Prompt left in a review for Have a Drink, Sweetheart : Hi, brilliant writing! It's an absolute joy to read. Here's a prompt if you're taking any: perhaps effie and haymitch had sex celebration and she's pregnant with his kid. Later, just before the Victory Tour she gave birth and effie doesn't tell Haymitch. Then the uprising occurs, haymitch is saving effie when effie told him to take their kid (she refers their kid as his kid) instead of her since the hovercraft has space for one more, and he did- leave her behind. In 13, the kid asks haymitch where the mom is and clarifies that effie is the mom... thanks

Okay, so let's keep in mind that there around 6 months between the victory and VT and about as much between the end of VT and the beginning of the Games if I'm not mistaken aaaaand that even if she had managed to give birth and bounced back into a not-pregnant figure by VT, well the kid would still be unable to talk by the time the rebellion rolls around. I mean, I'm all for Haymitch and Effie's kids being clever but it's pushing it a little here XD Also, I don't see why they couldn't get Effie and the kid because hovercrafts are quite spacious and a small kid wouldn't take that much space so, I changed that as well. In short I kept the general idea and I worked with that which of course means, this one is long.

So long in fact I've decided to publish it outside of Have a Drink, Sweetheart. I cut it in four parts and I will publish a new chapter every day, so part 2 should be up tomorrow. I hope you like it!

Thirteen Sheep

Haymitch restlessly paced the narrow back alley under Plutarch's nervous gaze. Plutarch was standing next to the black car supposed to take them to the hovercraft and was checking his watch more and more often.

"I am sorry, Haymitch, but we can't wait much longer." the Head Gamemaker said.

"She's coming." he snapped. Fear was like a burning fist crushing his guts. Effie Trinket was never late and yet she should have been there almost fifteen minutes ago by then. Everything could have happened. She could have been arrested, she could have misunderstood the meeting point, she could have…

"If she betrayed us…" Plutarch argued.

"She didn't." Haymitch didn't leave room for argument. "I trust her."

And the moment he said that, he heard the hurried tell-tale clicking of her heels. He turned around just as she stepped around the curb of the alley.

"You're late, sweetheart." he accused right before he caught sight of her. Then he froze. "And I guess we're about to be even more late. Who's that?"

Plutarch was frowning and Haymitch couldn't blame him. Effie had a little boy firmly latched on her hand, not more than a toddler really, ashen blond hair, grey eyes, a navy suit that looked out of place on a child and a purple backpack that clashed with the formal attire. The kid stared at him with wide eyes before grinning an almost terrifying smile that revealed a missing tooth. Haymitch was quick to look away but Effie wasn't forthcoming with an explanation. She stopped walking a few feet from them, crouched to speak a few low words in the child's ear and then approached Haymitch. There was an edginess about her he hated on sight. Whatever she was going to say, he wouldn't like it.

"What's going on?" he asked in a low voice. It was futile, though. Plutarch was nice enough to pretend he wasn't listening but he was too close not to hear. "This wasn't the plan, Effie."

He had told her about the plan in the shower where he was sure there were no bugs and where the noise of running water would have covered their voices. He had said he would take her to Thirteen with him before it all went to shit and she had agreed. She had agreed. He had given her the meeting place and she should have showed up earlier with a small bag and ready to leave everything behind, not with a kid in tow. Was he her nephew? He couldn't, for the life of him, remember if she had ever mentioned a nephew…

"I apologize." she whispered. Her voice was flat, she was pale under her make-up and her eyes were too bright, as if she was fighting tears. "You are going to be very, very angry and I can't apologize enough. Please, believe me, I never meant for you to find out about him like this."

"What are you talking about?" He shook his head and grabbed her arm, trying to steer her to the car. "It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, we don't have time. We have to go."

She resisted all attempts to be pushed to the car. "He's your son."

Plutarch's surprised curse was masked into a fake cough but Haymitch was too stunned to even curse. He stared at Effie blankly. "What?"

"He's your son." she said again, worrying her hands in front of her.

Those four words were like a punch to the stomach. His son… He didn't look at the kid, he stared at her, studying her face and trying to catch the deceit that would surely flash in her eyes at some point. Except it didn't. She was composed albeit uncharacteristically nervous and obviously distressed.

"He is six." she continued, low enough that the boy wouldn't hear her. The kid was a blurred point in his peripheral field of vision, he was still looking at them, fingering the strap of his backpack absentmindedly. "I am sure. If you ever trusted me, Haymitch…"

"How sure?" he asked.

"A hundred percent sure." Her smile was soft but sad. "You only have to look at his eye. They're the very same as yours. And he's bright too. I couldn't tell you. You know I…"

"Who's the mother?" he interrupted, still not willing to look at anyone but her. He couldn't. He couldn't face reality yet.

Six years old… He tried to remember but his mind drew a blank. Six years ago had been a particularly bad year and he had been drowning his sorrow and his pathetic life in liquor even more than usual. He had slept around more than he usually did too. It was well before he and Effie had tacitly become exclusive, she had her own fair share of affairs at that point. She couldn't be the mother however, he would have known. She was working full time when the Games were in session, she never called anyone, she never went anywhere that wasn't a party or some sponsors related meetings… And she could never have hidden something like that. None of the escorts had a child or a husband. None. Getting pregnant was a sure way to get fired. Haymitch would have known.

One of Effie's closest friends, perhaps. He was sure he had slept with at least three or four of them…

"The mother…" Effie frowned. Her eyes wandered to the child, when they got back to meet his, they were hard and resolute. "I can't tell you right now. It's probably best if you don't know anyway… Just know I trust her and I am sure he is yours."

"I'm terribly sorry to intrude but could you, perhaps, discuss this later?" Plutarch winced. "You realize we do have a rebellion on our hands, do you?"

"Yeah… Yeah…" Haymitch felt numb. Maybe he was in shock, maybe he was in full denial, he wasn't quite sure but he still waved to the car. Katniss and Peeta, he forced himself to think. Katniss and Peeta had to come first, he could have a meltdown later. "Grab the kid and let's go."

"I'm not coming." Effie said quietly and Haymitch could have sworn he heard Plutarch sighed in despair over the time they were wasting.

"Don't be stupid, sweetheart." he spat. "Of course, you're coming. Now get the damn boy and let's…"

"Haymitch, I am not coming with you." She was serious and decided, he could tell. She was so damn stubborn, it would be a pain to change her mind. The best solution probably would have been to knock her off and forced her in that car but… "I have to protect my family. My mother and my sister, they… They will go after them if I leave with you, you know that. I will try to get us out of the Capitol, I will try to join you in Thirteen."

Her blue eyes were begging him to understand and the worst thing was that he could.

"You won't make it." Plutarch argued. "Effie, you need to understand, your best chance is to hop on the hovercraft with us."

She looked at him and then back at Haymitch with such sorrow his heart ached. "I have to try."

"If you don't come with us I can't protect you." Haymitch's voice was flat. The fight was already lost. He wouldn't keep her away from her family, she would hate him forever and she would never be able to live with herself if she abandoned them. He didn't want her to know the same guilt he carried every day. "They suspect enough about us, Effie. If they catch you, they will torture you. I won't be able to protect you."

"I have to take my chances." She forced herself to smile one of those bubbly fake smiles he hated so much. "Don't concern yourself with me, I will be just fine. You already have Katniss and Peeta to worry about. Save them both." Her joyful mask shattered then when she looked back at the boy patiently waiting a few feet away. "And you will have to take care of your son. I want you to swear it. I need you to keep him safe whatever happens. I need to be sure I can trust you with him."

She meant to leave the kid with him, that wasn't good. Not that he would have let her go anywhere in the Capitol with a child of his. If Snow ever got a hold on the boy… But if the mother had been clever enough to keep the kid away from him for so long, she probably had been clever enough to make sure nobody knew. It would be best to send him back to his mother and pretend nothing had happened at all…

"You can't trust me with a kid." he growled. "You…"

"I don't have another choice." Effie snapped. "And neither do you. You are bringing him with you and you are going to protect him. It isn't up for debate."

"Haymitch." Plutarch warned, tapping on his watch.

Effie turned around before he could add anything else and gestured the child over. The boy ran straight to her and hugged her legs. He clung to her even when he lifted his head to look at Haymitch with grey eyes that were, indeed, identical to his. There was no trace of fear or curiosity on the boy's face, though, it was like he knew perfectly well who Haymitch was.

Effie crouched again before Haymitch could ask any more questions. "Do you remember what Mommy explained, sweetie?" The boy nodded and Haymitch was taken aback by the tone of voice she was using, he had never heard her speak like that. It was soft and tender. A nasty suspicion rose its ugly head in his mind but he brushed it away. She couldn't be the boy's mother and if she was, she would have said as much. The time for secret had passed. How long had she known? He wanted to get angry, he wanted to be furious, but he could only feel numb. It didn't make any sense. None of it did. "Alright." she continued just as softly, brushing the blond hair out of the kid's teary eyes. "There is nothing to be sad about. You are going with your Daddy on an adventure, isn't that exciting?"

She grabbed Haymitch's wrist without even looking and forced him to outstretch his hand so the kid could cling to him much like he had done with her. Having a child holding his hand was a very unsettling experience. Haymitch was painfully aware that if he held on too tight, he could crush the tiny fingers and it was more frightening than anything he had ever known.

"Remember your manners. Say please and thank you and you will have to explain to Daddy about your bedtime and all the other rules, alright?" she instructed. She didn't wait for another nod before she hugged the boy tight and the kid hugged right back with obvious distress.

"Effie…" Haymitch tried. He felt like he was going to be sick. Not only was the fact of suddenly discovering he had a kid was too much, but the nasty suspicion wouldn't leave his head now. It was impossible, utterly impossible and yet…

She released the boy – who grabbed Haymitch's fingers again like it was a lifeline – and placed a hand behind the victor's neck before he could say anything else. Her eyes briefly darted to Plutarch but then she threw caution to the wind and kissed him hard on the mouth. They had kissed plenty of time in bitterness but never did it taste like this. It tasted like ashes and regret. It wasn't goodbye, it was a farewell.

"I am so very sorry." she whispered against his mouth. "Don't hate me too much."

"Stay alive." he whispered back. "Whatever you do… Stay alive."

She tore herself away from him and pressed a last kiss to the boy's head before she hurried away as fast as her high heels would take her. She didn't look back. Haymitch watched her disappear behind the corner and then turned to Plutarch.

"That was unexpected." Plutarch said, his eyes fell on the boy and Haymitch could glimpse the calculating glint in there already. How to turn the whole story into a heartbreaking tale that would get them even more sympathies from the Districts…

"Don't even think about it." he snapped. He placed the boy in the back seat of the car, trying his best not to look, or acknowledge or anything that could make him accept that this was real and not one of his most elaborate nightmares, and then climbed in the front.

Plutarch started the engine and they were gone, no turning back. Effie hadn't even glanced back. She hadn't even…

"What's your name, boy?" Plutarch asked, not unkindly.

Haymitch startled when something moved on the back seat. No, not something… His son. He wondered if the nausea that was quickly starting to become associated with those two words would ever disappear. He didn't want a kid. He had never wanted a kid. Kids were breakable and demanding and if they were a victor's child, they would most certainly die a bloody death in an arena. Any child of his would die for sure. Haymitch had never wanted children, never.

He looked over his shoulder anyway, fingers twitching for a bottle to hold. There was no alcohol though. His flask had been left behind. No liquor allowed in Thirteen, no point in bringing an empty flask. He had been slowing down his alcohol consumption for weeks because of that, so the withdrawal wouldn't be too awful. Oh, it would be unbearable, he had no doubts about that, but it wouldn't be as physically hard as it could have been.

He realized to his disgust that he hadn't even thought about asking Effie for the child's name. He didn't even know his own child's name.

The boy wasn't wailing yet but his grey eyes were full of tears and his lips were wobbling. He was staring at Haymitch expectantly and when he failed to say anything, the child rummaged into the purple bag and pulled out a battered stuffed sheep. He hugged the sheep for dear life and then finally acknowledged Plutarch's question. "Timotheo."

Timotheo… How… Capitol-y.

"A good name." Plutarch offered with fake enthusiasm. "And your last name?"

Undisguised attempt at finding out who the mother was.

Haymitch should be the one asking those questions. Effie shouldn't have left without giving answers. She shouldn't have left at all. It was all so… A surge of anger ran through his veins and turned around again to look at the road ahead before he could do something that would forever traumatize the child. He wanted to hit something, preferably Snow. He wanted to…

"Mommy calls me Theo." the boy mumbled. Haymitch caught sight of him in the rear-view mirror. If he hugged that sheep any tighter, the stuffed head would pop. He was obviously frightened. And why shouldn't he be? He had been abandoned in the care of two perfect strangers… Not entirely true, though. From the start, the boy had acted as if he knew Haymitch and he wasn't surprised when Effie had referred to him as 'Daddy'… His mother must have told him about him.

"And… How do people call Mommy?" Plutarch insisted.

The boy had secured the seat belt on his own – clever, Haymitch couldn't help but think – but he still wriggled to the edge of the seat so he could get a hold on Haymitch's shirt. The sheep stayed firmly pressed against his chest by his other arm. He was eyeing Plutarch with obvious distrust.

"It's okay, kid." Haymitch said, without even knowing why. "You don't have to answer."

He glared at Plutarch who only shrugged. They didn't need to upset the boy. They didn't need a crying child on their hands, it was miraculous enough that he hadn't started weeping yet. What did either of them know about wailing children?

The boy seemed to calm down though. He kept hold of Haymitch's shirt and on the sheep and he looked at the road ahead with wide eyes. They made it to the hovercraft without a single tear and Haymitch had never been more relieved in his life. All the more so when he saw Plutarch's assistant hurrying toward them.

He lost no time in charging her of babysitting the kid. There were tears then. For whatever obscure reason since he had known him for a total of twenty minutes, the boy refused to be separated from Haymitch and started wailing and struggling in Fulvia's arms, calling out "Daddy" as if he was being murdered.

Underneath the shock of being called "Daddy" for the first time, there was a somber pull Haymitch was surprised to feel : the primitive answering need to kill whoever was making his child cry that way.

"I need you to focus, Haymitch." Plutarch snapped before grabbing his arm to get him away. "He's on board, Fulvia is with him, he will be alright. There are more urgent matters right now."

More urgent than a newly-discovered son he had never wanted in the first place calling him for help when Haymitch was so scared of losing anyone he cared about?

However, there were indeed more urgent matters. Out of sight, out of mind was, perhaps, a coward approach but it worked. Haymitch lost himself in the moment, helping Plutarch strategizing the rescue mission and making sure everything went as well as possible.

It didn't.

Katniss' arrow made the arena explode before they were ready to act.

They managed to retrieve her, Finnick and Beetee but despite Haymitch's insistence and the rebels' best efforts, they couldn't get to Peeta. Johanna was lost too, so was Enobaria. And then, it all went to hell. The rebellion exploded in the Districts before they could even try to control it, everyone was screaming in the hovercraft. Finnick was begging Plutarch to get Annie out, all the time knowing it wouldn't be possible, when Katniss appeared armed with a syringe. It was so stupid it almost made Haymitch laugh – a hysterical, exhausted kind of laugh – then, of course, he had to tell her about Peeta and she tried to kill him but… That was to be expected, he supposed.

Things finally calmed down a bit when they were about thirty minutes from Thirteen. Plutarch excused himself for a cup of coffee, Finnick left his bed to collapse on a chair waving away any medical aid, and Haymitch would have loved to lounge on one of the chairs with a glass of whiskey but that wasn't meant to be.

First, there wasn't any whiskey in that place.

Second, it was time to face reality.