that I can't tell him everything because he's so easy to talk to. Sometimes I feel like I need someone to tell all these things to. I don't want to burden Haymitch with this.

My eyes wander to the cake, and I have to work hard to bring the gentle smile back to my lips. Today is not the day to talk about the shadows of the past. "The cake turned out so well! Did you leave some dough for yourself?"

Peeta briefly shakes his head, but his features soften. "I'm glad you like it. I've baked so much in the last few days that I've probably lost my appetite for cake for a while."

I giggle and watch him start decorating the blue base. White clouds, a golden sun on the horizon and lots of little boats made of fluffy sugar begin to adorn the three tiers of cake. Peeta even went to the trouble of sculpting two figures out of harder sugar. In another life, I would have envied couples having cakes like this at their weddings.

"Are you going to the wedding too?" Peeta asks and curiously looks at me from the side. He bends his knees a little to attach the boats. Each piece of decoration has a precise place in his imagination.

My smile widens as I nod. "I just wish I had something decent to wear. This gray uniform is driving me crazy."

Peeta's grin looks almost the same as before. "Can you deliver my congratulations to Finnick and Annie? I don't want to ask Haymitch to do this."

His words reflect the mistrust he feels towards Haymitch. Haymitch tries to talk to Peeta. Now and then. The boy usually refuses to speak. The anger towards his mentor is still too great for Haymitch to reach him with his rational explanations. Patience was never Haymitch's strong suit. That's why he doesn't come here often and doesn't stay long. He spends most of his time behind the mirror, watching Peeta. Like now. Of course, Peeta knows about it. I wouldn't be surprised if he phrased his words on purpose to send a message to Haymitch. I still don't trust you. I trust you so little that I don't even think you're capable of delivering congratulations.

"Of course, love. I'll tell them at the first opportunity!"

Peeta looks pleased. I consider asking him if it bothers him that he can't deliver the cake in person. Although his condition has improved, the doctors still don't think he's fit enough to be allowed to roam freely. I don't know how long it will take. The idea that they could keep him here indefinitely, behind closed doors like in the Capitol, makes my stomach do an uncomfortable lurch.

At that moment, Haymitch's watch beeps on my hand. My time is over. I would like to hug him goodbye, but I'm forbidden from doing that. Nobody is allowed to touch him. Not even Delly. I have no choice but to give him one last smile and wave before the metal door opens and I leave Peeta's room.

Haymitch leans against the window that allows a view of Peeta from this side of the observatory. The boy stares at the spot where I was standing just a few seconds ago. He sighs and lowers his head before returning to his work. Haymitch, on the other hand, turns his head in my direction and pushes away from the window to meet me. I put the watch in his hand and wait for a reaction from him or Dr. Jennings, who continues to watch Peeta.

But Dr. Jennings just nods at me, most of her attention focused on the clipboard in front of her, jotting down every little thing she notices about Peeta's behavior or that might come in handy later. "Have fun at the wedding!"

Haymitch takes my arm, and I can only call an amused Thank you to the doctor over my shoulder before he drags me out of the room. I give Haymitch a stern look that he doesn't even seem to notice. He hates having to stand behind that glass and listen to us talk about God and the world, but mostly about our time in captivity. Today he is in a better mood for once. He is excited about the wedding. He has been for days.

"A little more respect wouldn't hurt you," I chide in a gentle tone, reaching for his hand as we stroll down the corridor.

"Oh, I'm very respectful." Haymitch stops in the middle of the hallway. His trademark grin creeps onto his face and that mischievous twinkle in his silver eyes is enough of a sign of his next move. With his hand clasped in my own, he pulls me towards him and then lowers his head to mine until the tips of our noses touch. I feel his warm breath against my lips and forget for a moment that we are beyond any discretion. The infirmary is emptier since most of the soldiers left for the Capitol, but it's not deserted. Haymitch lets me push it back for a split second as his free hand touches my hip, so light I'm not even sure the touch is real. My gaze is fixed on his eyes, and I look so deeply into them that I feel like I'm losing my footing under my feet. I can literally feel my heart starting to beat faster in my chest. "So respectful that I know when to stop," Haymitch then adds, taking a step back and giving me a wink before simply continuing on.

An indignant snort escapes my lips and I'm about to reprimand him when a nurse darts around the corner, giving me a confused look before walking past me. I narrow my eyes in annoyance but start to move myself because I feel a little caught. The staff here knows us both quite well by sight. Even if you don't exactly know what's going on between us, you can probably guess.

Haymitch starts laughing and takes my hand again as I catch up with him. "No need to blush, sweetheart. You act like you're uncomfortable being seen with me."

"Oh no, you know full well that's not the reason," I hiss and try to pull away from him, but Haymitch just keeps laughing and wraps his arm around my shoulder; the hand which just squeezed my fingers seconds ago. He presses his lips against my hair scarf and looks so pleased with himself that I can't keep up my feigned hostility.

We remain silent until we reach our housing unit. The thought that I won't even change for the wedding makes me sad. I know that neither Finnick nor Annie care about external circumstances, and yet I wish I could have done more. Plutarch, Haymitch, I and even Johanna put as much effort into organizing the wedding affairs as possible. I'm afraid that the spark won't ignite without the right atmosphere. Nothing about District 13 is celebratory. Nothing gives the impression that something special is about to happen in the heart of this community. I can only hope that the few things that we – more like Haymitch and Plutarch; Johanna and I just handed them the list – were able to get through to the President will be enough.

It's one of the by now few moments in which I feel a kind of material longing. I've gotten used to 13 and the circumstances that don't allow it for me and anyone else to have more than the bare necessities. But right now, my fingers are tingling with the need for the feeling of silk under my skin. A single dress, it wouldn't even have to be elaborate, it wouldn't even need a special color. Now I would be happy with anything that isn't gray. A single pair of high heels that would make me look like a normal woman. I don't often allow myself to reflect on these luxuries that I once enjoyed without thinking twice. I miss them. I miss the clothes, the shoes, the fashion. I miss feeling comfortable in my own skin. I want to feel like myself. This part of the old Effie still lives in me, even though I mostly push it back because that Effie is even more selfish than the new Effie already is. But this is a special occasion. Who would I be if I didn't give old Effie that exception? However, District 13 has already decided for me. No luxury, no exceptions.

I try hard not to sigh in disappointment as I go to the bathroom to freshen up. The mattress on Haymitch's bed squeaks as he carelessly throws himself on top of it. He is nervous. The wedding is a big moment for him. If things had turned out differently, he might have never been able to attend.

The cool water is good for my warm skin, which has already started to stick in some places. I scrub my fingernails free of dirt with the small brush and let the soap slide back and forth between my palms for a few minutes. Here in 13, the soaps are barely scented, so I have to hold the small bar up to my nose to smell the distant scent of lavender. For a moment, I close my eyes and allow myself to be lulled by the scent, although it's hardly stronger than the distant aroma of nature in the wind.

Ultimately, I decide to change my uniform. The evening will be long and emotional, so perhaps it would be better to wear something fresh. I walk back into the bedroom and pause when I spot Haymitch in the middle of the room. He has his hands hidden behind his back as if someone handcuffed him. But his face looks relaxed, if a touch uncertain.

"Is everything alright?" I ask and open the closet to get my uniform. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him coming towards me. I turn around, the gray material pressed against my chest, and smile a little at the sight of him. "Haymitch, you've been thinking about the wedding for days. Everything is going to be fine. You won't do anything wrong."

Haymitch will accompany Finnick and Annie in the ceremony. Finnick specifically asked him to do this. Haymitch is afraid of not meeting the boy's demands; not meeting Mags's standards. He will be there in her name first of all. Nobody loved the children more than Mags. I'm pretty sure there couldn't be anything that wouldn't put a smile on Finnick's face on this day. He knows his mentor is watching and he certainly won't compare Haymitch to her.

"I'm not worried," Haymitch then says, stopping barely a meter in front of me. His eyes begin to sparkle and his lips curl into a slight smile. It makes me take a step back. He doesn't usually smile like this; the amusement and carelessness on his face are missing. His smile usually reminds me of the lost hero of a dystopian world who clearly couldn't stop evil but can't stop himself from cracking one last joke at the end because it's just his fearless, broken nature. Now he looks gentler, friendlier, and somehow it doesn't quite fit. Like I am looking at a stranger. Every time I look at you I see nothing but light. Now when I look into Haymitch's eyes, I understand what he means.

"I have something for you," he finally says, and my attention shifts from his face to the hand coming from behind his back. Between his fingers he holds a long, flat box that reminds me of a jewel case for a second. The dark red color somehow looks familiar, although I can't say where from. My breath catches and I stare at the box that he is now holding out to me.

"What is that?" I ask in a hoarse voice, but don't bother touching the box.

Now it's Haymitch who pauses. The light from his silver pupils dims slightly, as if he was hoping I wouldn't ask questions. "Something I wanted to give you a long time ago," he explains, now lowering his gaze to the box. He turns it in his hands so that the opening faces me. "Because things turned out differently back then it ... was left with me for a while. I took it from my house when I was in Twelve with a group of soldiers shortly after the bombing."

Curiosity overcomes me and as I take the box from his hands, I feel that tingling sensation in my fingers again. Now that I can take a closer look at the case, I immediately know why the color looks familiar. Haymitch's thumb covered the logo, but I recognize it without having to look twice. It really is a jewelry box. The jeweler still exists, but neither the logo nor the color of the box. Proof of how long ago it must have been since he bought it. The fact that he ever set foot in a jeweler, then or now, doesn't suit him. No matter how hard I try, I can't conjure up this idea of an image in my mind's eye. I wonder all the more what's inside. I don't hesitate any further because I get the feeling that he's uncomfortable.

I would have been surprised if the jewelry had been something ostentatious or flashy. A mixture of gold and blue that sparkles at me in the bright light of the room and I hold my breath. The box is long because there is a gold necklace in it, fine and made of thin links. At the end there is a pendant made of light-blue crystal. A pair of matching earrings with the same stones set into the tear-shaped surface. They're the exact opposite of palatial, but in an aesthetic, elegant way that makes it clear how much he must have spent on them back in the day. I stare at the color and questioningly raise my eyebrows to his face, from which he is watching me closely.

"It reminded me of your eyes," Haymitch replies, as if he could read my mind.

My heart jumps in my chest. I can feel the warmth running through my body and spreading a comfortable, calming feeling. "They are beautiful," I say, meaning the jewelry and the color of the stones in equal measure. I'm too stunned to go into depth. "You kept them all these years?"

Haymitch shrugs like it's no big deal. "I threw the box in some corner and found it by chance when I was looking for some things I wanted to take with me to Thirteen."

Almost reverently, my fingers run over the gold of the chain and linger on the crystal, which reflects the light in thousands of small fragments when you turn it. I feel the tears forming in the corners of my eyes; I feel my throat tighten because I'm both moved and overwhelmed. I have received many gifts in my life. Money, clothes and also jewelry. Gifts of apology, of appreciation, of adoration. Superficial distractions to make me forget the flaws behind the people who gave me these gifts. Gifts that were expensive and beautiful, but never personal. Never for me, but always because it served a purpose or occasion.

It reminded me of your eyes. Has anyone ever loved me so much that they looked at something and thought of me?

"You miss the Capitol," Haymitch then says, realizing I'm unable to speak. "You miss their culture, at least part of it. You look good no matter what you wear. But I know you ... when you're wearing one of those ridiculous dresses and you're glowing because it makes you happy. It's not a dress, I think Coin would freak out, but I thought you'd be happy to wear this at the wedding."

"Aside from Finnick and Annie, I'm probably the happiest person in this District right now," I say, unable to stop the smile that spreads across my lips. I gently push the box back into his hands and then reach for the earrings. Tears run down my cheeks. "They are beautiful. So beautiful."

"Just like you, Princess," Haymitch replies, then helps me fasten the chain around my neck. His mouth lingers against my hair, and I turn in his arms to kiss him.

"You have no idea how much this means to me," I try to explain as I lean back and catch my breath.

I don't know myself how much it means to me. Sorting through my feelings about the Capitol remains difficult. I miss being able to wrap my body in colorful fabrics and painting my face with bright colors. But that desire for eccentricity and attention that I enjoyed before my imprisonment is gone. I don't think it will come back. The light blue crystals on my neck and in my ears remind me that not everything is lost; remind me that my desire for beauty can't necessarily only be fulfilled with extravagance. Now that I'm no longer subject to Capitol standards, no one expects me to dress like the classic Capitol woman I was raised to be. I can be whoever I want, look however I want.

"Maybe I don't understand it a hundred percent, but I've known you long enough to get the idea." Haymitch grins and presses his lips against mine for a quick kiss. His eyes glitter silver. He is silver and I am gold. Already back then, he was aware of this.

-

It's possible that the ending turned out a bit cliché. Sorry if it's too much for you. At least I'm on time with the chapter. I'm just a bit stressed with exams right now. What do you think? Let me know! :)

Skyllen