I'm OBSESSED with Hayffie. I'm not Suzanne Collins. If I was, I'd have had had more Haymitch.
The reception was beautiful, the bride even more so. He was happy for her. She deserved some peace after everything she'd been through.
He of all people knew how the Games could strip you raw and leave you incredibly alone.
She had had something he hadn't: another Victor. And that Victor looked as if Christmas had come early, to be holding her in his arms, as his bride. He was finally able to claim his true prize, and out of all three of them, perhaps he, the groom, was the only one who had truly won something after all.
He'd be the first Victor to ever do so.
But even though Katniss Everdeen—now Mrs. Peeta Mellark—was the talk of the town in her Cinna inspired wedding dress, Haymitch Abernathy only had eyes for one person.
It'd been five years since they'd seen each other. Five long years since the Revolution was won. Five years since he had found her in a dungeon, broken, battered, and bruised. Five years since he'd gotten on that train that would take him back to 12, Katniss Everdeen in tow, and never looked back.
He'd left his heart in the Capitol.
He'd told himself that he wasn't nervous about seeing her after all this time.
He had no reason, no right, really, to be nervous.
Still, it'd been three years since he'd picked up a bottle, and at the sight of her, he thought about how glorious it would be to get blindly drunk and block it all out—everything.
Katniss and Peeta, however, never one to let Haymitch be tempted to fall back into his old ways, decided that they would not serve alcohol at their reception, and at the time he had appreciated the gesture, but damn it all to hell if he didn't hate them for it in this exact moment.
It was times like these he remembered how lonely he truly was.
He'd never been one for company. Not since he was sixteen in age but years older in mind—a boy forced into manhood way too early—and came home to a house smelling of heartache and poison—the death of his mother and brother. And then, then he ran three houses down, to the only girl he loved, and found her very much the same way.
And before he could even properly grieve, he was whisked off to the Capitol, his first Reaping day as Mentor, and he tried, he really tried, but those two kids didn't stand a fucking chance.
Neither did the ones after that.
They started to haunt his dreams every night, and they bought out the memories of his Games, so by the time he had faced his third Game as a Mentor, he had found comfort in the bottle.
It was brilliant and glorious the way the alcohol made him forget.
It'd be damned lovely if he could forget his former Escort.
But no. He'd suffer through her memory because he deserved it, because he left her. He had a bad habit of choosing Katniss Everdeen over the good ones. He'd chosen Katniss over Peeta, yet Peeta was the one who respected him. He and Katniss fought like cats and dogs, and had up until he stopped drinking.
And he chose Katniss over her, yet she was the one who loved him. Katniss, meanwhile, spent the past few years hating him for choosing her over Peeta in the Arena. Katniss blamed him for Peeta's capture, and it took years to repair that relationship.
They were fine now. He never thought they'd be, but somehow she'd cared enough to come up to him and ask him to walk her down the aisle. And that simple question nearly made it all worth it to him.
Until he caught of glimpse of her, and then he was weak in the knees and his palms were sweaty and his heart wouldn't stop pounding.
"You should ask her to dance," said a voice, and Haymitch would have jumped out of his skin if he hadn't been a former Victor and the leader of a Revolution. Fortunately he didn't scare easily.
Unless he was forced to talk about things like this.
"What are you talkin' about?" Haymitch asked, staring at Plutarch Heavensbee.
"You've been staring at her all night," replied Plutarch with a smile, and Haymitch's heart sunk. "I don't think anybody but me noticed, Haymitch." There was amusement in his voice, and Haymitch scowled. "I highly doubt she'll turn you down."
Haymitch snorted. He didn't really know her.
Plutarch shrugged. "Welp, suit yourself. I'm going to ask her to dance, though."
And he did.
Haymitch tried not to be bitter while he watched them on the dance floor, and he bit the inside of his jaw when Plutarch dipped her low and she threw back her head and laughed.
It was truly the most amazing thing he'd ever heard.
He found himself walking towards her when a song came among. A terribly sad song, sung by a man who talked about tasting this moment, and breathing life, and sooner or later it'd be over, but he just didn't want to miss her tonight.
"May I interrupt?" asked Haymitch quietly, and the man—whoever the hell he was—bowed out gracefully, leaving the two of them alone.
She didn't immediately answer. He watched as she visibly swallowed, her hand moving to her neck, and then her hair.
She was nervous.
"Hello, Haymitch," she finally said, and her voice was strong, despite the fact that her hands were shaking.
"Hello, Effie," replied Haymitch. "May I have this dance?"
"Well I thought you'd never ask."
And then she was in his arms, and suddenly, all was right with the world. He literally felt the ground shift from underneath him.
"You look beautiful, Effie." And damn it she did. The wig was gone. Her hair had grown back, it's natural red hue flecked with a few strands of gray. Her eyes, wide with surprise, were glass blue, gorgeously reflecting the moon. Her soft skin was pale, and absolutely perfect, like everything else about her, from her natural face to her simple yet exquisite dress she wore in honor of Katniss and Peeta's wedding.
"Sobriety suits you," she responded softly, and he gave her a lazy smile. "You became everything I hoped you would. Except… without me."
He nearly choked, but somehow he was able to say, "And you? What happened to the wigs, and the excess makeup, and crazy costumes?"
She smiled sadly at him. "They died, along with that woman, in that jail cell five years ago." He stared at her then, really looked at her, and saw her eyes darken with unshed tears.
"Effie—"
"You, Sir, are still in badly need of a haircut." She said this with a genuine smile, and he knew she would not cry. Not for him. Not because of him. Not in front of him.
"I'll have you know that Flavius trimmed my hair just today."
"Well I must have a talk with him about a proper haircut then." He laughed and she chimed in.
When the song changed, Effie sighed and, in a bold move, rested her head on his shoulder. He tightened his grip on her as they slow danced, this time to a song asking what day and month it was, the clock never seeming so alive and how he was losing time, and it was just him and her and all of the people, and him not being able to keep his eyes off of her.
"Beautiful song," Effie whispered, and Haymitch felt his eyes prickle with tears. But he'd be damned if he lost it, after all this time, in this moment. "Haymitch."
It was something about the way she said his name that made him gently pushed her away so that he could look at her.
"I should get home. It's late." He saw the rejection on her face and hated himself for it. "Your fiancé is probably looking for you. I know if you were mine, I wouldn't let you out of my sight for very long." He looked at the engagement ring on her finger, and then forced himself to look back into her eyes. "I'm glad you're happy, Effie. You deserve every bit of happiness that comes your way."
"Haymitch—"
"Goodnight, Effie," he interrupted, and placed a gentle lingering kiss on her cheek.
"Goodnight Haymitch," said Effie softly as she watched him walk away, back straight, head held high.
She didn't even notice the tears fall down her face and splash onto her silk dress.
XxXxXx
He stood there, in the middle of his kitchen, in front of his cabinet, head bowed, breathing deeply, hands clenching the counter so tightly his knuckles were white.
A single, lonesome bottle was in front of him.
He wanted to walk away. He knew he should walk away. Was he really about to undo three years because he'd been stupid enough to walk away from her? Could she really have had this affect on him, even after all this time?
He knew she would be here. Katniss and Peeta had long prepared him.
But the shock of her bringing someone, a large diamond glittering on her dainty little finger… well, that just about undid him.
He was surprised he had held himself back this long.
"Walk the fuck away, Haymitch," he said quietly. "You've endured worse than this."
He took a deep breath, determined to turn around. If he could just turn around, he could walk away. Why'd he keep this stupid ass bottle anyway?
For emergencies, he reminded himself, because sometimes addicts couldn't give it all up cold turkey.
Jesus fucking Christ.
His hands shook with the anticipation of taking a sip.
And then—
"Don't you know it's rude to walk away from a girl when she's trying to confess her love to you?"
He spun around so fast he was lucky he didn't fall—or break something at his age.
He backed all the way into the counter, his eyes wide with surprise, as he took her in. If it were possible she looked even more beautiful than she had a few moments ago.
"Effie," was all he was able to get out, before she walked up to him, and then her lips were on his and he was had wrapped his arms around her and she was moaning into his mouth, pushing her body against his to get as close as humanly possible.
The sound of his buttons hitting the floor was magnified as Effie ripped open his shirt. Her lips were hot liquid as she placed kisses along his jawline, and then on his neck, and finally further down to his chest. Her nails found his back and she scraped them from his waist to the top of his head, where she pulled him in for an even deeper kiss.
He growled, shoving his tongue into her mouth, and she opened her mouth wider to give him better access.
And then suddenly their roles were reversed, and he had her against the counter, her legs spread wide, his hands working magic in between her thighs. She squirmed, moaned, and threw her head back, granting him access to that long, beautifully slender neck, and came.
He left a mark on her neck to claim her as his.
He didn't bother unzipping her dress; he just hiked it up. She unbuckled his pants, pulling them down, and making quick work of it, he slipped into her.
They moaned in unison, his name on her lips.
Haymitch. Simply Haymitch.
She buried her face in his neck, gasping at each thrust, and he pulled her head back by her hair. "Look at me," he told her. "I want to see you."
And see her he did. She was stunning, particularly the way her skin flushed from desire.
When her eyes darkened to navy, and she clenched around him, moaning out his name in a simple plea, almost like a prayer, he poured his soul into her, and didn't stop thrusting until every drop was spent.
Exhausted they slid down to the kitchen floor, breathing hard, faces flushed, hearts pounding.
After several moments he traced lazy circles on her bare shoulder.
"What are we going to do about your fiancé?" Haymitch asked, and she smiled when she looked at him.
She took her ring off, almost violently, and said, "I'll mail the bastard back his ring first thing in the morning."
He would not leap for joy, even if that were what he felt like doing.
Instead he said, very calmly, and with a straight face, "Effie, can you carry me upstairs? I don't think I can move."
She laughed, genuinely truly laughed, and he chimed in, laughing, genuinely truly laughing, for the first time in a long time.
Later than night, long after Effie had fallen asleep, he slid his arm from around her and snuck out of bed. He headed downstairs and found the bottle he had been so tempted to drink earlier.
He poured every drop down the sink.
He didn't need it anymore. Effie was here.
The two songs that played were 'Iris' by the GooGoo Dolls and 'You and Me' by Lifehouse. I love those songs. Look them up if you don't know them. It ended a little mushier than I anticipated, but it is what it is.
Hope you enjoyed.
-thamockingjayandpeeta