Hello! So this os is a prompt that was sent to me on tumblr (ellanainthetardis is anyone is interrested in leaving another prompt there), I was asked for: "Effie gets a wee bit tipsy with Haymitch and she ends up getting a bit cheeky or naughty, the next morning Haymitch can't contain himself and keeps reminding her what she was like XD". Drunk Effie is funny to write :)

Thanks to Akachankami for the beta!

Drunken Mishap

By the time Haymitch arrived at the victory party, it was late and most people were either sprawled out on various couches or doing what passed for dancing in this part of the country. The place was still packed: Capitol decadence at its best. For once, it suited Haymitch: free alcohol at will and the satisfaction of knowing that, just this once, District 12 won. He would worry about the repercussions of Katniss' little stunt with the berries later, for now, he was content to know the girl and Peeta were safe and sound in the best medical facility the Capitol had to offer.

He darted towards the liquor table, avoiding all the hypocrites who wanted to congratulate him. He spotted Chaff and Finnick by the far end door, laughing with a bunch of tipsy Capitol women – or laughing at tipsy Capitol women. It was hard to tell the difference sometimes.

"Haymitch!"

He froze at the sound of her high-pitched voice, his glass of whiskey already half-way to his lips. "It's the first…" Or rather the fifth, but she didn't need to know that. "…I had all day, back off, Princess." He turned around and blinked at her unusual attire. She was always one for silly clothes but today, she was at the top of her game. There was so many taunts to choose from he didn't even know what to say : her leopard dress, her disproportionate tawny wig and her impossible see-through high-heels… "If that's your way of paying a tribute to Katniss' wild side, you should know she would shoot you on sight in that dress. Mistake you for a duck or something. "

She stared at him for a few seconds and then waved his argument away. "Pour me a drink."

"A drink" he repeated, a little skeptically. "Since when do you drink?" He had never seen her drink anything stronger than orange juice in all the years they had known each other.

"Since always." She snatched his still untouched whiskey from him and knocked it back in one long swallow before giving him the empty glass back. "I just don't do it when you're here because one of us should be sober. I want another one."

Looking at her more closely, he could see the effects of the alcohol : her eyes were a little unfocused and she seemed more unbalanced than usual on her heels. "Don't you think you had enough?" The irony wasn't lost on him, she usually was the one asking that very question. Given how irking it had always been for him, he probably should have let her drink her fill and watch her make a show of herself, but, for some strange reason he didn't care to delve too much into, she was his friend and he supposed that meant looking out for her.

"No, I don't." she replied, very seriously even though the question was a rhetorical one. "We won!" She hugged him suddenly, just as she did earlier, when they announced Peeta and Katniss as the 74th Hunger Games victors. She let go before he could do so much as try to stabilize her and went for one of the bottles on the table behind him. Her heels, however, didn't seem to cooperate with her and she tripped, clumsily stumbling against him. He instinctively caught her around the waist to make sure she wouldn't fall. "Oh, sorry…" She giggled with too much mirth, before patting his chest, her other hand clutching his belt to help her stand upright.

Definitely too much to drink.

"Careful, I have a knife in there." And he didn't fancy the idea of dropping it for everyone to see, in a party attended by the highest Capitol citizens, right after what Katniss did with her berries. It wouldn't take much more to get him accused of assassination attempts.

"I bet."

He had to do a double-take on that one because, really? But her grin was entirely too innocent and the soft pats on his chest were quickly becoming obvious fondling.

"Look, I don't know how much you had to drink, sweet…" The moniker died on his lips because he couldn't call her sweetheart when she looked like that. Princess wouldn't do either because she didn't look like her usual parrot self. There was something feral in her eyes that was only enhanced by her dress. She was looking at him like a wild beast about to pounce. He knew that look. He had never actually seen it on her face before but he had been with enough women to recognize it. There was no mistaking the way she pressed against him, either. "Effie."

"Yes?" she asked, all innocent, while sneaking closer to him – which was a feat in itself because there wasn't much space to begin with.

"Trinket, you're wasted." He went for stern. Had it been anyone else, he probably would have taken a shot at her. But it was Effie and he wasn't about to seduce her – or let himself be seduced, in that case – when she was too drunk to know what she was doing.

"Is that bad?" She snuggled against him, nibbling softly on his jaw. "You do it all the time…"

He noticed some people pointing at them, and the cameras were still recording… "And if this is your idea of punishment, it's effective." He was tempted to let her make a spectacle of herself, just for the fun of it, but there was a huge difference between teasing and public humiliation and he doubted she would like to see her inebriated self on television. "Bedtime for you, I think."

He was annoyed at the hand that kept roaming on his chest because it was beginning to distract him from his righteous decisions – he hated righteous decisions in general. He was also annoyed at the distinct lack of alcohol in his system.

"Bed." she hummed softly. "Beds are good. They're all soft and warm."

"You're such a poet." He slowly guided her towards the exit, which was harder than it seemed, given that she was still clinging to him.

"You can do all sort of things in bed…" she mused, as they were waiting for the elevator. She leaned her head on his shoulder like it was an everyday occurrence.

"Sleep." He caught her hand before it wandered a little too low for his comfort – or sanity. "That's all you're gonna do in bed tonight. Sleep."

Her pout shouldn't have affected him as much as it did, but the pout and the hands she insisted on putting all over his body were quickly becoming too much for him to handle. He was relieved when the elevator finally arrived, four floor to go and he wouldn't have to worry about doing something he would regret anymore. She would never forgive him if he acted on her drunken advances. He wouldn't forgive himself either, came to think of that.

The elevator had just chimed when he felt it. "Sweetheart, are you groping my ass?" Her giggle were enough of an answer. "You would rip my hand off if I did that to you." He steered her in the direction of her bedroom, wondering why she had to be so bloody difficult.

"You did." she whispered, in a conniving voice. "Several times. You do that all the time when you're drunk. I don't mind. I like it. But you mustn't tell anyone because it isn't proper. You put all kind of improper thoughts into my head, that's not very nice of you."

"Are you set on killing me?" he inquired, in all sincerity. If her aim had been to arouse him, she had succeeded and it was quickly becoming more painful than enjoyable. "Sit."

She collapsed more than she sat on her bed but he wasn't about to be picky. He crouched in front of her and fumbled with her heels, wondering why shoes had to be so damn complicated to remove.

"I really like you, Haymitch." she said, completely out of the blue, when he finally succeeded in taking off her right shoe. "You're a good man. Rude and uneducated, but good."

She slurred on the word 'uneducated' and it made him smile because she wasn't one to falter in her speech. "You're an uptight bitch half the time and you're the most annoying woman I've ever met." He attacked the other shoe but she kicked him softly with her bare foot.

"See?" She sounded triumphant. "Rude. I paid you a compliment you should reciprocate."

She really shouldn't try those big words when she was wasted, they ended up all smirched together and not at all understandable. But he'd knew her long enough to know what she wanted to say. He considered himself to be Effie-fluent.

"Well…" he said, taking of the second shoe. "You are. But, I'm still here. It should tell you all you need to know."

"You like me?" She was insistent and he was tired. He sighed and got up, ignoring the cracking of his knees, to pull back the comforter.

"Get into bed, Princess. It's all soft and warm." He would tease her merciless about that in the morning, he promised himself.

She complied, yawning so widely he was a little afraid her jaw would block. "But, do you?" she asked again when he threw the covers on her. "Like me?"

He kissed her forehead because he could and because he kind of wanted to climb into bed with her so an innocent kiss on her head seemed a good compromise. "More than I should, probably."

She was out cold before he even reached the door.

Effie woke up with the mother of all headaches. She must have forgotten to set her alarm because it was much later than she usually got up and the list of everything left to plan was quickly becoming a subject of stress. She was quite in a frenzy when she entered the dining-room, breakfast was still on the table, Haymitch was nursing a cup of coffee – which was surprising because he was rarely up before noon when the Games weren't on – and she was too busy wondering what to wear at the crowning ceremony to notice his smirk.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

"No need to shout." She let out a painful hiss. "Really, Haymitch."

She swallowed her entire glass of orange juice in one go, her throat felt parched. Headache, thirst… She recognized the symptoms : she had too much to drink the night before. The party had been a total success. Everyone had wanted to congratulate her, speak to her, dance with her… It had all been perfect. Everything she had hope for when she had first become an escort. But she had indulged a little too much in alcohol, she knew. Her memories of the last part of the evening were blurred.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked with unusual thoughtfulness.

"Yes, thank you." She wasn't really hungry so she read again the list in her notepad. Everything would be perfect for Katniss' and Peeta's crowning if she had anything to say about it. The first thing to do was to call Cinna and Portia.

"Sure? Was the bed soft and warm?"

"What sort of idiotic question is that?" she frowned, noticing for the first time that morning that he looked too smug for his own good. Or her own, really.

"You tell me." There was a twinkle in his eyes she didn't like one bit. "Or you could tell me what it is you do in bed beside sleeping, I'm curious…"

Her first reaction was to be outraged by his appalling behavior but then the words clicked and she remembered. Oh, boy, did she remember...

"What sort of improper thoughts come into your head at night, Princess?" he teased her. "You seemed particularly interested in my knife, last night…"

"Stop!" she shrieked, hiding her face in her hands in utter mortification. "I was drunk, it doesn't count!"

He only laughed at that. A loud cheerful laugh she had never heard before. He wasn't often genuinely amused.

"I never make fun of what you say when you're drunk!" she snapped. She could feel the heat radiating from her cheeks and she knew she was crimson.

Still, he kept on laughing, hooking his foot around the leg of her chair and dragging her closer. He half-rose, then, a hand on the table, the other on the back of the chair, for balance, and leaned close to her ear. When he spoke, she could feel his breath roll against her neck and she couldn't suppress a shiver – which, for the record, was nearly as embarrassing as his teasing. "You should ask me when you're sober, sweetheart." She drawn in a breath but by the time she recovered enough to speak, he was gone.