Song inspiration: Hold On, We're Going Home (Drake)

Come On, Let's Get You Home

As it turns out, it won't be over anytime soon. Haymitch underestimated what Katniss triggered with Coin's murder. The Rebels are beside themselves. President Snow is dead, killed in the crowd of angry onlookers. The great spectacle that was broadcast across the country was destroyed. The change of government didn't succeed as expected.

Katniss's trial begins the next day and Katniss is not allowed to be there. They locked her away. A fact that infuriates both Haymitch and me. We have nothing to say anymore. Nobody cares for our voices. In the new Panem, there are currently two sides that are being heard. On the one hand, there are Coin's loyal followers who want Katniss dead. Fortunately, a majority led by Commander Paylor believe that Katniss has lost control of herself after her Games and the Rebellion. In her eyes, she is nothing more than an eighteen-year-old child, incapacitated by the traumatic events that have shaped her life.

Since Katniss's mother seems to have completely withdrawn from everyday life after Prim's death, Haymitch has no choice but to take her place in court. Together with Plutarch's support, he builds Katniss's defense and fights for her impunity. We all know that impunity borders on the impossible. Coin's death left too loud an echo for that.

While Haymitch takes care of Katniss, I take care of Peeta. He was present at the execution. He saved Katniss from taking her own life. That's all he has to say about it. When Johanna or I broach the subject, he becomes restless and angry and starts running around his room like a caged animal. He is nothing other than that. The execution was a measure ordered by Coin. The doctors don't let him leave his room except for two short walks a day in the fresh air.

Peeta and I walk through the presidential garden. Away from the rose garden because he refuses to enter it. It's snowing thick, white flakes on the damp earth and we are wrapped in warm coats as we walk through the green bushes and barren trees in the dull midday light. An escort of soldiers follows us a few meters behind.

"You're restless," Peeta states matter-of-factly, watching me out of the corner of his eye. His bright irises reflect the weak sunlight that fights through the gray clouds.

"Just a headache, nothing more," I say, the lie light on my lips. Katniss's verdict will be pronounced today and neither Haymitch nor Plutarch have any idea how the trial will turn out. They don't believe in a death sentence, but they know there must be some form of punishment. Even if they don't know what the judges will come up with. Katniss's trial is a topic I'm not supposed to discuss with Peeta.

Peeta doesn't answer, although he nods, but I can't shake the feeling that he sees right through me. Maybe he picked up the truth somewhere. Even if not. He was always good at reading other people's emotions. He's one of the most attentive people I know.

Behind us, a soldier's comlink begins to beep. Nothing unusual. But then the voice of a Rebel reaches our ears. "Miss Trinket, Mister Abernathy wishes to speak to you immediately."

My heart skips a beat. So the time has come. The verdict has been reached. I turn to Peeta, who gives me a critical look and I know he knows what this is about. I make no attempt to explain it to him or make excuses. "Would you like me to accompany you back to your room?"

Peeta shakes his head, a little more forcefully than usual, indicating he's tense. There is a darkness reflected in his sky-blue eyes that automatically makes the corners of my mouth slide down. "Just go," he says and then continues walking without paying any attention to me. The soldiers follow him.

I sigh to myself. He must hate being left out of everything. This life in a golden cage is taking its toll on him and now that everything is supposedly over, things should get better. We were promised for so long that things would finally get better. But there is still nothing of that in sight.

Back in our shared rooms, Haymitch is already waiting for me. He wears black cargo pants, a white shirt and a black bomber jacket. His blond hair is covered by a gray wool hat. An outfit you definitely shouldn't wear to court. But of course, he doesn't seem to care. He sits on the edge of the bed as if he's going to jump up and run away at any moment. When I open the door and he sees me, I feel a pang in my chest. I don't like the look in his silver eyes. Not emptiness, but disillusionment. I won't like what he'll tell me.

"The court pardoned her," says Haymitch without beating around the bush. The knot in my throat is half gone when he continues. "They demand that she disappears from the focus of attention. At least for a while. They're sending Katniss back to Twelve."

"To Twelve?" My voice wavers in surprise. "But there's nothing in Twelve."

Haymitch shrugs. "More people are returning there every day. Clean-up work has begun in most Districts. They send trains down with food every week. They think it's better if Katniss stays away from the public for a while. She has to process all of the things herself first." By things, does he mean Prim's death, the victory of the Rebels, or the past two Hunger Games and the lives Katniss had to take in the arenas? So much has happened in her life that it's easy to forget how much she's actually been through.

"Then ... the verdict isn't so bad, is it?" The thought of having to return alone to a destroyed Capitol, where every step reminds me of all the dead, makes my stomach lurch. So many ghosts Katniss will have to face there. Will the isolation there really help her heal?

"That's not all," Haymitch admits after a few seconds of pause and my throat tightens again. "Katniss must remain in the care of a guardian. So that she doesn't harm herself and her well-being is guaranteed. Her mother refused to go back to Twelve."

It takes a while for the words to sink in. I stare at Haymitch, my lips parting in disbelief as I realize what he's done. He has made up his mind. Against our future together and for the life of loneliness that he has led for the last twenty-five years. I know immediately that it's unfair to think like that, but I can't help it.

"You're going back to District Twelve with her."

"I couldn't abandon the girl, sweetheart." Of course not.

It feels like the ground is slipping from under my feet, but I hold myself up with all my strength. I understand why Haymitch is doing it, but part of me can't grasp that he's actually just leaving like that. "When?" comes quietly from my lips.

"Tonight." His voice sounds pained because he knows just as much as I do what this means for us. Haymitch is now further bound to District 12. If we really want to have a future together, then nowhere else but there. In a place where people hate me, where everything will remind us at all times of a past that is responsible for our demons. I haven't given much thought to what to do next. But I knew there was no way I was going back to District 12, and until now I thought the same was true for Haymitch.

"If I ask you to come with me, you'll say No, am I right?" He knows it, as do I. The Capitol is no longer my home. I wanted to leave the city with him because Haymitch could never stay here. Not with all the trauma this city has caused. But not to District 12.

I gradually shake my head and look down. "I'm staying with Peeta," I say, even though that doesn't answer his question. "Someone needs to support him in his recovery."

Haymitch's silver eyes cloud as he receives silent confirmation of his suspicions. No. I won't accompany him to District 12. I'm waiting for him to continue talking, for us to talk about what happens next. "And after?"

I take a few steps into the room, intertwine my fingers and turn my back to Haymitch. I take off my warm winter coat and watch as the last snowflakes turn to water in my golden hair. "I don't know. There's still time until then. I still have to sort out some paperwork with Aurelia regarding the inheritance anyway. I can't make a decision now."

Haymitch tries twice more to get a more specific answer out of me, but my words remain vague as they were the first time. It's late night when I accompany him and Katniss to the train station. The scene reminds me of the end of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, when I said goodbye to Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch on the same platform. Back then, reporters and cameras accompanied us. Now it's just Katniss's guards watching us. The train that leaves for 12 rests motionless and lonely on the track. Nobody is here. In the distance, some workers are loading the last goods into a wagon. Katniss is led into the passenger compartment after I give her a quick hug and wish her all the best. Then Haymitch and I are alone on the platform.

The wind is icy. My bald fingers are freezing, my cheeks are flushed. Haymitch bridges the distance to me, wraps me in his arms and presses his cold nose against my neck. My throat threatens to burst into sobs. The last time we separated, I didn't see him for months; they put me in prison for months.

"Watch Peeta, sweetheart," Haymitch murmurs against my neck. "And take care of yourself. You won't let anyone fool you, okay? Now that I'm out of the city, the climate may shift in your direction."

"Oh please, Peeta and I will get along just fine." I roll my eyes but give him a quick smile. "Take care of yourself," I murmur and stroke Haymitch's cheek in a light movement. His beard is still out of control, but there are worse things. "Take good care of Katniss, will you? The first thing you do once you get to Twelve is fix your phone."

"Sir, yes, Sir!" Haymitch raises his left hand to his forehead and salutes.

"And don't drink too much," I continue. "I'm serious, Haymitch. If we meet again and you've turned back into the drunkard you were before the Rebellion, I don't know how this can continue."

Haymitch's face darkens and takes on a serious expression. He slowly begins to nod. Then he laces his fingers with mine. I squeeze his hand, feeling the dry skin stretching across his knuckles. The image of him all alone in the chaos of District 12 – in the middle of his messy, dirty house – tightens the invisible wire around my throat.

"Stop worrying, Princess." Haymitch smiles and presses a quick, weightless kiss to my lips. Confidence sparkles in his stormy gray eyes, even though I know that deep down he feels disappointment and uncertainty. But he doesn't let these emotions get out.

In the distance there is a high-pitched beeping noise coming from the train's cab. My head turns to the workers, but they have disappeared, and the wagons are locked. The train is ready to depart. I sigh and watch the cold attack my warm breath.

"I'll always worry and that's a good thing," I reply, trying to sound cheerful. I used to be better at this acting. I grin but realize it doesn't reach my eyes. "One of us has to think, after all."

Haymitch unceremoniously wraps his arms around my back and pulls me towards him. I hug him, which is half a challenge given our thick winter coats. For a moment I forget the fact that I'm about to drive back to the Presidential Palace alone and let the warmth of his body slide me into a false reality.

"I ..." Haymitch's voice sounds hoarse. He shakes his head in the crook of my neck. His arms are squeezing so hard that I'm not sure he'll actually let go of me. When he finally does, I have to blink away the tears from my eyes. "Promise me we'll see each other again as soon as possible."

Haymitch knows I don't want to make that promise to him. Not because I'm less excited about our next meeting than he is, but because I know it won't be able to take place in the Capitol or some other new location. He knows there's a chance we won't be happy in District 12. The demons and ghosts that haunt and distress us are still powerful and relentless, even after the torments and hardships have ended. In 12 everything will be so much more difficult.

"I promise," I say, not sure if I'm lying for his conscience or if it's the truth. Judging by the look on Haymitch's face, he isn't sure about it either. His hands go up to my cheeks and he pulls my lips to his.

We lose ourselves in a kiss that takes all my breath away, takes me back in time and opens up something new and unknown to me. A suggestion, a request, so gentle and demanding and pleading at the same time that I melt into Haymitch. The neon lights of the station blur into the darkness of the night and all I see are brilliant dots of silver and dull streaks of gold. His rough fingers find the crook of my neck and push the sweaty hair away to caress the hot skin. The taste of alcohol that I so often imagined in District 13 is absent, even though he must have been drinking. Instead, I am surrounded by the ever-present smell of pine and soap that I could drown in if I were let. My muscles give in, relaxing against him because my body feels safe. An illusion that I enjoy every second.

Haymitch presses his mouth hard against mine one last time, then leans his head back, out of breath. That typical mischievous grin plays at the corners of his mouth, and I feel the need to kiss it away. His thumb strokes my hairline, leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world. I wonder if the train is waiting for him and inwardly hope that it will just leave at any moment and Haymitch will be condemned to take a later one. One last night in his arms, surrounded by his warmth is all I want. Of course I would only wish the same thing again tomorrow.

"Take care of yourself," Haymitch says, and his tone tells me clearly that he intends to get on this train. My heart clenches and I dig my nails harder into the fabric of his coat. "I ..." He trails off, looking skyward as if searching for the right words. Then he utters the identical two sentences he said back in the penthouse all those months ago; the night he fled to District 13 with the Rebels. "This is the truth. We will see each other again soon."

Haymitch takes a step back, touches my cheek one last time and then runs towards the train. A blink of an eye later he disappears into the compartment. I stand alone in the freezing cold and watch as the train sets off just seconds later. It moves almost silently out of the station, and I can practically feel the connection between Haymitch and me expanding and pulling apart. Will it defy the distance or break?

This is the truth. Only now do I understand what he wanted to tell me.

I've long since lost sight of the last wagon. The snow has started again. The flakes shimmer in the yellowish light of the station. I watch them fall to the ground in the distance, reinforcing the white layer that has been almost dissolved by the sun of the last few days. I have no idea how much time passes before my feet finally start moving and I sluggishly make my way back to the Presidential Palace.

oOo

Haymitch and Katniss arrive safely in District 12. The restoration work has been going on since the end of the war. Almost all refugees have returned there. But it will still take some time until all the dead are finally buried, and the rubble is disposed of. As long as it takes, the victor's village turns into a mini version of the District, which apparently isn't too bad as Haymitch states.

It took him a few days to find someone who could repair his phone. Since then, we talk every day, even though most of the time neither of us has much to say. Not much happens.

I move into my parents' estate when Peeta is moved from the palace to a hospital. Aurelia and Caius follow me and somehow, we manage to establish a kind of everyday life. We have enough money to hire some servants. We have enough money for everything. At least from my perspective. Aurelia, but especially Caius ... they both lived most of their lives in an even higher sphere of prosperity than I did. They find it difficult to adapt. They find it difficult to cope with their new life without influence. Caius has nothing to do, he lacks motivation. All his friends and relatives are either dead or just as destitute as he is. Aurelia tries hard to maintain a confident facade, but there is no light in her eyes. She has been a politician's trophy wife for too long and has no idea what to do with her time now that there are no events and meetings to organize.

It's the whole Capitol ... They're having a hard time adapting. The weeks fly by, but the city remains in a state of paralysis. People don't know what to do with their newfound freedom because the new reality feels more like a restriction. The city is overrun with Rebels and people from the Districts, and dressing like a Capitol will attract looks you once enjoyed. Today you are ostracized for wearing colorful clothes, piled up wigs and fake faces, whereas in the past this was a way to show your status. Wealth in general is looked down upon. Even those who have never had anything to do with the Games or Snow fall victim to this disapproval. The harassment of Capitol residents is increasing, but very few authorities do anything about it because they are equally uninterested in the fate of the Capitol residents. The first voices of resistance from the Capitol's ranks are becoming loud and I have a feeling that it won't stay that way.

While spring is finally in full swing here, District 12 is still in the depths of winter. Haymitch has taken in some people. None of the houses in the victors' village are empty. I'm relieved he's not alone. So there are people who look after him and maybe even take care of him. He rarely says more than a few sentences about Katniss. She lives alone and withdrawn, in a different world than the others in 12. Haymitch pays her visits, but he doesn't have the feeling that the girl even notices him. He has no idea how she will rise from her ashes alone. He can hardly remember how he managed it after his victory. She needs help, but in the Capitol, where she could be helped, she has been written off. She was pushed aside as soon as her usefulness came to an end. Plutarch offers to send a therapist down, but Haymitch knows that won't help here in 12.

Most of the time we listen to each other's breathing while we are lost in our own thoughts. Sometimes Haymitch asks something, or I hear him sipping his alcohol. As the weeks progress, I send him things down by train. Nothing big. Clothes or food, a note with a few words added. We usually talk on the phone late into the night until one of us falls asleep. Mostly me, because I can take my phone to bed with me while Haymitch's is attached to the wall with a cable in the kitchen. Despite the time difference, Haymitch rarely falls asleep before me. If he sleeps at all.

Sleeping alone is strange. At first it scared me, but now I've gotten used to it again. It's still not pleasant. The dreams are more intense. I often visit my parents' grave, but the dreams don't subside. The pain eases only slightly, but the feelings of guilt remain. I'm learning to tell Haymitch about it. It's easier to tell him when I don't have him in front of me, even if I can't say why. I definitely do more of the talking in our conversations, but neither of us cares.

Peeta's health also improves over time. The doctors and therapists are good at meeting his needs. He continues to struggle with outbursts of anger and periods of grief, but he's clear about what is true and what is not. His body is covered in burns and scars, and he's still emaciated, but at the same time he appears healthier than before. He knows what happened to him in the Capitol and that his mind often plays tricks on him. He's given freedom, allowed to leave the hospital and wander around the city unaccompanied. Nowadays even Johanna dares to get close to him and we usually accompany him on his walks.

I offered her to move in with me for a while, but she declined. She will soon travel back to District 4 with Annie, where Annie wants to give birth to her child. Johanna has vowed never to set foot in her home District again. I wonder how she will cope with the nostalgia and memories. She loves the forest. But I understand why she doesn't want to go back there. For the same reason that Haymitch wanted to turn his back on 12 in the first place. The places we love can be built on so much pain that at some point it becomes impossible to forget what was.

Part of me wants to accompany them both to the coast. Part of me wants to shake off the past once and for all and start a new life. A life without memories. An illusion, because how could I ever forget? I could live in the most peaceful place in the world and still have to struggle with what lies behind.

When Peeta is finally released from his treatment, three more months have passed, and I am faced with another decision that will change my life. Peeta is considered cured. He'll probably never be hundred percent the same, but who among us will be? To me he's the same and I'm relieved that they managed to put Snow's torture aside and bring out the charming young man he was before. With every movement, every word he reminds me of the Peeta Mellark that I have taken to my heart over the last two years. Even if new shadows dance at the edges of his eyes or his features take on an absence that was once uncharacteristic of him.

Peeta decides to return to District 12; to return to Katniss. They have a lot to work through, the two of them. But with the look of anticipation in Peeta's sky blue eyes, I'm sure they'll find peace. Somehow.

Eventually, the day comes when I have to decide my own peace. Peeta is leaning in the doorway between the living room and the hallway in my parents' mansion, looking uncomfortable. Caius's not exactly subtle gaze almost fixates on him, and Aurelia made a fuss when he arrived because she automatically slipped into her old role of hostess. And not so long ago, a Hunger Games victor would have been one of the most sought-after guests of all. They have difficulties to shift their worldview.

"The train leaves just after sunset," Peeta says in a matter-of-fact tone. He tries to seem uninvolved because he knows that otherwise I probably won't want to hear about it. We talked about it. About my plans, my wishes, my future. He thinks I should give happiness a chance in 12. Of course he thinks so. In my head I can hear Johanna's snort as clearly as if she were standing right next to me. Peeta's eyes wander to the large clock on the wall. "So in four hours."

"You can just visit him too," Aurelia remarks, strutting into the room with a tray of cookies and coffee and holding it out to Peeta. "Nobody is forcing you to stay there."

"I bet you cannot last there for three days, Effie." Caius grins, but the joy in his eyes seems distant. As if he was trying with all his might to occupy himself with something. He sits slumped on the sofa and his left hand, which rests on the arm, is clutching a crystal glass with whiskey in it. The sight of him reminds me so much of Haymitch that I turn my head away.

I shrug as I turn my back on them and walk to the patio door. Since we hired a gardener, the garden looks identical to the one I remember from before the war. A chill runs down my spine as I once again have the feeling that at any moment my mother will enter the living room behind Aurelia to reprimand us for our inaction. I wait and wait, my eyes fixed on the lake in the distance. But her voice doesn't cut through the silence.

Silence. I didn't notice that after Caius, none of them said a word. They are waiting for a reaction from me. Aurelia placed the tray on the coffee table and sat some distance away from Caius. Peeta has left the doorframe behind him, half his attention on me, the other half on the many pictures on the bookshelf. A barely noticeable smile graces his mouth.

"I think a visit can't hurt," I finally say. I've been thinking about this moment for days and deep down I'm dying to finally see Haymitch again. Regardless of whether it's in District 12 or not. I finally want to be with him again. What has prevented me from making a final decision so far is the fact that this visit will raise questions to which I don't have a firm answer. And I'm afraid to have to make final decisions on these issues because I'm not sure if I'll be mentally capable of following my heart. "But a week should be enough for now. I don't want to force myself on anyone."

I get meaningful looks from Peeta and Aurelia while Caius keeps his grin on. "And here I sit, believing that the Rebellion robbed you of every last shred of civility," he murmurs, laughing into his glass.

Aurelia rolls her blue eyes. A gesture that my mother would not have liked at all. Then she claps her hands and elegantly stands up from the sofa. "Then let us go pack your bags. After all, you cannot wear the same outfit every day." Her voice sounds so sensible that I nod and grab her arm to go up to my room. The room I lived in as a child.

I give Peeta an apologetic look as Aurelia and I leave the living room, but he just shakes his head dismissively. An hour later, Peeta has to help us carry the three overflowing suitcases down the stairs. I owe that to Aurelia's thoroughness – I didn't want to take away her distraction. Caius leans against the hallway wall, sips his whiskey and watches us. An almost hostile spark glitters in his dark eyes as Peeta sets the last suitcase down next to his own small travel bag.

When it's time to say goodbye, Aurelia and I lie in each other's arms for a long time. At least this time we know each other will be alright while we go our separate ways. She promises me that she will take care of our parents' grave, even though we both know that she hasn't set foot in the cemetery since that one time. I don't ask her what's stopping her. She will have her reasons and that's okay. I promise to call her as soon as I get to District 12.

Then a black Rebel car picks us up. Because of Peeta, not because of me. If I were to travel alone to 12, I would have to figure out how to get to the train station myself. The journey goes by in a flash and as we enter the guest compartment of the train, I can barely remember how I got here. It's not one of the luxury express trains I've taken to pick up the tributes year after year. This is a freight train whose route will take us through half of Panem until it reaches 12. They just have some passenger cars attached to the back.

Peeta and I enter one of the small seating compartments, pull the glass door behind us, stow our luggage over the seats and then take a seat opposite each other at the wide window. None of us sleep as the train travels across the country. We've seen all the Districts before, but now after the war a lot has changed. People get in and out, goods are unloaded and loaded. The reconstruction is in full swing as is the alteration. No more fences, hardly any Peacekeepers, food for everyone.

It's almost sunrise when the area outside finally looks familiar. The forests are becoming denser, the moon shines down on glittering snow. The train begins to slow down and as it takes a turn, we glimpse District 12 in the distance. A patch of flickering lights, but little more than that. Most of the city is still in ruins, impossible to see in the darkness. We cross the point where the fence is still standing and Peeta staggers to his feet to get our luggage down. I continue to stare out until we pull into the illuminated station. Have they rebuilt it, or did the Capitol spare it during the bombing to use it for future memory recordings, as they pretended to do with District 13?

"Come on," Peeta sounds breathless; a little excited. Katniss doesn't know he's here. They haven't had any contact since her murder of Coin. Haymitch could have broken the news to her, but Peeta didn't want to. He wants a natural, calm return, without any fanfare. Most days he is insecure and uncertain; must pause to shake off the past. He just wants to return to his home and settle in without feeling strange eyes on him. Maybe that's why the train arrives early in the morning. He didn't even tell Haymitch he was coming. My decision was too short-term, too hasty and I didn't dare tell him on the phone. I was already on the train at our usual time anyway. I feel a little bad because he's probably worried about my silence.

An icy wind hits us as we leave the car and I instinctively pull the scarf tighter around my neck. The winter here is much harsher than in the Capitol, even though it's already spring there. Although the station is sheltered, it's covered by a layer of snow that is at least ten centimeters deep. The remaining travelers get out, meet families or immediately disappear into the District. We grab my suitcases and follow them.

The path to the victors' village is not long and fortunately illuminated. They have hung temporary cables to ensure power supply. Nothing remains of District 12. We walk along dusty, cleared streets with nothing but rubble around them. In the city, sometimes meters high. The seam has turned into a flat surface in the distance, which you could completely overlook in the sunlight. I don't see any of the dead I was told about. But I'm grateful that the light doesn't shine too far.

We enter the victors' village as dawn breaks. The sun is missing, but the black, starless sky gradually turns into a cloudy gray. The others know exactly where they are going. I stare at Haymitch's house on the left side of the row of houses and my fingers start to shake. I pause, pretend I need to adjust my grip on the suitcase, and let Peeta go first. He should decide which direction he carries my bags.

But Peeta turns to me, dark circles under his tired eyes. You can barely see his healing skin in the dark. We're halfway between his house and Haymitch's house. I sigh to myself. "You can sleep in one of my guest rooms if you prefer," he offers, jerking his chin toward his house.

I hesitate, slowly part my lips and then look up at the sky. Haymitch doesn't sleep much at night, so he should be awake. Nonetheless ...

A rough voice interrupts me before I can even say a word. "What nonsense. It's obvious that she'll be sleeping at my place."

Our heads turn around. Haymitch steps out from the shadows of his porch, and I wonder if my eyesight has faded or if it's actually still that dark outside. Peeta next to me looks as surprised as I am. Haymitch is wearing the long winter coat he wore the day he left the Capitol. His hands are buried deep in his pockets, his ears hidden under a beanie.

"How–" Peeta wants to ask but stops when Haymitch's eagle eyes fly from me to him.

"Oh please, as if your journey remained hidden from me. Plutarch has informed me in detail about which train you're taking," says Haymitch, raising his eyebrows mockingly. "And when Effie didn't answer her phone, it only took one more call to Plutarch to find out that she was last seen boarding a train with you."

"Are they spying on me?" I ask angrily, briefly forgetting the excitement from just now. I imagined my first words to Haymitch to be different, but his could have been better too.

Haymitch's eyes snap back to me and suddenly I doubt he's even happy to see me. "Of course not. The face-specific security cameras are a holdover from Snow's era." The silver in his irises appears no less frozen than the outside world around us. We stare at each other, and I don't want to look away first, nor does he apparently. My stomach tightens and I can't tell if it's from anticipation or nervousness.

Beside me, Peeta clears his throat. He sets my suitcases on the ground and the plastic crunches against the blanket of snow. "As I said, Effie, my guest room is at your disposal, but I understand if you prefer to stay with Haymitch."

Haymitch and I continue to stare at each other, and I think I see a reflection of uncertainty cross his eyes. It might as well be nothing but a shadow, otherwise he doesn't seem any less grumpy than usual. I turn my head to Peeta and give him a grateful smile. "That's a lovely offer, thank you very much. But I think Haymitch and I still have a lot of catching up to do. Besides, he must have already prepared his guest room for me when he knew I was coming."

I can feel Haymitch's gaze on me, like it's actually boring into my skin. From what I know of him, he hasn't even entered his guest room since he arrived here, let alone prepared anything. The look that crosses Peeta's face for a split second confirms my thought, but he nods quickly and rubs his hands together. The cold is more than just uncomfortable. I've been here half an hour and already it seems to have penetrated into my bones.

"Then we'll see each other later," Peeta replies and quickly hugs me. Then he looks down at the suitcases. "Wait, I'll help you carry the suitcases in."

"No need," explains Haymitch, who has already reached for the handles.

"Then goodnight." Peeta shrugs and looks up at the sky. "Or more like good morning." He smiles at me and gives a thumbs up as Haymitch turns his back to go to the house. I roll my eyes, grin, and wave one last time before he heads to his own front door with his bag.

Haymitch has already run ahead, and I need a few big steps to catch up with him. The suitcase I'm carrying bangs against my knee again and again, but I barely notice it. Instead, I study Haymitch's face as we climb the stairs to his porch. He kicks the door open with a gentle nudge of his foot and then motions for me to enter.

His house looks different than I remember. And yet somehow the same. We are standing in a small, rectangular anteroom that serves as a cloakroom. I hang up my damp coat, take off my shoes and look at myself in the dusty mirror for a fleeting moment. My red winter dress screams Capitol, but that's the only clue to my origins. My hair is a little tangled at the back of my neck and my simple makeup is a little smudged. I scan the hallway behind the anteroom. The wooden double doors are open, and I can see all the way to the stairs. I'll have to get used to the umber-brown tiles, even if the finely worked details in the wooden ornaments almost make it look better. Unlike the modern, classic interior that has been popular in the Capitol in recent years, here you can feel the colonial, romantic style that was popular in the Capitol when the victors' villages were built in the Districts.

"You act like you've never seen the inside of my house before," Haymitch remarks from the doorway. He has pulled the beanie off his head and his dark blond hair falls in tangled strands around his head. I notice that he has shaved.

"This is the first time I've seen it tidy!" I reply, dragging my suitcase behind me as I step into the hallway. "Was that you?"

"I paid Hazelle," he admits sheepishly, and I start to laugh. This looks more like him. I'm glad she came back to 12 too. Then I'll at least know some of the faces when we meet on the street.

The beige walls are free of any decoration. There is a thick black carpet over the tiles that must be ancient. It smells ... like him. I inhale again, luxuriating in a cloud of his scent before moving on. The few items on the mahogany furniture are neatly arranged. My eyes wander to the stairs and then I give Haymitch the questioning look I've been saving for too long.

"So ..." I start, but I don't know what to do next. This is a whole new level of uncertainty. This is his house, his home and now for the first time I regret not telling him about my arrival beforehand. I feel like an intruder. "Where do the suitcases go?"

Haymitch points his chin at the stairs, and I follow him as we go up to the first floor. I have only been up here very rarely in the last eleven years. Especially in years when he tried to sleep through the Reaping. His bedroom is the opposite door of the stairs. He stops at the landing, hesitates and then looks down in front of me, embarrassed.

"The house is quite big. I have more than just one guest room. Some of them are occupied sometimes when workers need a temporary place to stay while they're here. You can stay in any of them." He runs a hand through his hair and then looks up, straight into my eyes. A snort escapes his lips and the next moment he shakes his head as if he wanted to bite the bullet. "Damn, this false shame is so stupid." The first normal sentence I hear from him today. "We shared a bed for months in Thirteen, even though you had your own. Same in the palace. So we can just pick up where we left off."

I nod slowly and smile. It comes naturally and by itself. "I would like that."

Haymitch continues to maintain eye contact and makes no move to start walking. I hold my breath and return the look, the frost from before now giving way to something else that I can't put a name to. "Why didn't you let me know you were coming? I could have picked you up from the train station."

"You knew I was coming. Then why weren't you there?" I ask instead of answering him and resist the urge to fold my arms over my chest.

He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know."

"I don't know why I didn't call first either."

Haymitch immediately understands what I mean. "You're here, that's all that matters." Then he bridges the distance to me. His arms are at the small of my back, his eyes now centimeters from mine. I place my hands on his chest and stroke the hem of his navy-blue wool sweater.

We kiss each other. Deep and slow, as if we are finally taking a first breath in a long time. A hint of whiskey lies on his tongue. The scent of pine and soap is stronger than ever. This is the place of its origin. I pull away from Haymitch's lips before we slip into the passion that seems to grip us every time we're close to each other.

The irises in his eyes sparkle like liquid silver; like a lake at night, lit only by the moon and stars. Dark and light at the same time. Stormy and yet calm. Haymitch smiles down at me. More of a gentle smirk than a smile. Eventually he lets go of me to reach for the neglected suitcases that are standing around us.

"Come on, Princess, let's get you home."

-

Here I am again, with this final real chapter. The story is over. Everything else that happens in Panem, we know from the third book and Katniss's perspective. Theoretically, I could have concluded the fanfiction with this chapter, but there was always this epilogue lingering in my mind, rounding off the ending. We've been reading for so long, witnessing the suffering of Hayffie and the others. It would seem a shame to just end it here without giving a glimpse of what Effie and Haymitch have actually been working towards over the years. You'll find out next week, in the very last two-part chapter of this fanfiction (two short parts but posted on the same day). However, I hope you've enjoyed this conclusion to the story. If you're interested in how I imagine Haymitch's house in the Victors' Village, then check out my Pinterest. My name there is ccskyllen. :)

See you next week for the end!

Skyllen