Archive of Our Own ^beta

1.

The party was in full swing. People were dancing, people getting intoxicated, and people leaving to empty their stomachs and continue partying, all in good Capitol style, which he particularly hated. Trinket was talking to some sponsor — the name was Cicero if Haymitch’s memory served him right — and the guy was standing a little too close to his escort, enough to give him pause.

He didn’t care about Effie Trinket. He didn’t.

He just really liked consent.

Haymitch downed the last of his drink and bristled. Chaff looked up with questioning eyes before following his line of vision. Effie had just taken the guy’s hand from her lower back.

“At least she's stopped nagging you for a dance,” his friend commented.

It was true. Trinket was all about propriety and such, which resulted in him being dragged to dancefloors against his better judgment on a few occasions.

The guy took a whole step closer to her. She stepped back.

Haymitch knew things weren’t the same for escorts as they were for victors. He’d seen and felt it firsthand how Capitols enjoyed touching and feeling close to them as if they were prizes; at 31, he was more than used to it, although nowadays the focus was more on the younger victors. Escorts had more of a choice, he supposed, coming from their wealthy families and influential parents. With Twelve and its losing strike, both him as a mentor and whoever was the current escort didn’t have to worry much about such things. Games were always over quickly.

And, sure, he didn’t know Trinket well. It was only her second year. He knew she was proper and polite and held her ground with him if he behaved. She had even on one occasion shared a drink with him. Sure, she nagged him about his hair and being presentable, but she wasn’t the worst he had seen. Just… very annoying. His complete opposite, truthfully.

Especially when she seemed so flustered by the guy’s obvious attention to her, and the way her eyes did that weird crazy twitch around when she was nervous. He was an observant guy, after all. And she was easy on the eye when she wasn’t wearing such crazy makeup. This made him wonder if she knew how to get out of that situation without being rude, as the only person she could be rude to was… well, him.

“These people really can’t understand that no means no,” he complained to Chaff, still watching Trinket from a distance.

His friend shook his head. “Wait ‘til that kid is crowned victor. It’s gonna be hell for him.”

Haymitch merely nodded. The new victor from Four was young, pretty, talented, and pompous. It wouldn’t end well for him, they all knew it.

He didn’t care about that right now, though. Not when Effie was now against the wall and the guy was clearly in her personal space. Something she valued a lot, from what he had noticed during their arguments.

“Go on. You’re dying to save her,” Chaff said a moment later.

He rolled his eyes. “It ain’t about that. I ain’t jealous.”

He wasn't.

“I didn’t say that,” Chaff laughed. “Seriously. She could use the help. She’s still new to this.”

“Wonder where all those friends she keeps are now,” Haymitch muttered, putting his drink on the table and leaving without giving Chaff a second glance.

He made his way to the pair quickly enough and didn’t stop to think about what he was going to say. He just saw the guy put a hand on her waist and acted; two taps on the guy’s shoulder made him turn to look, and then he met Trinket’s nervous eyes. He reminded himself that Chaff was right; she was new to this. Barely a year on the job and he knew she did some modeling before and her family had something to do with the hotel business. Big stuff. Probably had been coddled her entire life.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, not looking at the guy. “My escort owes me a dance. It’s tradition, you see.”

He offered Trinket his hand and she took it without a glance; he never cared much for tradition, but the guy didn’t need to know that. Considering this was just some random afterparty, he doubted anything could be a tradition from it anyway. 

It didn’t matter; they reached the dancefloor quickly enough and Trinket settled her arms in his easily, as if they had been doing this far more frequently than they had. He didn’t miss the way she sighed in relief, and focused on the guy’s retreating form instead.

“He’s gone,” he muttered, not looking at her. With those ginormous heels, they were almost the same height.

“Thank you,” Trinket breathed.

“No problem,” Haymitch said nonchalantly. He briefly wished the song was a little more animated than it was; he didn’t do well with classic dances. “I know I ain’t much of a dancer but better me than him.”

Their eyes met then. She gave him a pointed look. “For once, you are correct.”

“Could you say that again once we go back to the penthouse? I wanna have that on record,” he joked, and she probably would have rolled her eyes if it wasn’t so improper, he just knew it. “You gotta stand your ground, sweetheart.”

“I thought I did,” she sighed. “He didn’t quite get it.”

“Yeah, some people never do,” he twirled her around, just so the eye contact thing could break for a bit. It made him a little nervous.

They continued their dance in silence for a few moments. Nobody seemed to be paying them much attention, though he caught Chaff’s eyes on them briefly and his friend appeared to be finding it all very amusing. He purposefully guided them so his friend wouldn’t be able to see his face anymore.

“Now I understand why you hate Desdemona too,” she commented. He had spilled his drink a little on purpose on that old hag’s dress the other day and Effie had gone ballistic at him. “Can you believe they’re cousins?”

“The inconvenience must run in the family,” he joked. “Like their taste for Twelve’s team.”

“Indeed,” she agreed. It must be the first time they agreed on something. “Why, I think I would have spilled my drink on him if I had any.”

“Now that I would have liked to see,” Haymitch smirked. “My bad manners must be rubbing off on you, princess.”

“Please. I would have made it look much more of an accident,” Effie scoffed. “I am a much better actress than you, after all.”

Their eyes met again. Hers were twinkling. He had never noticed how blue her eyes were before. Up close, that foundation didn’t even look so bad. It made him want to see her without that ridiculous blue wig and the enormous eyelashes.

“Are you now?” 

Effie merely hummed, her hand lightly squeezing his bicep. “I’m sure a smart guy like you has me all figured out.”

“You’d be surprised,” he countered, mildly surprised at her statement. Maybe she was the kind who took some recreational pills during these events. He had never noticed. Maybe it was just the relief at being away from that guy. Or maybe it was just relaxation — that the two of them could be courteous towards each other when they wanted to. “I thought I had you figured out on that first day.”

“The feeling is mutual,” she smirked this time. It was infuriating, how she always wanted the upper hand.

“However,” he continued, ignoring her, “I still haven’t.”

“As I said,” she hummed softly, “likewise.”

The song stopped, and so did them. Another continued in maybe three seconds, but they remained rooted to the spot.

“Thank you for the dance and the quick escape. I think it’s late enough that it won’t be impolite of me to leave,” Effie said softly, pulling her hands away. He nodded at her. She cleared her throat. “You have an interview along with other mentors scheduled for tomorrow, so be up at nine sharp.”

She had to bring up her damn schedule. Of course. Just when they were doing so well.

“And if I’m not?” He arched his eyebrows.

“I’m sure you’re well familiarized with that wine cooler we keep in the living room,” she batted her eyes at him, fixing the lapels of his suit. “By morning all that ice will have melted. It would be a shame to see it all over your bed.”

“Indeed,” he said, mimicking her accent. “I’ll be up at nine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Be sure that I don’t,” she narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll see you later, maybe. Enjoy the party, but not too much.”

“You too. Keep a glass in your hand until you leave, just in case,” Haymitch winked at her, and she gave him a soft smile before moving away for good.

It took him just about a second to recover, reaching for a drink from one of the waiters going around the room as he exited the dancefloor and went in search of a quiet corner for him to drink in peace. He did not mind it when Blight and Cecelia approached him to talk about the Games, then Chaff joined him; no one commented on the brief dance with Effie and the conversation kept him from thinking about her drinking on her own at the penthouse, maybe even without that crap on her face.

Although he did think that perhaps he might figure her out if only they got themselves alone more often.

2.

It had been a hard year. 

First, she had reaped the youngest tributes of the current Games — a boy who had turned twelve the week before, and a girl who would be thirteen in a month. Both skinny, both scared, both hungry and without manners, though this time she simply looked away when they ate with their bare hands.

Effie would never admit it to absolutely anyone but they broke her heart.

They had lost the girl in the bloodbath but the little boy — Asher was his name, sweet Asher who loved strawberry tarts and brownies — managed to run from the Cornucopia and hide in a cave. Effie had stayed up in the viewing room until she could but retired to the penthouse for dinner and then a few hours later to her quarters while Haymitch stayed back. He hadn’t been very optimistic about anything at all, but she could tell he was fond of the little boy too.

They all rooted for him, no matter how the odds weren’t in his favor.

In truth, it was hard for Effie to grasp it all. It was her fourth year as an escort, working for fabulous stylists, dictating fashion, and going to talk shows and events. Her parents were proud of her. Her brother envied her prestige.  And underneath all that jazz, all those parties, behind red carpet events, there was abuse and bribery and death.

It terrified her, so she did what she had been doing since the day she set foot in that backwater district that Twelve was in. She pretended. Sometimes with the help of an occasional pill. Nothing too drastic.

Some days were more challenging than others, though.

It was way past two in the morning when she finally finished drying her hair and was applying her skincare routine before bed when she heard the distinct sound of a crash, which meant that Haymitch was back. She considered putting on her wig and seeing a bit more of the Games with him but she doubted anything had happened. So she moved on and was applying her moisturizer when she heard another crash.

She stopped the motions, fixing her eyes on the mirror, assessing if there was trouble.

Then there was another crash, followed by a sudden blast from the speakers — was he putting music on? At this ungodly hour? — and she fled her quarters, tying the knot on her dressing gown and walking hurriedly towards the living room.

The music was loud, some soft pop music she quite liked listening to during car rides, but way too loud for her taste. Haymitch had his back to her in the half-lit room, his suit jacket discarded by the living room entrance, fixing himself a drink by the liquor cart, and the carpet was filled with some red liquid and glass shards. He must have dropped something — or thrown it, wouldn’t be the first time — while making himself a drink.

Effie tiptoed around his suit jacket as she stared at the scene, a little perplexed at it all, and after four years she truly knew better than to simply inquire Haymitch what caused such havoc, when her eyes fixed on the screen, with its volume completely muted or drowned by the music, and saw Asher’s lifeless body be covered by sand during a sandstorm in the desert arena. Someone had sliced his throat.

She didn’t have it in her to pretend at this late hour, so she just stared — until the sand covered the little boy’s face completely.

“There you are! You missed the show, sweetheart,” Haymitch broke her reverie as he spoke almost as loud as the music. “Yeah, Asher’s gone. The boy from One did it.”

Effie turned her eyes from the screen and watched as the mentor downed whatever drink he had just made in one go. Their eyes met and he seemed to truly take notice of her for the first time.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without all that crap on your face,” he commented, turning back to the cart once more. Effie fixed her hair a little, trying to fight the blush that was creeping on her cheeks. Very few people have seen her without her armor, as she liked to call it. It wasn’t exactly proper.

Haymitch probably wouldn’t remember much the next day, though.

She refrained from commenting when she noticed his feet.

“Where are your shoes?” She asked, walking towards where he was standing. “You’ll hurt yourself like that, there are shards everywhere.”

“Don’t care,” he said uninterestedly, this time drinking straight from a bottle. “Hell, might be good to hurt a little and feel a bit human after this shit show.”

He motioned for the screen once more, and Effie turned it off without a second glance. An avox appeared then, bearing tools to get rid of the shards, and she threw the young woman — probably not older than herself anyway — a thankful look.

“And what have you done to your arm?” She frowned, grasping his free hand out of the cart and he swayed a little on his spot. There was some blood dripping from his arm, somewhere underneath his shirt. He batted her hand away. “Haymitch, please don’t tell me you got into a fight somewhere.”

He let out a laugh then, apparently finding it all very amusing. She narrowed her eyes and took a deep breath. She hated him when he was like this — drunker than he should be, uncaring for whatever eyes and ears there could be in any room, sarcastic and unkind at every opportunity. 

“Don’t worry, princess, Twelve’s image hasn’t been stained today,” Haymitch snickered. “By tomorrow everyone will have forgotten us and that boy anyway.”

Her nostrils flared as she glared at him, then turned her attention to the avox. 

“Would you please bring me the first aid kit once you’re done here?” She said to the woman, who nodded. “Thank you.”

He seemed to realize they weren’t alone for the first time and shook his head. “Sorry about the mess. Clumsy hands. Y’know.”

The avox simply nodded again and left after taking the shards off the floor. Effie took Haymitch’s hand once more, unbuttoning his cuff and finding the cut quickly enough. It didn’t look deep, and at least this time he let her have a look, even if he kept drinking from the bottle.

It took the avox perhaps just a minute to come back with the kit.

“Just put it on the coffee table, thank you. You may clean this later, once we’re done here,” Effie said, still examining his arm, then narrowing her eyes at him. “I think there’s a shard in here. Did you throw those bottles on purpose?”

“Need an outlet,” he mumbled. She almost didn’t hear him through the music — even if it was a slow song now.

“Did it help?” Effie asked indignantly. “Honestly, Haymitch, look at this mess! And what’s with the music—”

“That kid just died and people outside are chanting the name of the tribute who killed him!” Haymitch shouted. “What am I supposed to do? Join the chorus?”

He put down the bottle he had been holding with such force back on the cart that it broke when it met with another bottle, cutting his other hand.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, batting down his hand as if it were nothing — as if it wasn’t bleeding, not so different from Asher’s throat on the screen just moments ago. “Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

He pinched his nose bridge with the bloodied hand then, and that was when Effie saw the tear stains on his cheeks. Not from the cut, certainly.

Sometimes she pretended so much that it was easy to forget he wasn’t just a sarcastic, broken man.

She tugged at his other hand and put her arms around his waist, effectively embracing him. Maybe because she thought he needed it but — mostly because she needed it. It felt like a reflex, almost, how he put his arms around her back instantly as if they did this every day — as if they were used to being in each other’s space like that, which they certainly weren't. And when she raised her chin to rest it on his shoulder and breathed in the alcohol and that cologne she had chosen for him, there were tears in her eyes too.

“He was just a kid, Effie,” she heard his whisper against her ear. A shallow, hollow sound. Hopeless.

She guessed that that was what they all were. All of them were at least aware of some things.

“They are all just kids,” she retorted, thinking about Ember who died earlier, whose favorite color was pink. About the boy from One who has people chanting his name after killing a twelve-year-old. About the sassy boy from Twelve who won the Quell when she was eight years old.

Haymitch wept then, and she cried with him, not caring about the blood stain he would likely leave on her nightgown. She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, locked in an embrace — she just realized minutes later that she had his vest in fists on his back while he wasn’t crying anymore — but she still was.

She was just so tired of pretending. She was so tired of all the fake smiles and fake happiness and it was only her fourth year and she couldn’t very well quit because it wasn’t that simple but she hated the scrawny children and that acrid smell and all the deaths and she wished she could go back to being ignorant like she was five years ago—

“We should—get you cleaned up,” she managed to say between breaths, pulling away slightly.

“No, just… stay like this,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Let’s just stay like this a little longer.”

His arms tightened around her frame and she let him sway them slightly to the rhythm of the still absurdly loud slow song. And she felt…

“Don’t you want to make fun of my puffy eyes?” She attempted to joke. “Or my bare face at that.”

He simply let out a snicker. An honest one at that. “How could I do that when you look the way you do?”

Effie blinked. “Like what?”

“You’re gorgeous,” Haymitch scoffed, and she briefly wished she wasn’t so engulfed in him that she could see his face, but it was impossible to do so. “You don’t need me to tell you that. Don’t know why you put all that makeup on when you look like that.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She had been called beautiful by many people, it was true. Effie knew she was beautiful. It was her face that got her this job, it was her smile that brought all that money into her bank account, but no one had ever said it like that. Like it was obvious. To her bare face.

“It’s fashion,” she sniffed. “You wouldn’t know a thing about that.”

“I know a thing or two about beauty when I see it,” he said, pulling away slightly, and she realized she wasn’t crying anymore, and he wasn’t as drunk as she initially thought him to be. “Good?”

“Can we stay like this just a little more?” She asked, unsure how to feel about the gentleness of his palm against her cheek. “I’ll check your wounds later and then we can forget all about this.”

He simply nodded with a smirk, drawing her back to their previous position. “Sure, sweetheart. I’m forgetting already.”

She knew she wouldn’t forget all about this anytime soon.

For the first time since she started this job, Effie felt safe.

3. 

The place was packed.

Now that the Games were well over and the tribute from One would be crowned Victor within the next few days, Haymitch didn’t mind unwinding. Meaning drinking and maybe snatching a girl now and then to distract him for the night. He preferred underground clubs for that — all for anonymity, truly — and he was especially grateful that Cecelia’s farewell party ended up being in one of these.

Even if it was way more crowded than he liked it.

“Cecelia, my darling,” Chaff professed as they all filled their glasses once more, “are you sure you wanna do this? You can still back out and be with me for two months a year.”

“As if you ever had a chance, Chaff,” Cecelia laughed, and Haymitch rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics. “You should try it, instead of chasing skirts around the City.”

“Try what, love?” Chaff asked, pretending to be daft on purpose.

“Romance,” Cecelia replied without batting an eye. “There’s still time to get married and have kids before becoming an old man.”

Haymitch snickered. Chaff married with children? Now that was something he doubted he would ever see.

“And have my kids be reaped when the time comes? I’ll pass.”

“Maybe by the time my children are old enough this will all be over,” Cecelia sighed, leaning a little heavily against Lyme beside her. The mood around the table changed suddenly, and the bride-to-be shook her head. “Now you have to promise to be nice to Willa next year. She hasn’t mentored yet.”

“We’ll be nice,” Blight answered at once and both Cecelia and Lyme rolled their eyes.

“Not like that— oh, Effie’s here!” The woman squealed, jumping from her seat with far more agility than Haymitch thought her capable of, and he nearly spilled his drink on his shirt at the motion.

“Effie?” Chaff groaned.

Haymitch rolled his eyes. “They’re close. Don’t ask me how, I’ve no idea.”

To her credit, Effie’s makeup and clothes were much more subdued than usual, and at least fit the club well enough. She still had a stupid wig on — a white one, he didn’t particularly like it — and she paired it with a silver dress that was filled with fringes and sequins. Terrible looking. But that’s fashion , her voice echoed in his mind.

At least since the moment they shared last week, they seemed to have reached an understanding — well, they more or less had been ignoring each other, but at least they hadn’t fought since then.

“I’m sorry I’m so late! Traffic was a nightmare,” he heard Effie say as he absentmindedly stirred his empty glass. Blight was talking about playing pool and Chaff was already standing up. He heard the women talk about dancing. That was his cue. 

“Next round’s on me,” he announced, standing up too. “Any special requests?”

“Oh, I’d love a…” Effie started.

“That doesn’t have a ridiculous name?” He continued, and she huffed and he winked at her before leaving the table.

The place was crowded, and someone had to save their table, so Haymitch didn’t mind paying for the drinks a couple more times while the girls had fun on the dance floor and the guys played darts or pool or whatever it was that they were doing.

He caught sight of Effie a couple of times — not that he had been checking for her — and he gladly averted his eyes before they could hold each other’s gazes and make things more awkward.

He also didn’t let his mind wander at Effie and Cecelia’s proximity when the Victor had such rebellious tendencies (much like all of them) and Effie was not as ignorant as he had initially thought all those years ago.

Still, this hardly meant she was a rebel. There were plenty of Capitols who were unhappy with the situation and wanted nothing to do with rebels as a self-preservation mode. He could relate to that. Maybe he’d do the same if he had someone to lose.

That wasn’t the case though.

The night wore on, Blight lost both at darts and at pool and left the table to pursue whoever it was that he wanted to leave with tonight, Chaff was well on his way to having to be carried back to the center, and the girls were far too loud and far too sober for Haymitch to care — even if he liked that for once they were having some fun. They were all a bit stuck up in his opinion. Maybe that was why Effie was friends with them. 

He decided to go for one last drink to finish off the night, for once thinking about the fact that in two days he’d already be on his way to Twelve and he needed to buy some books and some booze to take back home tomorrow.

“Whiskey. Neat,” he ordered as he got to the bar. Just a nice dose of his favorite to end the night. 

The bartender served his drink quickly enough, and Haymitch decided he’d appreciate this one. He might be getting closer and closer to the hopeless alcoholic label, but he still had it in him to control it when he wanted to. For some reason, tonight was one of those nights.

There was one thing Haymitch particularly liked about the Capitol underground clubs — although he was still hit on now and then, people didn’t seem to care who he was here, which meant he wasn’t touched as freely as in the Games events, and that he didn’t have to play nice when people did that.

Which was why he was surprised when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“There you are!” Effie’s shrill voice sounded a little too close to his ear, but then he supposed that was the only way he’d hear her over the music. “You’re avoiding me.”

The accusation nearly made him spit out his drink.

“I thought we were avoiding each other, sweetheart,” he recovered.

Which wasn’t a lie. Effie loudly sighed, sliding onto the booth beside him. Her silver dress showed off her nude shoulders quite nicely if he could say so. He didn’t particularly care for fashion and the whole outfit was too shiny for him to care, but he could appreciate some skin when he wanted to. And Effie had nice skin.

Not that he noticed.

Although it did make him wonder…

“A Between the Sheets, please,” Effie ordered, and once more he almost spit out his drink. She gave him a grin — an actual grin — and he couldn’t help but shake his head and grin as well. 

“You do like your ridiculous cocktails,” he muttered.

“This one is nice. You should try it,” she advised. “Now, I haven’t been avoiding you. Why would I come here if I was?”

“To celebrate your friend’s wedding which you won’t be able to attend?” He guessed. “By the way, I’m surprised you’re that close. It’s not like you’re her escort.”

He didn’t mean to sound bitter about it. Even if to his ears he sounded jealous. 

Effie seemed to be either too tipsy to care or too distracted to notice.

“We’re the same age, you know,” she said matter-of-factly. “She was so nice during my first year. I asked for an autograph because she was my cousin’s favorite. We just got to talking.”

He hummed.

“I mean, we talk too, you and I,” she continued just as the bartender slid her cocktail to her, a bright green thing. “But we’re different.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Are we?”

She took a sip slowly from the cocktail, giving him a side-eyed look.

“You know that we are,” Effie replied, so very naturally. As if they talked about their weird dynamic every day. “This is good. Not very conventional but you might like it. Are you sure you don’t want to try it?”

“I’m sure,” Haymitch said, maybe a little too quickly. He wasn’t sure if she was talking just about the drink.

“Anyway,” she said, sighing loudly. “I wanted to talk to you. Clear the air, you know. I don’t want things to get awkward between us. I mean, we’re adults. We can be adults about it.”

He nodded.

“We should just talk about it,” Effie went on. “I know I said we should pretend it never happened, but we need to stop dancing around each other.”

“It was just a kiss, Effie,” he rolled his eyes. “We’re adults. We’ve done more than kissing to just make one kiss complicated.”

She huffed at that. “It was a little more than one kiss.”

Fine. It was. So they got carried away. It happened, especially when they were both under a lot of stress. She had comforted him. They had had that long hug. Which he wouldn’t complain about. She was very pliant and soft against him. And then on the way to their quarters, he had acted on impulse or maybe it had just been the alcohol talking, and he had kissed her. And she kissed him back.

And then he was backing her up against the wall and she was clinging onto his shirt and tugging and his hands had slid lower and—

Well. He might have been drunk but not enough to not remember how nice her lips were against his. Even as she told him that was a mistake and they should stop. And he did stop. 

Then he proceeded to avoid her. Sure. He wouldn’t pretend he wasn’t doing that.

But she pretty much did the same.

“I just wanted to make sure we’re okay, that’s all,” Effie said as she finished her drink. “I figure that since we work so closely together for a few weeks a year we should be cool.”

“We’re fine, sweetheart,” Haymitch rolled his eyes. “No biggie.”

He was pretty sure whatever awkwardness would be gone by the time the next Games rolled in anyway.

“Okay. Good,” she said. “How about a dance then? Let’s have some fun.”

This time he bristled. “I don’t dance.”

“Of course you do. You dance well,” she commented, already gripping his arm. 

“Not this kind of dance, no,” Haymitch was quick to say. He had never set foot on a dance floor at these clubs. Not even when he was a young Victor.

“Come on, Haymitch, I want to dance,” she complained. “The girls are tired and I know you’re leaving soon. You just said we’re fine. Let’s dance.”

Before he knew it she was dragging him to the dance floor. There was a riot of colors and lights around them, and it was crowded enough that she had to stand close to him. He still hated the song, especially now that its beat seemed to zero against his chest; he stood still, and then Effie was moving her hips and arms around him as if to make him a part of it.

Which he didn’t want to do. Even if she… hell, of course, she danced pretty well.

He couldn’t exactly blame it on the alcohol when he put his hands on her waist and didn’t mind it when she rested her elbows on his shoulders, close to his neck. She was moving her body slowly to the beat, lights blinking around them, and then she turned around, her back flushed against his chest. He couldn’t say he minded it, not when her hips were moving like that.

His hand tightened on her waist and she tugged until his palm was splayed on her middle. Her scent filled his nostrils — why did she have to smell so damn good all the time? — and he knew this was a mistake.

“How’s this for things not being awkward?” He drawled against her ear.

“They won’t be awkward if we don’t want them to be,” she answered simply.

“Won’t this be a mistake?”

“It depends,” she turned again. “How drunk are you?”

“Tipsy at best. You?”

“I only had three of those,” she motioned towards the bar. “See, I told you you’re a good dancer.”

This time an honest laugh left his lips. “I ain’t doing a thing, it’s all you. I’m a simple guy, princess.”

“I’m not a simple woman,” she turned around, winking at him. “Let’s get out of here.”

He didn’t miss the way her hand gripped his. Or how soft her fingers were compared to his.

“Won’t this make things complicated?” He had to ask because he didn’t fancy changing escorts now that he was used to Effie. She was a pain in his ass, yes, but she was the best. 

That was the only reason, of course.

“I think,” she breathed, getting close to his ear once more, “we need to get this off our systems. If you know what I mean.”

She pulled away but her hand was still in his. There was that challenging look in her eyes, the same look she’d give him whenever he aggravated her. Haymitch secretly loved it.

“Let’s get out of here,” he decided, tugging at her hand. 

She laced their fingers together in a practiced move and let him guide her out of the club.

4.

Some dances were more primal than others but were still dances, Effie vaguely thought as she moved her hips above Haymitch. He gripped her hips, watching the way she moved, and she loved the way she felt when he looked at her like that. Like he was worshipping her.

“We should have done this earlier,” she breathed as he sat up, and he ran his fingers through her long, real hair (a request from him; she’d rather keep her wigs but he was very persuasive), then put a hand on her neck and brought her lips to his. 

She let out a yelp when he splayed his hands across her back and pushed her onto her back, never letting go of her in the process. He thrusted a little more forcefully into her, slower. It felt so different with him.

“Why did we wait so long to do this?” Effie moaned, her hips meeting his with every movement. “Don’t stop.”

He groaned against her neck, nuzzling the skin there. “Won’t stop.”

It figured that they’d be so good at this kind of dance too. 

5.

Effie smiled politely at Mr. Heavensbee once the dance was over and scanned the room as discreetly as she could, which wasn’t easy considering it was a masquerade ball, and to find and recognize anyone from a distance would be quite hard to do so. Still, she tried. And sighed when she failed once more. 

There was a chance that he wasn’t here, albeit a low one at that. It was Haymitch’s first time in the Capitol for the Victory Ball ever since Effie started as an escort, and she couldn’t help but feel excited at the prospect of spending a few extra days with him. It being strictly off the record, of course, and with the tribute center being renovated as it always did every ten years, she wasn’t required to spend the week at the same hotel Haymitch was staying. So without her to remind him of the current schedule, he might have forgotten.

So she huffed and took a flute of champagne that a waiter was carrying as she left the dancefloor, taking a small sip to try and get over her frustration. There was a good thing about it being a masquerade ball. Aside from a few obvious masks, virtually most people were not immediately recognizable. She could let go a little and have a proper drink, even if she was on the job.

Just then someone took the flute from her hand and was putting it back on the tray carried by the same waiter just seconds ago.

“Care for a dance?” He asked, and Effie could recognize those gray eyes behind the black mask anywhere.

So she gave him a soft smile. “Of course. Shall we?”

She liked the way his roughened fingers held hers, that much she could admit to. And how gentle he could be when he wanted to be. After three years of — whatever this thing they had been doing was — she should be used to all this.

Maybe it was because they only had a few weeks together every year, but she didn’t think she’d ever not get goosebumps from the way his hands grazed against her skin.

They assumed their positions quickly enough, and it felt nice to not have to worry about how close they were and how proper they should be because she was pretty sure no one would look at them like this and imagine it was Twelve’s mentor and escort.

“You’re late,” she muttered as they moved together.

“Am I?” Haymitch asked, clearly uninterested. “I skipped the speech on purpose.”

“Of course you did.”

He spun her around.

“I was talking to Mags earlier,” he commented. “I gotta say, this whole masquerade makes a lot of sense. They just had to find a girl just a bit similar to Annie and no one would be the wiser.”

Effie’s eyes widened. “I knew it. She barely said a word today. Is it true that…”

“She’s hospitalized, yes,” he interrupted her. “She’s gonna be fine once she’s back home.”

“Poor girl,” she commented, faking a smile as a woman from across the ballroom — was it Lucretia? What an abhorrent dress — smiled at her. “When do you leave?”

“I’ve got a dinner with some other victors in two days, then I’ll be gone the next morning. I just needed to show up for the red carpet today, which I just did,” his eyes glistened with mischief. “Aren’t you supposed to know my schedule?”

“I am, but I never know when you have those meetings ,” she rolled her eyes. They knew better than to comment any further. 

“No more meetings this year,” he sighed. “Maybe next year.”

“Maybe,” she said, trying to sound hopeful. “How did you like my dress?”

Haymitch ran his eyes over her form, then spun her around once more. She felt butterflies in her stomach when she noticed the way his eyes darkened ever so slightly.

“I like it a lot,” he said at last. “This sheer thing…”

“It’s tule.”

“And the bodice… that’s how I knew it was you,” he whispered. “When you turned around to leave the dancefloor I had just left the balcony. So I saw your back.”

“Are you saying you recognized me by my—”

“By your ass, yes,” he laughed. “A fine one at that. The finest in this place. Although I like the mask too. Goes with your real hair, if you decide to show it.”

She supposed she had a point; her mask was golden, half of it shaped like a butterfly, with small glittery blue points. It went with her dress, but she knew it worked wonders with her eyes too. 

“Later,” she promised.

“How about we skip the rest of the party and have our own thing out of here?” Haymitch asked in that low voice of his, the one that made her breath falter. His palm slid slightly lower than it should in public but she didn’t have it in her to complain.

“We could do that,” she replied slowly. “After we finish this song, of course. We’re not animals.”

He groaned for her ears only. “Sometimes I feel like one.”

“Yes?”

“Especially when you’re showing off skin like this,” he tightened his hold on her. “Makes me want to ravish you in public.”

She faltered in her steps a little but managed to keep up with the rhythm. It wasn’t often that he was candid like that. They had never actually talked about this before; it just… happened. And it kept happening. And their nights together became less spontaneous and more planned after the first year, which seemed quite deliberate from both of them.

“How much have you drank?” She asked suspiciously. “For you to be talking like that…”

“I’m sober if you must know,” he rolled his eyes. “Maybe I just missed you, that’s all.”

“Well, maybe I missed you too,” Effie said petulantly, not wanting him to back down now. 

Their eyes met and he stopped moving.

“Okay, we’re going,” Haymitch said decisively, hand moving to hold hers and tug her out of the dancefloor in the middle of the song.

How improper, honestly . People would be talking, and…

Well, they couldn’t be sure it was them now, could they?

So she let him guide her out of the mansion, into the massive garden, keeping up with his steps until she remembered something and stopped.

“Wait, I need to call for a car first,” she said, thankful that at least now there wasn’t anyone near them.

“I got ourselves a ride,” he replied. “You have to promise not to complain about it, though.”

“If I have to promise that then I’m sure I’ll have reason to complain,” Effie huffed. “What kind of ride do you mean? Haymitch, if it’s dangerous…”

He merely shook his head and pulled her in for a kiss, which she honestly couldn’t complain. She did not complain when she ran her hands up his chest and felt his tongue massaging hers. She breathed slowly through her nose, not wanting the moment to end, because damn it , she had missed him a lot.

He seemed to remember where they were and pulled away. 

“It’s not dangerous, princess,” Haymitch said, his thumb caressing her jaw. “I’m just sick of these people knowing where I am all the fucking time.”

“Alright,” she said after a moment when they resumed walking. “But this is pointless if we just go back to your hotel room or my place, you know.”

“We can book another room,” he said dismissively.

She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, that would be pretty much the same. And useless, considering I took the liberty of arranging us a perfectly good place for the duration of your stay.”

That made him stop this time.

“Sweetheart, you are a woman after my own heart.”

“I might be just that,” she pinched his cheek softly. “Shall we get to this ride of yours or not?”

It didn’t take more than five minutes to get to the destination that Haymitch was guiding them to — which was the parking lot adjacent to the garden, away from photographers and most of the staff, as only a few drivers seemed to be around. Effie was about to complain that this ride better be ready when they stopped and he let go of her hand.

“You’re kidding.”

He grinned at her. “I’m not.”

“Haymitch…”

“You promised you wouldn’t complain.”

“I promised nothing of the sort.”

He dared to laugh and then lean against the motorcycle.

A motorcycle, of all things.

“Come on, princess.”

Effie’s nostrils flared a bit as she assessed the situation. 

“Do you know how to drive this thing?” 

“Course I do. It’s like riding a bike.”

That gave her pause. “I don’t think it is like riding a bike.”

“You get my meaning. Come on, I even got you a nice helmet,” he said, and Effie couldn’t help the groan that left her throat. This was absurd. “You might want to ditch the wig. I’ve got some storage area here for that.”

Effie started counting to ten then. Why had she been missing him anyway? It wasn’t for that, that was certain. She didn’t know what possessed her to huff and take off her wig, but made sure to keep the mask on, just in case they were seen. Then he helped her hop on the motorcycle, bunching up her dress so it wouldn’t be a nuisance.

“There goes all the glamour,” she sighed as he hopped on as well, watching as she ran her fingers through her hair a few times. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just… your hair suits you,” Haymitch cleared his throat, then gave her the helmet. “Safety first.”

“Ever so thoughtful,” she deadpanned, and put the helmet on, huffing once more as she thought of her dreadful appearance. She adjusted the mask. “I really must look ridiculous.”

“That’s how I like you best, you know that,” he said, and she wasn’t sure if he was being serious or if he was just teasing her. “Come on, hold onto me.”

She pressed against his back, hands settling on his waist as he started the bike. She let out a yelp and felt his hand on top of hers for a moment. He pressed a kiss against her palm and let go. 

“Relax, just hold onto me,” Haymitch told her again. “Don’t forget to gimme the directions once we’re out of here. Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose,” Effie muttered, and he let out a laugh and started driving.

As they left the presidential mansion without anyone barely glancing at them twice, Effie couldn’t help but feel a bit of the freedom he so sought for. She didn’t even mind the wind on her cheeks as they picked up speed and started the forty-minute drive to the Trinket summer house (which would be empty, given that it was winter). She just pressed her cheek against his shoulder, breathed him in, and held him close.

From her angle, she could see his slight smile as he drove.

Not a bad look on him at all.

6.

Haymitch didn’t mean to drag her out of the party. It was just that she had been all smiley and laughing with Seneca Crane and he had been stuck with discussing strategies with Lyme and damn, the last straw was when Crane guided Effie to the dancefloor.

He was kicking himself already for interrupting the dance to tell her there was something important they needed to go over and didn’t miss the way her nostrils flared in annoyance. He knew he was in for it. She hated being interrupted. And, sure, he enjoyed riling her up but this had little to do with them and a lot to do with… jealousy.

Which he didn’t like at all. He wasn’t usually a very possessive man. He was confident in what he got (even if what he got was a broken, alcoholic, almost forty-year-old with no prospects to give her) but hey, it wasn’t like they knew what they were getting into when they started this.

So he sighed and endured the entire ride back to the center in silence, suffered through the twelve floors ride in the elevator in silence, and let Effie leave first, bracing himself for what was to come.

They barely made it past the elevator doors before she was on him, backtracking him toward the wall and hooking a leg around his hip. Her lips were pliant and soft and she tasted like that ridiculous cocktail she liked so much well, this might not be what he was expecting but he wasn’t going to complain about it.

They managed — just barely — to the bed, where they needed to slow things down as per usual because of Effie’s wig and intricate designer dress (how he hated, loathed those). It paid off in the end when he could have her in all her nude glory, without most of her makeup and with her natural hair forming a halo around her hair on the pillow as she moaned his name as he filled her time and time again.

“I was sure you were gonna nag me for taking you out of the party,” Haymitch said with a laugh later on, feeling still a little tingly from his orgasm. He ran a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes.

There was a moment of silence before Effie emerged from the bathroom, walking straight to him instead of around the bed to what was mostly her side. They had never discussed the sides of the bed. It just happened naturally, like everything else.

So she lay down slowly on top of him, a leg curling around his middle, and he pulled her closer so she could rest her head on his chest.

“I should nag you. The music was so good, we could have danced a bit,” she pouted. “I liked seeing you jealous.”

He kept caressing her spine slowly. “How d’you know about that?”

“You were glaring at Seneca every two minutes or so,” Effie said, letting out a chuckle. “You do know that he and I might as well be family, right? We have known each other ever since we were little kids. I couldn’t very well turn down his offer for a dance. We never know when we might need his friendship.”

“Trust me, sweetheart, I can tell he does not think of you as family,” Haymitch said, coiling a hand on the back of her neck and moving to massage her hair. Then he frowned. “So you were checking me out the entire time, huh?”

She pouted, fingers aimlessly stroking his chest. “You seemed to be very into the conversation with Lyme.”

“You know our tributes want an alliance,” he explained out of necessity. Just to make sure. “Hang on, so you were jealous too.”

Effie sat up, supporting herself with her hands on his chest. His eyes drifted low to her breasts, to the way her long hair was hiding her nipples from him. He slowly put her hair to one side for a better view. She didn’t seem to mind.

“What if I was?” She challenged him, one eyebrow arching slightly.

That did it.

He lunged at her, and she yelped and giggled and soon he was on top of her, nuzzling and kissing her neck because he knew the spot just under her ear tickled, and she was squirming.

“Haymitch! No marks,” she giggled. He sucked at the soft skin and kissed her. It was bad enough that she sported burns from his beard now and then (not that she ever asked him to shave; he suspected she liked it a lot), he didn’t want to hear about hickey marks now. “You know I’m not really jealous, right?”

He hummed, moving from her neck to kiss her lips. 

“I know you needed to talk to Lyme about our tributes,” she sighed, and he noticed her eyes sparkled with mirth and maybe hope. “Do you think we have a shot this year?”

Haymitch moved a strand of hair from her face to properly look at her. This year would mark the first time in ten years that Twelve made it to the five finalists of the Games. Whether or not seventeen-year-old Bryer was Victor material remained to be seen. He didn’t have much charisma or brains, but brutal force did seem to have taken him far this time.

“We might,” he replied, because it was the truth, even if he didn’t want to duel on it all too much. He had let himself hope enough times.

“It would be nice, I think,” she said quietly, arms encircling his back as he lay down close to her, “to bring one of them back. To pick a name that comes back.”

He knew objectively that the bugs wouldn’t be able to catch that, not when she whispered it against his ear, not when her voice was so quiet. And she knew it too. But he still tensed up. It was bad enough that Snow knew about the two of them — Haymitch wasn’t sure, but he knew this kind of thing wasn’t the type to be hidden from him much longer. The two of them weren’t exactly a nuisance; he was still drunk most of the time, and Effie still did her job perfectly and there was nothing no one could complain about. None of this was a threat, he knew that, and it was why despite her knowing about his meetings and her virtually knowing every name of rebel he knew of he made sure she wasn’t a part of it.

If needs be, he would be the one to take the fall, alone. And she knew it.

He still worried, though.

But he let himself hope — of bringing a kid back home to their family, of a free country, a country with more justice, a country with less distance between him and Effie. Of a future where they'd have more than three or four weeks together a year.

So he simply held her close, pressed a kiss against her temple, and fought the need to go over to the living room to grab a bottle to end the night with. Perhaps after Effie was asleep.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “It would be pretty nice, princess.”

7.

Effie’s head was buzzing from excitement and worry and too much liquor all at once, and she just knew she’d be nursing a headache for the next few days what with everything that would need to be prepared for the coronation, and interviews, and photoshoots…

“Sweetheart, you look like you’re ready to snap at any minute now,” Haymitch’s voice shook her out of her reverie and she recovered by glaring at him. Couldn’t he see that she was in a conversation with Florence? One of their best sponsors on top of that. “Too much excitement,” he added to Florence. “Can I borrow her for a dance?”

“Excuse me,” Effie said politely, following Haymitch to the corner of the dancefloor.

As soon as she was in position in front of him, he took hold of her hand and her waist. A practiced move. “You need to relax.”

“I am relaxed,” she gritted between her teeth. “I even had an extra cocktail tonight.”

“Princess, you look like you’re about to explode,” he added unhelpfully. “We are being watched.”

The last part was quieter than usual, and she adjusted her posture unconsciously. “I know.”

“You’ll have to be careful when we’re gone,” he continued. “Maybe not meet up with Crane for a while.”

Effie frowned. “You know I barely see him during the off-season.”

“I know, but just in case.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m just on edge because we’ll all be so busy,” Effie said honestly. “Once Katniss and Peeta leave the hospital, there will be so much to do… And did I tell you I’m booked with photoshoots for the next month?”

“That starts tomorrow, as they’ll be released tomorrow,” Haymitch sighed and glanced at her. “Keeping busy is good.”

“It is necessary, in this case,” she added.

“We should get out of here and grab something to eat. Real food, not this crap,” he complained. He always complained about the small portions. “Somewhere we can talk."

“Is there such a place available?” She joked. “We can’t leave now. Give it half an hour.”

“I’ll leave now. No one should be surprised,” he grumbled. “Meet you on the roof with pizza in half an hour?”

Effie sighed. “Alright.”

He decided to end the dance by spinning her around twice — the impossible man — and grinned at her while she pursed her lips. It was all an act, she could tell from his calculating eyes.

“Take care, princess,” he advised, letting go of her.

“I’m a big girl. I can handle myself,” she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at him. “I’ll see you later.”

He mockingly kissed the back of her hand before moving and Effie made a show of cleaning her hand afterward, just as Octavia approached her.

“Octavia, you would not believe what Haymitch just told me!” She gasped. “Our victors will leave the hospital tomorrow. Can you believe that? How exciting for us all!”

It was far too easy to slip into that persona, even if she was on edge about it all.

Effie simply smiled and went on with her conversations. In half an hour she’d be able to give it a rest. Just half an hour.

She could live through that.

8.

To say that the Victory Tour was not going well would be an understatement.

It was going horribly if Haymitch had to use a proper word for it. The kids were not in tune with each other, the girl was in denial over the entire thing, the boy felt betrayed, Portia was on edge, Cinna’s magic didn’t seem to be working with Katniss, and Effie… Haymitch was pretty sure she was losing it.

“Oh my goodness,” the woman in question gasped, closing her eyes.

This time he was trying hard not to do the same.

Katniss and Peeta faltered their steps and looked over at them uncertainly. Peeta had a pained expression on his face. Haymitch privately thought the boy was a champ; his foot must have suffered from Katniss’s steps at least three times now.

Haymitch sighed and put his drink away, clapping his hands one more time. Now he understood why Effie had come asking for his help.

“Alright,” he started, and only then did Effie open her eyes. “I’m sure Effie’s already told you this but you’re supposed to lead, Peeta, and Katniss is supposed to follow.”

“I’m trying to follow,” Katniss rolled her eyes.

“I was leading this time… I think,” Peeta offered.

“Yeah, what’s happening is that neither of you are doing anything. You’re still not following,” he pointed at Katniss, “and you’re more worried about not getting your foot stomped to lead. Which I can relate to.”

“Haymitch,” Effie reprimanded him with a pointed look then stood up to try and adjust the younger couple. “You’re meant to be in love , you must be at least a little bit in sync. You don’t have to do anything complicated, but we can’t have you stepping on each other’s feet at every move!”

“Yeah, that would be just tragic,” Haymitch added. “Although not more than the way you’ve been reading those speeches, I should add.”

“Yes, well, that’s a problem for another time. We’re on a tight schedule here,” Effie reminded him for the twentieth time that day. He had been keeping count.

The kids simply looked at them, still hopeless.

“Alright, here’s an idea,” Haymitch said, standing up as well. “You two take five and Effie and I will demonstrate. You just watch and learn.”

“Was dancing your talent, Haymitch?” Katniss asked as she and Peeta let go — for once, in sync. 

Haymitch simply rolled his eyes.

“Haymitch is a very good dancer, if you must know, Katniss,” Effie was quick to reply just as she put her hand on his shoulder. “So perhaps we should all keep our attitude to ourselves and try and get this over with.”

Oh, she was really at her wit’s end. Haymitch shared a look with Peeta, saw the way Katniss sighed, and started to move. Effie followed easily, like so many times in the past.

“See, it’s not complicated. He just leads and you follow,” Effie continued. “If you must, you can even look at your feet as you do so. It’s better than stepping on your partner’s feet.”

“If you’re feeling frisky, you can even do this,” Haymitch grinned at them, spinning Effie around once. 

“Now you’re just showing off,” Katniss mumbled.

Peeta laughed. “You must have done this plenty of times before.”

“Now and then it is expected, yes,” Effie quipped. “It’s a nice way of having a private conversation when you must. Especially without other teams listening in.”

“That makes sense,” the boy noted.

“I imagine what kind of private conversations you two have during dances,” the girl mocked them.

Haymitch arched his eyebrows at Effie then. She barely had time to shake her head before he dipped her. Peeta clapped his hands while Katniss rolled her eyes.

Effie stifled a laugh.

“You don’t have to be so advanced, by the way,” Haymitch noted as they parted. “Leave that to the professionals here.”

“Right,” Effie shook her head, but there was a fond look on her face. “Anyway, it’s not that complicated. Don’t make it more than it is, it’s just a dance.”

“That goes for you too,” he mumbled to Effie’s ears only, then picked up his glass from the coffee table. “So, you two practice and talk, whatever, we’ll just have a drink in the corner to give you some privacy.”

Effie intervened. “But…”

“If we want them in sync, let them bond over their common hatred for the waltz thing. You could use a drink too,” he said honestly. “Loosen up a little. I mean it.”

Effie sighed, watching as the kids stood up reluctantly too. “Alright. Just one drink.”

He quickly stirred a mix of drinks that he knew she liked and handed her a glass before filling his cup with whiskey. She sat at an armchair, stiff as usual in these past few days, and he took the chair next to her, slouching and not caring about it. He had been tired too.

“We need to go over the speeches for tomorrow,” she reminded him as she took a sip of her drink.

“Let’s do that when they finish this up,” he offered. “No, maybe take the cards to my room. We can go over the speeches then.”

She gave him a pointed look, lowering her voice. “If we do that, we won’t be going over the speeches. You know that.”

“That's why you haven’t visited me last night?” He asked.

“I fell asleep on my vanity table,” she confessed. “I might need a massage tonight.”

“I can do that. We both need to relax,” he said it because it was true. He brought his glass to his lips. “Plenty of ways to relax.”

She gave him another pointed look but there was a hint of a smirk on her face. She sipped her drink silently and he followed her gaze as she focused on the kids and tutted her tongue slightly.

“They’re just awful at this,” she complained. “They won’t get much better than this, will they?”

“Nope,” Haymitch said at once. “No use getting frustrated over that, believe me.”

“I’ll get the cards. We can go over the speeches now,” Effie said, standing up. “Then later we can have some time to… relax.”

He perked up in his seat. “I knew you could change our schedule for the better, princess.”

She winked as she passed by him to leave the living room cart, though not before rearranging Katniss and Peeta and reminding them to work on their postures.

Haymitch simply shook his head and took a sip from his whiskey.

9.

The bangs on her door were enough for Effie to sit up alarmingly. Her first thought as she put on her robe was that he must have gotten into trouble somehow; she knew he was fairly drunk when she left the ball two hours ago with Katniss and Peeta in tow. He had been MIA through most of it, from what she had noted, and she could only hope he was okay.

Granted, she did not fully expect to see him by her door, sans jacket and with his vest already open, as if he had started undressing but remembered her.

“You locked your door,” were his first words. 

Effie frowned. “I always lock my door. Especially when I’m not expecting visitors. Come in.”

She stepped aside, running a hand through her hair because, well, she had been nearly asleep just a minute ago. She closed the door behind him and heard him turn on the radio as per usual, though he kept it mute. She figured Beetee might have given him something.

She locked the door, just one turn with the key, and Haymitch’s arms sneaked around her waist then, and she leaned into him. He pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Sorry I left you to chaperone the kids today,” he said softly.

Effie shook her head, turning in his arms. “You do know that that’s my job, right?”

“Yeah, but I know it’s been a stressful few weeks,” Haymitch continued. “Just had a lot of people to see today.”

“You seemed way more drunk when I saw you last,” she noted. She couldn’t particularly smell alcohol on him. 

“I’m a good actor,” he winked. “I should have made time for a dance with you, though. It’s not every day we get to be the winning team during the Victory Ball.”

She laced her fingers together behind his neck and sighed. “You should have. But I won’t hold it against you. I barely had time for myself.”

“Did the kids do okay with their waltz?” He asked, one hand already toying with the loose knot of her robe.

“They were passable. I don’t think anyone cared,” she huffed.

“Told ya,” he grinned at her.

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed that grin away.

“Go take a shower. You’re tired too,” she whispered against his lips. “I’ll be here waiting.”

He gave her another peck and did as she told him to; Effie took off her robe and moved back to the bed, settling comfortably against her pillow as she heard the shower running from the adjacent bathroom. She only closed her eyes for a minute, her mind already recounting whatever events of the day, relieved that Haymitch was back on the train. She only opened them again when she felt the bed dip and an arm sneak around her waist, pulling her close. The bedroom was dark then.

“Go back to sleep,” Haymitch whispered.

She leaned back against him, pulled his arm closer, and took a deep breath, feeling herself relax as she turned around and settled her face against the crook of her neck. He smelled like fresh flowers — her usual setting for the shower. It made her secretly happy when he smelled a bit like her.

“Good night, darling,” she mumbled against his skin. She felt his hand draw comforting circles on her lower back.

“Good night, princess,” she heard him say, and it was a sweet thing to hear before she succumbed to what would be her first restful sleep since the beginning of the tour.

10.

Haymitch found himself wandering through the familiar corridors as he left the dinner party, not that he thought there was much to celebrate, but he supposed even Coin felt the need to up the morale after they had taken over the City and the mansion. The food was much better than the rationed stuff they had all been eating for months, there were drinks and dessert and music and it all felt…

Haymitch felt strangely detached.

The music sounded wrong, the drinks looked way too tempting, and the food tasted stale. It was hard to celebrate when the country was torn apart. Katniss was almost burned to death, contained to her bed in the hospital wing, mourning her sister. With Peeta standing in the corner, judging them all and himself included. Only seven victors remained - they were the true survivors in all this. And in exchange for what?

Just another damn narcissistic dictator calling the shots.

If only he could drink himself to oblivion. His part was done ages ago. He could be well on his way to some cabin somewhere. Some place for him to spend the rest of his days. But he had promised Effie he’d look after their victors. Even if he was doing a bad job so far.

After maybe fifteen or twenty minutes of walking around, he entered the library. He had always liked this place. He had even stolen a few books here and there without anyone noticing. It was the one room in this house that didn’t smell like those damn roses. It just smelled of books and mahogany.

He turned on the light, hoping to find some book to take back to his quarters for the night when someone gasped and only then he noticed there was someone else there. He could recognize that golden hair anywhere, even if it had lost a bit of its color.

“Effie,” he breathed. Her hair was much shorter now, barely reaching her neck, and she was wearing a large coat that he recognized as one of his. It made her look smaller than she was.

She blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the light, and pursed her lips. “Haymitch. Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

Her voice lacked warmth, but he was getting used to that. She was rescued six days ago, having been imprisoned for four months. She didn’t like to talk about her time there; he had read her file and knew what had happened. He knew the causes of her hollow cheeks and blackened nails, of her twisted ankle, and how they cut her hair there. 

She had been kind to him since they reunited.

It killed him.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” He retorted. She gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“I just wanted to get out of there for a bit,” Effie sighed. “Now that I don’t have guards on my door anymore, or people waiting to question me.”

He hummed his ascent, walking closer to her. He supposed there was at least once a cause of celebration. He and Plutarch had managed to convince Coin to spare Effie just two days ago. 

“I didn’t thank you for that,” she continued, giving him a soft smile.

He shook his head, stopping just beside her spot by the window. The city didn’t look as destroyed in the dark. “That was more Plutarch than me, princess. Thank him later.”

“Well, thank you, anyway,” she went on, stubborn as usual. “They released me from the hospital earlier. I didn’t know where to go afterward.”

He looked up. “They were supposed to let me know about that. Shit. I must have been in another goddamn meeting.”

“That’s fine. I know you’ve been busy,” she was quick to say.

“No, just… you can stay with me. If you want to,” he offered.

“I am. I mean, I asked around to get to your quarters. Where do you think I got this?” She let out a tiny laugh, motioning to her coat. It was the first time he heard her laugh since they got her back. “I hope you won’t mind. Just until I go back home. If it’s even standing.”

“I don’t mind. I mean, I just offered,” he mentally kicked himself. “Your building’s still standing, I checked. But it’s interdicted. It was the first place I checked when I got here.”

“Right. That doesn’t surprise me,” she sighed, looking out the window. 

He watched her with guarded eyes. She was quieter these days. She had already started therapy and had even told Haymitch to pick it up too (he didn’t). In some ways, she looked the same to him. In others, she was an entirely different person. They had both changed too much. War had changed everyone. Four months ago — he was pretty sure he would have simply dragged her back to his (their) quarters and they’d have their own celebration of everything. Perhaps if they hadn’t been separated through it all…

Well. He wasn’t one to duel on what-ifs.

So he watched her, memorizing her like this. Free at last, both of them, at least technically, for the first time. Her hair framed her face, a little wavy without all the cosmetic stuff she used to apply. He liked it. Her eyes lacked the usual mirth, but they weren’t as hollow as when he had seen her again earlier this week.

“It looks kind of pretty, doesn’t it?”

He looked out the window, mimicking her gaze. “What does?”

“The city,” Effie replied. “I’ve never seen it so covered in snow like this before. In the dark, you can’t see the destruction.”

“Yeah. It looks kinda pretty,” he agreed, then looked back at her. “You look pretty too.”

This made her huff and avert her eyes. “Please.”

“I mean it. I like the hair,” Haymitch commented, trying to sound natural and not like he was walking on a tightrope here. “It suits you.”

“You need a haircut, by the way,” she noted, trying to change the subject back to him. He was going to complain, but then he felt her palm on his cheek. “You need to shave too.”

“It’s been hard,” he confessed, lifting one hand to show her. “Unsteady hands since they left me to dry up. It’s getting better, but it’s slow.”

“I can cut your hair. I’ve done it before,” she muttered, assessing the damage. He let her pull at his cheek to see from some other angle. “I could shave you too, I suppose. If you’d trust me.”

He had always insisted on shaving himself before, that was true. Mainly because he was worried she’d make his face clear of facial hair.

He covered the hand that was still on his cheek with his own. “I trust you.”

Effie didn’t pull away. “Do you really?”

He nodded. “Intimately. You know that.”

Haymitch had barely finished speaking when he felt her lips on his. It caught him by surprise, sure, but he was quick to pull her close, to cherish the way her lips felt soft against his, just like all those times before. They had only kissed once when they reunited in that hospital wing days ago. It had been a desperate thing. He had been too focused on checking if she was bruised to actually savor it.

This was slower. She slipped her free hand under his jacket and he cupped her cheek. Their breaths mingled. She didn’t smell like fresh flowers here. But she smelled of that generic soap everyone used, and of herself, and it was exquisite. They had time now.

“I’ve missed you,” she said as she pulled away. “I’m not sure if I’ve told you that.”

“You did,” he assured her, pulling her close. “I’ve missed you too. Every day.”

She settled her head on his shoulder and sighed. 

“I feel so lost sometimes,” she whispered against his skin. “Sometimes I think they did drive me crazy in there. They tried to. Is it ever going to get better?”

He took a deep breath. “Life goes on, princess. That’s something I’ve learned.”

She nodded against him. They were quiet for a few moments until she spoke again.

“Is it wrong that I miss the way things used to be too?”

He smiled at that.

“No. I miss them too,” he confessed. “It was fucked up. But we were almost whole.”

He felt her smile against his neck. “Almost.”

“Yeah, well,” he rubbed his palm on her back. “We’re only human. We survive.”

She sighed further against him. Somewhere else in the mansion, someone laughed out loud. It felt like another world. But so much of the same too.

“You should go back to the festivities,” Effie muttered. “They’ll miss you.”

This time Haymitch was the one to huff. “They won’t miss me.”

“Maybe you’ll want a dance with that president of yours,” she continued, and now he had to pull away to see if she was serious.

There it was. That slight glint in her blue eyes.

“Hell no,” he laughed. It was the first time he honestly laughed in well over a week. “We should go to our quarters. It’s getting late.”

“Let’s just watch the snow fall for a bit more,” she requested, moving so her back was to him but settling comfortably in his arms. “It soothes me.”

“Alright,” he agreed easily, not missing the irony in that sentence. It did soothe him too.

Snow fell. And life went on.

He pulled her close against his chest and thought for the first time since this whole thing started that maybe they’d be alright after all.

11.

Haymitch sighed to himself as he took a sip of the drink in his hand and cringed inwardly.

Juice. Orange juice. Not even a slight hint of mimosa at that.

“You sure you’re okay?” Katniss asked from across the table.

They had decided to come out of the village to join the harvest festivities of the summer. There weren’t that many people in the newly restored square (with much difference from the way it was before) but it was filled with old and new residents and it was a merry affair so far. There was a band, there was some food. And there was beer somewhere too.

But here he was. Drinking orange juice.

He shrugged. “Yeah, just annoyed. You?”

“Fine,” she shrugged too.

What a pair they made. As opposed to Peeta and Effie, who seemed to be having a lot of fun dancing with everyone else. She had been hesitant to join in, not knowing the steps of the dance, still not very familiar with all the faces in the district, but then again neither were them; just a little encouragement from Peeta and off she went.

“Effie got the hang of it,” the girl commented.

Haymitch looked at her from the table, and she and Peeta were smiling before changing partners. She was dancing with Thom now.

“Yeah, she’s always been the life of the dancefloor,” he replied, not uncaring.

“It’s been kind of nice,” Katniss continued, “having her around.”

He averted his eyes from Effie to look at the girl, who was busy having some fries. 

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “It surprised me. She’s nicer to talk to now. I know she’s been through some stuff.”

He took another sip of the juice. “Yeah, well… we all have.”

“Even if she did nag me about bringing game to your house,” Katniss complained. “Now I have to clean it all up at my place.”

“How annoying for you,” he had no sympathy in his voice as he said it, which earned him a glare.

“Anyway,” Katniss sighed, “I know you don’t need my opinion or whatever.”

“I sure don’t.”

“But I’m gonna give it anyway,” another glare. “She’s good to you.”

Huh. Not what he was expecting. Not that he didn’t think so, more like… he didn’t think Katniss would think so.

He must have appeared surprised because Katniss had the decency to look slightly embarrassed.

“I mean, she got here a few months ago and you haven’t relapsed once,” she explained. “Your house is habitable. You’re eating well. You look… better. And so does she. So… I hope she’ll stay.”

“She’s staying, sweetheart,” he assured her. “How’s the boy?”

Katniss sighed. “He’s fine. We’re good. As friends, I think.”

“Yeah,” Haymitch agreed. “Small steps.”

They both stared at the dancefloor, where Peeta and Effie were still engaged in. Effie caught his gaze and arched her eyebrows, looking very proud of herself. He grinned back. He was proud of her too.

“Why don’t you join them?” Katniss asked.

“Nah. Let them have their fun,” he explained. It had been years since he joined that kind of dance. Decades even. Probably at his mother’s insistence. It was a memory he had almost forgotten. He looked at Katniss. “Why don’t you go?”

She took another fry and shook her head. “I’m good.”

He supposed it was already a big deal that they all got out of the house and celebrated this once. Even if it was with orange juice and fries.

Though soon enough the pair returned to the table, Effie sitting by Haymitch and Peeta by Katniss (with a respectful distance between them). Effie took Haymitch’s glass and drank the rest of his orange juice, her cheeks red from exertion and eyes glinting.

“Dance with me,” she asked, tugging at his arm.

He was going to complain because he was very fine with sitting here wallowing in the lack of alcohol in his system. But he sighed and nodded. She was too pretty and happy for him to refuse.

“Just one dance,” he gave in, ignoring the way Peeta and Katniss laughed at his lack of reluctance.

They had shared enough dances or almost dances over the years, but as he danced with Effie here in Twelve… he couldn’t help but think of the full circle they had done. For some reason despite everything they ended up here , of all places.

Despite the fact neither of them could cook much and had never lived together for longer periods, she arrived three months ago and they were… surprisingly good together. Even if she did put his kitchen curtains on fire once. Not that he cared for them. She took the opportunity to start renovating their kitchen instead.

Not his anymore; theirs. 

Realization hit him then; it was like he knew it but he also didn’t before, despite his exchange of words with Katniss. He was dancing in a group with Effie Trinket by his side. And she wasn’t leaving. And neither was he.

The steps changed and they gravitated together as the other couples started dancing together again. Effie’s hand met his shoulder and she was focused on the dance, careful not to mess it up, and her short hair was a little wild and her eyes were the bluest of blues.

“What?” She asked when she noticed his staring. “I’m doing it all wrong, aren’t I?”

He shook his head, still in a daze.

“I love you,” Haymitch told her very quietly.

Effie’s smile grew wider, softer. “I know that.”

“Never hurts to claim it now and then,” he muttered, pulling her close — closer than was necessary for the song.

“That’s true,” she agreed. “Imagine that. You being romantic in public. Must be my alluring dance moves.”

“Don’t push it,” he said very seriously before grinning down at her. 

She laughed and no amount of liquor could give him the same high then. 

12.

Effie hummed to herself as she spread butter on the bread and put it on the tray. She added some apple juice for good measure and contemplated getting some chocolate from the pantry… surely there would be enough time to melt it and they did have strawberries in the fridge…

It was decided. Strawberry and chocolate were always a yes in this house, after all. She quickly made do with the water from the kettle, still hot from their earlier tea and put the chocolate in a bowl so it would melt quicker.

“You said you were getting the bread and it’s been ten minutes,” Haymitch’s voice erupted from the doorway.

Effie turned just slightly around, trying not to look guilty with the bowl of strawberries in her hand.

“Princess, it’s a toasting, not dessert,” Haymitch scoffed good-naturedly. “Did you butter up the bread?”

“If you think I’m eating plain bread you are mistaken,” she retorted, moving back to her task. “Every tradition can be mixed up now and then, you know. It adds modernity to it.”

Haymitch chuckled. “Is that what you’re gonna tell our kids when they ask about our toasting?”

“As far as I’m aware I’m only cooking one up right now,” she said sweetly, her hand instinctively caressing her protruding belly. “And I’ll tell them I had the marvelous idea of adding butter to the toast which will make them taste much better.”

Effie was only five months along, not yet showing a whole lot (a bad thing, in her opinion; she didn’t exactly look pregnant, and it didn’t work with her appearance all that well, she thought, even if Haymitch liked it. But then he always had a different taste on everything), and while it took maybe two or three weeks for her to get used to the fact that they were going to have a child, it surprised her with how well Haymitch had taken the news.

Even if she wasn’t quite pleased with him asking to marry her about ten minutes after she told him she was pregnant.

She forgave him when he confessed he had had the ring picked out over a year ago before he had left the Capitol with Katniss.

“Alright, I’ll take the tray,” he offered. “You bring the chocolate.”

Effie hummed her ascent. Of course, he wouldn’t say no to chocolate too.

Just a few minutes later she entered the living room. The fire was warming the room nicely in the growing winter, and she sat down beside him on the floor and watched as he took a piece of toast from the tray.

“Alright,” she clapped her hands once. “What do we do now?”

Haymitch shrugged. “I toast the bread. You eat it. Then you toast one, and I eat it.”

“That’s it?” Effie frowned. 

“I think so. I haven’t actually been part of toasting before,” he joked, nudging her slightly.

“I should hope not,” she retorted. “Don’t toast mine too much, you know I’m picky about toast.”

“Don’t worry, I know that,” he said patiently as he turned the stick in his hand to toast the bread. 

Effie watched him closely, thinking he looked very handsome with his shorter hair and trimmed beard. The wonders a woman could do to a man’s life.

“Alright, it’s done,” he announced, blowing against the bread a couple of times before offering to her. She took a bite.m. “Is that okay?”

“Mmm, it’s perfect,” Effie smiled before eating the rest. “Should we say anything?”

“No idea. No one ever gave me the step-by-step,” he shrugged, and maybe it was the hormones but she instantly thought of his mother and how young he was when he lost her. 

There was a moment of silence as she munched the bread and he brushed his thumb against the side of her mouth to get some crumbles out.

“Okay, I’ll do yours now. I promise not to burn it,” she winked at him.

She picked the stick and carefully chose a piece of bread for it before putting it against the fire.

“As long as you don’t burn down the house,” he teased her, eyes glinting.

“That was just one time!” Effie said. “And it was just those curtains. We needed to replace them anyway.”

“Right, of course.”

“I’m doing better, you’ve said it,” she defended herself.

“We both are,” he corrected her. “We need to, otherwise how are we gonna feed Junior in a few years?”

“Please don’t call her that,” Effie asked but couldn’t help but laugh. At this point, he only did it to irritate her.

“We both know I’ll end up calling her princess anyway,” Haymitch added.

Effie took the bread from the fire and blew it off. “I guess I’ve outgrown that nickname.”

“Never,” he promised. She offered him the bread, which he ate all at once. She put down the stick, serving the apple juice in two glasses for the two of them. “The butter was a nice touch.”

“I knew you’d like it,” she gave him a fond smile and he leaned forward to catch her lips in a kiss. It was short and sweet, and she caressed her cheeks as he pulled away. “So… now we’re married?”

Haymitch nodded. “We have been since this afternoon at the registrar, but yes, this is official now.”

“Good,” she decided. “Well, I want to say a few words.”

Haymitch took a glass from the tray and took a sip. “Go on, then.”

“Just that… I love you,” Effie declared. “I know you’ll be a good father, just like you already are a good husband. I know I’m a bit of a perfectionist,” she added for good measure, to which he smirked, “and no one is perfect. But I’ll be sappy and say that you’re perfect for us.”

He kissed her again then, deeper this time. She rested her forehead on his and smiled.

“I’m sorry this ain’t the big wedding you wanted,” he sighed.

She did want a big wedding, before. Dreamed of it even. After the war, though, with all its still limited resources, it just wouldn’t feel right to throw a big party and it wasn’t like her family in the Capitol would have a proper place to stay in Twelve. With the pregnancy on top of it all, well — it was a no-brainer. 

“No, it’s perfect,” Effie retorted. “At the end of the day, it’s always been just us. And that’s how I like it.”

“Maybe when the baby is born we can have one,” he suggested. “Invite our friends. We can do speeches… I’ll even ask you for a dance.”

“Maybe,” her eyes glinted as she spoke. “I’ll want the dance anyway.”

“You got it, my love,” he pressed a kiss against her hair. He moved just a bit to reach for the chocolate and strawberry bowl. “Okay, dessert.”

“Now we’re talking,” she sat up straighter and accepted the strawberry he was holding, humming her joy. 

“My turn now,” he said, but instead of taking a strawberry, he went straight for her.

Effie laughed into his lips, pulling him towards her as they both fell together against the carpet.

For once, the future tasted sweet.